Indigo Murex sat at the back of the Club, finger tracing the lid of a half finished drink, lost in thought. Music pounded from oversized speakers situated inside of the four primary glass pillars that ringed the dance floor. Everything was clean and extra glossy, as would be expected of the freshly repaired and polished establishment. He'd heard all sorts of tales about the woman who had smashed the place up, most of which he dismissed as a means for Junior and his goons to save face.
His men were good for looking intimidating and bulking out teams, and not much else. The Information Broker just didn't have enough fighters with Aura to sell out to really qualify for any of the heavy hitting jobs. As such, you didn't need an Atlesian Specialist, or a mob enforcer like himself, to rough the place up. Not to mention there hadn't been any fatalities. Now, a rogue or drunk Huntsmen? He could see that. Hell, even a second or third year from one of the academies would have probably been enough.
He took a sip. The ice cubes had mostly melted by now, and the brandy had long since become watered down. Any other patron would have been thrown out if they had idled in a booth as long as he and his men had, but Junior knew who to turn a blind eye to. To one side sat two of Murex's most trusted lieutenants, quietly talking to each other.
The events of the previous night weighed heavily on him; the unspoked context that he couldn't be trusted to complete his given tasks. Yet he was the one that had initiated the trap that had caught and killed their target. He had nearly killed the stranger on their first encounter, he had been the one who had discovered his identity and his objective. And he had been ready to cut him down personally.
Then the Butcher had dropped by. Literally, as she typically did to enact gruesome violence. She had enjoyed slicing the young man apart, although her victim's stoicism as she did so had to have put a slight damper on her good mood.
To Hakke's credit, he had died well. Most who found themselves looking down the barrel of Magenta's weapon didn't end their lives quite as defiantly.
His Scroll buzzed noisily on the booth. He flicked it open and quickly read the text, then read it again. His two lieutenants shifted in their seats as they watched him scrutinize his Scoll, before closing it and downing the rest of his drink. He gestured to his men, grabbed his weapon, Arbitrator, and slung it into its compact holster over his shoulder and slapped a few Lien on the booth as he left. One of Junior's goons would find them easy enough. He didn't even need to look to know that Junior's two bodyguards had been watching him during his stay at their bosses' establishment. He took it as a compliment, it had taken years to garner the reputation as someone to be wary of.
Wary of, not feared. It was better to make people nervous, not terrified in his line of work. Scared people were unpredictable, harder to understand.
His two lieutenants trailed behind him as they left. The music began to quiet the further he got from the front door, fading until he could only hear the dull booms of the bass lines, before even that finally faded to nothing. He walked for some time before he reached the spot he wanted to be. He supposed he owed the Vale Council on this one, they had yet to come and repair this blemish on their otherwise perfectly kept city. There on the street was a smooth pothole, approximately eight feet in diameter and half a foot deep, where something had gone off. The heat had to have been tremendous, hot enough to melt the asphalt of the street almost instantly.
He reached into his vest pocket and fished out a small silver vial. If his men were to be believed, this was where Glint and Hakke had fought and nearly died, Glint only surviving because he had taken the contents of the empty vial Murex was now holding.
Boost.
He didn't know what it was, or where the Syndicate had gotten it. The fact that it was now circulating through the organization and being passed along to anyone with an Aura was alarming, to say the least. Murex had no doubts about who he was, he knew he was a criminal, a thug; he also knew where his loyalties lay.
The Syndicate had given him a second chance at life, and had made him who he was. Now though, someone high up the chain had made a decision that threatened the Syndicate as a whole. It was fine for one of the Families to pursue their means of profit and to defend their interests, but it was well known that there were some avenues that were not to be pursued. After all, they weren't Mistralian.
Boost violated several.
It gave the Syndicate a severe bump in firepower, the sort of bump that would make the other Families nervous enough to band together. It also wasn't subtle. Glowing green eyes and a noticeable jump in aggression? I wouldn't take more than a single grunt losing their cool to have the Syndicate plastered on every monitor in the Kingdom.
This fight in the street was a prime example of that, having led to the Detective's release, had led to a surprisingly destructive series of fights against a surprisingly hard to kill man. And according to what Magenta had asked Hakke not six hours ago at the dockyards, the second one. There was an organization out there somewhere that knew about Boost, and was actively seeking it out.
