The Last of the Caverells
It was just like the old days.
Nicholas was six years old again and sitting on the lap of his faithful butler Wilbur. A traveling circus had come to Shadowgrave City, and the spire nobles had hired the troupe to put on a private show for the city elite. His father could not take Nicholas to see the performance, but Wilbur had risen to the challenge and secured a ringside seat for both of them. Young Nicholas laughed and squealed as graceful acrobats, bumbling clowns, and daring beast-tamers plied their skills in the ring. Wilbur, dutiful as ever, periodically wiped his master's mouth with a napkin clean of buttered popcorn crumbs. The circus tent was full of spire-nobles, city officials, and industrial magnates who had come out with their families to see the show. All around Nicholas, richly dressed men, women, and children were raising a din, gasping, laughing, and screaming.
A large Pyroar sauntered out into the ring along with its tamer, and the audience sharply drew breath as several flaming hoops were lowered from the ceiling. At the crack of the tamer's whip, the leonine Pokémon began leaping through the burning rings in succession, each one raised higher than the one before. Nicholas and the audience gasped and clapped each time the Pyroar emerged from the flames unscathed. Each feat became progressively more complicated until the Pokémon was executing in an elaborate triple flip and a mid-air twist. The Pyroar's sinuous body writhed and flexed in impossible ways as it soared through four rings of fire, all without losing the feline grace. Nicholas howled in excitement along with the crowd…until he realized the Pokémon's body was still twisting. The Pyroar blurred and distorted, its bones snapping and furs fading away until it had transformed into a human. Lithe and gangly, the track-suited young man reared up with theatrical relish and Nicholas found himself staring into the nightmarish face of the Grim Reaper.
Not so much as a single gasp of surprise was heard from the crowd, however. Nicholas looked around to see every single man, woman, and child in the tent writhing and distorting in the same manner. Limbs stretched and clothes faded away until he found himself under the baleful gaze of hundreds of Grim Reapers filling the seats all around him. The legion of the psychotic young men began to cackle madly as they crowded towards Nicholas. Fear and panic seized and rooted him to his spot, cutting off all chances of escape. Nicholas wanted to scream and cry, but no sound escaped from his throat. He turned to Wilbur in desperation, only to find his friend replaced by the leering face of his uncle Frederick. Nicholas tried to scramble away from him, but his uncle's hands held him in a vice-like grip. Nicholas struggled helplessly as his wide fear-filled eyes stared at the laughing Grim Reapers who had reached him.
As no less than half a dozen killers raised their blood-crusted scythes for a felling blow, Nicholas's throat finally burst forth in a terrible scream.
Nicholas sputtered awake with a strangled cry escaping his mouth. As always, nausea immediately took him, and the teenager rolled over in his cot to throw up into the plastic bucket he'd set up the previous night. The bitter taste of bile on his tongue jolted him partially from the stupor, and Nicholas fell back to take a couple of long ragged breathes to steady his heart. When his head cleared sufficiently, he unsteadily rose to his feet and staggered out into the bathroom in the hallway.
Nicholas dove for the basin as soon as his fumbling hands found the light switch and doused his sweaty, burning face with cold water. The last of the dizziness fled and left him with some measure of coherence and grasp on reality. Morning had not yet come to the Undercity and all was quiet throughout the headquarters. Most of the Silver Wing gangers would be asleep by now and Nicholas doubted any of them would have enough energy to roam around this time of the night, except for those on sentry duty. He leant heavily into the sink and wearily raised his head to stare into the dirty mirror. His normally pale face seemed pallid and wasted than ever, while his bloodshot eyes spoke of nothing but fatigue. His raven hair had grown into a disheveled mess that covered his ears and prickled his eyes. If his mind hadn't been in the right place, he would've believed he was staring into someone else's face.
Nicholas felt his right arm throb and instinctively reached for the long jagged scar covering his forearm. A scar tissue almost nine inches long ran down his skin, a reddish line blemishing the pale white flesh. Even under his soft touch, the wound was still hot and pulsated angrily. Though it had managed to heal without serious complications, Nicholas was told that the scar would continue to bother him for long after it closed up. It was as much an irritant as it was a vivid reminder of what had happened to him on that terrible day.
It has almost been three weeks since his near-fatal encounter with the Grim Reaper. The damages done to the headquarters had been quickly repaired, but the same could not be said for Nicholas. For several days, the teenager was confined to bed, kept on semi-regular doses of antibiotics and bandages until he recovered from the worst of the concussions, bruises, and cuts. The deep cut on his arm was a trickier matter, requiring stitches and regular sterilization while minor infections brought high fever and chills. But even after Nicholas started walking around without help, his psychological scars were beyond anyone's reach. Nicholas had lost much sleep and weight, but those were nothing compared to the demons that haunted his mind. Nightmares of his ordeal would return night after night, and he would often wake up covered in cold sweat and out of breath. Slightest noises unnerved him, high-pitched laughter frightened him, and he couldn't even look at a sharp blade without cringing. His trauma held a grip on him so tight it became an intimate part of his life.
The Silver Wings had generally been sympathetic to his plight. Aside from few rank-and-files assigned to look after him during recovery, Sammy, Amber, and even Ibrahim occasionally came by to visit with snacks and news of what was going on around him. Still, as things stood, sympathy was a rare commodity in the Undercity. As Nicholas quickly learned, gangers' patience with those who couldn't pull their own weight and contribute was apparently limited. As an outsider, he felt the sentiment more keenly than others. Looks of contempt were soon being thrown in his way as often as looks of sympathy.
Nicholas had really tried his best to stay strong. He took up his janitorial duties again as soon as he got better, and began to exercise regularly to regain what little stamina he possessed in the first place. But for all his efforts, he was fighting an uphill battle. His spirits fell lower and lower even as he became healthier. It was as if an invisible weight was pressing down inside his guts that no amount of exercise or rest could lift. Worse still was the sight of the gangers who faced such horrors every day and lived on as if nothing had happened. Was he such a weak person to have broken down so easily? The presence of others had become unbearable as they constantly reminded him of his own weaknesses, fears, and the vision of an inevitable doom that awaited him in the Undercity.
He was undone. As much as Nicholas hated to admit it, the Undercity had broken him.
