Chapter Text
The Backstreets of District 13 were deathly empty. The clock struck 3 a.m. The blue-haired boy hurried down the vacant streets. It was narrow and confusing, just like any other Backstreets.
He had no trouble threading through the endless maze of alleys, as he had had plenty of time to call it his home. In fact, this feeling of rush as he navigated through countless forks and branches was quite nostalgic.
He held his breath as he waded through the wave of stench from the day’s worth of trash left outside, as well as the occasional corpse…. Or at least, he hoped those were corpses, not unconscious people. If his timing were correct, Sweepers would arrive in exactly 13 minutes, and they’re not one to discriminate.
Eager to avoid a needless scuffle with them, he rushed towards a building. Written on top of the door he opened: ‘New Dawn Office.’
He supposed most of its residents were asleep at this time of night. Good. He could sneak to his bedroom, and everyone would be none the wi…
“Arisato Minato,” an elderly voice called out.
Minato turned around to see a greying middle-aged man knitting fabric in the corner of the living room, accompanied by an impressive array of blades of various sizes that lay sheathed on the table.
“What did I say about going out alone this late?” The grizzled Fixer said as his fingers halted their practiced motions to brush his thick white mustache.
Caught red-handed, Minato relented.
“Those requests won’t fulfill themselves, Salvador-sensei,” the boy blandly stated.
“Bwahahahaha!” the man jovially guffawed. “I like that answer, boy!“
Minato winced. That laugh better not wake the other residents upstairs.
“Now, Arisato-gun! Let’s see if your brewing skills are as sharp as your wits, eh? A cup of ssanghwa-cha for keeping this old fellow up this late.”
The boy winced harder. He deserved that to be fair. That and Salvador loved his herbal tea.
“Is everyone else asleep upstairs?” Minato asked as he prepared his mentor’s favorite.
“Yuna left this evening. Urban Plague-class Elimination Request. Our old specialty. One of these days, she’s going to outrank poor old me.”
That would be unsurprising. Being a recently-promoted Grade 3 Fixer, Yuna-senpai was the powerhouse of this Office.
“Lulu and Mars?”
“Finished their patrol routes hours ago; worrywarts, both of them. I had to promise them I’ll wait for you. They should be sound asleep upstairs. Hopefully.”
Ah. He should apologize to them first thing in the morning.
“No criminal incidents today?”
“Nada! That lady did say they achieved a zero percent crime rate in their own Office all those years ago.”
“But Mars said that back then, they only covered a single city block. Two, at most,” Minato deadpanned. “That, and they never did land on a single request.”
“True, true.” The veteran chuckled. “But I suppose we should give them some credit. They’re still relatively new to this business, unlike Yuna and this old man.”
Minato nodded in understanding as he prepared the herbal tea set and the kettle of steaming ssanghwa-cha.
“Aah. Now that’s a good smell. You’re improving, Minato! I knew you had a knack for tea brewing. Just like that man…”
Salvador halted. His gaze drifted to nowhere. Minato knew this expression well.
Loss.
Phillip.
He never knew the late former apprentice. Prodding both Yuna and Salvador about it felt tactless without the right timing, while the duo of former Streetlight Fixers knew little about him. No doubt Salvador had had to face loss countless times, and yet the mention of the man never failed to darken the room.
He quickly changed the topic.
“So I completed a couple of ungraded requests today,” he told the old man as he cracked an egg and placed it on the egg sifter; the highlight of the herbal tea.
“Pray tell, Arisato-gun. What are they?” Salvador’s face lightened, glad for the distraction.
“Found someone’s dog. Escorted a grandma grocery shopping. Nothing special. Ordinary.”
“So ordinary that you returned this late?”
“The dog was particularly elusive.”
Distraction successful. Now, to maintain innocence.
“Didn’t you tell Yuna you managed to fulfill that request early?”
Busted.
“You snuck behind us and completed an Urban Myth-class request again, didn’t you?”
Super busted.
“No. Last time you did that, you still managed to turn in early for the night. That makes… two Urban Myth requests. Or… the Head forbid, an Urban Legend?”
Mega busted.
“So, how did this old fellow do? Hmmm…?”
Minato sighed in defeat as he garnished the sifted yolk and herbs onto his mentor’s teacup.
