"HEY YOU LITTLE SHITS! GET BACK HERE! FILTHY TUNNEL RAT THIEVES –"
*rapid breathing*
"We've almost lost him! C'mon, don't stop now!"
---
Panicked breathing echoed down the narrow corridors. Two boys, no more than a meter in height each, ran down the passageway. Sweat streamed from their foreheads, soaking into the rags that clung to their thin, haggard frames. In the distance, behind them, a faint shout could be heard. The two boys ignored it, running with large grins painted on their faces. In each of their arms, they clutched packets of edibles: dehydrated noodle blocks, cans of water and nutrient paste. Their bare feet pounded down the corridors, but in contrast to the effort involved, the sound produced was softer in volume than expected.
They were thieves living in the extensive tunnel network that comprised their world. Eventually, they would learn the name of the "world" they lived in and the myriad others it sailed alongside. But for now, these labyrinthine corridors and tight, twisted passages were their world, and in these dank dark depths, they were kings.
The boys, although similar in height, were differentiated clearly by the differences in their features. The first boy had a numb look in his amber eyes. His dark-brown hair was long and unruly, spiking out in all directions as if to spite the very concept of gravity, and a large scar ran down his left cheek. As if to contrast with him, the second boy had deep-black eyes that appeared to suck the faint light in the corridors into them. His hair, though just as long, was tied back into a small ponytail that bounced with each step he took.
Reaching their objective, the two boys took a sharp corner at the intersection and disappeared down a corridor barely wide enough to fit their small frames. After running for about a minute, the sounds of their would-be pursuer were completely gone, and they slumped alongside the walls of the corridor in relief, panting all the while.
Despite their physical exhaustion, mentally, the two of them were completely alive. There was no greater high that they could achieve. Taking their survival into their own hands was their way of wrenching some form of control back from this cruel world in which they lived.
---
Navigating down a seemingly endless network of tunnels, the two eventually returned to their sanctuary: a small campsite in a node in the tunnel network. All the entrances were either sealed, or tightly cramped with machinery running down the length of the tunnel. In this space, none of the larger people could get to them, and they were safe.
Surrounding them in their hideout was a variety of materials, foodstuffs, and assorted machinery. All these supplies and equipment had been their boon, scavenged or stolen on their previous raids. In a corner of the space, several books were stacked up in a dishevelled pile.
The two boys got to work, removing their soaked shirts, and hanging them up to dry over a small heating device, its power supply originating from some distant point connected to it by a long, snaking cable. Using the heating device as a makeshift stove, the boys prepared a meal from the spoils of their earlier raid. The organic glob on their plates lacked flavour and colour and was purely nutritional. The boys, however, devoured the nutritional paste like wolves, with sheer hunger being the only spice they needed.
This was how their days passed, an endless loop of scavenging, stealing, and resting. Until…
---
Amber-Eyed Boy: "Urgh!"
The boy groaned. Earlier, he and his partner had sighted an easy-looking target; a tall woman with brown hair standing alone in the street. She clutched a purse in her hand, and the only other point-of-interest upon her was a jacket she wore over a suit. It was emblazoned with some strange symbol that the two boys had never seen before, looking like a downward-pointing triangle with curvy sides and two objects crossed over the front.
The two boys had tried to use a tried-and-true tactic on her. One of them would distract her, while the other would snatch the purse from her. The two knew that there tended to be credit chits in small bags like those, which they could use if they were desperate and could not otherwise find any supplies to use.
What they failed to anticipate was the speed with which the woman reacted. The instant she felt her purse being tugged, she clamped down with an iron grip and swung about, sending the amber-eyed boy flying into a nearby wall.
The impact knocked the wind out of his lungs. Realizing the plan had gone awry, the boy with the deep-black eyes ran over to help him up. As they escaped from the scene of their failed robbery, the amber-eyed boy felt a pricking sensation on his neck, which quickly faded.
---
Everything had gone wrong after that failed attempt. The next few robberies failed, and they managed to screw up enough that their local targets were on higher alert. Luckily, they had managed to stockpile enough food to lie low and survive for a while. All was quiet in their hideout. The two boys lay on the metal floor, wrapped up in blankets for warmth. The silence surrounding them was a comfort, only broken occasionally by whirring machinery and –
A sudden noise, like the whooshing of wind down a corridor from the opening of a door, punctuated the silence. The two boys leapt to their feet, brandishing lengths of pipe they always kept by their sides while resting as self-defence, even though the very idea of someone following them this far down the narrow mechanical conduits was unfathomable to them. Their eyes darted from side to side, surveying their immediate surrounding to localize the origin of the disturbance. They weren't trained in any way, not at their tender ages, yet the high-strung manner in which they instantly reacted betrayed the length of time in which they had survived in this environment.
