Like I said from before, the Shadowfall Game won't start from the previous chapter; it starts on this one. Keep that in mind. Enjoy reading...
The gale winds harshly fought against the skyscrapers and Bullheads in Atlas, the sharpened ice slicing through the visible light and hindering the sight of many. On one of the taller scrapers, a single figure stood alone at the edge of the roof. The winds didn't move him, and the shards didn't blind him like the rest of the populace. His mind was clear, his Aura a beacon in the blinding white.
This man wasn't depressed. He wasn't suicidal. This was his natural order of peace, with the added possibility of unintended death as a bonus. Though, with how much Aura he possesses, a simple fall will probably cause a small bruise on his body.
The brim of his black fedora swayed wildly in the banshee's howl, but the hat remained positioned on his head. His black three-piece suit rustled and flapped around his body, a single tie pin keeping the golden neckpiece from following the suit's purpose. One would think that his hands would be frozen, but the leather gloves he has on prevented this.
As for his face, the one notable thing this man always had on were mirror-type sunglasses. Normally, it would make the situation with the blizzard worse, but considering that his eyes were-as quoted by many a White Fang grunt-more demonic than even a Grimm's eyes, the sunglasses became his trademark item. Also, having enhanced eyesight to circumvent the normal UV shielding of the glasses-plus night vision didn't suck either.
He was currently scouting a possible lead on some underground illegal trades in the heart of Mantle. Close to three miles away was a Faunas-accepting nightclub; as it turns out, it's the most popular-and profitable-club in the city. The lead stated that around a month ago, large amounts of Faunas began entering the building, with few leaving a couple hours later. A week later, more came in, with possible identification of Roman Torchwick in the center of the group. That night, it became confirmed, but Roman was nowhere to be seen. Many precincts began throwing around that the club is secretly flying the White Fang flag, but many investigations were fruitless.
That's where this man comes in.
He reviewed all the notes, and continued spying on the building. A few days ago, a small scan of boxes supposedly holding booze detected metal and Dust. Possible firearms, but nothing concrete. Secretly interrogating the workers gave nothing except wasted time and more pent-up rage.
This business is as clean as it comes, but his job requires him to investigate the lead until a full confirmation that the building isn't involved in the underground network. Which leads to now.
'There's different options as to begin my insurgency into the building: 1, I can jump down off the roof onto the streets. Because of the blizzard, I doubt that I'd be easily noticed by people looking this direction. Plus, my Aura is high enough to cushion the landing with ease. However, I won't be able to tell if I'm going to land on someone until it's probably too late-killing the unfortunate bystander-and I might cause property damage.
'2, I can go down the building the old-fashioned way. I doubt that the service elevator's up here, but that doesn't mean that I can't call it. That, too, can create unwanted attention, and though it might be more incognito doing this way, it will take longer.
'3, I can traverse the roofs of the buildings until I reach the nightclub. It minimizes attention from passerby thanks to the blizzard, and if I fall, I know how to land on my feet. But even with my abilities, it'll be hard to judge some landings when traversing these buildings, and the roofs might be slippery due to ice forming on them.'
He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head down in thought. Seconds later, he perked up, an idea catching his attention. He walked backwards off the ledge, onto the roof and, crouched. He spotted a light in the distance, just a mile away from the nightclub.
Taking the chance, he began sprinting back towards the ledge, and jumped into the air. Using his Aura to propel himself towards the light and the sky, he began to close the distance between him and the light pole. The gale buffeted him from all sides, doing it's best to prevent him from reaching his target. It's efforts were in vain as his right hand grabbed the metal bar and he swung around it a few times.
Once he slowed down, the man let go of the pole, landing on the ground easily. Brushing himself off of any stray flake of ice, he spied around the sidewalks for any bystander that might've noticed him perform that stunt. Finding none, he breathed out easily.
'That's how you approach a target; forgo all other viable options and make your own that works,' the man applauds to himself. He turned to face the glare of neon of the nightclub: Iceblood. "Interesting name for a club," the man mutters, walking towards the establishment.
Spotting two bouncers at the door, the man held out his ID-Barry Schmidt-to the one on his right. After a few seconds, the bouncer nodded and stepped out of the way, allowing Barry in. It didn't take long to ignore the DJ and the crowd dancing in the middle of the light show; he had work to do.
He looked over to his left and found one of the bartenders working at an empty station. After looking at the girl and her scaly tail for a few seconds, he could determine this: She was around 20, not old enough to drink, but able to mix drinks easily without fail; she suffered through some racist drama-the indication were faint bruises going along the tail-throughout her life until working here; small bags under her eyes say that she was tired, probably finding someplace to fit in during the drama; and she was going through the fire of a horrible breakup-bloodshot eyes do not lie.
Did the man feel pity? For the moment, he did, but it wasn't important now. The job comes first.
He moved with grace over to her station, but it was with silence that made it unique. If it was dead silent, one could hear the clicking of steel over a random material. His dress shoes were custom-designed with steel inside the shoe to provide armor, along with a lethal weapon. But the girl was able to hear it clearly, as she looked up to spot the well-dressed man.
"Welcome to the Iceblood club, sir!" the woman said with false cheer. "What drink do you want?"
"Mix me a Jack, Orchard, and Grapes, ma'am?" Barry asked of the tender. Her eyes widened with curiosity.
"S-sure! Coming right up," she replied, grabbing the bottles and can. "So, what are you here for, exactly? Not many well-dressed men such as yourself come in unless they're wanting to drown their sorrows."
"I guess I'm an exception to the rule, then," he retorted, watching the girl pour in two shots of the whiskey, one of the cider, and three of the soda.
"Don't insult the bartender, sir; it's bad luck if you do."
"Superstition! My favorite!" Barry exclaimed sarcastically. He leaned forward, his Aura pulsing slightly. "What about the one that helps you out of being a slave to those assholes?"
She froze mid-shake. The woman stared at him with both hope and fear-mostly fear. Barry struck gold.
"I might have that in storage, sir, give me a few minutes to grab it," she lied. Leaning in to where only the man can hear, she whispered, "If you aren't kidding, go talk to the DJ and say 'Firestarter.' He'll give you a key that'll lead to the back. You might find what you're looking for." She placed the drink in front of him, turned right, and walked past her co-worker, saying something akin to 'going to take a smoke.' The man waited a few more minutes, and picked up his drink, but not before grabbing a 500 Lien bill from his wallet.
"Hey, can you keep this cold for me until I return?" Barry asked, handing him the bill.
The bartender took a few seconds to look it over. After nodding once, he put a coaster on top, and placed it in an icebox behind him.
"When will you need it, sir?" the tender asked.
"Once I say 'Heads or Tails,' put it back on the table. Then, take a long smoke break," Barry ordered. The bartender nodded, and resumed his work.
'Contingency plan is active. Possible resistance expected, but should be nothing that I can't handle,' the man thought. 'But, if I find the woman again, what are my moral objectives for that?' Seconds went by before he laughed softly; it was akin to a mature vampire capturing their hapless prey. 'What am I thinking? My morals remain the same: The needs of the many always come before the needs of the few.'
We get a look at the second OC of the story, but is the guy really named Barry? I'm guessing it's because of the way I typed that segment. Oh well.
He seems quite agile, and powerful to boot. Coming from the fact that he has that amount of money on him says that he's no ordinary private eye. Plus, that was good booze there! Wth, man?!
And thus, the game begins. What do you believe he will find? What mysterious power does the booze have that plays in the contingency plan? Also, what is the guy's real name? And, why does he have so much Aura?!