“Only one Urban Myth request, really. A group of some crime syndicate has been disturbing the local business owners. I simply ran into an Enkephalin smuggling operation while investigating that request. Tipped off the Zwei Association on behalf of our Office.”
Didn’t even have to pull out the big guns for this one. It fell right into that Fixer Association's jurisdiction and expertise. And besides, there was the deal he had made a while back…
“You know, if you keep on doing graded requests without a license, people are going to notice something's up. Keep this going for a while, and the good fellows at Hana and Zwei Association will start asking questions.“
Salvador was right. Officially, he was Fixer-in-training as he had yet to reach the minimum age to be a proper Fixer. Meaning, he was authorized to take on simple ungraded requests and nothing more.
Such as helping an old lady cross the road. Retrieve a cat from up the tree – Mundane errands and their likes.
That was fine by him. He had yearned for this simple, quiet life, except when trouble did crop up. He couldn’t stay put and stayed apathetic. Not anymore. He had to take the initiative.
But if anyone from the Fixer Associations were to notice his unnatural abilities, he would have to kiss goodbye his hopes for a calm life.
The smell of herbs burst across the room once more as Minato poured the kettle’s contents into the cup. The tea was ready.
“But, still… Two birds in one stone. I’m impressed, boy. Once you come of age and we actually get your official Fixer license in a few years, I trust you would rise through those grades like a bird,” the old man chuckled genially as he sipped from the teacup. “Splendid tea.”
“Thank you, Salvador-sensei.”
“But please. Until then, please do refrain from biting off more than you can chew…? We might not be willing to bail you out if you do. Hohohoho.”
That was a playful lie. Why else would he agree to wait the night with his arsenal beside him? If the clock had struck 3.13 and the boy remained nowhere home, he knew the old man would slaughter the endless hordes of Sweepers outside just to search him.
Just like before…
“You should turn in for the night. Leave the tea and cups to me; this old man will remain on watch for now.”
“Understood, Salvador-sensei.”
“Attaboy, Arisato-gun.”
Minato tiptoed up the stairs and to his room. It was not unlike his bedroom in a memory long past: meagerly sized, with a window, a desk, a dresser, and a bed.
This late at night, he opted to skip the waking part of his nighttime routine. Yet as he was closing the door, the phone in his pocket rang.
He supposed there’s only one person who would call him this late. The phone pressed cold against his ear.
“So good to hear from you, boy,” the aged feminine voice on his phone greeted him, her tone dripping in liquid saccharine.
Right. The deal he had made with that snake.
“You received the Enkephalin the Zwei seized?” Hearing the mechanical moans and drawls from outside, he peeked out the windows. An ocean of red eyes flooded the streets below. It belonged to them in this hour of the night. He hoped the peacekeeping Fixer Association had been quick to act on his intel.
“Why yes, yaeya! It should be enough for a few months. Unless you wanted a taste?” He could hear the caller on the other end shaking an Enkephalin canister precariously. Only she would dare to handle such a volatile drug/energy source with such reckless mischief.
“No,” was his curt reply, quickly closing the curtains. “What else do you want, Iori-san?”
“Didn’t you know?” Iori chuckled deviously. “It’s been a month since I dragged you down from that door. A month since we made that deal. Hasn’t it? Mama just wanted to check on you.”
“I am fine. Do not waste your time on me again,” he commented as he unbuckled the lent sword on his waist and rested it beside his desk.
“Oh, don’t act like that, sonjanim. You know, I was expecting a little bit more when I freed you from those chains. I thought you would have lived a little! Show the City for what you really are! Save the world once more!”
“Did you, now?” Minato voiced his doubts as he took off the gun holster concealed underneath his gray uniform jacket. The pistol it held wasn’t exactly a firearm. Those and bullets were expensive due to the imposed firearm taxes imposed by the Head themselves.
No, instead, it was a memory from his past life he valued most. Less of a weapon, more of a key.
An Evoker.
“Not really.” She admitted. ”But I had my hopes. Though… Are you really going to keep rotting in that Office?”
He stared at the Evoker. Three months it remained undrawn. And yet, it called for him still. To hold its grip and feel its cold barrel upon the temple of his head once more…
“We had a deal. Don’t involve me in any more of your schemes, Iori-san.”