A soft mewling from the bathroom doorway awoke Nicholas from his reverie. Shade was staring at him intently, his eyes filled with puzzlement and concern. Such emotion seemed so out of character for his usually snide Pokémon that Nicholas couldn't help but gape. There was no knowing what made the weasel Pokémon more resilient than his owner. Shade had recovered quicker than Nicholas had and spent much of his days watching over his recovering trainer. Though his constant presence was welcoming, Nicholas could tell the weasel had not taken his humiliating defeat well. Whenever they needed to chase out household pests from the headquarters, Shade lashed out at his unfortunate victims with reckless fury that bordered on mania. On some level, Nicholas understood how his companion felt. Shade's pride had been damaged badly, and the Pokémon was doing his best to recapture his former confidence. What he would give to have that sort of enthusiasm himself, Nicholas thought ruefully.
"I can't do this anymore, Shade," Nicholas rasped as he rested his chin against his chest. "No matter what I do, however I do it….I just can't go on like this. I don't think I was supposed to come down here in the first place."
The Sneasel remained as he was, though his expression darkened noticeably.
"I've hit rock bottom….and I'm afraid there is only one thing I can do escape. Only thing I have to do," Nicholas continued. "I'm not sure you'd approve though."
Slowly, Shade approached Nicholas and gingerly placed his paw up against his leg, before leaning in to give a brief hug. The faintest smile flickered across Nicholas; no matter what happened, he would at least one vote of confidence.
"You're leaving."
Nicholas faltered under Ibrahim's gaze before slowly nodding. The leader of the Silver Wings was reviewing his morning announcements after breakfast with two of his Lieutenants, Chase and Magda, when Nicholas dropped by his office. Ghostly neon light trickling in from the outside lit up the room in a dull glow. Three steaming cups of coffee sat on the desk untouched amongst ledgers and pens.
"I am."
"Are you out of your mind?!" Chase exclaimed. "Where are you going to go? You can't just walk out of here and expect to find safety and charity. If you haven't noticed already, this is Undercity. You won't last a day out there by yourself!"
"I thought I might try to find a way to leave Shadowgrave altogether," Nicholas said. "I just…don't think I have what it takes to make it out here, you know?
"And how do you think you're going to do that?" Magda replied with a raised eyebrow. "All the exits out of the city are manned and guarded. And if the police are still out there looking for you, then you are sure to get caught and hauled off to jail or worse. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if you're being suicidal with all this nonsense."
"But at least there is still a slim chance that I might somehow make it through," Nicholas replied. "All I know is that if I stay here any longer, I'll be done for sure. Besides, aren't I just wasting food and meds at the moment? I don't want to put a burden on you guys for any longer."
Chase opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Ibrahim held up his hand.
"If you want to leave, then by all means go. We won't stop you," Ibrahim spoke softly. "You're only our guest and so we can't force you to stay. We can't cram any advice down your throat either, for that matter. After all, you were the one to seek us out in the first place, not the other way around. So go ahead, feel free to do whatever you want."
The young man simply stared with a cool expression, though Nicholas thought he saw what looked like a flash of disappointment flicker across his face.
"Besides, you'll be sparing all of us from witnessing whatever unpleasantness that'll claim you in the end… Just try not to run into any Reapers when you're out there. You wouldn't want those bastards butchering you, much less taking you alive."
An involuntary shiver ran down Nicholas's back. Keeping a lump from rising to his throat with some difficulty, he nodded.
"I'll do what I can to keep out of sight."
Ibrahim stared at him for a moment, and then sighed. "No, you won't. And I'll bet my neck that you can't. Besides, it would be bad for us if someone got a hold of you and squeeze whatever info you might have on our headquarters. Not a risk I'd be willing to take."
Ibrahim rose from his seat and went over to a battered intercom mounted on the wall. Punching in a few numbers, he waited briefly until the steady rings were interrupted by a deep baritone.
"Yes?"
"CJ, do me a little favor would you? I'm sending a kid down your place right now. Could you print out a copy of the route map three-dash-A and give it to him? And make sure to go over it together before sending him off."
"Not a problem," the voice replied, his tone broken up by a little crackle. "Got ourselves another quitter, have we?"
"You know it," Ibrahim replied and stepped away. Nicholas stared at him in surprise.
"Another quitter?"
"You think you're the first one to cut it and leave us?" Ibrahim replied. "Anyhow, I've decided to do you one last favor before you left. I'm giving you a map with the safest directions to the nearest exit out of Undercity. It'll tell you which street to take and what places to avoid. Deviate at your own risk. Once you're back in the upper levels, you'll be on your own, mind you. Still, it'll drastically raise the odds for you making out of this dump in one piece."
Nicholas looked up in surprise, taken aback by this sudden generosity.
"Thank you. I…I don't know what to say."
"Like I said before, this is as much a precaution for us as it is a favor for you. Can't have you falling in the hands of a wrong gang, can we? So…what you're going to do is go down the basement and find the door labeled Logistics & Engineering. You know where that is?"
"I've seen it," Nicholas nodded. "Though I've never been inside before."
"CJ, our chief technician, will be waiting for you with the copy of the map. Be respectful around him; he is effectively on par with any of our lieutenants, and he should be treated as one. He'll go over the map with you and give you any sort of advice you'd need for the trip."
"And remember to pick up your stuff from the storage on the first floor while you're at it," Magda added. "You'll find your backpack on one of the shelves."
"You got all that?" Chase asked.
"Yes, I do," Nicholas nodded. "Again, thanks you for all the help you've given me. I don't know how I would've survived here for as long as I have without you all."
"Don't even think about getting sappy on us," Chase said with a grin. "Still…I guess it was fun having you around. Now we'll have to find someone else to clean this grubby place."
"We'd see you off, but we're really busy today, you see," Magda explained. "There's a large vault that needs cracking in an abandoned bank few levels below, and we're bringing in our monthly shipment of food for the whole gang from the government commissary. We've got to get going soon. A lot of things to keep track of—"
"Would you can it, Mag? Don't tell him more than he needs to know! He's no longer a part of this group, in case you've forgotten," Ibrahim snapped irritably, and turned his gaze back down at the ledger on the desk.
"Well then, go along now and leave us to our job," he muttered and casually waved him away. "Goodbye."
Nicholas was about to say his farewell and turn away when a thought suddenly struck him.
