Mark waited until he was sure Anton was gone, then rushed downstairs.
His mother was awake and utterly annoyed. She saw him go into the kitchen and frowned.
"Didn't know you were here. Should I go and tell the man?"
Mark made his coffee without sparing her a glance. He instead stretched his mind.
"No."
His mother's voice softened, now with a tint of fright.
"Ah- alright."
She sat back down and stifling silence fell in the household once more.
Mark finished making his black sludge of coffee and poured it into a mug. He drank it as fast as the scalding heat would allow him to. Having a burned mouth wasn't the best way to start the day. Though, Anton's appearance wasn't exactly a good start either.
He emptied the black sludge and rushed through the house, adorning his shoes and leaving.
Fearing that he would be late, he entered a light jog while going to the factory. On his side, the hopeless street people watched him with longing, envious eyes. They wished for his stamina and energy; or at the very least, his luck.
The only things on Mark's mind were making it to his work on time- and more importantly, not getting caught by the military on his way.
His eyes darted around his surroundings, watching for any inconspicuous and menacing figures. Especially at the alleys, where an arm could very well lash out and drag him into the shadowed depths of the closed-off passages.
It was a relief to see that nobody came into his way.
Mark smiled as he approached the factory, where the three loonies waited for him at the gate.
Loony A saw him and waved with great vigor. The other two did the same before they all came to let him through.
Pushing himself through the crowd of men who came early to get a job, Mark eventually entered.
"Look here, guys. Our great savior has returned."
Loony B smirked and patted Mark's back, who lightly smiled.
"That nickname is kind of embarrassing, don't you think?"
They tried to hold back their laughter but it spilled out of their mouths in hearty glee.
"It's true though. If it weren't for you, those military scoundrels would have gotten us for sure. Luckily you lost all those games and stayed sober, don't you think?"
Loony C smiled radiantly. He was a much nicer man when sober. His drunken self was utterly violent.
Mark scratched his head, then frowned.
"About those military guys..."
Sighing from remembering Anton's appearance, he delivered his news. The loonies' eyes widened as he retold the sudden visit.
"-so from now on watch out for people coming to your houses. Otherwise, you might find yourself amidst bullets and bombs the next day."
They gulped.
"Thanks for telling us. We will keep that in mind."
Loony B smiled and turned to the other two.
"Guess this counts as another time he saved us from trouble, don't you think?"
Nodding, they thanked Mark again before remembering something.
Loony C said it first.
"Someone from headquarters dropped by some time ago. They want you to go back for a thing or two."
Mark tilted his head.
"What is it."
They shrugged.
"Don't know. Oh right- they said for you to leave as soon as possible."
A vein popped.
"You should have told me that earlier!"
Mark hastily left the factory and looked back.
The loonies seemed to be talking to each other before they all nodded.
Cupping their hands, they sent him off with grace.
"Long live our losing savior!"
They smiled while the crowd in front of the factory turned to look at Mark.
He sighed while trying to suppress the embarrassment burning in his chest.
...
It didn't take too long before the great warehouse of the Hounds appeared in all of its colossal grandness.
Appreciating the sheer size of the place, Mark approached the building when two guards came to him in return.
In their hands there were carbines, and they didn't seem hesitant to use them.
"State your business or screw off."
Mark stretched his mind while trying to hold back his annoyance.
"I've been called back here. Don't know why or for what, but someone wants to see me."
They became slightly less hostile but still didn't believe him.
"You might as well have told us nothing. Don't you have a better excuse than that?"
Mark's eye twitched.
'Are you kidding me?'
He sighed before raising the output of his coercion.
"It's true. Go check with someone high up if you need to."
One of them left while the other told Mark to step back.
While he was waiting, a seed of doubt planted itself in his mind.
'Those loonies weren't lying to me, right?'
The guard came back and nodded. They escorted him inside.
"Lucky you, it's the boss that called. Or maybe it's unlucky. Who knows?"
Mark sighed while making his way to the other side of the warehouse.
Once he passed the door, crates blocked his view while guards ran to see him.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled.
"It's me, Mark!"
His words echoed once before the boss told him to come through.
A chair was prepared for him, and after being prompted, he sat down.
Sitting across from him, the ordinary-looking man who served as the boss of the Hounds resided alone.
He dismissed his guards.
In his hands, a piece of paper was gently held. His gaze was fixed on it.
Mark wanted to pay close attention but also didn't want to stare, so his gaze was unfocusedly pointed at the floor below the man. He also didn't know what to say, so the atmosphere remained slightly awkward.
Stretching out his mind, he tried to eliminate the awkwardness in the boss and bolstered a sense of homeliness.
The boss raised his head.
"You know, I've always questioned why I was born with this voice."
Mark blinked, but the boss continued.
"Throughout my early life, this voice always put me in some awkward position, with people around my age being discomforted by the low pitch."
He smiled.
"Now, I look at it as a lucky trait that was granted to me. Of course, there are much better sorts of talents in this world.'
Pausing, the boss closed his eyes.
"Like those far and few people who are given the grace of being blessed."
He opened his eyes and locked them with Mark.
"Like you."