Outskirts of the Isles

On the very edge of the Isles, there was a single mansion overlooking the cliffside beaches and oceans. Many have often dreamed of owning a place like this. Every day, they would see the sunset and hear the waves crashing against the rocks. Some would even kill for it.

The crown jewel of this mansion was a massive room. Gigantic gears adorned the walls. Tools of all kinds were placed neatly on trays and desks. Massive pods were filled with glowing liquids, and some of these said pods had what appeared to be bodies floating inside of them. On other tables, chemist sets and alchemy stands sat in unison. Finally, there was a giant electrical pyron that hummed with power in the center of the room.

For some, it was a madman's laboratory. For others, it was a wonder of science. For the owner of the mansion, it was home.

He was a witch who wore a white lab coat that was bloodstained in many places, black gloves and boots and had black goggles covering his eyes. To top it off, he had scraggly and unkempt black hair, a sign of someone too focused on his own work to handle his personal appearance.

His name was Victor H. Griffin. His genius was rivaled by few, his inventions revolutionary, and his hubris somewhat unchecked. His personal life was an enigma, however, as he rarely left his laboratory for anything unless it was truly important.

Griffin was as stoic as he was passionate about his work. He had always hidden his emotions, the goggles adorning his face not helping at all. It was hard for his peers to understand what he was thinking because of this, resulting in a feeling of unease. He cared little for what others thought, however. Preferring to keep to himself and work on whatever experiment he was conducting.

Such as creating a new homunculus body for a friend of his.

He carefully stitched the severed arm to the shoulder of the golem, ensuring that no major tendon or sinew was damaged in the process. After what felt like hours, he added the last stitch and slightly moved the arm around to ensure it was snugly attached before carefully letting it down, grabbing a staple gun and firing them into select parts of the limb for added security.

Just as he was about to hold the next limb to attach, a knock on the doors interrupted him. Aside from a brief pause, he had no reaction to this and simply put down both the limb and the sewing needle and turned to the door. It took a few seconds to get there while walking at an average pace. Perhaps he should invent a faster way to travel there. Another thought for another day.

He opened the doors to find his elf secretary, Norman, holding a clipboard in front of him, "a recent report for the events of last night, sir." He stated, a slight fearful tone in his voice.

Griffin stepped forward in response, hands behind his back. "Report," he said, his tone of voice monotonous.

The elf continued, "the explosion last night has been… shall we say 'covered up.' The official story is that it was a late night delivery accident. It took a lot of money to ensure they said that."

Griffin did not respond to this bit of information, only motioning him to continue.

"The casualty list is five. Including one of your made men, Rooker," the elf had a slight sadness in his voice saying this, "all the bodies were so heavily damaged that they needed dental records for identification."

Griffin slightly bowed his head hearing this. The only slight hint of emotion he has shown so far. "Anything else?" He asked.

"One survivor, currently held at Police Precinct 128. Quite the lucky one, I might add. A recent recruit named 'Three-Eyes.' Well, that's his nickname anyway. His real name is-"

"Bail him out and bring him to me for questioning." Griffin interrupted, his voice now slightly stern.

Norman stammered for a second, "wh-why, Sir?"

"Rooker was many things. An idiot wasn't one of them. He wouldn't make a mistake like this that would cost him not only his life, but most of his crew as well. Three-Eyes could potentially be an undercover saboteur from the Emperor's Coven. I must interrogate him and perform a memory extraction."

Norman nodded before speaking up again, "understood. I'll send a bailer now."

Griffin only nodded in response before stepping back and slamming the doors.

"You're welcome," Norman said under his breath as he brought out his Scroll to call his contacts and walked away from the door.

Hours later

Griffin heard a knock on the door as he was writing down notes. Thankfully, this was one he was expecting. He put down the pen and notebook as he began another tedious walk to the doors. He opened them to reveal an Abomination holding a terrified looking triclops in its hands.

Griffin paid no heed to the slime beast and instead turned to the captive, "I assume you're the one called 'Three-Eyes?'"

The triclops nodded hastily. Griffin then ordered the golem to put him down and turned back to his lab, motioning the now released captive to follow him. "Close the door, would you?" he said, without turning.

Three-Eyes did just that and took a moment to look at everything in the room. From the grotesque to the wondrous. He was both in awe and in fear at what he saw.
"Congratulations, rookie," Griffin said, interrupting the triclop's state, his words slightly echoing in the massive room, "not many first timers get a chance to see the man in charge so soon. I bet you're feeling quite lucky, aren't you?"

Three-Eyes couldn't tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic thanks to his monotonous tone. He answered anyway, "uh, yeah, boss. Pretty lucky."

Griffin stepped to the triclops, hands folded behind him, a slight smirk on his face, "please, you may call me 'Griffin.' All my friends do."

Three-Eyes was feeling really creeped out with this guy right about now. Nothing he did ever reassured him. It was as if he was overwhelmed by dread and practically frozen

The witch held out his hand and gestured to a chair near the wall, "sit down, please." Three-Eyes immediately did so, placing himself in the chair, as if he was under a hypnotic spell that he had no chance at breaking free of.

