Nikon woke up and left like he had been stabbed in the face.
He groaned and grabbed at his face, immediately discerning that he was bandaged and that it needed to be changed, likely a few hours late. He felt the sticky blood leaking through the cloth, his fingers pulling away red and seemingly drawing more agony out of the wound they were covering.
"Fucking hell, this hurts," grunted the surgeon, rubbing the old blood between his fingers. "That guard must've cut down to the bone. I'll be getting a scar from this, definitely."
He looked around the room he was in, noting how it was a ramshackle of a hospital room with various cots set up along the outer walls. None of them were occupied at the moment, which was likely for the best. He knew of how quickly infection and other diseases spread amongst such close quarters, and that it was only recently the general public was becoming aware of such things.
"Obviously I'm not in a company of top minds," grunted Nikon dryly.
He saw a nearby roll of bandages on the table beside him and grabbed it, unwinding a coil. He paused, realizing such a task was pointless without a pair of scissors, before noting a small razor blade closely as well.
"Well it's crude, but it'll do."
He cut a length of bandage out and began winding it around his head, knowing that removing the old one would simply reopen the clot forming over the wound. He checked his reflection in the blade, noting how rough and dirty he was.
"I look like death warmed over," noted the surgeon. "Great. Looks like now would be a bad time to hit the dating scene."
That thought spawned another, one far more important and less humorous. He pictured Diana's face, immediately trying to sit up but failing in panic. He quickly realized excessive movement was exactly what he should avoid, lest accidentally open the wound, but he could not avoid the clawing anxiety in his stomach.
"Damn it…I lost my assistant," whispered the surgeon gritting his teeth. "I have to find her…"
He stood up, steadying himself as best he could against the nearby wall. "First things first…have to find those who rescued me…figure out a plan from there."
Nikon exited the room, noticing how the entire structure seemed to be both made of concrete and surprisingly warm. It may seem abandoned by the level of dirt and most of the furniture made from scraps, but it was surely not condemned.
"It would appear I have either been abducted by thieves or beggars. This does not bode well for me."
He reached for his cigarettes, before immediately noticing that they were not there.
"Guess that narrows it down to thieves."
The surgeon passed by several other rooms, most marked with one-word descriptions to their functions, and began to notice a pattern. Many of the rooms appeared military in nature, most appearing to be marked with weaponry or explosives.
"Well-armed thieves too," murmured Nikon sarcastically.
He finally got to a staircase, slowly going up each step. He began to hear sounds of conversation above him, dozens of voices emitting from the door up ahead. It got louder the closer he got, and the actual tone of the conversations seemed boisterous but friendly.
"I smell…baking bread, and wine…" whispered the surgeon. "I must be in some kind of tavern."
He grabbed the doorknob, debating about what would happen when he turned it. The two people from earlier had clearly brought him here and someone had patched up his injuries, so he was at least in friendly company. He had no money, no research, and no cigarettes, so he could hardly barter for his medical aid, and he most likely knew absolutely no one in this group he had been rescued by.
All in all, he was in a strange spot.
"Fuck it, I've already cheated death once. What's once more?"
He opened the door.
He was immediately hit a barrage of noises, each one enough to create a minor headache but altogether creating a giant maelstrom of pain in his skull. He stumbled back a few feet into the stairwell, narrowly avoiding a bumbling bus boy coming along with a tray full of dishes and cups. The entire room was full of dining patrons, drinking a breakfast platter of bread and fresh fruit with wine to spare.
"Goddamn, maybe I should've stayed in the cot," grunted the surgeon grasping at his head.
Someone at a far table stood up, smiling pleasantly at him across the room. He was tall and lean, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to act as blades when he looked into them. His smile seemed genuine enough, but his eyes told the real story, that of a predator waiting. Waiting for what, he could not determine, but it was clear the man was faking his casual walk and approach.
"The great Doctor Nikon, a pleasure!" shouted the man over the din, extending a hand.
Nikon shook it out of politeness sake, noting how the man's flesh was incredibly warm, almost hot to the touch.
"Pleasure is hardly the word for it, considering my head," noted the surgeon bluntly, deciding not to mince words in unsure company. "My head feels like someone's driving nails into it."
