After what felt like an eternity, William's mind began to swim up from the depths of unconsciousness. His senses flickered to life one by one, though groggily.
"Mr. Berg?" he called out weakly, expecting the calm, reassuring voice of his rescuer.
But something was wrong. He felt the coarse bite of rope digging into his wrists and ankles, binding him tightly. The hum of the car's engine was gone, as was the gentle jostling of movement. He lay awughkwardly on his side, trapped and disoriented. Dread crept into his bones as he pieced it together: somehow, he'd been captured. His immediate thought was that the gunman must have caught up, overpowered Mr. Berg, and taken him hostage.
But…how? How could this have happened?
He forced his eyes open, blinking against the dim light. His vision adjusted slowly, revealing a stark scene before him. Shadows danced in the faint light of dusk, and there, sitting casually on a stone nearby, was Mr. Berg. His sleeves were rolled up as he checked his watch, seemingly waiting for something or someone.
Just as William was about to call out, he heard footsteps crunching on gravel. A figure approached from the darkness, moving with an easy, practiced calm. And then William's heart stopped. He recognized the figure's gait, the slight metallic glint of the Colt revolver sliding smoothly back into its holster. This was no savior. This was the man who had hunted him relentlessly, the gunman himself.
"Right on time, Bat," Berg greeted him, a cold smile twisting his mouth.
Bat scowled, his eyes glinting with irritation. "Was all this drama really necessary? I almost had him back there. You know, until you swooped in with your hero act."
Berg, or whoever he really was, shrugged with a smirk. "We couldn't risk him jumping into that river. This 'new recruit' was far too valuable to lose."
Bat grunted in response, casting a disdainful glance at William. "Looks like your little sedative wore off, magician. The kid's awake already. Did you skimp on the spray?"
"No," Berg, now revealed as the so-called 'Magician' said smoothly. "I had to go light on it. He's sharper than he looks, this one. Even in a daze, he'd sense anything unusual in the air. Had to be just enough to knock him out, nothing more."
As Magician rose from his stone perch, he drew a pistol from his coat, his expression a twisted mask of mockery. He took a step toward William, whose heart hammered in pure terror.
"Mr. Berg…what are you doing?" William stammered, his voice thick with fear and confusion.
The Magician laughed, a sinister chuckle that sent chills up William's spine. He kicked him hard in the side, knocking the wind out of him. "Berg?" he sneered. "There is no 'Mr. Berg.'"
Bat folded his arms, watching the exchange with a faint smirk. "What did you say to him anyway?" he asked, a note of amusement in his voice. "Kid looks like he actually bought into your little act."
"Just a few lines I made up on the spot," Magician replied, gripping William's hair and yanking his head up, the barrel of his pistol pressing coldly against William's neck. "Didn't take much to fool him."
"Wha–what do you mean?" William stammered, his mind racing as the awful truth began to settle in. "I thought you were…you were helping me. You said there was an organization, a force for justice…"
The Magician burst out laughing, a mocking, heartless sound. "You really believed that? A 'Justice League' to protect the world from harm?" He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with contempt. "Wake up, kid. There's no noble organization, no squad of heroes here to keep the world safe."
Bat snickered. "Whoever taught you that nonsense fed you a pretty bedtime story."
The Magician tightened his grip on William's hair, smirking as he watched the boy's horrified realization. "You wanted to believe in something good, didn't you? Someone to fight for the weak, to make things right. But this world doesn't work that way, kid. It's every wizard for themselves. Survival of the strongest. That's all there is." He pressed the gun harder against William's neck, the metal digging into his skin.
William's heart sank, his chest aching with betrayal. He had wanted to believe. In that moment, as he faced down the merciless gaze of his captors, all his hopes of a brighter path shattered.
"Welcome to the real world, kid," the Magician whispered with a cruel smile.
The cold steel of the gun pressed firmly against William's neck, sending icy terror through his veins. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself, dreading the final, unforgiving moment he knew was coming.
"Guardians?" the Magician sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. "There are no 'guardians' in this world. Only wizards, hunters and prey!" With a swift motion, he released his grip, slamming William's head into the hard ground. Pain radiated through William's skull, and he curled up instinctively, his body trembling from the shock.
The Magician calmly unlatched the safety of his pistol, leveling it straight at William's head. As William lay helpless on the ground, he felt hot tears spilling down his face, soaking into the dirt. His voice, barely more than a whisper, trembled with disbelief. "So…everything you said was a lie?"
The Magician's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Lie? Hah! You really thought there was some noble cause? Do you even know the rules of this world?" He leaned in, his gaze narrowing, mocking William's naivety. "No one's ever kind enough to tell you the truth, are they?"
He took a breath, savoring William's despair. "Let me spell it out for you, kid. This world runs on one rule; the law of the jungle. The strong survive, the weak perish. It's a world where kindness and power are incompatible. Only the ruthless thrive."
The Magician's words sank into William like a thousand knives, shattering every hope he'd clung to. A sob broke from his lips, and he lay on the ground, utterly broken. His cheeks burned with shame as hot, bitter tears fell. In his humiliation, he felt warmth spreading from his own body, and he shut his eyes, trying to escape from the shame of his own terror.
