Detective "The Shadow" stood in front of an abandoned apartment building. He wrapped his long coat tightly around his body as a cold breeze swept through the empty alley. He cast a sharp look at the facade, inspecting the shattered glass and cracked walls. Then he moved through the corridors, his eyes scanning every detail.
He continued forward until he stopped in front of an apartment with its door open and the lock violently broken. He reached toward the door and gently pushed it. The moment it opened, the smell of blood scattered throughout the room hit him.
The room looked like a chaotic painting drawn by a raging madman, but "The Shadow" didn't flinch. No sign of shock or disgust appeared on his face. He stepped to the center of the room, then slowly closed his eyes and murmured:
"Authority of Miracles."
He opened his eyes again and walked toward the broken window. Shattered glass was scattered beneath it, surrounded by relatively fresh blood. He knelt down and picked up a small shard between his fingers. At that moment, the shadows in the room began to move. They crept toward him from the corners of the walls, slid across the floor, and wrapped around his body.
A hazy scene appeared before him, showing a terrified young man at the center of the vision. He stepped back, then with a desperate motion, rushed toward the window, smashed it, and jumped without hesitation. His face was blurred, as if some force was hiding his features. "The Shadow" didn't move. He watched everything calmly until the vision faded.
After that, he reached out and touched a dried bloodstain on the floor, but this time, nothing happened.
In a voice filled with deep doubt, he said:
"Fire Authority?"
He stood and scanned the room with his eyes until they landed on an old wooden box near the bed.
He approached it, his brows furrowed in concentration. He raised his hand and touched the box, and once again, the shadows surged, thicker this time.
They surrounded the box and vanished after a few seconds.
"Madness Authority?"
He spoke as he slowly adjusted his hat. He moved his hand again, prompting the shadows to absorb the blood spread across the room. After the shadows consumed all the blood, he walked toward the door and gave one last look at the apartment.
Then he turned calmly and left the building with steady steps, heading toward the old black carriage waiting near the curb. He climbed in, sat in the back seat, and closed the door behind him.
The carriage shook as it started moving. Inside, "The Shadow" sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the window, watching the dark streets. Then he muttered, his gaze still locked on the road:
"Madness and Miracles."
***
(Jevan's Perspective)
I sat at one of the tables in the corner of the tavern, silently observing while Iris spoke with the bald giant at the bar. I couldn't hear their conversation over the noise, but the man's expression (a mix of boredom and indifference) told me all I needed to know.
Iris returned carrying a small plate and placed it in front of me without care. I looked at it, certain my soul had left my body for a moment. What she put in front of me was a dry piece of bread and a pale soup that resembled water more than actual soup.
"Is this food?"
"No, it's an ancient relic from the Great Famine."
Iris replied as she pulled out a chair and sat across from me, resting her elbows on the table. Then she added:
"But if you'd rather starve, no problem. I can eat it."
"Perfect," I muttered sarcastically before picking up the bread and taking a bite. As for the taste? It was like a mix of chalk, burnt paper, and a touch of disappointment.
I forced myself to swallow, then took a sip of the soup. Surprisingly, it wasn't terrible. But it wasn't good either. It simply had no flavor. It was just warm water with a vague essence of someone who once knew how to make soup but had forgotten all the ingredients.
"Tasty, isn't it?"
"Exquisite. I feel like I'm having a royal feast."
"Really?"
"In that case, I suppose I'll take your share."
"Don't push your luck, Iris."
"You were the one who started complaining."
I took another bite of the dry bread, then said:
"Should I thank you for this gourmet meal too?"
"No, I don't want anything from you," she replied while rising from her chair, then added:
"But if you keep complaining, I can always take the plate back."
I sighed deeply and returned to my food.
...
I left the tavern with Iris. The cold air hit my face while the narrow alleys drowned in darkness. Smoke from distant factories filled the sky, and fog settled over the streets.
Iris walked with her hands in the pockets of her long coat while I followed her, ignoring the growing feeling that she wasn't thrilled about my presence.