Brown-Haired Woman: "So, this is where you live? How disgusting."
From one of the sealed doorways, which was now wide open, the same woman with brown hair strode into the room with an arrogant gait, speaking with a husky tone. The heels of her boots clicked rhythmically with each step she took towards the two boys, who held their pipes out before them. The door slid shut behind her with a quiet hissing noise that punctuated the tense atmosphere in the space.
Brown-Haired Woman: "You can put your…toys down. I'm not here to fight."
From behind her back, the woman retrieved a packet and threw it towards the boy with the deep-black eyes. He skilfully dodged it, keeping his gaze locked onto the woman unwaveringly even as the packet slammed to the floor behind the two boys with a dull thud. The woman regarded them with a questioning look as she cocked her head to the side and pointed towards the packet.
Brown-Haired Woman: "It's just food. Hungry?"
---
The unlikely party of three sat around the heater: the two boys, and their unexpected guest, the woman with the jet-black hair. In each of the hands, they clutched a ration bar, which was decently sized in the woman's adult-sized hands but was comically oversized for the small hands of the two boys.
The woman watched as the boys, reluctantly at first, took a small bite out of the unfamiliar food. She watched as their faces turned from portraits of suspicion into delight, as they started to wolf down the ration bars. She sighed, taking a bite out of her own ration bar, chewing the barely palatable material before swallowing reluctantly.
Brown-Haired Woman (thinking): What have they been eating, to make them find this ration bar remotely enjoyable?
Amber-Eyed Boy: "…T-thank you."
The woman cocked her head.
Brown-Haired Woman (thinking): So, he can talk after all…
Brown-Haired Woman: "Ha ha! Oh –"
The sound came out without her expecting it. She was so caught off guard hearing the boy speak that she had started to laugh without even realizing it.
Amber-Eyed Boy: "W-what are you laughing at?!"
Brown-Haired Woman: "Nothing, just surprised you could talk, that's all."
Amber-Eyed Boy: "Hey! Don't talk down to me like that, you bitc –"
A sudden smack from the deep-black eyed boy stopped the amber-eyed boy mid-remark.
Amber-Eyed Boy: "OWWWW!"
Black-Eyed Boy: "I'm sorry, miss. He can be rude sometimes."
Amber-Eyed Boy: "Not you too! You f –"
The deep-black eyed boy clamped his hand over the amber-eyed boy's mouth, muffling him.
Black-Eyed Boy: "Thank you for the food, miss."
The woman's face curled into a smile.
Brown-Haired Woman: "Thought you children would need it, that's all."
Black-Eyed Boy: "…children?"
Brown-Haired Woman: "That's what you are. Small humans. Youngsters. Kids. No one should live in such conditions, much less children. Where are your parents?"
The boy with the deep-black eyes had a look of absolute confusion on his face. This was all he had ever known. He and his fellow companion had always lived in places like this, cramped and hard to find. They had found each other in this dark labyrinth and had stuck together ever since, initially out of a desperate desire to have someone else besides themselves, and eventually out of comradeship. He felt that if there was a word to describe such a connection between the two of them, he would use it though knowledge of such a word escaped him at the moment.
Amber-Eyed Boy: "They're dead. Or they might as well be."
The boy with the amber eyes spoke out, having finally broken free of his comrade's muffling grip. While he spoke with a mocking tone, his words were completely sincere. He had parents, albeit a long time ago. He could barely remember their faces. Simply attempting to recall them only brought up hazy static in his mind.
What he did remember was learning to read and to speak, essential skills in this labyrinthine world. It was those same skills which allowed him to navigate to this nexus, where he had found the dark-black eyed boy. They had fought, initially, with their scuffle leaving him with the scar on his left cheek from the crude metal knives they had back then. But eventually, a truce was reached, and they united their individual strengths into a single whole.
Amber-Eyed Boy: "I don't need any parents. I only need him."
The boy with the deep-black eyes smiled in recognition of his comrade's trust in him. This smile caught the woman off guard. She did not think children were capable of comradeship in the same way she knew it. After all, it had been several decades since she was their age, even if her wrinkle-free skin and quick reactions implied that she was younger than she really was.
Brown-Haired Woman: "Perhaps, but having more people to rely on wouldn't hurt, no?"
Black-Eyed Boy: "Are you saying you want to help us?"