The scientist then walked over to a table, mulling his hands over a nearby tool tray and finding a pair of special tweezers used for memory extraction, "it's best to get this business out of the way." He said to himself.

"What are you gonna do?" nervously asked Three-Eyes as he saw the tweezers.

"Quiet," replied Griffin as he readied the tweezers, "now, I want you to hold still or I'll pull a bit more than just photos."

"What-what do you need my memories for!?"

"I said be quiet." Griffin slightly raised his voice at this, causing the triclops to shut up immediately as the former placed the tweezers near his ear.

He felt the cold metal enter his ear canal and the feeling of his very brain being moved. It was not pleasant at all as he clenched the arms of the chair, feeling what felt like wet paper being taken out of his ear.

Griffin observed that the photo was blank, but in a few seconds, it developed into a photo of a young child going into school for the first time. How sweet.

"I do apologize for such a hasty development, my friend," he said, as he put the photo in wooden clamps on a wire, "I'm a man of my work first. Everything else is practically dead last to me. But don't worry, it'll be over before you know it. Like getting a flu shot."

The triclops just nodded at him as he felt the tweezers enter his ear yet again. He was in for a long evening.

Bonesbourough Alleys

In the dead of night, two hoodlums, an orc and a witch, walked down the alley entrance, discussing the events of last night.

"So, yeah, they settled that it was a 'shipment accident'" the witch said.

"Honestly, I just still can't believe Rooker is dead, dude," the orc said, "just like that. Boom! Gone in an instant."

"And what a horrible way to go. Geez."

Both soon stopped at the end of the alley, looking at a particular pile of tarps on the wall, covered haphazardly by a crate to blend in with the garbage. They looked at each other, the witch motioning the orc to deal with it, much to the latter's annoyance.

"Hey! Wake up, ya bum," the orc said as he kicked the pile, an audible groan emanating as the pile moved to reveal a cyclops underneath it all.

"What was that for, man?" The cyclops groaned as he got up, rubbing his eye, "can't a fella get a decent night's rest-" he then stopped as he recognized the figures. "Oh, it's nice to see you two."

The witch didn't respond at all as he reached into his robes and pulled out a small sack, opening it to reveal what looked like yellow glowing sand.

"Pixie Dust.." the cyclops said, a hungry look in his, well, single eye. Just as he was about to reach for it, the witch pulled it back, "payment first."

The cyclops let out a little groan of annoyance before pulling out a bag of snails and handing it to the orc. As the cyclops got the bag of Dust, the orc seemed to weigh the bag in his hand, "this feels… light."

The cyclops froze before looking up nervously, "well, I mean-"

"You're not trying to scam us, are you?" the witch interrupted, his voice dripping with venom.

The cyclops paused and moved his eye frantically, shaking and sweating, both the orc and witch glaring at him with narrowed brows. Finally, the pressure got to him and he couldn't take it, "Ok! I only have half of what I need! Kids today aren't as charitable anymore, you know!? I'm sorry, ok!?"

As he confessed, he reeled back his head and shielded himself, expecting a fist on his face. Instead, he received a pat on the shoulder.

"Was that so hard? Being honest?" The witch said in an almost mocking tone, "the last guy that tried to lie to us like that had his throat slit like an Erymanthian boar."

The cyclops gulped as they didn't need to tell him that a similar fate awaited him if he tried to pull this stunt again. With a mocking salute, the witch turned away, as did the orc. "See you next time," the former said as he walked away, the latter giggling.

The cyclops sighed, adjusting the sheets over his cold body as the words echoed through his head. He was so done for. He could imagine it now. This was how his life would end: In a cold, dark alley, laying in a puddle of his own blood. All because he couldn't find enough money.

At least the drugs would take away the thoughts for a while. That was all he had.

Just as he opened the bag of dust, he heard the sounds of impacts and grunting from the end of the alley. Did someone try to mug the dealers? Or was it the cops? Either way, he needed to hide. As fast and quietly as he could, he engulfed himself in the tarps, adjusting himself so he could blend in with the garbage. A tiny slit in the sheet was open so he could peep out and see what was happening. Nothing. The noises stopped. For a solid minute, it was dead silence. Then a bag dropped onto the ground, the coins inside clinking on impact.

Wait a minute, was that his money?

The cyclops slowly, but surely, crept outside his hiding spot, constantly looking everywhere to make sure nobody else was around. He then picked up the bag and opened it. The exact same amount of Snails was in there. Completely untouched.

He had a million questions in his head. Who gave him back the money? Did they beat up the dealers? Where are they now? He looked around again, seeing nothing and nobody around.

"Hello?" He asked no one in particular. He asked again, "hello?"

Nobody answered. Again, he looked around

"Whoever you are!" He cried out, "thank you!"

Up above on the rooftops, a figure with a red all encompassing cloak stared at the cyclops with glowing green eyes. In his hands were the limp bodies of the drug dealers, held by their broken necks. The figure watched as the cyclops returned to his hiding spot to spend the night in.

He then turned and leapt off the rooftop, his red cape flowing behind him. He had work to do in this city. And the night was still young.