She suddenly stopped, turned toward me, and crossed her arms:
"Why are you still following me?"
"Aren't you my savior? You can't just leave me wandering the streets aimlessly," I said, deliberately giving my voice a tragic tone.
"I'm your savior, yes, but I'm not your mother, and I'm not responsible for you."
"Come on, at least help me find a job."
"What did you do in your life before you passed out in that abandoned building?"
"Actually... I don't remember."
That was only partially true. But I wasn't ready to tell her the truth not yet. I still needed her help. Jevan's memories were practically worthless.
She looked at me suspiciously, sighed, and shook her head. Then she resumed walking:
"Great. The last thing I need is an amnesiac vagrant."
She tried to sound indifferent, but I caught a faint note of concern in her voice that she tried to hide.
"I'm not a vagrant."
Iris didn't turn around and kept walking.
"Really? Do you have a house?"
"No."
"Then you're a vagrant."
"Alright, fine. You're right. And since you're right, you can't just abandon me like this."
Iris didn't stop walking, but she sighed with irritation.
"So, you want a job, huh?"
"Yes, preferably something easy, with a high salary, and lots of vacation days."
"Do you want a mansion too?"
"Why not?"
She shook her head and muttered:
"You're... impossible."
Iris returned to the tavern. I didn't ask her why, because I had a strong feeling that any more words from me might make her turn and punch me in the face. I followed her inside. The tavern was nearly empty most of the patrons had just left, and those who remained slowly slipped out once they saw us.
Iris walked to the main table, pulled out a chair, and sat directly in front of the bartender a large, muscular man who was cleaning a glass with a rag frayed at the edges.
He didn't seem surprised by her return. He finished wiping the glass, placed it quietly on the table, then looked up at her and asked:
"Iris? Didn't you just leave?"
She answered while resting her arm on the edge of the table:
"Yeah, but I remembered I need a favor."
"A favor? What kind of favor?"
She motioned toward me with a quick nod, not even looking at me, and said:
"I want you to take him in."
Silence filled the room. The bartender looked at me with narrowed eyes (which terrified me), then simply said:
"Alright."
Iris stood without another word and turned to leave the tavern. I froze for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from the bartender, then hurried after her.
I caught up to her and raised my voice while jogging:
"Wait. Take me in where exactly?"
She didn't stop walking. She moved with her hands in her coat pockets and answered in a cold, disinterested tone:
"Didn't you say you wanted a high paying job?"
"Yes, but what does that have to do with this?"
She stopped, turned to me, and with a sly smile, said softly:
"You're now part of the Bloody Fang gang. Congratulations."
I froze in place.
"Wait... wait... what?!"
...
"So you want me to believe you convinced a gang to accept me?"
"Yes."
She said it simply while playing with a strand of her hair.
"Just like that? Isn't there supposed to be some kind of test?"
"Normally? Yes, it's much more complicated than this."
"Then how did you get them to agree so quickly?"
"Usually, if someone wants to join, they have to go through a series of complex trials, often with no guarantee of acceptance. But there's a shortcut."
"A shortcut?"
"Basically, if you have connections with high ranking members, you can skip the whole process."
"Wait, you have connections with high ranking members?"
"I'm one of them."
"You're joking, right?"
"Why would I joke?"
I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it again, before exploding:
"You're a high ranking member of the Bloody Fang gang? You found me unconscious in an abandoned building, decided to save me, and now you're bringing me into the gang? Just like that?"
She answered while examining her nails, as if the whole thing wasn't worth the drama:
"Yes."
"Why?" I asked, pressing my fingers to my temple.
"I told you. Out of pity."
"Honestly? That makes no sense. Why are you helping me? Gangsters (or their women) don't exactly do pity."
"You're incredibly narrow minded. And I don't blame you. Most people like you are. And by the way, are you under the illusion that I'm trying to use you? You're a vagrant. You don't even have money for a piece of bread. What exactly would I use you for?"
I stood there, speechless.