"There just one more thing I want to ask about," he asked, prompting Ibrahim to look up annoyed.
"What?"
"When we first met, you had mentioned something about a charity, set up by my…old master," Nicholas ventured cautiously. "That was how you were able to recognize the mark on my Pokeball, remember?"
"Hmm…I do remember saying something like that at one point. What about it?"
"Well….could you tell me more about this charity?"
"Whatever for?"
"I dunno…call me curious, I guess."
Ibrahim blinked a few times in confusion, and Nicholas almost expected no response when the young man put aside his ledger and leaned forward.
"When that nobleman—I forgot his name; Cavell or Carver or something—first came down and told the folks he was actually here to help them, most of us didn't take him seriously. After all, the spire-nobles have always been happy to leave us be. We didn't think why this one should be any different. Still, the fellow did seem quite committed, and over time there had been some families who gave him a chance and actually benefitted from the charity. Food, clothing, even some basic education…." Ibrahim's forehead crunched in thought.
"The man's' efforts did seem to be paying off at first….that is, until the gangs caught onto the whole business and decided they could take advantage of it."
"What happened?" Nicholas asked, almost breathlessly.
"Simply put, the gangs began to use the charity as an excuse to hike up the protection fees across the Undercity. They were thinking that now that the folks had more things, they should be paying more for protection, you know? Some gangs even charged extra from those who had never applied for aid. Not only that, the aid depots became tempting targets for gang raids once words went around about the supplies stockpiled there. The first few thefts soon escalated into a five-way gang war few years back that ravaged the aid distribution channel completely. The War for the Free Booty, they called it. Several neighborhoods lay in ashes before things settled down."
"After that, no one really got around to getting that charity back on its feet. Supplies stopped coming in, the benefits slowly trickled to nothing, and soon enough everyone sort of…forgot that it was there. The depots fell into ruin like all the buildings around here, and anything that they couldn't keep their eyes on got stolen. Even that nobleman was never around to oversee the end of his charity. The last of the charity workers left Undercity couple years ago, taking anything valuable back with them."
"Oh, those stupid, stupid spire-nobles," Magda chuckled nastily. "Thought they could just come in here and change everything with their money, didn't they? They thought they could succeed where millions of gutter runners have failed. But get tangled up with a real taste of reality and suddenly they are so eager to run back to their comfy little homes upstairs. The pansies, every single one of them."
Despite himself, Nicholas felt a shard of indignation stab through his heart.
"You'll have to excuse Magda. She thinks anything short of punching a Gyarados in the face doesn't deserve her approval," Ibrahim said. "To be fair…I actually do think that nobleman was sincere, if not well-informed. Some of the spire-dwellers may indulge in charity for show and the novelty of it, but he may have been the very first to take his endeavor seriously. Truly a rare individual of his kind…And I guess that's the main reason why I still remember him and his crest after all this time."
"The problem was that he was a nobleman and didn't know how things worked in the Undercity. Heck, no one from above can fully understand what this place is like. The nobles don't know the struggles we go through every day, how each cent and each bite is worth more than the shining buckles on their shoes, or that surviving more than a year here is a miracle even for the best of us. What morality those nobles take for granted is a luxury for us. If they really wanted to help us, why don't they try giving up their wealth and learn what it is like to live like the masses for a change?"
"Not that they would anyway. Hell, even I wouldn't do it, if I were one of them," Ibrahim added, "So does that satisfy your curiosity?"
It did, Nicholas thought to himself as he nodded weakly. But it would've been better if I didn't even ask.
Nicholas leaned in and knocked three times against the metal door, on which the letters Logistics & Engineering was printed in thick bold fonts. Windowless and studded with metal bolts, the door looked more like an entrance to a jail cell than an office. The bleak image was made even worse by the sparse lighting of the basement casting dim shadows across the rusted metal surface. After a harsh grating sound of a sliding latch, the door opened inwards with a jarring screech.
"Ah, I've been expecting you. You must be Nick, yes?"
Nicholas looked up, only to have his words fail him. Standing before him was a giant young man whose bulk almost took up the entire doorway. Bulging muscles of his barrel-chested torso strained against his navy shirt and jeans, supported by a pair of muscular arms and legs as thick as tree trunks. A pair of keen bright green eyes set into his dark-skinned face, however, spoke of great intelligence that complemented his physique. No doubt, here stood the most perfect example Nicholas had ever seen in his life of a person's mind achieving impeccable balance with his body.
"Hey, are you listening? Why are you looking at me like that, eh?" the giant rumbled, his voice a deep bass that reverberated through his diaphragm. "Sheesh, don't tell me it's the hair. I knew I should've gone with the blue dye instead of the red one." His one broad hand absent-mindedly stroked his closely shaved hair dyed bright red, which struck a strange contrast with the color of his skin.
"No, I didn't mean…I mean, yes, I'm Nick. Ibrahim told me to come down here, get a map of a sort…"
"Yes, I know why you're here. Come in, will you?"
Nicholas silently followed the young man as he strode back into the room. Unlike its unwelcoming front, the inside of the Engineering and Logistics office turned out to be a spacious and neatly organized room filled with electronic equipment. Battered but well-maintained computers jostled for space with printers and scanners upon the length of desks set against the wall, next to which stood an ancient copying machine. The far half of the room was dominated by rows of metal shelves and cabinets, filled with tools, cameras, machine parts, and other equipment Nicholas could not identify. The only odd piece of item that stood out from the collection was a battered punching bag that hung from the ceiling by an iron hook.
"First time in Engineering, right?" the young man said. "This is where we keep most of the high-end equipment we use for our day-to-day operations. We can't keep them upstairs, out in the open. I can't trust the average gangers not to tamper with them, and it takes an arm and a leg to replace each one that gets broken."
"Not that they do want to mess with the equipment," he growled. "Arceus knows what I would do to anyone who even so much as sticks a gum in the porthole…" As almost an afterthought, the young man idly jabbed at the punching bag as he passed by, which—to Nicholas' amazement—swung violently just from a single blow. It was no longer a mystery as to how his host had come by his muscles.
"Anyway…to introduce myself, I am Xavier Carter James, or CJ for short," the giant said as he turned back to face Nicholas. "As Ibrahim might have told you, I am in charge of the more technical aspects of running the Silver Wings, fixing gadgets, crunching data, analyzing battle recordings, or maintaining the motor pool in the garage upstairs. I do other things, but that's not relevant to our discussion here, I think."
