Theft was a surprisingly competitive business.
Nicholas was too young for this. Twelve years of age was not the ideal time for a developing boy to begin to risk his life on a daily basis in order to provide for his family. Unfortunately, in Nicholas' eyes, he didn't have much of a choice. Arceus had blessed him with the ability to sneak, the ability to plot and the ability to never get caught, which made him perfect for the thieving profession. Evidently, they didn't always decide to reveal themselves.
"What d'ya reckon we do with him, boss?" The first man asked, walking towards the tied up child. Now fourteen years of age, Nicholas had been involved in his fair share of thefts, ranging from Pokeballs to ancient, rare artefacts, or to even something as mundane as a loaf of bread. He was rarely caught; never in the case of the more valuable items. Until now, at least.
A second man began to speak, his hood covering the back of his head, and allowing most of his face to remain hidden as he looked down. "Well first, we'll ask 'im some questions. Like, I don't know, what are you doing in my museum?"
"Don't get me wrong," the boy chirped up, looking up at the man with slight fear, "but I don't think this museum is yours. I'm fairly sure its the government's."
The four men chuckled at the boys remark. "Well, maybe you would think that." The hooded man began, clearly entertained, "but we make our visits here more often than those government fellas do. They know we're at it, but they're too damn scared to charge us for it!" The other men roared in laughter at this. Nicholas didn't think it amusing.
"But, this is rare stuff in here?" he counteracted with some hope.
"Maybe so, but it's deemed as 'not useful'. That current Adjudicator is a bit..." the hooded man paused.
A third man spoke quietly, "Unconventional."
"Yeah, that's the word, unconventional." The hooded man finished, still not risking a look up at the boy.
"So surely, if you've got all this stuff for free, you don't mind losing one measly jewel?" Nicholas asked with a sweet smile.
The first man chuckled. "We'd love to give you that gem, kid. But we just can't afford to let anythin' go. Who knows how valuable that really is?"
"I do." The fourth man contributed, "Two thousand totems. Not amazingly valuable, but still a great artefact from the first fifty years of the city."
The first two men whistled. "Two thousand? Forget to mention that, did you?" The hooded man complained.
"No, no, of course not. But, well, we were focussing on selling the less risky items, weren't we? Our last big sale wasn't so succesful."
Silence filled the room, and remained there for a few seconds, until Nicholas urged up the courage to ask. "What happened in your last big sale, then?"
"Ah, well. That, is a long story." The first man commented.
Nicholas groaned. "Well, since I guess you'll be keeping me here for a while, you might as well tell me it while I'm waiting."
"Fine. Daniel 'ere," The man paused, pointing at the value recogniser, "Is the curator of this museum. Or at least, he was. We, er," stopping, he smiled at the curator, who looked away annoyedly, "Convinced him to join our cause. He gets a twenty percent cut like the rest of us. Fairs fair. Anyway, he revealed to us the location of the most valuable items in the museum. Naturally, we wanted to sell this stuff to get rich quick." he explained, flicking a bit of dust off of one of the exhibits, though it seemed slightly pointless considering the awful state the museum had found its way into. "So we took one of the rarest items, something called a, um,"
Daniel groaned, interrupting, "An automated gate co-ordinator. I call it an AGC."
"Yeah, that. Anyway, we send some feeders out, only right, y'know? Thieves have friends in high places, especially the boss," he murmured, gesturing towards the hooded man, "So this one fella says he wants to buy it. We say how much. He offers us more than Danny 'ere reckons its worth. How could we refuse? We accepted the deal, as ya would, and went to meet up with him. All five of us."
Nicholas scanned the room again. The hooded man, the quiet man, the blabbing speaker and the curator. He only counted four. "Well, you can guess what happened to our fifth bloke. Poor Scotty didn't see it coming. None of us did. It was the Adjudicator 'imself. He killed Scott on site, took the, um,"
"AGC." Daniel re-confirmed.
"Yeah, and told us 'I am takin' anything of value to us. Anything useless is yours. But if I catch you robbin' anywhere other than that museum, you're dead.' and we escaped, and now we own this place." The man finished, smiling.
Nicholas looked slightly perplexed, so the boss added, "Not in those exact terms, of course. But close enough."
"Right." Nicholas replied obligatory. "Really, I only have one more question to ask before you do whatever it is you're planning to do with me. Why won't you," he asked, gesturing with his head to the hooded man, "show me your face? You've got me tied up. How much of a danger could I be, really?"
The hooded man chose not to reply. He simply stated, "I think it's time for our guest to leave us, Rodge." The quiet man nodded, moving forwards slowly. Nicholas had been examining the whole group throughout the duration of his stay, and as the man drew closer, Nicholas acted. Noticing the man had drawn his blade, Nicholas launched his chair backwards, the knife blade cutting through the rope as he went, and also cutting through a bit of the boy's skin. That wasn't important, however. It meant he had enough time to bring his hands around, shielding his injured limb, and pull out a pokeball.