And now two of them were dead, both by Magenta's hand no less. They knew nothing about the organization, outside of the symbol that seemed to be it's icon: three overlapping chevrons. If even a small portion were as difficult to kill as Hakke had been, then Murex could smell the beginnings of a very bloody war on the horizon.
But the man hadn't only been after Boost. Boost had only entered his periphery when Glint had taken the drug here. Before that, he had been hunting three mercenaries that the Syndicate had hired. His Scroll was in his hand before his mind fully caught up, dialing one of his more trusted lieutenants. He would delegate one or two of them to find those mercenaries. Murex had a few questions for them.
"Hell of a pothole, sir." One of his men, Greene, finally spoke up. "You know, our driver is bad, but I think even he would see this one."
Murex fixed him with a stare. Greene took his hands out of his Syndicate blue suit jacket, putting them up as if he could ward off his boss's ire. "I'm just saying." He half laughed.
Greene was many things. Talkative, grating, and determined to not let a situation hinder his mood. Hell, the alligator Faunus seemed allergic to staying serious, and his blatant disregard for Syndicate standards only helped solidify that fact. He was never seen without one of his hideous striped green dress shirts, collar popped underneath the suit, and with a set of aviator style sunglasses over his eyes. Also tinted green of course. Although he had never actually said as much, Murex was fairly certain it was to cover his vertically slitted yellow eyes.
Despite all of the gripes about how Greene presented himself both physically and via character, there was one word that Murex would use to describe him above all others.
Competent.
"I very much so doubt we came out here without some purpose, Greene. And take those stupid things off; it's idiotic to wear them at night." His other lieutenant scoffed.
"Fashion never sleeps, Flo. Never. Sleeps." Greene snipped back, peering down his sunglasses at her.
Flo was the opposite of Greene in many ways. Rigid, staunch, and always irritated, usually at her fellow associate. If there was an official dress code for the Syndicate, he wouldn't have been surprised if Flo wrote it. Syndicate blue suit coat and slacks freshly pressed and utterly flawless. Complimentary blue dress shirt buttoned all the way up with a once again complimentary, darker blue tie neatly situated in the middle.
They never stopped squabbling, he had long ago stopped trying to make that happen. But what they provided, the very different outlooks and opinions they brought to the table more than made up for their more irritating habits. Hell, he'd come to secretly enjoy listening to their banter. It was like having a personal insane soap opera all to himself.
"Flo." His voice sliced through their personal site match with practiced ease. "Call Dr. Rosewood, let him know I'm sending you two to talk to him. Greene, get the car out here. By the time Flo finishes that call I want you two to be halfway there."
They snapped to their given tasks without hesitation. Another reason he put up with their idiosyncrasies. They were quick, and they were loyal to both him and the Syndicate at large. Qualities he could appreciate, and demanded of his personal retinue.
The calls were quick and to the point. As they stood there, waiting for their driver to bring the car sound, Flo posed a question.
"Sir, do you mind if I ask why we just wasted most of the night at Junior's dive?"
He nodded. "We were waiting for someone who never showed. And knowing Rosewood's men, there's only a handful of reasons why they would...ghost us."
"That's some very specific wording you've decided to use."
"That it is. Ask Rosewood what he knows about Boost. The who, the what, the where. Get every detail." He looked back at the crater. "And find out what he knows about the Good Doctor."
Flo nodded, a flash of light concern making itself known before she expertly crushed it down. "And you sir?"
"Sable wants to see me."
She made a gentle sound of acknowledgement. The Accountant was not a man to be kept waiting, even if Murex wanted to. He was one of the big three of the Syndicate, the main money man, and one of the most powerful men in the underworld. Specifically with soft power, Murex was sure to note. Still, such power was nothing to be trifled with.
He waited for his personal car to arrive, and for his lieutenants to enter. The unassuming sedan took off then, and rounded a corner out of sight. They would find the pieces of the puzzle that Rosewood knew, of that he was sure. They had yet to let him down.
He walked at a mile eating, thorough pace through the streets of downtown Vale to the nearest Air Station. Once there, he sent off a message along the proper channels to have one of the Lucky Roll's resident Bullheads fly over and pick him up. One of the perks of working for an organization as rich as the Syndicate was, he supposed. Free air travel. Not that he used it as much as he could have.
He just wasn't that fond of it.
Within minutes, a carbon gray bullhead descended with a whirr and landed in front of him. As the engines calmed down to a less aggressive idle, Murex approached and entered the craft. Luxurious black dyed leather covered the custom seating, highlighted by beautifully finished and richly carved Mistralian hardwood.