The blue-eyed stranger nodded, that small smile never wavering. "Yes, I imagine the noise is quite discordant. Please, allow me to take you to a more private chamber."
"As long as I can have a cigarette, fine by me," stated Nikon. "I take it you took those as payment for my medical bills."
The blue-eyed stranger laughed, taking him up a nearby staircase to the second floor of the building. "Yes, yes, my men are a bit…covetous. I will get you some more, do not worry doctor."
"Your men?" repeated the surgeon. "Are you a general?"
"No, at least not yet," stated the man. He smiled at him, though it again held no warmth. "I must choose my words carefully around you, doctor. You are quite perceptive."
Nikon decided that was the polite way of being told to mind his damn business and stop prying, so he concluded he would keep being a nosy jackass as much as possible simply to amuse himself.
"I have to be perceptive, it is my job after all," argued Nikon. "So, tell me, why a tavern? Seems like a weird place for…whatever it is you are doing."
"It's cliché, I know, but it works," countered the blue-eyed stranger. "We're out of the way, and no one pays us any mind."
"He doesn't want to be found," noted the surgeon internally. "Obviously criminal. Maybe they're thieves? Would explain a lot. But why all the ceremony? Hmph, made myself laugh. All big-time thieves are melodramatic. But why save my life?"
They walked up to an office where four other people waited, each one as odd as the blue-eyed stranger. The first was a woman who dressed like a whore, and seemed to play the part judging by the flirtatious wink she gave him. The second looked like the type who smashed bricks to pieces with his face considering how ugly he was, and looked about as intelligent as the bricks he smashed. The third was covered head to toe in bandages like a burn victim, and seemed to be neither man nor woman. And finally, the fourth man looked like he was at a nobleman's party despite being in a filthy hovel, dressed in a golden coat with a masquerade mask.
"Ah, the good doctor," spoke the woman smiling and fanning herself with a small feathered fan. "You look well, considering the last I saw you was bleeding on an operating table."
"More like a butcher's," grunted the large man. "I've seen men do better jobs with their feet."
"Now, now, Irving, don't criticize my girls. The most they do is patch each other's cuts and bruises when our clients get a little too grabby. They can hardly compare to one of the best surgeons in Tyvia."
"I got patched up by a whore?" asked Nikon slightly offended.
"To be fair, she's a very smart whore," noted the man known as Irving. "Best there is, really."
"Oh Irving, you always flatter me," jested the woman smirking. "Next you'll tell me I can have all the stars in the sky and fly in a chariot made of rainbows and fairy dust."
"Well, at least I didn't die on the table," spoke the surgeon rubbing his head. "So, who are these people and why are they important to me?"
The blue-eyed stranger sat at the desk, pointing to each individual member. "The whore, as you so politely said, is Miss Gretzky. The man built like a bear is Irving Boyd, while the bandaged fellow is Shrike, and the golden man is Lord Alexey Urarov."
"The politician?" asked Nikon raising an eyebrow. "Last I heard you tried to run for council member. Considering what happened to Kuznetsov, your failure likely saved your life."
"Well that sure is encouraging," stated the golden man with a voice dripping with sarcasm.
The blue-eyed stranger smirked, sliding over a tin of cigarettes to the surgeon. "Dr. Nikon, I'm not going to lie to you. We rescued you because we require two items from you. The first is simple. We need your story of what happened at council member Kuznetsov's manor, specifically the attack by Secretary Kalin's men."
"What parts?" asked Nikon lighting a cigarette. "I didn't exactly see the attack coming, nor did I anticipate such hostile actions from Secretary Kalin. I'm as surprised as you all are, probably less so judging by those notes on the table."
The bandaged one known as Shrike glanced at him, revealing that their face was obscured by a pair of large snow goggles. "You can read native Tyvian?"
"Of course, I can," snapped the surgeon. "I'm a native too. I can read and write in Tyvian, though I far prefer Gristol's common tongue. Those notes, by the way, mention that you've begun to connect Kalin with various aggressive actions against other council members. The robbery of council member Botkin's private bank accounts, the facial disfiguring by acid of Rosya, even the vandalism of Nemirov's manor…you've found a common connection to all of them."