Trudging over to the computers, CJ snatched up few sheets of paper lying on the printer tray. As he spread them out on the table before him, Nicholas saw that the papers showed a somewhat crude map of the city when put together side by side. A red line zigzagging through the blocks marked down a path through the cityscape. The names of adjoining streets were scrawled in miniscule letters.
"Let's get straight to business, shall we?" CJ said as his thick finger jabbed down the spot on the map where the red line started. "This map here shows the layout of the Undercity, or at least the areas that are relevant. The spot I'm pointing at indicates the position of our headquarters, where you will start off your trip. Basically, you'll want to follow this path until it ends here," CJ traced his finger to the edge of the map where the red line ended. "You'll find the entrance to the sewer lines that will take you up to the factory level proper above us. After that, you'll have to manage by yourself. Are you following me so far?"
"Yes."
"Good, cause I'm not going to repeat this twice. You'll want to stick to this path no matter what. I'm sure Ibrahim has told you what would happen if you don't. For now, this path will only take you through the territories of the gangs we're on friendly terms with. If anyone there stops you to ask your business, just show him this."
Reaching into his pockets, CJ handed out to Nicholas a small laminated piece of black paper with a stylized picture of a silver wing printed on it.
"This pass here will prove that you're our guest and guarantee your safe passage through territories belonging to the other gangs. Just make sure to throw it away if the Reapers get at you. I don't think they will look kindly on someone who's been with us."
Nicholas stared at the pass in his hand, and then at the map on the table. Given how long a single city block was, the entire trip was clearly going to be a long walk out. A mental image of him running down the street with dozens of Reapers at his tail flashed across his eyes.
"I don't suppose…there's another route that's somewhat safer?" he mumbled. "Any route that is…shorter?"
CJ glared at him, all pretense of civility quickly slipping from his face. His cool demeanor was suddenly replaced with utter scorn.
"Do you have any idea," he began, his voice rumbling like an angry thunderstorm, "how lucky you are to be able to use this route at all? Do you even know how fortunate you are that we're offering you a way out of this hellhole? And what, you think you can just barge in here and demand that we do one better? Who the hell do you think you are, being an ungrateful wretch, huh?"
Nicholas quailed under CJ's wrathful tirade.
"I know who you are," CJ continued, his anger unabated. "I know how you faced that demon Grim Reaper and lived to tell the tale. So you think that little stunt you've pulled off deserves a special treatment?! Screw you and your achievement! Tell that to dozens of gutter runners out there who has to fight maniacs like the Reapers every single day! Tell that to brave girls who are younger than you running the gauntlet of fire just to bring home tidbits to feed their friends! I don't know how the rules were up in the spires. But here, if I tell you to suck it up and put up with the risks, you suck it up and put up with the risks!"
Nicholas tried his best not to tremble under CJ's stern gaze. Even his ordeal with the Grim Reaper seemed to pale next to being subject to CJ's righteous wrath. The guilt and fear that had piled on the past few weeks seemed to come to fore at once.
"But I'm scared," Nicholas half-whispered, half-squeaked.
"And so was I, at one point," CJ replied. "Everybody in this joint was afraid. Do you think they are not scared now? But unlike you, they strike back against their fears. They train, they learn, and they fight tooth and nail until they became strong enough to look terror in the eye and spit in its face. Sure, many die, but at least they die with weapons in their hands and without piss in their pants. And they sure didn't mope around for weeks after their ordeal until they just decided to quit!"
The technician drifted from the table and slowly walked towards a shelf across the room, his eyes staring into what appeared to be a small framed picture perched on it.
"I've seen kids who started off weaker than you grow up to become the best of us, gangers who have inspired many more to become just like them. Here in the Undercity, we don't hide behind comfort and wealth when trouble comes knocking," CJ paused, as if momentarily lost in thought. "We grab it by its throat and choke it until it learns not to mess with us."
Dead silence fell across the room. Nicholas stood for what felt like an eternity, struggling with a cocktail of shame, shock, and bewilderment whirling inside him until CJ half-turned towards him.
"I've read you the directions, and you know what you're supposed to do. So get yourself and your sniveling mouth out of my sight. This place is no longer your home."
Nicholas fled, faster than he had ever done before.
In the perpetual dusk of the Undercity, the old red-brick building that was the headquarters of the Silver Wings looked uglier than ever. Chipped bricks and foggy windows made the place seem like a prison rather than a shelter. Still, all the days spent cleaning its many corridors and rooms had made this building, at one point, endearing to Nicholas. But as he stepped out of its doors into the streets for the last time, the headquarters now just seemed to be mocking him for his weakness, for his naïve belief that he was worthy enough to have found a second home amongst the gangers. As in the beginning, Nicholas found himself all alone, exiled and stewing in his misery.
The cycle continues, Nicholas thought bitterly.
He had not met with Sammy or Amber to say his farewells. Facing Ibrahim and his lieutenants had been unbearable enough. Despite their friendship, Nicholas didn't think he could stand to see their faces crumple into surprise, sadness, or Arceus-forbid, scorn. Better to just disappear quietly than to make his departure any more painful than it already was. So, Nicholas had waited until Sammy and Amber had left for their respective daily assignments. Amber had even smiled and waved at him as she and her squad took off in their truck to retrieve the food rations from the public commissary. Nicholas had waved back, hating himself every second for having to leave his friends in the cold. But what choice did he have…?
The rest of the silver wings he had little connection to, and so Nicholas had let them go. As for Garret and his lackeys… Giratina take them. They could go to hell for all he cared.
With heavy heart, Nicholas finally tore himself away from the building and began trudging down the road. If he didn't run into any trouble, he would be able to reach Thief's Bounty by noon and make it to the sewer entrance in a few hours after that. And then what? The thought leapt unbidden into Nicholas's mind. Should he seek refuge, or try to leave the city as he had intended? Could he risk going for one of the train stations or one of the massive gates ringing the city walls? Could he evade the tight security at the wall without being caught? Even if he could, where could he go? The plans all made sense to him, at least in theory… But Nicolas somehow doubted that the same luck that led him down to the Undercity in the first place would remain with him for this journey he was making.