Murex took pride in his attire, but these craft always made him feel grungy by comparison. Probably was another reason he didn't like taking these specific airships. He much prefered something a touch more modest. Something that didn't stand out quite as much. It felt too gaudy, like it was trying too hard. Then again, that seemed to be the standard for the truly wealthy.
He paced to the pilot's cab, grabbing on a handrail on the ceiling to brace himself as he watched the city sweep by through the front window. The pilot simply ignored him as she busied herself with actually piloting the ship. Eventually, he saw their destination. Positioned along the coast at the edge of the Upper District was the casino where the Accountant had placed his headquarters.
No better place to launder large quantities of money than a casino, after all.
It was a block of intricate red brickwork studded with sheets of dark tinted glass and small cubbies that housed all manner of spotlights. At the top stretched a large tower tipped with a deeply slanted roof. Sharp flying buttresses connected the various cubical offshoots growing from the central block with the central tower. There were ballrooms, gala spaces, living quarters and hotel services built into the structure for the wealthiest of clientele.
The pilot expertly lowered the ship down to a landing platform on the roof and ran through the motions of shutting the engines off. Murex left her to her tasks and exited the bullhead. There was a small line of casino security staff there to greet him.
They all knew the procedure by now. Neither the Enforcer of the guards bothered saying anything to each other, instead they formed into a small column with Murex at its heart and led him inside. As they walked he heard one guard muttering into a comm piece, announcing his arrival.
The inside was as luxurious as the outside. To be expected, as only the truly important would use the platform usually, so the dark marble flooring and exotic wood paneled walls were more of a must than anything else. Pleasantly dim lighting highlighted the finer details of the structure, the intricate carvings and assorted fine art pieces displayed by either hanging or pedestal.
They quickly made their way deeper in and into an area that was noticeably less luxurious than the others. While it was still well maintained and of high quality, it lacked the overwhelming detailing of the higher levels of the casino proper. This was where Azariah Sable held his office; strategically placed to allow him to overlook the casino floor itself.
The guards filed along the walls leading to Sable's office, placed to allow a staggered entry if anything bad were to happen. As Murex saw no indication that one of the main bosses of the Syndicate was busy, he strode forth and let himself in.
It was always the same in here. A long, rectangular office space with strip lighting along the floors and ceiling, hardwood flooring waxed to a shiny gloss, and with the entire left wall made entirely of an incredibly durable one way glass. The other wall had a display built along its length where Sable had all sorts of strange historic memorabilia in glass cases. Rusted Great War weapons and armor, ancient clay pot fragments and spent Dust crystals older than most known civilizations, stone tablets covered in long forgotten script.
The office was long, nearly three times as long as it was wide, and situated at the far end was the Accountant himself, idly tapping and swiping at a hard light display built into his custom desk. He looked the same as he always did. A plain looking man with well kept dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard in a charcoal black suit with red highlights.
And yet, it wasn't the man or his collection that caught Murex's eye. Directly behind his desk was where the Accountant kept the rarer items of his history collection. An untarnished sallet type helmet that had been dredged out of a digsite that had been dated at over 3,000 years old. A mint condition Mantlean General's uniform, from a man who had been present at the signing of the Vytal Peace Accord. It was the envy of museums all across the world.
There was a new piece taking center stage now.
A stone helmet of some sort.
It had long sheets of stone stretching down to cover the cheeks and side of the head, ending in oddly sharp points. Two gouged holes acted as eye slits, giving the helmet a strangely aggressive, furious feel. The most striking feature however was the two horns stretching out from the sides, each almost as wide as the helmet was tall, and curving down to vicious points.
Murex was oddly off put by it. Maybe it had something to do with the lighting that had been cast down on it, sending harsh shadows to dance over its frame, almost making the thing look like it was covered in rough writing of some sort.
He looked away as his boss spoke up.
"Ah, Murex. Welcome. Please, have a seat." Sable gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
Murex nodded and made his way to one of the black leather chairs. "Sir." He said respectfully.
Sable peered over at him, one eyebrow raised before he gave a single laugh and swiped the hard light display away. "Still a stickler for the old ways I see."
"It's hardly been long enough since we last spoke for me to change too drastically, sir."
"I suppose so." Sable leaned back in his chair. "So tell me, how did that business with the Rudolf Gang go? I trust they won't be bothering our supply lines any more."