“All pieces have their place, jagiya. Being a nobody doing ungraded requests is not yours.”
That was a futile prod. He was not one to be so easily baited. After all, she herself was holding the evidence that he had not been idling during his time in the City. Though he should probably let her know.
“Salvador-sensei just registered me for an official apprenticeship under his Office. He has agreed to take me on some upcoming requests.”
“That’s great! I should let Hana Association know we have a big shot coming to town. Maybe ‘convince’ them to give you a Color straight away?”
“Iori….”
“You really do need to live a little, yaeya. Think about that, alright? Until next time~”
And the call abruptly ended.
He did not like Iori’s tone one bit.
Had it really been a month in the City? Minato peeked from the seams of the curtains at the dark horizon from the view of his window.
One month. Thirty days and counting since he had struck that deal with the devil. During that period, he had opted to lie low and learn more about this accursed place they called the City.
The City in a glimpse seemed similar to that of any metropolis back in his world. But it didn’t take long for discrepancies to set in. Maybe from the fact that this country-sized city housed all 8 billion humans of the world. Or that there were 26 megacorporations dubbed as Wings that each ruled a District. And that each Wing possessed otherworldly futuristic technology. And yet despite all their advancements, life in the City remained miserable for most.
There was something wrong with the City. He felt that way when he had stepped on the cracked tarmac for the very first time. Suffering and death permeated every part of the City, and yet its dwellers’ eyes remained suffused with apathy. He would study a crowd of people, and he would find none whose eyes spark with deviance and hope for a better future.
No.
Everyone, instead, was preoccupied with their own misery as they themselves doled it out to others.
Salvador was an exception, however. He had found the boy in the street that day and, for reasons untold, decided to take him into his fold. It was perhaps a stroke of the devil’s luck that he chanced upon the jolly veteran Fixer, willing to guide him on the intricacies that are the City's way of life.
But still, he remained an exception.
If only there were a Tartarus to climb. If only there were a being to rebel against. If only all the wrongs in the world could be fixed by pinning fault onto a singular thing.
Alas, this was the natural order of this world, which is why he had elected to bide his time, observing the world, hoping to stretch the calm as long as he could.
And yet something beneath him stirred.
The holster and the Evoker lay still upon the desk. The Sea of Souls in his psyche grew restless, roiling in anticipation. Though its inhabitants had been beside him ever since he set foot on the City, he never did once manifest his power fully. This would soon change. A calamity loomed ahead.
But for now, the land of dreams called for him.
Three smugglers found themselves huddled in the corner of their own apartment, vainly attempting to skitter away from the Syndicate mob before them. The men, save for their leader, were clad in peculiar outfits and wielded strange armaments humming with otherworldly power that easily knocked their makeshift weapons away.
“Please! Please! PLEASE!! Give us one more chance!” the lead smuggler pleaded. His tattered winter jacket was caked in red.
"Haaa~ I knew it was a mistake to rely on you lot," the boss, dressed in a strangely plain white turtleneck, stated in exasperation. "Once a Rat. Always a Rat. I should’ve known."
He gestured to the man behind him. Wrapped in a torn straitjacket, he lumbered forward with a palpable aura of violence. A hammer was swung. Screams rang in the air as bones crunched.
"A lot of Ahns went into that Enkephalin shipment… A lot of Ahns that you lost us."
“It was that damn new Fixer Office!" the other smuggler in the bloodied hoodie reasoned. "They’ve been clamping down on that territory hard. We didn’t expect that one of them would be…”
The hammer was swung again. His wails joined his partner's chorus of pain.
"So what would it be, lads?" the man in white asked nonchalantly, as he cleaned his still-pristine nails.
"Just give us time," the female smuggler desperately begged. "We'll do a gut-harvesting run. We'll get you the Ahns back!"
"Hmmm," the man in white considered. "But, we do need the Ahns quick. So how about… we gut-harvest two of your friends here and now?"
The smugglers' faces paled in horror.
"Better yet, we've been looking for more test subjects for a liiiiiiiiiittle project of ours. I would be willing to waive all of your debts incurred."
They frantically scanned the room. No luck. Their oppressors stood by all openings: windows, doors, and holes. There was no escape.
