Under the wan moonlight: Port Stasis stood. With high-rise buildings clawing from beneath the ground like fingers from fallen gods. And atop one its roofs stood Redward watching the neon holograms of Dusk Boulevard dance across the night sky.
His right pocket vibrated sending a shiver down his leg. From it he produced a small disk in his palm. A hologram of a man dressed in a black suit hovered above.
“Good evening Agent Zahara,” the man in the suit nodded.
“Evening Streep,” Redward replied.
“I must inform you that there is a bit of a situation downtown. At the corner of Canal and Minal Street.”
“Near the Megacorp construction?”
Streep nodded. “It’s…” he paused and shook his head. “It’s a man claiming to be a Wizard.”
Redward stared intently at the hovering image. “A wizard?”
“Yes sir.”
“It’s not possible. Every Wizard…”
“Is accounted for,” Streep interrupted. “That’s what the Order said when they sent me. But now that I’m here I’m thinking I need a second look.”
The image swirled back into the small disk. Redward descended down the stairs and into his apartment. It smelt of alcohol and cigarettes. Past the living room he raced into his bedroom and dug for clothes among the piles of clutter that encroached every corner of the room. His disk vibrated again. He set it on top of his night stand.
“Did you get a call from Streep?” the image of a large green head leaning against a headboard spoke.
Redward laid his palms against the table and looked down at the image. “Yes. I did sir.”
“Ughh,” the man jerked his head back. “What have I told you about leaning so close?”
“I enjoy making you feel small,” a smirk crept up on his lips.
The large green head belonged to Thruzger Goreblood. Of the same Goreblood Orc clan that slayed the Dark Elven Lord in the Second Age – he loved to proclaim. Of the same Goreblood Orc clan that stood ten feet tall with tusks strong enough to penetrate most armours – he loved to boast. And now of the same Goreblood Orc clan that spent most of their days behind desks signing papers – he would never say.
“What’s taking so long then?” he seemed impatient.
“I can’t find my veil.”
Thruzger’s eyes darted from left to right then back again making note of the messy room. “I’m not surprised. Make do with what you have. Your eyes and mouth are the most important bit. That’s how the data is collected anyway.”
Redward nodded. He donned on a black turtleneck which he pulled all the way up to his nose and a white cap which he lowered all the way down to his sunglasses. Outside his apartment building he hailed a cab. It rattled through the streets towards Dusk Boulevard where folk of every kin be it man, dwarf, orc, or elf drunkenly stumbled into each other then it whizzed past the Stasis Bridge over the Sonada waters.
As per his request. The cab dropped him off a few blocks from his destination. He jogged the rest of the way with his head lowered avoiding the cameras mounted at every practical surface. The red and blue lights of police cars shone ahead of him. Followed by the screeching sounds of journalists trying to find a story. A barricade separated the two.
He slid past the hubbub. He flashed a badge towards the inquiring officers at the scene and they slid the barricade open for him. Ahead of him trees dotted across manicured lawns flanking a pathway which led to a large forecourt where other officers were waiting.
“There he is,” the lanky figure of Streep pointed to Redward. “Agent Zahara,” he then pointed to a dwarf who stood with arms crossed and a furrowed brow, “this is Sergeant Undertree.”
They nodded at each other. Then past the stairs which led to a building that stretched into the night sky stood an old man hunched over a wooden stick. “Is that him?” Redward asked.
Streep nodded then Sergeant Undertree added: “We need your assessment to go ahead.”
Redward tilted his head as he studied the old man. He attempted to go further but was pulled back by Streep. “He doesn’t want anybody approaching sir.” Redward broke free of Streep’s grasp and stepped further. The old man lifted his stick and pounded thrice on the ground. A small wave of energy brushed by him. It carried a buzzy tone that hissed into the air. He stepped back.
“Has he made any demands?”
“Yes and they are a bit steep sir.”
Sergeant Undertree shoved a megaphone into Redward’s stomach. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Redward pointed the device at the man. “Good evening sir. I am a senior Agent of the Order of the Eternal Sun. I have been sent here to talk to you.”
“I have no room to negotiate,” the old man yelled. “Neither do the old gods.”
Redward turned aside to the officers. “A religious nut. Have you done a facial scan?”
“Yes,” Undertree replied. “He’s wearing a veil. The same type you lot wear actually.”
“Of course. Of course,” Redward muttered to himself. He turned towards the man again. “Please sir. I mean you no harm and neither do the other officers here. We only wish to see a peaceful outcome for both parties. What is it that you wish for?”
“What I wish?” the old man yelled back. “It is not a question of what I wish my heathen friend but what the gods of Razia wish. And they wish for the heads of those who tear down the greenery they bequeathed upon us to build monuments of vanity such as this abomination before me.”
Redward faced the officers again and mouthed the word: “heathen?.” He turned to the old man, “I’m afraid that is unreasonable. Is there a tribute they could take? A donation to a temple?”
The old man stopped to think it over. “No tributes. Just their demands,” he finally said.
“Okay sir. We’ll see what we can do.” Redward threw the megaphone to the side and addressed Streep. “He’s not a wizard. My hunch he is like you and I.”
“A motblood?” Undertree chimed in.