"No they won't. Although knocking off one gang is only a bandaid on the bigger problem. If Torchwick keeps his current rate up, we're going to be looking at some serious Dust shortages and a hell of a lot more desperate gangers. The Rudolfs are only going to be the beginning."
"I agree. Still, he's a free agent, and one that's been willingly taking all the police and public attention for himself. Torchwick, and whatever is left of his small gang, are practically rockstars amongst the Families. Or at the very least, he's managed to replace one longstanding thorn for a smaller one stabbing us all in a novel spot."
"Dealing with him isn't an option, I take it."
"Not really. The man's always had powerful backers, and it's not as if we don't have Dust stores for this exact situation. My hands are, well, not exactly tied, but close enough." He tilted his head. "I take it you're already looking for your next target."
Murex nodded slightly. "I prefer to keep busy."
Sable was quiet for a second, hands clasped and index fingers resting on his lips. "Magenta has always been overkill to put it lightly. And if there was ever a time that overkill was needed… having both you and her present was a necessity."
"Us and a dozen others. Seemed like a lot of effort to kill one man."
"Trust me when I say it wasn't. And please, don't assume that this event was based on a lack of confidence in your skill, your track record speaks for itself."
Murex's brow furrowed slightly. His eyes kept flicking over to the stone helmet. There was something about it that had his gut twisting slightly, as if there was some unknown danger present.
"Ah, my newest piece." Sable said as he got out of his chair to face the helmet. "I just got it back from the lab. According to their carbon dating, the mask is over eight thousand years old, and seems indicative of a completely unknown civilization. It's shockingly sophisticated, some of the cuts that were used to make it would be hard for an expert artisan today to mimic, let alone some stone age carver."
"Truly fascinating, sir." Murex said quietly. With the light shooting down on it, it almost looked like the damn thing was watching him. Whatever ancient artist had decided to make it had gone the extra mile to make it unsettling. "Although I'm assuming you didn't bring me out here to talk about the Rudolph Gang or your latest history piece."
Sable nodded, still facing the helmet. "You would be correct." He turned once more to face Murex, speaking once more after a pause. "Were you aware that the White Fang has turned its sights on Vale?"
"The White Fang?" Murex asked. Sure, the freedom fighters were more terrorists these days, but they largely focused on Schnee Dust Company property or Atlesian interests. Anything else was so small scale as to be inconsequential in the greater scene of things.
"They're buying weapons right now, enough to supply several hundred fighters, easily. Explosive materials as well."
"How do you know this?"
"Nothing moves in this city without my knowing. Now," he said, sitting down, "finding and eliminating the growing Fang population wouldn't be the hardest thing the Syndicate has done. But with the number of Fang out there, it would attract attention. Alert the public at large about the existence of the Families."
Murex shifted in his seat.
"A classic, isn't it? Damned if you do, and so on. Whatever they're planning is guaranteed to hurt us, but we can't authorize an attack without violating the Handshake. Torchwick is another, just protected and well known enough that eliminating him would do the same. Once again, our hands are tied by a Handshake."
"The Handshake has protected the Families well enough for damn near eighty years. Kept us strong enough to repel foreigners, kept us civil enough to not drag cops and Grimm down on our heads."
"That it has." Sable agreed. "For eighty years it did just that. Now however, it's less of a shake and more of a deathgrip. It's tightened as the various loose bits have solidified."
"It's security." Murex stated.
"It's stagnation." Sable said, light exasperation. "The Syndicate's fate is tied to this thing, and we cannot break free. As such, I have an offer for you. I, and some other like minded individuals, have decided to do something about this mess; a temporary alliance to deal with these sorts of problems before they turn into real issues."
Sable reached into his desk and pulled out a business card, sliding it over to the enforcer. He took it and read the name.
When he looked up questioningly, Sable merely chuckled. "These sorts of things need a little theatrics. Consider this your invitation. Think it over, and when your ready to protect the Syndicate where the Syndicate proper cannot defend itself, let me know."
Murex stood up and nodded politely at the Accountant.
"You know Murtex, I've gotten in touch with people I never thought I would be able to with this. Once with business with the White Fang and their helpers, that Detective who is still loose, and with Torchwick, we'll both have far more resources open to us than before. More than enough to hunt down one old Huntsman in the mountains or, wherever he may be."
Murex stilled. Looked at Sable who merely nodded knowingly. "I'd have leave to hunt him down?"
