1 - Ray
Ray Mejia is corrupt. Those were the words that echoed throughout all of Grustenburg. In every nook and cranny of the various winding alleys and shops, to the towering mountainside that surrounded the small trades town. While Grustenburg was mostly made up of humans, it was one of the least known about towns in Aclium. Because of this, creatara like myself were able to wander the town freely, not before getting the occasional spiteful glance from their kind of course
Was I truly corrupt? I let those thoughts bounce around in my mind as my worn leather boots hit the wet cobblestone. Corruption, what a strange term. Those bastards have the skin to call me corrupt, but don't ever take a chance to look at themselves. Those humans, they look down on us from their thrones of lies and greed, using our kind as slaves, treating us like the same animals that roam the many forests and plains of this world. So I ask again, am I the one who they should be calling corrupt?
I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I needed to focus on the task at hand, Rico and I had been assigned a job. I had suggested the idea of getting Corra to simply go in and out for a nice clean kill, but Rico insisted that his sniping practices needed to be improved upon. This request was an odd one for sure, as leader of the Marauders I've never had a client ask for the assassination of a merchant before, but I guess that's what happens when word gets around about your business.
I adjusted the crimson scarf that I always kept hung around my neck as I felt a single droplet of water hit my fur. Perfect, now it was raining. I let the scarf's silky fabric run between my fingers as I trudged onwards, the odd piece of clothing had always acted as a sort of comforter to me. It was almost as if it was a part of my being now, it almost seemed inhuman to not bring it with me wherever I were to go. I couldn't explain it.
You're nothing but a miscreant, waiting to be captured and enslaved.
I shook my head silently to myself, that phrase had been muttered to me a long time ago, I had tried my best to forget about them but Greyson's bitter words still clung inside my head like velcro to cloth. Life simply wasn't fair and I had learned that the hard way. No matter what I did now, nothing could change that.
We stepped off of the stone brick street and onto the southern docks that stretched halfway across town. Grustenburg was known for shipping a variety of goods out to larger cities, so it's no doubt our client wanted the job done here. He didn't say much about the assasination, just that he'd been threatening to take away some of the shipments coming to and from Grustenburg. Blackmail, a timeless classic. What I pondered the most, was whether or not our target possessed a morte. I hoped this wasn't the case, as it would make our job a little more messy.
I glanced towards Rico, he was wiping the rain off of his beak and feathers while our calm stroll turned into a brisk jog as the light shower that briskly plipped against the dark wooden planks transformed into a torrential downpour. Rico didn't possess a morte as did I, sometimes I wondered if we were all destined to rot on the sidelines watching humans achieve glory and fame. Mortes are special abilities that the user can bend to their will and use. I'm not sure exactly what caused this miracle to happen, but ever so often you'll see the occasional person walking around lighting a mini bonfire in their palm or talking to a beat up tom cat on the sidewalk.
You can already guess that people with mortes were seen as upper class to those who didn't possess one. Being human and having a morte was one of the greatest honours a man could have bestowed upon them, while being creatara and not possessing a morte like myself you were seen as the lowest of the low, a true speck of dirt that lays on the clean cloth that is this so called "perfect" word.
So there we were, standing on the southern dock of the harbor. The salty air penetrated my nostrils like smelling salts as Rico and I lay belly down on the roof of a nearby stack of shipping containers. Rico's bright green leather jacket was making him stand out in the darkness of the night like a bright lime lantern. From our vantage point we could see two men, one was rather large, his crimson tie and silk suit made him seem so dignified that he stuck out like a sore thumb.
"That's him," I whispered to Rico. "He's exactly what our client described him to look like." I glanced closer, realizing he was accompanied by a tall and slender man with skin so pale he looked like a ghost. "It looks like he's speaking with someone."
"When do I shoot?" Rico said, his rifle pointed at the mystery man's head.
"Did you not hear what I just said? This job has to be done alone." I scanned the surrounding people. "Too many witnesses."
"Come on! My trigger finger is gettin' really itchy here."
"Well you can just hold on a little longer, he's almost done talking to that really pale fellow. Then we'll nail em'."
After around ten minutes the mysterious figure had finally finished talking to what looked like his right-hand man. I noticed Rico was starting to get restless and wanted to get the job done desperately, but he'd have to control himself, something wasn't right about this guy. I held my hand in front of the barrel of Rico's rifle, preventing him from firing.
"Something isn't right." I told Rico, my eyes pierced through his pupils menacingly.
He seemed to get the message, "Alright, he said. What's going on Ray?"
"I could almost swear he knows we're here."
"How could he know that? We aren't even within earshot!"
"Remember, we have to keep mortes into account here. We have to abide our time."
"I suppose so, but you'd think our client would have made us aware of any mortes this man can possess."
"So it would seem, but you can never be sure. If there's one thing I've learned in my time, it's that you can't trust anyone."
Finally it looked like the target had finished his conversation. I watched as he waved the pale man off and lit a cigar, now was our chance. I had found an opening.
"Now!"
Rico blasted a bullet aiming straight at the man's skull. But as the searing hot bullet was about to strike him, something happened. It was as if everything, even time itself, stopped. The man had his arm stretched behind him, and the bullet had stopped dead in its tracks as if he had frozen it in place. Rico and I immediately hit the pavement, pushing out a full sprint. In this world it's eat or be eaten, and by the looks of it we were about to be eaten.