“We prefer the term motus genus actually. But yes,” Redward responded. “The real mystery of the night is how he projected his energy. I didn’t see any of the usual movements that allows us to do the same.”
“Maybe with his old age and experience he can pull it off,” Streep replied.
“Or…” Redward pointed at the stick.
“I… I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Exactly. At least it shouldn’t be. Whatever that thing is, my guess some mad scientist made a staff, is what’s channelling his energy.”
“Excuse me,” Undertree spoke. “So you’re saying he’s nothing more than a motblood?” At Redward’s nod of approval Undertree turned back to his officers, “advance.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Redward said. “I’m not sure what that staff is capable of.”
“We’ve been here for hours. The Order was brought in to assess the situation and you have done that. It’s now time for us to do our jobs.”
An officer handed Redward and Streep earplugs. They watched as Undertree led his officers across the paved surface. As they began to ascend the stairs one of the officers pulled out a sonic gun which he blasted into the sky. Though Redward and Streep’s ears were protected they still felt a slight discomfort surge through them.
The old man was now on his knees bent over so far that his forehead almost touched the ground. He strained to lift and plant his staff thrice. However after he was done the officers flew back. Some hitting the pavement. Some flying into the trees. And then some colliding with the two agents.
Redward’s vision was now blurry. A high pitch tone rang in his ear. Streep pulled off an officer that was on top of him and helped him up. “Are you okay sir,” he said.
“I’m good,” Redward replied. Around him bodies were strewn all over the place. “Go and make sure they make way for the paramedics.”
“The gods have given me divinehood to see out their wish,” the old man yelled.
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Redward muttered to himself.
The paramedics rushed through pushing stretchers. As they tried to advance the old man yelled for them to stop. Redward picked up the megaphone and as he was about to speak the old man raised his staff. “I have hostages,” he said, “it’s either their heads or the heads that the gods desire.”
Streep now stood beside Redward. “What now?”
Redward handed him the megaphone. “Talk to him. Distract him.”
Redward noted that his glasses were now split into two. His hat was nowhere to be found. With his face buried in his forearm he raced past the probing journalists back into the streets and then circled around the block until the back of the newly built plaza stood before him. He climbed over the construction fence which was still erected. Streep’s voice could heard echoing in the air followed by a muffled yelling by the old man.
He found another entrance. Inside, the building was brightly lit. He snuck until he reached the foyer. The furniture still had plastic wrapped over it. A smell of cleaning chemicals overpowered the air. The old man stood just outside the grand entrance. Redward moved into a corridor out of sight. He then thought of the hostages. He could see none so far. However that wouldn’t deter him from searching.
With legs slightly spread apart he took in a deep breath. And inside him, as if flowing through his blood, he felt his energy, the fuel that allowed him to do what others couldn’t. Then using that energy he concentrated on his hearing. Every sound was amplified. The feedback from Streep’s voice through the megaphone; the shuffling of the old man; and then a sound of whispers and whimpers coming from inside the building. Having located the source of the sound he then channelled his energy to his sight. Across the foyer behind a wall he could see seated silhouettes. There his hostages were.
He tiptoed across the foyer only moving when the old man talked. He reached a ballroom where the hostages were. They were all scuttled in one corner. And from the look of them they were the cleaning staff.
“Is there an exit from this side?” he whispered.
They all looked at each other in confusion. The only way into the room was the way he came in. And it would prove impossible for all of them to sneak past the foyer the same way he did.
“Think, think,” Redward muttered to himself. And then an idea struck him. He went to one of the hostages. “When you get outside tells Streep to knock the staff out of the man’s hand. He will understand.” The hostages nodded. “Follow me,” he said. They followed behind him into the foyer. The old man twisted his head back and scurried through the entrance into the foyer.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.
“These are just cleaning staff,” Redward said. “Let’s be honest with ourselves. Nobody gives a damn about their heads. But mine. I’m part of the Order. You’d have a better chance.”
The old man squinted. Sensing that something was at play but at the same time realizing Redward was right. And then he nodded for the hostages to leave. They left the room. The old man and Redward had a stare off.
“Where did you get that?” Redward asked.
“What’s it to you?” he replied.
From a distance Redward noticed a small group making their way past the stairs. As they stood near the entrance he could see Streep and some of the officers. And then feeling that energy that flowed within he channelled it to his fist and then punched the air between him and the old man. A wave of energy left his fist but the old man countered with his stick blowing the attack back to him. It knocked Redward to the floor.
The old man stood before him. “Fool. Did you think I was stupid?” He then twirled the stick and it made Redward fly to the back of the room. The old man walked to him. “Heathen,” he said, “it’s obvious the gods won’t get their wishes but at least your head will be compensation enough.” He then lifted his stick. The fury burning in his eyes. And then his body writhed and he dropped to the floor. An officer stood behind him with a taser. Streep grabbed the staff quickly and backed away.
The officers quickly cuffed his hands behind his back. And then bound his feet as was the standard procedure for a motus genus. Undertree limped into the entrance. He eyed the old man. “Caused quite a scene today. Hope you had fun.” He then looked at Streep. “We’ll do our part,” and then nodded at the staff, “and then you do yours I guess.”
Streep helped Redward up. “Are you okay sir?”
“Of course,” Redward replied. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He then offered Redward the staff. “No. Take it in. Enjoy the win.”