Caught up in his thought, Nicholas walked down nearly three whole blocks before he suddenly realized he was being followed. Light, scurrying footsteps had matched his steady, heavier footsteps for a long while now without him ever noticing. Nicholas turned and there, standing few paces behind him without even trying to hide, was a familiar little girl with her arms tightly wrapped around a Zigzagoon.
"Lana…what are you doing here?"
The young girl boldly stared back with those wide, solemn eyes of hers. In the past few weeks, Nicholas had seen no sign of her ever coming near the headquarters. He had thought their near brush with death had driven her off for good.
"You're leaving," Lana said in her flat monotone voice, as if she was simply stating a fact.
Nicholas looked down at his feet, suddenly unable to meet Lana's gaze. His cheeks were burning hot like cinders.
"Yeah…yeah I am," Nicholas stammered. Was she about to condemn him for his cowardice? For all he knew, even Lana had every right to do so.
"Why?"
"Because…because…," Nicholas gulped and fished for the right words as his tongue dried up in his mouth. "I…want to live. I'm-I'm so sorry Lana. This isn't how I imagined leaving this place."
"That's too bad…," Lana's stoic face fell slightly. "I liked you. You were one of the good ones."
"You don't want to be friends with someone like me, Lana. I'm no good," Nicholas said dejectedly. "I'm not a good role model for you. I don't have what it takes to make it down here. I'm not strong enough."
"Yes, you are," Lana replied softly, "You just don't really see it. Others can't see it, but I do."
Lana's surprising words rang hollow to Nicholas, but he tried not to betray his disbelief. "Thanks," he managed to respond. "I'll remember that on my way out."
"I'll walk with you," Lana said. "If you won't stay, then at least let me see you off."
"But you can't," Nicholas blanched, "It's going to take a while for me to get to where I am going. Besides, it'll be too dangerous—"
"Until the end of the Heights then. I can turn back there while you go on your way."
Nicholas thought to protest at first, but a look in Lana's eyes told him she wouldn't be swayed. So instead, he found himself nodding in agreement.
"Well…..okay. But don't expect pleasant company. I'm sorry but…I don't really feel much like talking."
"Oh, that's quite alright," Lana grinned, "I'm not really into talking much either."
It was perhaps the most uncomfortable walk Nicholas ever had to endure in his entire life. He didn't know which was worse, having to make this perilous walk of shame or having someone see him do it. This was supposed to be a private moment with no one to accompany him but his own failures. Perhaps this was the whole purpose of being shown an extended way out of the Undercity: a prolonged expulsion that etched this moment in a person's memory forever so that even after years, his decision to quit would continue to unman him.
Lana, true to her word, had been quiet so far. Her light steps had been accompanying his own for several blocks now, her doll-like face comfortably buried in the bushy fur of her Zigzagoon. From the sleepy expression plastered on the raccoon Pokémon's inane face, the critter was enjoying her attention immensely. Nicholas had no siblings to call his own. His father had never remarried after his mother's death despite constant urging from his servants, leaving his son with very little option for playmates. And so Nicholas knew very little social life other than the time spent with closest acquaintances of his family. His frail health didn't help the matter one bit, either. The only semi-constant presence in his childhood was his cousin, another only child like himself. Looking at Lana, Nicholas just realized what comfort it might have been to have a younger sister like her growing up.
Nicholas admitted to himself that it had been a good decision to allow Lana to escort him. Despite the lack of verbal exchanges between them, even her presence was doing wonders to take his mind off all the anxieties. After all, a single note of approval was infinitely preferable to a torrent of criticisms directed towards him. Perhaps it hadn't been Lana's first time accompanying someone who chose to leave the Silver Wings. Nicholas could imagine many like him treading the same path he walked now, taking solace from one person who didn't think they were waste of space and air to other callous souls.
Checking the street signs, Nicholas abruptly realized the Palmyrian Heights had come to an end. Before him lay an open street that separated the territory of the Silver Wings from those of other gangers. A step outside would mean casting himself off from the protection he had been enjoying for the past month or so.
Nicholas turned towards Lana, who was looking up at him expectantly.
"Well…this is the end of the block. I guess this is it then."
Lana gazed at him in silence, her wide eyes not even blinking once. Cradled in her tight grasp, the Zigzagoon squirmed and yawned.
"Thanks for the company. I…actually think I needed that more than—"
"Thanks for saving my life," Lana suddenly piped up. "You know, from that terrible monster-man? I never said thank you after, did I? My daddy would've been real sad if I was gone too."
"Oh, well….that," Nicholas shifted on his feet uneasily. "Look, honestly, it was all my fault for getting you into danger, Lana! If I had gone to look myself alone, you probably didn't have to be so scared. Back there, I was just trying to make up for my mistakes, that's all!"
"It wasn't your fault," Lana replied, a small smile playing around her mouth. "You didn't know what was going on. And the way you tried to protect me….no one's done that for me. Ever."
Nicholas didn't know what to say then.
"You are my hero, Nick," Lana said. "Don't forget that! I am here today because of you!"
A hero? Was this a joke? For Nicholas, this couldn't be further from the truth. A hero….didn't quit. He didn't run away from danger like he did. Gangers like Niels or Ibrahim were heroes, not a pasty shrimp from the spires who never had to fight for anything his whole life. Still, he didn't show any sign of what he was thinking. Instead, he smiled weakly and nodded.
"Thank you. I'll—I'll try to live up to it if I can," he said. "Well then….goodbye. Thank you so much for…for….all this."
"Goodbye," Lana whispered, her eyes abruptly starting to waver and water. Feeling awkward, Nicholas turned away to make a quick departure. He had a feeling that the longer it took to leave, the harder it would be for everyone to deal with the losses.
His eyes took in a final look at the Heights as Nicholas took his first step away. It would be the last time he would lay his eyes on this place. Old tenements, grubby shops, rusted carts, smoky chimneys….soon to be a memory. A decrepit playground where he and Lana had played marbles. Distant residents in raggedy clothes trudging about to their businesses. A low run-down building with a pile of rubble and trash strewn in front. Miserable hell below an even more miserable heaven. The sooner he left it the better, before more of its unbearable misery ate him away.
An overturned garbage can. A broken payphone with its receiver yanked out. A pack of Rattatas scampering into a sewer grate. A flash of silver, stylized in the shape of….