Brown-Haired Woman: "I'm open to the idea. I need assistance with something, and you two are exactly what I need. If you help me, I'll regularly come by and bring more…gifts with me."
The boys regarded her offer with narrowed eyes, but she knew that they would not reject her offer. After all, it had been her who had warned all the merchants and shopkeepers in the area about the two of them. She had been responsible for increasing their alertness to these two. Even though these two were just petty criminals, she could tell from their behaviour that they were accustomed to operating in this underworld. She intended to make good use of them.
Brown-Haired Woman: "Oh, where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself. I'm Zora."
The two boys looked at each other, then back to Zora.
Black-Eyed Boy: "Omar."
Amber-Eyed Boy: "Edmund."
Zora: "Pleased to make your acquaintances. Looking forward to working with you."
---
Zora (thinking): Why am I recalling that first meeting now? It's been about a century since then, huh? He's still the same, that Edmund…
Today had been a long day for Zora, just like all the days prior. The recent days felt exceedingly long to her, an endless series of events, occurrences, and unexpected developments. Nothing was going as planned even if there had been a plan to begin with.
Here in the confines of her office aboard the Doyle, Zora was afforded some measure of privacy, a perk of her rank. She loosened a button of her work suit, and the fabric of the jacket immediately recoiled from the stored tension. Zora inhaled deeply, enjoying the brief freedom from the constricting apparel before sighing deeply. She leant back in her chair, thinking about the call she had suddenly received from Edmund via Jeyga.
After that call had ended, Jeyga had personally delivered his explanation of the situation to her. He had looked particularly smug while doing so, and Zora had deduced that he had been listening to the entire call.
Zora (thinking): Figures. Perhaps I'll rearrange his office and see his reaction.
Pushing that thought aside, the main issue reared its ugly head again.
Merrion was missing and Edmund was heading into unknown territory to find her. Of course, the fact was that it was Zora herself, who had persuaded Edmund to consent to Merrion going alone in the first place. It was a decision born out of cold logic, in an effort to reduce suspicion upon her detectives. Placing herself into the shoes of these individuals, Zora had deduced that if a connection between the body-thieves and the Children existed, they might be on the alert for Merrion and Edmund, or at least, a pair of individuals who looked similar enough to them. Thus, she had suggested that Merrion go in alone, figuring that at least she would appear less threatening than the bulkier Edmund.
Edmund hadn't forgotten this, of course. He had allowed his promise to be compromised, however briefly, for the sake of the mission. With this in mind, Zora had agreed to provide him some measure of backup or face the unenviable situation of dealing with Edmund at his worst. Ideally, she would rather have their enemies face that, instead of herself.
Still, now the problem was conjuring out enough manpower to send after Edmund. While she was influential, she was no magician.
Zora (thinking): Tch…who can I send…someone from the reserve?
If the people Edmund was after were able to overwhelm him, then it could be anywhere from five to fifty people. Could she find that many in such short notice?
More importantly, were they people she could trust?
It was a reasonable question to ask, given the current circumstances. The members of the Fleet Investigation Division; investigative and fieldwork personnel alike, all came from various backgrounds with all sorts of shady histories and motivations behind them. Though most personnel did their work diligently and unflinchingly, some were all-too-willing to get their hands dirty for the sake of the job. It wasn't uncommon for prior allegiances to come up in the line of duty; old grudges and favors that were owed or needed to be called upon in order to complete the mission, no matter the cost.
Zora, herself, was one such exemplar of that "no matter the cost" mindset. She had done many questionable things while she was just a Detective herself, including making use of conveniently placed and easily coerced children to serve as informants. For the old her, there was no cost too heavy, no sacrifice too blasphemous, no boundary too sacred and no allegiance too sacrosanct to utilize. She had reined in those tendencies during her current tenure as an Inspector but using all the cards at her disposal was always an option in her mind.
Zora (thinking): What about…Mordecai?
Detective Mordecai was the longest-serving personnel in the 8th Sector's Fleet Investigation Division. With over two centuries of service, he had only been passed over for promotion to Inspector due to his personal unwillingness to assume the managerial duties that accompanied the title of "Inspector", as well as having a personality wholly unfit for the position. As the mentor of Edmund, Mordecai was notorious for being even more violent and agitated than even him. That was a few decades ago, and during that interim period, Mordecai had opted to enter cryogenic sleep and spend a few decades in peaceful slumber.