The blue eyed stranger nodded. "Yes, we've begun to see a pattern. If you could see the other papers, you'd notice we also have connected Secretary Taren and Cushing to several other acts committed against other council members. They were done over the course of a few years, making them seem sporadic, but I've noticed them. There are no coincidences in this world, I am sure you know that."
Nikon couldn't help but agree, sitting down at the other chair at the table. "Well color me interested. I always knew politicians were backstabbing bastards, but this seems a bit more direct than what I was expecting. Why are the Secretaries doing this?"
"Scare tactics. Someone screws with you, someone you don't know, and suddenly here come the Secretary's men to save the day, bringing you the heads of those 'responsible', when in reality they were setting up the situation in the first place. In gratitude, you agree to whatever your savior wants."
"And yet they openly attack Kuznetsov without trying to hide it," spoke Irving. "Which means either they're getting impatient or Kuznetsov wasn't so easy to intimidate."
"I'd point to the second," stated the surgeon. "Kuznetsov was a moron, but he was far from weak-willed. So now they'll replace him with some good little lapdog for Kalin. That's concerning enough, but I wonder…"
He rubbed his chin. "That attack on the compound was very well-organized from what I saw, but what concerns me is that they sent a man specifically to find me. They knew exactly where I was and made sure to send a soldier."
"Were they trying to kill you?" asked Alexey.
"No, at least not intentionally," deduced Nikon. "He told me to freeze, and he didn't shoot me immediately. In fact, none of the guards I fought were very…good at it, for lack of a better word."
"To be fair, guards in this city apparently test hammers by slamming them into their skulls, considering how dumb they are," noted Shrike.
"Maybe they wanted you alive," proposed Miss Gretzky, sipping a glass of bourbon. "Your research is something such cold-hearted bastards would be interested in. Gas weaponry could completely revolutionize warfare."
"I was hoping it would destroy it," grunted the surgeon angrily, already thinking of how his work could be abused by cruel dictators. "It's not even close to complete. I haven't found a solution that's not barbaric or cruel, but I take it these men aren't concerned about that."
The blue-eyed stranger raised an eyebrow. "No, definitely not. They have likely secured your research to aid with their efforts, and most likely hoped to recruit you. However, they got your assistant instead, didn't they?"
"Diana understands enough of it. She can easily complete it on her own in a matter of months," spoke Nikon calmly. "She may have been just an assistant, but she is far from idiotic."
"High praise from you," murmured Miss Gretzky sarcastically.
"So, it would be good for us to secure this assistant of yours," noted Shrike, tapping a black charred finger against the desk. "Thankfully, we have an idea on where she is."
Nikon glanced at the rest of the papers on the desk, noticing there was a blueprint laid across the surface with handwritten notes on it pointing out various points of interest on the map.
"This is the guard barracks for Secretary Kalin," explained the blue-eyed stranger. "Your assistant will likely be held there for the next few days so they can determine how much she knows and how they can utilize her."
"Likely?" repeated the surgeon. "You can't confirm that?"
"My scouts are good, but they can only see so much," argued Shrike. "We have reconnaissance on the building constantly, but they've already snuck out from under our noses before. I believe Kalin's men are using the sewers to move about."
"The thing is, there is a concrete goal we require for you to perform," stated the blue-eyed stranger. "One of our operatives was captured during your rescue. Your job is to find her and fire off a signal for us, upon which we'll create a diversion for you to escape."
"Me? I'm just a surgeon. I'm no soldier."
Shrike glanced at him. "You weren't always a surgeon."
Nikon looked at the figure curiously, before immediately catching on and his face twisting into a scowl.
"That was an accident," swore the surgeon. "I never meant what happened. I was a petty thief, yes, living from mouthful to mouthful, but I was no killer until that night, and I dislike having to do it again."
"This is your best chance of finding your assistant," argued the blue-eyed stranger offering a small smile that didn't go past his mouth. "After they move her, we'll have little idea of what they plan on her or where they're going with her. At least this way you can find out for yourself."
Nikon glared at him intensely, debating the decision in his mind. However, no matter what angle he approached it from made the stranger's claim false. He had to go and find out what happened to Diana, no matter what.