And then, the room was at a stalemate.
Nicholas examined the four quickly. Behind him, the quiet man, apparently known as Rodge, stood, looking a tad startled and wielding a short blade. In front of him, the talkative man had drawn his sword. To the right, the curator had backed down behind one of his exhibits, a large, dusty, headless statue shielding him from what could have turned nasty. Finally, the hooded man stood to his left, laughing to himself. "What's so funny?" Nicholas snapped.
"I thought you were good, but that seals it. Welcome to our team."
Torin watched on with dismay. He cupped his head into his hands, sighing in anguish. How could he have let this happen?
"Stop!" he cried as he ran forth into the fray. The smoke from the explosion clouded his line of site as Torin moved through, drawing his sword hastily. This sort of thing just didn't happen. Attacks on the gate weren't uncommon, and the soldiers of The Gate were trained to dispatch of any who attempted to fight their way through it. Never before in the history of the world had someone attempted to destroy the gate. Torin didn't even think that was possible.
He rushed through the smoke, his eyes alert and his blade ready. Though Torin was not a controller of any creatures himself, he was more than a capable adversary for anything that the enemy could throw at him. He'd served the majority of his life in the military and was one of the, if not, the best in his field. But this wasn't a fair throw.
A hand grasped on his shoulder, and Torin span round, bringing his sword right up against the man's neck. "It's me, sir." the man squeaked nervously as Torin lowered his blade.
"Report, Symes." The captain simply demanded.
Gulping, he replied, "The enemy has destroyed the gate, sir."
"Destroyed? And you're sure of this?"
Symes nodded with certainty. "Yes, sir. The wall is undamaged, but the gate is gone, sir. It's as if it never existed. I'm not yet sure how they did it, but I think it involv-" The man was cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs from his superior. The man brought his finger up to his lips, standing perfectly still. A few seconds passed.
Just as Symes was preparing to speak, a figure ran past through the shadows, and Torin was off in a heartbeat. He collided into the escapee, bringing him down to the ground and forcing his arms backwards. "Tell me, scum, what you did to the gate." As the adrenalin of the moment passed, Torin found himself looking into a pair of light, brown eyes. The man couldn't have been any older than eighteen. That was a problem.
"You think I'd tell you anything?" the man spat, "Long live The Revolution!" he cried, chuckling. The chuckle immediately turned into a cry of pain as Torin brought his sword's tip down into the man's shoulder.
Frowning, Torin spoke swiftly and in hushed tones. "Listen here kid. I know that you think what you're doing is noble, that it's going to save the people of Volna. You're ignorant. I am willing to let you go, but you have to tell me what you did to the gate. You're too young to die, son."
"Never." The man replied, locking eyes with his older oppressor. Without hesitation, Torin brought his blade around and sliced across the man's throat. He turned away, picking himself up and turning to Symes, who was staring at the dying boy, horrified.
Throwing his blade aside carelessly, Torin spat with disgust. "That kid couldn't tell us anything. He was just the one who set the bomb; he knew nothing about The Revolution or its plans. A pity, that would have been a good bargaining chip." he paused, looking down at his old, wooden boots.
"I'm not sure I follow, sir." Symes replied, clearly confused by the brunette's statement.
The man smiled weakly. "Bargaining chips for our lives, Symes. You'll understand soon enough. Call together all the local guards. We don't have much time."
"Much time for wha-"
"That's an order, Symes." The soldier walked away, feeling a little disgruntled and extremely confused. Torin walked over to the corpse of the teenage rebel. He was too young. They were all too young. As the smoke finally cleared, Torin noticed a man walk up beside him.
"His name is Luca Auverlie." The voice stated confidently. "Seventeen, lived a few miles south from here. Nice family, two older brothers." He sniffed, almost as if he were grieving. Suddenly, his voice was dead serious. "Where are they?"
Torin's eyes began to water as he stared down at the boy. "Is this... is it necessary, Rafael?"
"You think I would do it if it weren't?" The man replied immediately.
Torin inhaled deeply. "No, no, I suppose not. I've gathered them up by the gate."
"Fine." And then, the man was gone. Tears dripped slowly down the guard's face, grieving for what would inevitably be occurring. Not only that, it was him. How perfect it was. And then he was back. Quietly, he scraped his blade across the ground, wiping off the sickening red substance that littered its surface. "If it's any consolation, I made it quick."
Turning to the man that he would be willing to call friend, Torin smiled. "So, what now? You kill me?" Rafael feigned shock, fixing his blade in the ground sharply.
"I'm offended, Torin. I would never kill you. You're an unfailing asset to Volna, and you're my friend. Why would we want you dead?"