Nicholas froze. He stared.
"What's wrong?" Lana's curious voice drifted to him as if it was coming from someplace far away. Nicholas didn't move, but continued to stare at the building strewn with rubble and trash. Even amidst the mess, the silvery shape stood out. He shook his head in case he was mistaken, only to have his suspicions confirmed again and again.
Impossible….was this real? There was no way, unless—
Nicholas broke into a run across the block and skidded to a halt in front of the building. Neglected even by the standard of the Undercity, the structure's drab and crumbling concrete front was a sorry sight. He was oddly reminded of a forgotten sand castle on the beach, slowly collapsing under the encroaching tide. Old yellow and black chevron tapes barred the entrance from any interlopers. The front windows however were surprisingly intact, albeit dusty from long period of disuse. For all that, his eyes were locked on the object he had seen from the distance, a fabric of a sort lying on the ground, adorned with an oddly familiar silvery glint.
Up close, Nicholas saw the object to be an old banner that had probably hung across the edifice of this building long ago, before it was cut loose and fluttered down to the pavement. Crumpled and partially covered in concrete dust and rubble, much of the contents written on it were hidden from sight. But it was what he could see that spurred Nicholas into action. He realized that the odds were improbable, but it was undeniable that what he saw was indeed what he thought it was. Nicholas quickly crouched down and swiped away the last of the debris away from the banner with trembling fingers.
And there, painted in tarnished silver paint against a tattered, soot-stained nylon sheet, was a large eight-pointed star. A silver eight-pointed star. The Star of the Northern Sky, the symbol of his father. The proud sigil of the House Caverell.
Numb with shock, Nicholas almost didn't see the large block letters that were printed across the banner next to the symbol. Stylized in elaborate curling fonts, the banner proudly identified the building's former function as 'The Marianne Caverell Foundation for Urban Development and Education, Palmyrian Heights Chapter.' Nicholas' almost cried out in wonder. This was his father's old charity, the same charity the Silver Wing gangers were referring to earlier. He had even named the foundation after his late mother, too! He realized that the dilapidated building he was standing in front of once used to be one of the charity's many depots.
His heart beating fast, Nicholas scrambled to his feet and pressed his face against the dusty window to have a look inside. He knew not why—perhaps he was desperate to catch a glimpse of anything that linked him back to his old life in the spires, or any remainders of his father's dreams for the city. He didn't have to wait long to be disappointed, however. Long gone were the days when the depot had been fully furnished and occupied by busy workers and activists. Clumps of dust and plaster debris were the only things littering the dirty carpeting in the desolate room, though cleaner patches showed where heavier furniture had once set. Wall sockets had been yanked clean from the drywall, exposing frayed cables that already had been scavenged for its copper bits. Further down the room, Nicholas saw that someone had broken in through a smashed window and painted a garish graffiti on the wall with red spray paint. The discarded paint can lay on the forgotten amidst cobwebs like a lone metal sentinel.
A faded poster was thumb tacked on the far wall, its edges yellowing and curling with age. A cheerful face of a young female volunteer worker with brown ringlets and endearing dimples smiled from beneath the sheet of dust, her arms wrapped around a couple of grubby but grinning Undercity urchins. Change you can be a part of, the slogan on the poster read. Volunteer at the FUDE chapter nearest to you today! Against the sorry state of the depot, the sheet optimism of the poster almost sounded like a poor joke. Would that volunteer have known how this charity was going to turn out? Nicholas wondered. Did she even believe in the cause, or was she just a poster child for a venture that was doomed to fail?
"The depot," Lana whispered. "Oh, I miss this place."
Nicholas looked down to see the little girl next to him, her face pressed against the window as eagerly as he. The expression on her face was dreamy and full of wonder, as if she was staring into a candy store or a circus.
"You were here?" Nicholas asked, "You know…when this place was still up and running?"
"I can never forget it," Lana whispered. "I was here on the first day, when that nice man from above cut the ribbons. Then he and a bunch of nice brothers and sisters gave out candies and played tetherball with us. We sang songs and drew pictures with real crayons! It was the best day I've ever had!"
Father, Nicholas realized with a start. Lana had actually seen father before!
"They say that the nice man lives in a great house above the clouds under the shining sun," Lana added, her eyes sparkling. "Can you imagine what clouds look like? Someone told me they look like cotton candies. Giant, fluffy, white cotton candies…"
"What else did they do here?" Nicholas pressed. "What else did you do?"
"Oh a lot of things," Lana replied, her excitement growing palpable every minute. "They gave out free food and clothes to a lot of our friends. Helped many people fix their homes, find jobs here and…and they taught me how to read and write!"
"Read?"
"Yeah! The nice brothers and sisters who worked at the depot held classes. They taught me and other kids from the block! The ABCs, the commas, the periods… I got so good I could read a whole picture book by the end of the month! They gave me a shiny medal and a pretty picture book for being the best reader in class! We had to pawn the medal off for scrap last month…but I got to keep the book!"
Lana beamed with pride, her usual gravitas evaporating like morning mist.
"And when I came back home that night, I asked daddy if I could read to him before we went to bed. After I read the whole book aloud….daddy hugged me and said how much he loved me! Ever since then, I try to read to him whenever I can every night."
Nicholas could feel a hard lump forming at his throat. He could hardly believe this carcass of a building in front of him was the same place of wonder Lana was telling him about.
"So you really did love the foundation, huh?" Nicholas said softly. "They were doing something good here after all."
"Oh, not just me," Lana replied. "Plenty of others loved that charity too! Free food, some place to wait 'til moms came back from work, really fun things they taught us…. I know a lot of my friends really liked going there! Mrs. Chan from next door said the depots were the best thing to happen to the Undercity since the police decided to leave us alone!"
There was no doubt about it. Despite what the lieutenants had said, the charity clearly mattered for many people down here. The foundation was not just a misguided attempt by ignorant nobles. Gangs notwithstanding, there were plenty who sought a way out—or even a distraction from—this harsh existence they were eking out. From what Lana had told him, the volunteers were even successful in engaging many of the younger children and teaching them a new way to live other than through the endemic gang culture. During the short time that the foundation reached out to the neighborhood, its success had been tangible.