"You would."
His grip on the card tightened. "I'll… I'll give it some thought."
"See that you do."
Murex turned and began walking towards the exit. His mouth was dry. If Sable truly meant what he had said, then a personal vendetta would be that much closer to completion. Arbitrator, his family's weapon, sagged heavily in it's holster. He reached out for the handle of the door when Sable called out once more.
"And don't take too long either."
Murex turned and looked down the length of the office at the Accountant as he sat back down, flicking the hard light screen back on. His face was illuminated a white-blue that reflected oddly across his bearded face, making his eyes almost look green from this distance.
"It's a one time offer."
Murex nodded and left. The same guards formed the same column as they began making their way towards the air platform. From there Murex would be able to make his way to Rosewood's clinic in the Industrial District in no time flat to rendezvous with his men. As he walked, he took one last look at the card and the name printed in embossed, black lettering.
Who knew, maybe this Society of the Sword would be just the thing the Syndicate needed.
Hello it's the me again. This month decided to slap the hell out of me with a lot of stuff that really made sure I had no time at all. Some good stuff, (New kitten! New job!) and some not as good and confusing stuff on the personal side. Helps too that with the new job I no longer have my usual writing time available, which was basically the middle of the night. Look, I really have no idea what uploads are going to properly look like going forward, things are getting wack out here, but I am so goddamn close to this arc's proper conclusion to stop now, and I plan for it to be one hell of a kickass finale.
Also its Murex. He gets an arc. Murex arc. He gets a few chapters to flesh out some really big decisions that are going to shape the outcome of a lot of things moving forward. Also Azariah Sable is finally back after OVER 20 CHAPTERS. He last showed up in Ch 4 I believe, and you bet he is an incredibly important character to the plot. More on that later.
"What? Melodic Cudgel. broke it!" ←-AN ACTUAL LINE I WROTE THAT MADE IT IN HOW THE HELL DID I MISS THAT IN EDITING. I feel a burning shame. There's actually a few of those sprinkled through CH25. The council has allotted but one singular 'Yike' to the case.
- RangoTango
Incredibly, it's time once again for Review Response.
Boshwa - They'd have the best chance of not getting stomped against the Fallen, then Cabal. Hive, Taken, and Vex would utterly curb stomp 'em. Don't get me wrong, Remnant's advanced, and Huntsmen/Specialists are one hell of a force multiplier, but they just don't multiply said force enough to deal with both the numbers and advanced tech that most of them bring to bear. That, and what magic Remnant has is very limited; so not enough to really cause any real change.
Al the Obsessive - The thing about writing a 'claw their way up from the ground' type story, is that eventually they actually begin clawing their way up. Figured I'd finally need to show that. Topping it off, Torchwick always struck me as the sort to only fight if he had to (or if he was overconfident) and more dangerous as a mastermind type villain than a physical powerhouse. He seemed like a good fit for a fight like this.
The Baz - (Harry Dresden, the only other magical PI I know about) He wouldn't be on Lakshmi's side, I'll tell ya that. Hakke is the sort who desperately tries to be pragmatic about this sort of thing: allies are a lifesaver, but Humanity's been fighting a war of survival against Fallen aggressors for literally centuries. That's a lot of trauma, plenty of which Hakke's personally lived through, to deal with. Not to mention Humanity's only managed to change that status quo recently. He'd have been initially hesitant, but with the Black Fleet in Sol now, well, an extra gun hand (or four) is an extra gun hand. Time fighting alongside and interacting with House Light would have definitely softened his outlook however.
TL;DR: Well no, but actually yes.
A random titan: I agree, no mother would name their kid Banesaw. Most folks don't know his real name, but there are a few running around. One's about to become pretty damn important too.
Guest: He gon shake things up big time. Hakke is designed to be a gearhead; he's gonna upgrade and build a lot of crazy stuff, especially by Remnant standards. He just doesn't have the time currently (He's been on world for less than three weeks.) I think Ozpin's Long Memory would work the best as an exotic. The Long Memory: Successive hits build stacks of Kinetic Storage, heavy attack to use stacks and deal extra damage.
Prometheus-23: Glad you liked it! And welcome aboard to the ongoing train-wreck.
Dude5999: Thank ye for the kind words, stranger. Here's hoping the future twists area as entertaining!
Guest: I mean, probably. Wouldn't put it past him. Don't worry, it's only very likely to explode or something.
