It was a beautiful day, a perfect day for a holiday some would say, while others would have argued that it could be used to take a nice stroll in the park. Some could also argue that they'd prefer to take dive at the beach, or any safe waterbody deep enough to relax in.
A weather like this was the time when you'd see people in shorts and t-shirts, and giving that it was a holiday, kids and teens added to the crowd of people roaming the streets of Boston. Of course there were those workaholics who never had a day off, always on the move, as if the world would come to a standstill if they didn't stop working.
And then there was the guy with the spear in hand on the sidewalk, who actually had to work every day to stop the world from coming to a standstill. He wore a white t-shirt underneath a black jacket which he had folded the sleeves. The black tight trousers he wore completed the uniform he wore. He'd have been seen as a weirdo, if it were not for the red x on his shoulder
His name was Barry O'Neil, an inquisitor. He was in his early thirties. His red short hair and blue eyes, the alluring kind of look. He could pass for a model if it weren't for the uniform he wore. The traffic light turned red, indicating for them to cross the street. He stepped into the sun, the rays showing the black blood that had dried up on the blade of his spear. He didn't seem bothered by it, and neither were the people around. It was normal, unless of course you lived under a rock.
He walked straight, taking a few turns to the outskirts of town. He bought a cone from an ice cream guy, letting him keep the change. He walked quite a distance before reaching a stop in front of an old mansion. The broken windows, the peeling paint, with the Xs painted all over the wall, the overgrown weeds, heck the only thing new to him was the kid standing in front of it. Everything else was the same. But it was where he called home.
"Hey kid." He said with a smile. "Bit of a letdown right?"
"Yeah," the boy said, "I'm surprised you guys still use this place."
"Heh." He laughed, "Well, it is inconspicuous as we are."
The boy turned to him. Though he wore a hoodie, he could still see the tuffs of white hair poking out. The scarlet eyes of his stood out though. The hoodie was blue and black, on top of black jeans and some cool red kicks. He was no third class citizen for sure.
"Are you looking for someone?" Barry asked.
"No." He said, "I want to join."
Barry stared at him. Join? Well, that was surprising. Not many people joined on their own accord. They just came in for the money, or to run from their past. Or sometimes they were forced. But willingly? Well there was another recruit that had joined willingly, but he didn't look that young.
Barry approached the boy, stopping directly in front of him.
"You're too young kid. Go home."
"Age is just a number."
"You're sixteen by the looks of it. The Inquisitors employment age is 18. Strictly. We have enough problems as it is to get new ones."
"The lowest age allowed to work is 16. 14 by FLSA standards."
"You did your research."
"I really want to join."
Without warning, Barry raised the spear at the young boy, the tip of the blade directly pointed at him. The boy, however stood unfazed, not even watching the blade, but his were directly at Barry's arm, waiting for his next move. Barry smiled. If given a chance, he'd either wait for his next move, or strike first. The answer was uncertain. The boy's expression was too blank to read.
He was no ordinary boy. Not in status, no that was just a plus. He was trained, skilled. Someone that could handle the mass energy that emanated from his body.
"What's your name, kid?" Barry asked him.
The boy removed his hood, revealing his pure white hair. "Blake. Blake Summers."
´
The interior of the building were no different from the exterior. The dust that lay on everything, from the floor to the banister. The tiles were also cracked, some were not even there to begin with. The only thing that identified it as a base of operations was a red X that had been sprayed on the ceiling. Who sprayed it, how he or she had done it, it was only to be imagined. The room was large with a staircase that led upstairs, splitting into two different paths. There were no visible chandeliers, and the pillars were cracked as well.
Sitting on the stairs was a dark skinned man. He was tall, having faded haircut and spotting a goatee. He had heterochromia, with his left eye glowing a bright yellow color while his right, a dull brown. He wore the same outfit as Barry, with an added hoodie and fingerless gloves.
"You took your time to get here." Kyler said, yawning. "You know I hate to wait."
"Cut the crap," Barry said, "We all know you'd prefer it that way."
"Yeah, whatever." He said, looking over Barry's shoulder. "Who's the magnet?"
"Magnet?" Blake asked.
"Yeah you. Magnet. Your licht energy alone could attract all the daemon in Boston."
"My name's Blake. Blake Summers."
Kyler looked at him. For a moment he was surprised, but then his expression changed to his old bored self. "Kyler Tason. Guessing you want to join, huh?"
"He's too young."
"Yeah. But age is just a number."
The voice belonged to Martha Hill. She wore the same outfit, but actually bothered to zip the attire all the way up. She had long blue hair and black eyes. She stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes piercing into that of Blake and Barry.
"Hello, Blake." She said with a smile. "It's been a while."