Nicholas saw the desolate building no longer. In his mind, the depot was intact and flourishing once more, brimming with volunteers and Undercity residents working together to improve their lives. He could imagine children like Lana chattering noisily as their mouths clumsily sounded out the alphabets and arithmetic formulas written on glistening whiteboards. Those children, in turn, would grow up to utilize what they have learned to worthier endeavors, inspiring more and more to seek out the depots. Who knew how much good the charity might have accomplished had it been left standing? The possibilities were endless. The resources offered to the Undercity could have single-handedly overturned its misery and depravity.
But those days were gone now. Forever. What dreams Hollis Caverell had for the Undercity died on that tragic night along with him. Even as the brutal gang culture of the Undercity tore at the Foundation from below, the schemes of Uncle Frederick had thoroughly destroyed his father's vision from above. For many Undercity children like Lana, the Foundation ended up being nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of a life they would never have. The books, candies, education, songs…..all were fragments from a wonderful dream that once snatched away, would eventually nurture despair and hatred for the people above who had cruelly led them on. Unrequited hope, not poverty, was a prelude to disappointment and bitterness. Nicholas himself knew this to be painfully true.
And this…..was how his family would be remembered for all eternity. They were the purveyors of impossible dreams and dabblers in naïve ventures, whose failures labeled them as laughingstocks of all Shadowgrave City. To the new generation of Undercity youths, the Foundation—named after his late mother no less—will become a fodder for resentment and contempt towards the spire-nobles. And to all those nobles in their refuge high above…..what lesson did this serve? That it was a terrible idea to invest in the Undercity? That it wasn't like them to care for those vermin crawling below their feet? Or was this supposed to be a cautionary tale for those wanting to change the status quo? For all of his uncle's ruthless business acumen, the House of Caverell would never recover from this dishonorable stigma placed on it. Nor could it: the honor of the Caverell family had died along with his father.
The reality came crashing down on Nicholas like a tidal wave. In that brief moment, the terrors he had endured in the past weeks were forgotten, leaving him alone with all the grief, shame, and anger over everything he had lost. The memory of his father and his loyal servants burst forth like searing lava from the recesses of his mind. They were gone. Everyone he had loved, his home, and even his family's honor. They had all been taken away from him, by a man who only sought to fill his own ambitions. For what? For daring to believe that they could make a difference to the world around them. And he….was left all alone, cast from his sanctuary into the gutters to be torn apart by the very people his family had been trying to help.
For the first time since his flight from the spires, Nicholas fell to his knees and wept. Tears poured down his cheeks, hot and stinging, and formed dark puddles at his feet. Strangled sobs escaped from his mouth, echoing into the vaulted ceilings high above. Each fresh wave of shuddering sob was a painful reminder of his hopeless plight, enough to send him into renewed paroxysm of anguished cries. Like a disconsolate man crumpled beside the lifeless body of his beloved, Nicholas wept for his losses. He wept for the fall of the House Caverell.
Nicholas suddenly felt a small hand cautiously caressing his shoulder, and raised his head to see Lana's anxious face peering into his own. What an ugly sight he must be to the girl, his reddened eyes and nose all covered with a vile mixture of tears, saliva, and phlegm. Yet, there was little fear to be found on Lana's face. With the tenderness and assurance of a mother hen, the girls instead knelt down and brought him into a tight hug. The unexpected move caught Nicholas by surprise, momentarily breaking him from his sorrow.
"It's okay. It's alright. Everything's going to be fine," Lana gently whispered into his ear, "The nice brothers and sisters will be back with more candies and books! Then we can have the whole day, no, a whole week to have all the fun!"
In spite himself, Nicholas almost laughed aloud. How naïve she was. If only she knew everything that had happened to him! If only she knew about the schemes that had destroyed the foundation forever! If she only knew how the last of the noble Caverells had been wiped clean from the face of the earth….
….But only that it wasn't true, was it?
The truth when it came to him struck him like a lightning bolt. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting for him to pick up the cue. The house of Caverell did not die with his father, nor did it die with the fall of his charity. What truly defined the family weren't their manor or their assets, nor their fine clothes or fancy sigils. It was their belief in a better future and faith in the goodness of men that defined them—the same ideal that Nicholas still believed in and held dear despite everything that had happened to him.
He, Nicholas, was the last of the Caverells.
And if he left this city altogether or allowed himself to be caught and disposed of….then that would be the real end of his father's legacy, of the foundation, or any chance of reforming this depraved city. Without him, there would be no one left here to someday revive the hopes for millions of people like Lana who deserved better than what they had now. Nicholas stared at the ground hard, even as the rest of his tears splattered against the concrete. His mind was no longer in a fit of despair, but replaced by a strange calm that portended something greater. He saw a choice to be made in the crossroads he was standing on. He could go on his way and ensure that his father's—and his by extension—vision truly died. Or he could deny that fate and instead try to make it in this wretched place somehow. As long as someone in Shadowgrave City believed in it, an ideal would remain alive, wouldn't it? And perhaps if he grew stronger, he could look for an opportunity to make one difference at a time, couldn't he?
And for that to happen in real life….
"I have to go back," Nicholas muttered, and repeated it again loudly. "I am going back to the Silver Wings!"
Lana gasped, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Really?! You mean it?"
"I do," the teenager replied as he slowly dragged himself to his feet. "If I run away now, I'll just end up running away again sooner or later. It's better to face my fears right here and master it, so I won't be so overwhelmed later."
"Besides," he added with a crooked grin. "I sure would like to see the depot come back someday. Would be a shame if I missed out on all those songs and candies, no?"
Lana squealed happily and threw her one arm around Nicholas. Wiping his face with a swipe of his sleeve, Nicholas gently petted her shoulder and cast his eyes upon the discarded banner. Even among the dirt and rubbish, the Silver Star seemed to shine as brightly as ever.
Was he still afraid? Of course he was. That much hasn't changed. But Nicholas realized that from the moment he discovered his role in the greater scheme of things, abandoning Shadowgrave has never been an option for him. He may have lost everything, but perhaps his presence down here in the Undercity could mean serving a greater purpose someday. Not today or tomorrow, but surely someday long into the future. It would take him a long while to gain the strength that he needed. He would earn many more scars and experience more painful losses. But with a purpose this great, all the fears and concerns seemed insignificant.
And so, right there in front of the ruins of the charity, Nicholas Caverell made a promise he would hold onto for the rest of his life.
