"Come down here, you little rats."
One of the lawkeepers banged against the door. He had a Sig drawn; the thing was strange and ridged, the weapon pulsing with a violet light.
The cracks in it flickered like veins of lightning, and it buzzed with the sound of something electrically charged.
Remy hesitated. His eyes darted around the cart for an escape—but there was none. The windows of the Zigord, usually left open, were caged shut tonight.
"Damn it, there is no way out."
With stiff limbs and a growing dread, he slowly stepped off the cart.
An old saying, something he'd once overheard from the town's madman, looped in his mind:
"What difference is there between humans and beasts, ha?
Nothing!!!
Just like how birds die for worms and scraps, so do men; they die for silver and dog in the fight for survival, we are all animals."
Neither of Sethfar's twin moons offered light tonight. The air was bitterly cold. Every breath Remy took fogged up in front of him, freezing on his lips.
Five enforcers waited in the dark, clad in heavy black coats. The twin sword emblem on their berets shimmered as the flashlights danced across them. Scarlet belts around their waists carried a pistol and a Stamp, the tool they used to control their debtors.
As soon as Remy stepped onto the frost-covered road, one of them moved behind him and kicked the back of his knees.
"Kneel."
The man barked, his face twisted with a narcissistic greed and yearning for control.
Remy dropped to the ground, his hands behind his head.
"Pat him down," ordered a tall man with an eye patch and a long scar slashing from brow to jaw.
The scarred eye was white; apparently, the slash had also damaged the pupil.
They searched him roughly, hands digging into every seam. But as their search turned up nothing, their brows furrowed. Confused and impatient.
"Where is it?" one of them spat, voice edged with fury, his hand trembling.
"Where is what?" Remy snapped, tilting his face to meet the enforcer's gaze.
Bang!!
Remy's head hit the frozen ground with a dull thud. A muddy stain remained where he had just been kicked.
"Think you're clever, do you?" The scar-eyed commander spat on Remy's face.
Remy didn't respond; he stared at the man, his eyes burning with anger.
"F*cken bastard!" Remy thought, anger burning through his veins.
"They said he'd have it," the enforcers murmured amongst themselves.
The commander turned and walked toward the cart again, his one eye gleaming with a sick mix of greed and rage. A twisted smile crept onto his mug as they met a boy on the back of the cart; he was shivering.
"I'll give you all one chance," he said, slow and deliberate. "The Saint's manor has been robbed, you know. The intruder wore a straw mask, as many of you do, so we couldn't get a clear description."
He paused, then fake-coughed into his sleeve, hinting that they should betray Remy.
"If you help identify the thief," he paused, scanning their faces.
"Or thieves, you'll be rewarded. Now, I want you to think carefully.
Most of you are good people, with good families."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Wouldn't it be a shame if you never saw them again?"
A heavy silence fell.
The commander's patience wore thin.
"You there. Come."
He pointed to the boy near the back of the cart—one trying to hide his earnings behind a support beam. A single jingle had betrayed him.
"Got you," the commander smiled. "Here you are, you filthy little rat," he snarled.
He yanked the boy forward with unnatural force. The boy levitated in the air momentarily, but soon thereafter, he found himself slammed to the ground.
Splat!!!
Blood splattered as the boy coughed, staining the captain's boots.
"You foul beast!" the Commander murmured, kicking the boy with the very same boot.
"Who were your accomplices?"
Silence.
"Who helped you?"
Still nothing.
"Ohh, I see how it is… "You want to play hero; you will never betray your friends, will you?" The commander spoke, circling the boy.
"How noble... puhhh," he spat.
The commander paused for a moment, then grabbed the boy by his neck, pulling him up, and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he had said was horrible; the boy's eyes widened with terror. His lips trembled.
Shakily, he raised a hand—and pointed.
"Him… him… and… him…"
He named five.
Louis. Remy. And another three.
The enforcers moved like wolves. They swarmed the named men, dragging them down before they could speak or resist.
"Now, that wasn't so hard," the commander smirked. He placed the boy down gently this time.
He lined the five accused men. All of them were young; none was over thirty. The elderly were left sitting in silence.
"Tune them."
The enforcers moved forward, grabbing each man's arm and turning the inner forearm up.
There it was, each one of them bore the mark of their lord: a Thorned rose tattooed into their skin, usually it was invisible, but when the enforcers touched them with their stamp, they would show.
"The enforcers each pulled out a seal stamp— the devices were shaped like branding clamps, and they pulsed strangely, pressing them to the rose mark and sliding them through the pattern every so lightly.
The tattoo transformed the thorned rose withered, and from itself, thorns stretched through their hands.
"Ahhhh!" they all groaned in pain.
As the enforcers murmured in unison:
"Celeste, cage this soul that is driven by evil and greed, listen and obey,
You are hereby sought and bound to obey the commands placed upon you."
The moment the words were uttered, the thorns stopped crawling.
"What the hell is going on!" Panic gnawed at Remy,
As his body began to move on its own.
He tried to resist—screamed at his muscles, begging his limbs to stop—but it was no use. His arms were folded behind his back. His legs began to march forward. He had become a stranger in his own skin.
He couldn't even look away as they dragged him into the dark.