Unfortunately, a few years ago before his scheduled reawakening, something had gone wrong. The cause was unknown, and once it had occurred, it was difficult to control, and even more difficult to recover from. Living beings placed in cryostasis had to be slowly and laboriously resuscitated from the deathlike torpor, and any interruption or acceleration to the procedure usually resulted in irreversible damage to the body. The medical personnel who had first encountered this termed it Accelerated Cryogenic Reversal Syndrome (ACRS).
The public simply called it defrosting shock.
Mordecai had been fortunate, and the physical damage from the accelerated reawakening had been relatively minor in comparison to the damage to his personality. There had been some major changes, but Zora had heard that he was recovering according to schedule and starting to regain his memories. As was stipulated in protocol, Mordecai was placed on extended medical leave (paid, of course). He could return at any time, and he could also be called back should circumstances prove dire enough to necessitate it. Officially, Mordecai was listed on the records as "Reserve Personnel", and it would be these same records that the Admiralty would have access to.
Zora (thinking): Why wouldn't the Admiralty pick the most experienced field-work operative that I had available?
That question had tortured Zora ever since the encrypted communique arrived with the details of the assignment contained within. Sure, she could understand why Edmund was an acceptable choice for the job. He was very experienced, with an established track record for cases even though his violent tendencies could, occasionally, be an issue. His unique armaments could be the decisive factor in melee scuffles, as had been clearly demonstrated with the attempted abduction of Merrion.
But acceptable wouldn't have been enough, not for a job of this importance concerning an individual of such status. Had it been up to her, Zora would have picked Mordecai without a second thought. And she would've, definitely, never assigned a partner to him. While the extra manpower was useful, it could also be a liability. Detectives with partners tended to build a strong bond with them, and simultaneously go off the rails if anything happened to either party.
Was there some reason for this particular arrangement? Perhaps there was some information that even she, ranked as an Inspector of an organization as critical as the Fleet Investigators, was not privy to? Her curiosity would not allow her to ignore this. She would need to think things through; call in some favors and pull some strings, to get access to relevant information far beyond her pay grade.
Zora (thinking): Favors, huh?
A tantalizing thought lingered in her mind, even as the others faded into mental static. Those who walked purely in the light could never hope to understand those that lurked purely in the darkness. To combat crime was to understand crime, and to capture a criminal, one must think like a criminal.
Uniquely amongst the FID, the personnel of General Investigations were owed many favors; oaths and promises for mutual aid and support between themselves and certain – unsavory organizations – in order to facilitate their operations. All these agreements were, by necessity, purely verbal in nature. The fickle contract, a written agreement between two parties enforced only by the rule of law, could never hope to bind an organization that frequently circumvented the law with any organization that operated outside the rule of law itself. These agreements were honored on the mutual understanding that the fallout from breaking these oaths would bring dire consequences for all parties.
Zora withdrew a key from her pocket and unlocked a drawer in her table. From within the compartment, she pulled out a communicator unit. It was lightly coated in a thin layer of dust which dispersed as Zora moved it through the air, bringing it to her ear.
This was a dedicated unit, unlike the multifunctional communicators most people possessed. The unit was more akin to the walkie-talkies from ancient times, coded to connect to only one single counterpart. Should either unit be destroyed, the dedicated connection would be broken, and could only be re-established through a lengthy physical process. This was designed to ensure secrecy and prevent any interception of transmissions. For most purposes, this was excessive, but for a relationship of this nature, only the utmost secrecy was adequate.
Zora pressed the single button on the communicator unit. It had no display, no fancy lights, and no ornamental features. It was purely functional in design and in purpose. An undulating tone, like the warbling of a long extinct bird, came forth from the speaker pressed against Zora's ear. There was a click, and then –
---
Somewhere aboard the Tainah, in a small room filled with the fragrant vapors from the smoldering of narcotic herbs, was a ringing sound coming from a lone device placed atop a table flanked by two couches. Several men clad in well-fitting suits with fingers adorned by rings reclined on the couches and puffed away on cigars. They were all ignoring the ringing sound. Or perhaps ignoring was not correct.
Rather, it was as if it was something they were not permitted to perform.
The lone individual amongst them who was drinking a deep violet liquid from a crystalline glass finished up his drink, placing the emptied glass on the table. He reached out to the device and brought it to his ear, pressing the lone button on the device. Immediately, the ringing sound ceased, and the room grew quiet.
With his deep and dignified voice, the man with the deep black eyes spoke into the device with a tone that mixed mocking jest and spiteful venom into a single toxic sound.
Omar: "To what do I owe the pleasure of this house call today, Lady Inspector?"