It took Nicholas less than twenty minutes to step back into the musty lobby of the Silver Wing headquarters, his cheeks flushed and out of breath. He had come rushing back to the block, having parted ways with Lana in front of the building. The young girl had wished him good luck, her ace brimming with excitement and pride; even now, her curious face bobbed in and out of the glass window, eager to catch a glimpse of events to come.
Nicholas had no idea how he could salvage his standing with the Silver Wings. C.J.'s cold rebuff earlier was still fresh on his mind, as was the dismissive farewell with the other lieutenants. He had no other leverage or incentives to make them reconsider. Nicholas marveled just how easily he had burnt all the bridges behind him. But there was no other way to learn the strength and skills he needed out here. And if the only way meant groveling at the Silver Wings' feet, then so be it. The stakes were greater than it had been before.
Before Nicholas could move, he suddenly heard distinct sound of someone stomping loudly up the hallway ahead of him to the left. Like a behemoth emerging from the depths, the huge form of C.J. Carter forcefully strode into the open. It was evident from his body language that the lieutenant was in quite a hurry. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by something akin to a harried frown, accentuated by the tautness in his jaws.
The giant ganger stopped and grimaced upon seeing Nicholas.
"What in hell….? I thought I told you to leave this place," he rumbled. "Did you just come back here to whine some more? Perhaps you would like to request a chaperone?"
Nicholas swallowed hard. "I…..I had made a big mistake. I don't want to leave this place."
C.J.'s frown grew even deeper. "What?!"
"I shouldn't have quit like I had. I should've faced my demons head on! I want to learn how to make it out here, grow stronger or die trying! Please….give me a second chance!"
C.J. glared at Nicholas briefly before snorting in derision.
"And you thought we would change our minds at your whim? What the hell made you think we would have you back, especially after you've turned your tail once already? The only thing I'm willing to spare is ten seconds to get your skinny ass out of here before I do it myself."
"Let me talk to Ibrahim," Nicholas said breathlessly. "Or Magda or Chase—"
"They're not here," C.J. snapped. "They've already led their squads out for daily missions hours ago, to do what is expected of them so all of us can eat for another night. And I know they'll back me up on my decision on this. So stop wasting my time and get out when I tell you to! As the sole remaining lieutenant in charge, I have a more urgent business to take care of."
With that, the ganger turned away and began stomping away once more down the opposite hallway. Nicholas looked on helplessly, at loss for words. The prospect of salvaging his situation was quickly slipping away.
"You're right!" Nicholas blurted out in desperation. "I am spoiled! I am weak! I am a coward! And I don't know a single shit about this hellhole and I probably won't! For all you know I'll probably die out here in less than a week!"
C.J. paused at midstride, and slowly turned back.
"At least you know where you stand," he rumbled. "Big deal!"
"But you said you knew people weaker than I who became the best gangers you'd ever seen! And I'm sure everyone around here didn't even spare them a glance in the beginning, until they proved them otherwise! Don't tell me you weren't surprised by what they've shown you!"
"So what's your point?"
"If you won't accept me back into the gang right now, fine. Have it your way," Nicholas pleaded. "But before you make up your mind, just give me a chance to prove myself worthy again! Let me try at least once, or die in the attempt! Whatever you need done, I'll do it. Whoever you need beaten, I'll do it! If I am to die, at least let me go out with dignity! You can grant me that at least, can't you?"
For what felt like eternity, C.J. stood still, his stern gaze fixed on Nicholas. Nicholas could almost see the ganger's mind racing, sizing up the possibilities before him. Before he could do anything, the lieutenant suddenly closed the distance between them in few strides and seized him painfully by the shoulders.
"Look at me. Look at me!" C.J. shouted as he lowered his head to Nicholas's level. Nicholas was startled by the sheer intensity burning in those green eyes. "Did you mean what you just said? Can you promise you will never to go back on those words and prove yourself a coward the second time?"
"Y-Yes!" Nicholas gasped.
"Swear to me, and swear to the Silver Wings!"
"I swear to never go back on my words!"
C.J. slowly let go of his shoulders and straightened up. The ardor in his eyes had cooled a little, replaced by cold scrutiny typical of a master engineer.
"If I had my way, I would not even reconsider your ridiculous plea, nor would any of my colleagues," the ganger said, "Lucky for you, we happen to have a situation on our hands right now that forces me to be more….lenient. Priorities being what they are, I am forced to look for the means wherever I can."
"What are you talking about?" Nicholas asked.
"Alright, Here's the deal," C.J. said. "We have a major crisis underway that needs to be dealt with. Unfortunately, with most of the Silver Wing members away on their missions, we are currently a little short on manpower. Normally, I would round up the most capable rank-and-file around the neighborhood, but we simply don't have enough time to do that. So…if you agree to volunteer for this mission I'm putting together, I will perhaps….put in a good word on your behalf, even get the other lieutenants to reconsider."
Nicholas' heart leapt as he found his hope renewed. "Really? Will you do this for me?"
"I never lie. I will support your case before the rest if you see this one through," the lieutenant said flatly. "And that's why I'm going to tell you that this mission is going to be, without a doubt, highly dangerous. The odds are that you won't even get to survive to make it back. But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? A chance to go out with some dignity?"
Nicholas momentarily felt his fear rear its head once more, crying out at him to refuse the offer. A more cautious part of him urged him that this was not worth it, that it was far better to live in ignominy than to die with some dubious honor. The image of the ruined depot flashed before his eyes, however, and Nicholas forcefully stamped down any misgivings. This was no longer about him. He had made a promise that more precious than anything he had ever owned.
"Those were my words," he whispered. "I'm willing do whatever it takes."
"Good," C.J. said, "Then follow me. I'll explain the details in the briefing room once I've gathered everyone remaining here." Without further word, the lieutenant set off towards the corridor in a brisk pace. It took an effort on Nicholas' part even to keep up with his gigantic stride.
"Wait, so what's really going on here?" Nicholas asked as he jogged after C.J.'s broad retreating back. "What is this crisis you are talking about?"
C.J.'s response rang back to him like a cold wind blasting through a dark cave.
"Mother of all screw-ups, that's what! Fail now…and it could possibly mean a death sentence for this whole gang!"
R&R!
Note: Anyone interested in becoming my beta reader?