The Magician laughed darkly, savoring the sight. "Don't cry, kid," he mocked. "Consider this a valuable lesson you paid for with your life. Let me give you one last piece of wisdom, since you're so desperate for it. When someone powerful shows you kindness…ask yourself where that power comes from."
With that, he pressed his finger to the trigger, but a moment later, he realized something was wrong. The gun didn't fire. Instead, an eerie silence filled the air.
Confused, he looked down, only to find his pistol and his hand, melting. His fingers and the metal of the gun oozed and warped, like wax left too close to a flame. Yet, there was no heat, no pain, only the bizarre sensation of his own body disintegrating. His eyes widened in horror as he recognized the telltale signs. 'Witchcraft.'
He spun around, his instincts flaring, only to see his accomplice; the one he called Bat, was also melting, his entire body dissolving into a chaotic swirl of colors, like a splash of oil paint smeared across the ground.
The Magician's survival instincts kicked in, and he tried to run, but before he could even take two full steps, there was a sudden "click" in the air.
He froze, then collapsed to the ground.
---
Across town, Ivan sat at a quiet table, gazing at the neat stack of green Philippine dollar bills arranged in front of him, the rectangle of crisp notes catching the light in a way that made his heart race. He swallowed, eyeing the pile before him, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he stowed the money into his space.
The trip to Morgan Bank in Bridgewick hadn't been ideal; they hadn't had enough $100 bills in stock, forcing him to accept a bundle of smaller denominations. He had ended up with twenty $50 bills and thirty-five $20 bills, which made the stack nearly an inch thick.
With his pockets now lined, Ivan headed to the department store, restocking supplies and replenishing his backpack with essentials he'd run low on. He took his time, carefully selecting the materials he'd need for his journey ahead, pleased with the refreshed weight of his gear.
After the additions, his inventory was finally beginning to look whole again, each item tucked precisely in its place.
[Inventory Items: Old Wallet, Lead-Acid Battery x3, Alchemical Matrix x3, Whiskey x6, Mercury x3, Mangy Dog Cigarettes x3, Mumbling Bone Cone x2, Urn]
[Current Storage Capacity: 8/10]
Ivan carried a lighter and pocket watch on his person, they weren't especially valuable to him anymore, so he didn't waste precious space by storing them. The rest of his items were mostly ingredients essential to refining formulas, and the exorcism spray was a particular treasure he'd acquired a year ago. Lethal against spirits and demons, it was a witchcraft tool he didn't like to go anywhere without. As for the urn…well, that was all that remained of Old Wang. Ivan had seen to the cremation himself.
Now, Ivan sat comfortably in a luxurious car, headed toward the quieter, shadier side of the Zoet District. He watched out the window as they neared their destination. At the edge of the district, he spotted a familiar face; a wiry Seres man sitting on an overturned crate, selling an eclectic mix of local newspapers, worn books, and the odd stack of racy magazines.
"Driver, pull over," Ivan instructed, rolling down his window as the car eased to a stop.
"Jackie!" Ivan called out with a grin. "Still selling fake books, I see?"
Jackie looked up, squinting in surprise. "Brother Ivan? Haven't seen you around lately… Don't tell me you've been off robbing banks?"
Ivan scoffed. "Keep dreaming. I was just collecting some overdue debts."
Jackie chuckled knowingly. A fixture of Zoet Street, he was a hustler and an old hand at making a quick buck, often through less-than-legitimate means. Originally lured to America by false promises, he now made his way selling fake books and newspapers. But Ivan knew Jackie's enterprises didn't end there. Word was, Jackie dabbled in wizardry and had connections with some powerful gangsters.
Lowering his voice, Ivan leaned out of the window. "Seen any of the gangs lurking around here?"
Jackie paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully, but didn't say a word.
Ivan rolled his eyes and pulled out a shiny 1 Philippine dollar coin, flicking it toward him. "Spill it, Jackie. And don't give me that innocent look; i'm fresh out of good cigarettes, so if you want a smoke, you'll have to get it yourself."
Jackie caught the coin, grinning. "Alright, alright. Owens and Henshaw dropped by this morning to meet Freddy. No idea what they discussed, but now there are three more strangers on the street, none of 'em familiar to me. One's been keeping an eye on the place you used to rent, and the other two are watching Freddy's restaurant."
"Front or back?" Ivan asked, his expression turning serious.
"They're all out front," Jackie replied with a nod. "Back door's clear. Should be safe if you're planning to slip in that way."
"Good to know." Ivan nodded, rolling up his window. "I'll catch up with you later."
But before the window could close, Jackie quickly leaned in and shoved a magazine into Ivan's hands with a sly grin. "Here, consider it a little bonus for your generosity. Enjoy the read, Brother Ivan!"
Ivan took it absentmindedly, watching as the car pulled away. Only after they'd driven off did he glance down at the cover and realize what Jackie had handed him.
It was a glossy copy of 'Playboy, featuring none other than a series of artistic photos of the rising star, Audrey Hepburn.