Torin frowned. "Because I failed. That's your job, Rafael. That is what adjudicators do, right? Pluck the weeds from the rose garden, I remember you saying."
"You are not a weed." he replied without hesitation. Torin locked eyes with the man, attempting to see any signs of weakness, any signs of remorse. But no, Torin knew he would never find any. All of Rafael's guilt, all of his pity, all of his humanity had gone away once he'd accepted that position. His friend no longer existed. The Adjudicator sat down on the ground, looking out towards the wall. "When we were at the academy, did I ever speak of the Shinto?"
Torin sat down beside him, attempting to remember. "As far as I'm aware, never."
"They're a fascinating group of people." Rafael continued, "Very traditional. Very honourable. In fact, I heard a story once," he paused, chuckling, "that upon failing their master, they would willingly throw themselves upon their own blade in order to redeem their families honour. Brilliant, no?"
A single tear dropped from Torin's face, rolling down his cheek and finding its way to the ground. "I- I lost my sword in the fighting."
"Is it this sword, perhaps?" The man replied, bringing a sword around from his back, handing it to the soldier.
Torin smiled faintly. "Yes. I suppose it is. Rafael?"
"Yes?"
"Tell my family that I died in battle." Torin begged.
Rafael smiled. "You died whilst pursuing and killing ten of The Revolution's men. You were shot through the back by a callous sniper."
"Thank you." he replied. Then, he felt it. Without doing anything, Torin found his body standing, his arm outstretched, and his blade held high. As the blade rushed in, he called out, crying "Rafael, wait!"
The man turned, granting his friends last request. "Yes?"
"Tell me one thing. Do you honestly think this is right?"
Rafael inhaled deeply. "It's necessary."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Was that not answer enough?"
Torin considered this, and then he was gone.
"Hurry up, we're almost there!"A voice echoed loudly through the alley as the group moved, all driven with the same goal; to get out of here as quickly as possible. In the sky above, a group of black crows flew around in a circular motion. Black hatted and small, the Murkrow were spies for the enemy, attempting to track down and locate the revolutionaries. Sadly, attacking the birds would have had the instant effect of revealing the group's location to the enemy, so the revolutionaries would have to remain stealthy for now. "Quick now! We don't have all day!" the voice emphasised as the twenty men made their way into what seemed to be a dead-end alley.
The leader of the group repeated his orders with anguish. "I said that you should hurry up, dammit. I'm not losing anyone else here." he commanded as the group hesistated no longer, charging down towards the end of the alley. As the men approached, the floor at the end of the route flew apart, a blue energy forcing the bricks that laid the way to the side of the street. The men quickly leapt down into the hole that was made, and when all his men were securely under, the leader, too, descended into the depths, the bricks being sealed up behind him.
The smell of sewage immediately forced its way into the man's nose, causing him to curse. He'd always argued that there must've been a better way to move through the city than this. "Status report, Rosewell." he barked at the man who had allowed them entrance.
"The destruction of the gate was a complete success." The man known as Rosewell reported.
The boss frowned. "Well, yes, I know that. I meant men, Rosewell. How many of them have made it back through to the sewers?"
"To be honest, around eighteen have been reported, sir." Rosewell replied bitterly.
His frown remained. "With my men, that's only thirty nine that survived. Eleven men..." he pondered as he moved through the sewers, Rosewell trailing behind, whilst the soldiers went ahead. "Better than I would've expected considering what we've achieved. Youngsters?"
"For the most part. But Eli, there's something else." Rosewell again replied.
Nodding, the commander known as Eli continued, "Well, it'll have to wait. I'm supposed to be meeting up with Laren in arou-"
"That's just it, sir." Rosewell interrupted, "Laren abandoned his group before the assault even began."
"What?" Eli roared in anger, "Just wait until I get my hands on that little 'hero', then he'll wish that he'd never been-"
"There's more. He made a run."
Eli paused in his tracks. Laren couldn't have been that stupid, surely? After all these years of planning, all these years of companionship... he wouldn't throw it all away for something that he'd been constantly told wouldn't work. The wall was impenetrable, not claimable, and it was impossible to leave this place. Why didn't he get that? "And?"
"He was shot down." Rosewell commented, clearly disheartened by the whole ordeal.
He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. The hero, the revolutionary, the legend, Laren was the finest fighter that Eli had ever met. The man had been the one who convinced Eli to sign up in the first place, news of his heroic exports spreading around the city like wildfire. And now he was... gone? It was impossible. He stood in silence for a few seconds, watching the moisture drip slowly down the side of the sewers, forming into a light puddle at the bottom of the worn, beaten path. Finally, he spoke. "This is the final straw. We need to bring down the government, and we need to bring it down now."
And so, the civil war came to pass.