"So it is decided!" The crime syndicate boss clasped his hand in finality. "Grab that hooded guy and the woman."
The two smugglers tried to resist the men, but they were easily overpowered. The two thrashed aimlessly as they were dragged and disappeared into the mob.
"Consider your debt paid, Pete." The crime boss turned around, prompting the violent mob to recede. “The Djinns have no more need for your services.”
People funneled out of the room, leaving only the man and two bloody drag marks.
His breathing slowed as dread seeped out, replaced with horror and regret.
"Lenny… Mang-chi.." He sobbed.
His lifelong friends. Gone, just like that.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. If we just kept being Rats, if we hadn't joined them, if you hadn't joined me…” he grieved.
“All we’ve suffered. The sacrifices we've made. Dying in that Library! And for what? For it all to end like this?"
He froze. The air around him stood still.
"No. It was my fault. It was I who had that dream. It was a foolish dream. I shouldn't have followed through. They shouldn't have followed me."
He looked up at the blank ceiling.
"You’re right. It wasn’t my fault. To dream is to plant the seed. But have I not grown into one misshapen tree?"
His pupils dilated in madness. His hands jittered erratically.
"You are right. My roots have drained the soil, barren and dry. Yet I must grow tall. I shall seek more nourishment. I shall weep. I shall reach the skies and become a Star of the City."
His legs began to melt. Arborous veins took hold and spread across the floor.
"Your voice… warm. Like the morning sun."
“MINATO! MINATO!! ARE YOU THERE?!” a girl’s voice yelled by the door.
The boy awoke with a groan. The severely shortened sleep barely sated his exhaustion. And now his head ached over his lack of sleep. He probably could sneak in just a few more minutes…
“Maybe I should use my greatsword?” A young man added.
Huh, a greatsword? Wait. Nononono!
Minato scrambled and dashed for the door… and froze as a massive blade jutted out, stopping merely inches away from his face. The blade, which was more akin to a slab of sharp steel than a blade, slowly receded, revealing an eye peering through the newly-made slit.
“Yep. Seems alive to me,” the white-haired young man blandly remarked.
“Mars! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! Now we’re gonna have to pay for that door.”
“Says the pea-hair charging her fire bat.”
“Hey!! I-I-I was only going to knock on the door!”
“Really? Is that girlspeak for smashing the door off its hinges?!”
“N-n-no! You know that it’s not. Like I said, I was going to politely knock on that door a little louder with my — Oh, morning, Minato!”
Minato blankly stared at his supposed seniors and the punctured door lying wide open, with a palm upon his aching forehead.
Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable, these two Grade 7 Fixers in front of him. How they managed to stick together as a partner in this line of work baffled him. Oh, and did he mention they were lovers?
Madness. Complete madness.
“So… Minato.” Mars slung his Buster Sword to his back and dusted off his dull gray uniform jacket. “Will you be joining this day’s patrol routine?”
He nodded in agreement. Sure, why not?
With the morning shower and meager breakfast nursing his headache well enough, he quickly donned his dull gray jacket. Not so different from his old Gekoukan High’s winter uniform. It hid his Evoker fairly well.
He unsheathed the sword buckled to his waist. Well-balanced, the mock slashes he did could attest to that. And with a mere thought…
The sword flared red hot. A sunset blade. Stigma Workshop craftsmanship.
Etched upon its hilt: Phillip, Dawn Office.
Him again. The boy resolved to ask Salvador about him soon.
“Let’s go, Minato.” Mars beckoned, breaking the boy out of his musings. He noticed that Lulu, meanwhile, had covered a sleeping Salvador with a quilt. At least someone would be attending the office while they’re away on patrol.
The air outside still stank of smoke and decay, though a lot less than the previous night, with the streets cleanly swept. The Backstreets were still essentially slums after all, a series of alleys and densely-packed buildings that made up a majority of the City’s territory.
Thankfully, they resided in a relatively tame segment of the District’s Backstreets, with well-kept establishments lining the meagre streets not too different from a small urban town. Nevertheless, unrest often still arose.
A restless group gathered ahead of them; ragged men wielding shivs, planks, and all manner of makeshift weapons.