"Very well," said the surgeon leaning forward, glancing at the map. "I'll need a day or two more to heal properly before I set out. I'll also need equipment."
The blue-eyed stranger grinned, having caught his prey. "Of course. Irving, the box."
The large man grabbed a crate, placing it down on the table and removing items from it.
"Standard stuff. Sword, pistol, wristbow, grenades, springrazors…"
"Lots of loud things," grunted the surgeon. "I had hoped to do this quietly."
"Best to be prepared for anything," argued Irving. He smirked, picking up the sword. "Oh, and I think you'll like this."
He held up the blade, pointing to a small trigger near the handle similar to a pistol. "We modified this sword to give you a bit of an edge in combat."
He pulled the trigger, the blade suddenly sparking with lightning. "Stab a guy with this and give him a dose of thunder to knock him to the floor. Also, it'll destroy any electronic equipment you stab it into, like alarms or Walls of Light, so you won't have to worry about someone fixing them like you would with a Rewire Tool. Oh, and you'll need this."
Irving removed a white mask from the box, holding it up so the doctor could see. It looked like an archaic plague doctor mask, the beak stark white and the leather around it pitch black. It had been adapted with a gas mask filter on either side of the mouth, and the glass for the eyes was tinted to be reflective.
"We decided, with your research being about gas-based weaponry, it might not hurt for you to wear something to protect you from any enemies that try to use it against you. We made sure this works on all known gas agents, but with your research we can improve it later if you wish.
Nikon grabbed the mask, raising an eyebrow at the design. "Interesting."
He set it down. "Also, I will require detailed reported on the men inside this facility. How many are present, what are their arms, are there any guard rotations I should know? Are there people of interest I should avoid or terminate?"
The blue-eyed stranger nodded, grabbing a nearby stack of paper and setting it down before the doctor. "That last question is one I can answer. First, there's a captain we want you to terminate. Her name is Anna Morozov, and she also lead the attack against Kuznetsov's manor. She is dangerous in a fight, and it'd be best to get her out of the way."
He leaned forward, a look of grave concern washing over his face. "Second, there are the potential for four possible persons of interest to appear here, all four of which you must make a great effort to avoid. They are Kalin's bodyguards, and he occasionally sends one or two to his barracks to check up on his men. If he does, you cannot engage with them. They are trained killers, and do not show any mercy."
"How is that different from the others in this building?" asked the surgeon.
Shrike picked up with the explanation. "We have reason to believe that these men have powers from the Outsider, as judging by reports from survivors, and they all share one common ability that even I find baffling. They seem to have the ability to sense when one of their own is in danger and aid them, appearing as if from nowhere to help their comrade. All four of them have been shown to do this, and it makes it incredibly hard to take them out one on one. In the five years we've began studying them, we have only injured one of them, and that was with fairly minor scrapes and cuts."
The surgeon nodded, knowing a little of the Outsider and the Void but not really understanding it. He knew it was an occult practice and involved powers beyond scientific explanation, though he wasn't enough of a skeptic to deny they existed. He had heard tales from the guards of men who could seemingly dash over meters in an instant or seemingly stop time, but had not personally seen it.
"I do not intend to fight four highly trained killers at one time," argued Nikon. "If I know their faces, I shall do my best to avoid them."
The blue-eyed stranger smirked. "I should hope you avoid them. I've lost good men to those bastards, and I'd hate to lose one of my best finds."
"Finds?" asked the surgeon narrowing his eyes. "I am not one of your men. I am simply trying to rescue my assistant and take back what is mine. I do not care about what you want. Speaking of which, what do you want? Who are you?"
The blue-eyed stranger leaned back in his chair, the fire in his eyes turning into an inferno. "Who I am is Prince Kallisar of Tyvia, rightful heir to this island. And what I want is what is rightfully mine. So, in a way, I guess we both are just men trying to get what we deserve."
Nikon let the name work through his brain, remembering that Kallisar was the name of the most popular and feared Prince currently trying to overthrow the government. He was stated to be exceptionally charismatic and powerful, strong enough to take on ten men and lead a thousand into battle. But there was one nugget of information that he remembered first and foremost, and it was just annoying enough that he simply had to say it.
"Wasn't there a pornographic play made about you?" asked the surgeon calmly.