"I kept following that piece of shit as he led me through the slums..." Malvin's voice tightened with barely restrained anger every time he referred to the man. The Specialists and Clare exchanged glances, already knowing exactly who Malvin was following. They had been thoroughly briefed about the individual and had studied the sketches—his identity was unmistakable from the way Malvin described him. "That was my first time properly entering the slums, and my first time seeing just how bad it really was."
---
The slums were a stark, unrelenting reminder of society's darkest corners. Narrow, uneven pathways twisted like veins through a crumbling maze of dilapidated buildings. Wooden beams, blackened by years of soot and grime, sagged under their own weight, while metal plating patched over holes in walls with little care for aesthetics. Steam vents hissed intermittently, spilling warm, damp air that mixed with the sharp stench of refuse piled in haphazard heaps. The ground beneath Malvin's boots was a patchwork of cracked stone and dirt, littered with broken glass and other unidentifiable debris. (And peculiar items as well, but those will go unmentioned to keep the age rating.)
Rusted pipes snaked along the sides of buildings, occasionally dripping with oily liquid that left dark streaks down the walls. Shadows moved within the gloom—hungry eyes peeking out from behind curtains or through cracked shutters, watching with a wariness born of hard survival. A few children, barefoot and filthy, darted across an alleyway, their movements quick and furtive as they clutched meager scraps of bread. The air felt heavy, oppressive, weighed down by the mingled scents of metal, decay, and desperation.
Malvin's sharp gaze swept the scene, his jaw tightening as he took it all in. *How do people even live like this?* he thought grimly. The sight of such neglect and suffering made it clear why so many residents of the slums turned to crime—it wasn't just desperation; it was survival.
As Malvin continued forward, the streets grew more populated. People wandered in and out of view, their expressions ranging from weary indifference to outright hostility. Humans and demi-humans alike moved with a guarded, almost predatory air, many of them carrying weapons openly at their sides. Some of these individuals flashed their weapons in subtle, deliberate motions as they passed Malvin, their glares sharp enough to cut. He met their looks with his usual unflinching demeanor, though he remained acutely aware of the unspoken warnings etched into every glance. The air around him felt charged, the tension pressing against him like a physical weight.
"How much further?" he asked, his tone sharp, though his attention was already back on the man leading him.
"Just a bit further," came the reply, the man's voice laced with false hurriedness.
Malvin gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, before casting another glance around his surroundings. He was confident in his ability to handle gangsters, thugs, and the like, but he wasn't deluded enough to think he could emerge unscathed if a fight broke out in the open. The sheer number of hostile eyes on him, coupled with the tight, unpredictable layout of the slums, meant that any skirmish here could turn deadly in an instant. He clenched his fists briefly, a silent reminder to keep his composure.
As his gaze swept across the crowded street, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention. Moving in the opposite direction was a girl with blue hair and piercing blue eyes. She couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. Her clothes, though ragged and worn, allowed her to blend seamlessly with the denizens of the slums, but her demeanor was off. Was she nervous? He couldn't quite tell, but there was something in the way she walked, the furtive glances she cast around her, that made his brow twist in confusion. *No, no. It couldn't be.* He forced himself to look away, but moments later, his eyes darted back to her, suspicion lingering in his mind. *But could it be?*
The girl moved past him, her head down as though trying to make herself invisible. Malvin couldn't stop his eyes from following her for a second longer, but he snapped himself out of it quickly. *No! It's just not possible,* he told himself, shaking the notion free from his mind. He kept his gaze fixed forward and muttered under his breath, "I'm just being paranoid."
---
"Was that...?" Clare trailed off, her voice clear and expectant as the group turned their attention to Malvin.
"Yes, it was," Malvin confirmed with a single, annoyed nod.
The others exchanged knowing glances before their eyes landed on Aeron. True to form, he shrugged, his expression deadpan. "He's always had that talent. Even back when we were in the orphanage." His tone remained deadpan, but in his voice there was a faint hint of pride? I don't know, he's deadpan for crying out loud!
Jos grinned and rubbed his chin. "Kinda makes me wanna see that in action."
From his right, a sudden wave of fear inducing aura made Jos almost freeze in place. His grin evaporated as he raised his hands defensively. "Not for any bad reason, you lunatic!" he exclaimed, shutting his eyes as if to shield himself from the silent wrath emanating from Aeron.
Clare beamed, clearly enjoying the moment. "He's such an overprotective big brother. It's cute."
Loreen nodded along in agreement, her expression soft.
"Anyway," Malvin began, cutting through the chatter.
"But I didn't give my reaction yet," Tores pretested, pointing at himself, feeling left out.
"Anyway," Malvin repeated, his voice firm enough to halt further interruptions. "After that, nothing of note really happened until we got to the place where that piece of shit said the thugs ran off to."
---
"Here. This is the place," the man said, stopping outside a two-story building that looked like it was held together more by stubbornness than structural integrity.
Malvin eyed the structure critically. The wooden beams were warped, and several of the metal supports had rusted through. Loose bricks jutted out from the walls like jagged teeth, and the roof sagged ominously, as though it could collapse at any moment. *Feels like it could fall apart with a strong gust of wind,* he thought grimly.
The man was already by the doorway—or what was left of it. The door hung crookedly on a single rusted hinge, swaying slightly in the breeze. "Come on, officer," the man said, his tone overly eager. "We don't know if they've already run off."
Malvin's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's demeanor. The energy radiating off him wasn't nervousness—it was eagerness. His grin was sharp, his posture almost bouncing with anticipation, like he were a child struggling not to spoil a surprise. *Overeager bastard. You're barely keeping it together now that we're here.*
"You're right," Malvin said evenly, masking his suspicion. "Let's go in."
He stepped forward, keeping his movements deliberate as he followed the man inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a booming voice roared from within.
"Welcome to your grave, you white-haired fuck!"