The Rats. The homeless and poor. Desperate enough to take any jobs and gigs. By their lonesome, they were pathetic. But a swarm could easily overwhelm an Office.
“Oi!” Their apparent leader called them. “You the ones from this street’s Fixer Office?”
“Yeah!” Lulu answered cheerfully. Tactlessly so.
“Nice streets you got here. Many Syndicates are slobbering for territories like these, you know? Don’t you think the Backstreets belong to the Syndicates anyway? Are the Nests too posh for you?”
“What business do you have with us?” Mars asked them. His hands readily gripped the handle of his blade.
“Well…” the man raised his improvised club. “The Djinns send their regards.”
And the crowd went wild.
Mars unsheathed his greatsword. His right arm handled the man-sized blade with ease.
Lulu struck the ground with her striped bat. Like a matchstick upon a magnesium strip, it blazed alight.
Minato went to unsheathe his sword, but Mars stopped him.
“Leave this to us. Salvador would have our asses if you get into trouble.”
The boy would’ve liked to protest, but as he saw Lulu whack a Rat out of their consciousness with only a single fiery swing, he decided to stay silent. He supposed he could spare Salvador his worries just this once after last night. He nodded in agreement.
Mars smiled approvingly in return.
Two Rats, braver than their ilk, charged at Mars and blindly let loose barrages of attacks. They were easily dodged with his fleet footsteps. The men lost their footing, and Mars took the offensive, slamming each man with the flat of his blade. That’s two down.
“Taste my flaming bat!” Lulu yelled her signature cry as she knocked a Rat on the jaw with the tip of her bat. She then spun into a swing, crashing onto another hoodlum’s head. Another two down, that makes five.
He noticed Mars cringing. Whether it was from the flambéed teeth that now littered the tarmac or from Lulu’s corny tagline, he did not know.
The remaining Rats slowly backed away, seeing a huge chunk of their group lying on the ground, some bleeding, some charred. They began to argue among each other as the two Fixers deliberately pushed the offensive.
“Fuck this gig, man. We gotta bail!”
“And get whacked by the Djinns in return? No way, dude! There’s still more of us and less of them!”
“You see Remmy lying there? You wanna get burned in the face like that?!”
“Can’t be worse than what THEY have in store. Besides, if we succeed, they’ll let us into their fold!”
“You fucking idiot. They’re gonna—“
Their arguing was cut short by a shrill scream from the building to their left.
“Huh?”
A tree sprouted out of the structure. Branches, vines, and roots slithered across the concrete surfaces. For a moment, the chaos stopped as people gawked in awe.
Here stood strong the Weeping Tree.
Awe quickly turned to fear as brambles and vines whipped towards the crowd, lassoing the Rats by their necks.
Its branches hung the condemned dead.
The nooses tightened and pulled. Dozens clawed at the fibrous ropes as they felt their throats rupture.
Though these husks yearn to break free.
Mars and Lulu weaved and sliced through the reaching vines.
It mourns still for the corpses it has fed.
“A Distortion?” Lulu gasped. “Here?!”
Distortions, they called them. What was once human twisted into entities of irrational horror. No one really knew how and where they came from.
But the boy knew. He could sense them. He had faced similar beings before.
Shadows. Creatures who lost themselves to their emotions and desires; now shown to the world for all to see. A Shadow of their true selves.
Mars blocked an onslaught of vines.
“Lulu! Minato! Run! I’ll hold them off!”
“I’m not gonna leave you to die again, shithead. Minato, go find Salvador!”
The green vines were endless, getting thicker and more voracious as the Tree fed upon the hung Rats. It wouldn’t be long before the two Fixers were overwhelmed, joining the carousel of cadavers by the tree.
Unacceptable.
The boy stepped forward and drew his Evoker. Though he no longer needed it, he felt it would be fitting to draw upon it once more after such a long time.
“Minato? What are you doing?! You need to run!”
“Is that a… gun?”
Horror flashed upon their eyes as Minato placed the barrel of the gun upon his head. Their mouths opened, as if to scream.
Yet, none came out of them.
Instead, the whole world stilled, holding its breath in anticipation. The Sea of Souls in him growled, ready to be drawn upon once more, awaiting his word:
“Per… so… na.”
He pulled the trigger.