Chapter 117 : A silhouette in the city (Patreon)

George Froko was not having a good day, today.

The short chubby man's black hair and mustache were messy instead of their usual oily swept-back look, an attempt at making himself look more well-off than he was to his usual clientele. His big red nose let out a loud sniff as he stared into his glass, his thoughts a mess.

He was currently sitting at the counter of a small bar in the seedier parts of Zalcien. The building of mostly concrete with wooden parts to improve the decor was somewhat close to the slums, and the police's resources were focused on the frontier separating those from the main city rather than the small area around the filthy monster-infested land. It was safer than one would expect in truth, exactly because of the previous factors. Small crimes were common, but anything or anyone too extreme would attract the mass of law enforcers nearby, while all of the Villains and the true scum of the city chose to assemble where even the Union wouldn't go, thus leaving them places like this one, the home of the common crook, those who stole cars and belongings from houses rather than laboratories and museums. As a professional scam artist, George was at home here. Despite the fact his methods were far more discreet than what the others did, he felt far safer and better here than he would closer to the city center.

And yet, despite this being his happy place, George was slumped over the wooden counter, his mind preoccupied with all the dark thoughts that had been keeping him awake at night for over a week now.

"Still having nightmares, George?"

The overweight man looked up from his glass to the bartender, a black man in a white blouse with a pair of short curved-back white horns poking out from his black hair.

"Is it that obvious, Joe?"

The bartender shrugged as he cleaned a glass.

"Well, when you look like you might as well be dead, it's hard not to notice something's wrong."

The scam artist sighed.

"It's just... I've had a few close calls before, and this ain't the first time someone threatened me, but this thing... At least with a mugger or a gang guy, they're still people, I can still play up the charm or the begging. I get a few bumps and cuts, but after that they let me go so I can get the money or whatever. This thing? It was going to do worse than that."

"I don't wanna victim shame here, but what made you think it was a good idea to scam a big monster from the slums anyway? That sounds like a great way to get killed."

"First off, this wasn't my first time there. Second, he wasn't a 'big monster', just a random new guy. I met one of his lackeys, it was just a pitch-black dude, I thought he would be the same! I didn't expect whatever Nine-cursed horror beast he was!"

"Still, not your brightest idea."

George groaned before emptying his glass in a single gulp while Joe took out the bottle he had initially served him with.

"The guy obviously had no clue of how people worked around here, I thought he'd just go along with the plan. I'd get money, he'd get his place, and everyone would be happy."

"Until the next gang came to use the place, and they'd start killing each other."

"While I'd be out of the picture, safe and with some cash. Instead..."

The fat man shivered under the bartender's concerned gaze, who still filled his glass when the scam artist asked him to.

"Come on, it couldn't be that bad. If he was the monster you described, you wouldn't be here. Besides, if he let you go to get an exit, then it means he can't leave the slums. You're safe here."

The man said nothing for a moment, but his black companion was intrigued by the sudden onset of sweat and the way his eyes darted maniacally from side to side.

"There's something you ain't telling me."

George downed the entire glass once again.

"There's... He... I think he cursed me."

Joe raised an eyebrow and bent forward to whisper.

"Something private?"

"My back. I went to see Sabine's girls, and they said something went wrong with my tattoo."

"Aren't you afraid of needles?"

"I didn't get tattooed."

The way the two of them were positioned, Joe just had to get back up a little to see somewhat down the back of the collar of George's red vest, and he did notice a black blotch of something on the shorter man's on the skin of his back, beyond the normal darkness one would expect.

"You saw a mage for that?"

"Shaman. She told me to get out and never come back."

The bartender frowned. He wasn't an expert when it came to that sort of thing, but a shaman kicking someone out was never a good sign, especially without explaining anything. Usually, they would at least give some advice, as nonsensical as it could be. Maybe George's perception of the monster hadn't been as exaggerated by his fear as he thought. Whatever it was the scam artist angered, it looked like it was more than just a crime boss with a spooky Core.

"I think you'd be better off not going back to the slums for a while."

The chubby man nodded before taking his empty glass. Joe understood the message and filled it up again.

"I forgot, what was the spook's name? I think the other guys would appreciate a warning, just in case."

George looked from left to right before whispering.

"Silhouette."

Before Joe could comment, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The ambient light that came from the few small windows to the outside disappeared, and even though it was evening it vanished much faster than normal, leaving only the small blue neon lights inside to chase away the darkness. The other clients of the bar, whether more to the side of the counter or one of the small tables set close to the walls around the pool tables, noticed the odd change in luminosity too, and grew curious.

It was at this point Joe noticed the shadows.

Black tendrils slithered in from every opening to the outside, crawling on the walls and the floor in perfect silence as they spread, and the bartender tried his best to keep his cool as he put down the bottle of alcohol in his hand and instead bent to retrieve the weapon hidden beneath the counter. George noticed how tense he had suddenly become and turned to see what had unsettled the bartender so. All of the redness of his nose vanished as his face suddenly paled, for he saw the encroaching shadows and knew what they meant. His body shivered as he struggled to get up, his shaking knees making him fall back on his stool each time he tried despite holding onto the wooden counter.

The other patrons noticed the shift in the atmosphere and they too finally saw the spreading black, and they all got up from their seats and abandoned their games or conversations as those with weapons pulled them out, ready for a fight. A black mist began to rise from the shadows, gently rising and curling up to their waists, giving them chills. One by one the blue neons that lit up the room dulled, their light losing to the darkness, until the only thing letting those inside the bar see one another was the four lights behind the counter, meant to draw the eye to the various bottles of alcohol available.

Joe aimed his shotgun and frantically looked around the room, ready to blast apart anything that might try to crawl its way out of the shadows.

"Greetings."

The bartender turned faster than even he thought possible and discovered the man that had somehow sneaked up his way to a stool in front of him, to George's right. The scam artist looked on the verge of passing out, or as though his soul was getting stolen. But could the man next to him truly be called so? There was no flesh, and now that Joe looked further, no limb either. The thing only had a roughly human head on top of what could be called a pair of pointy shoulders, before everything below that narrowed down into a strand that connected it to the shadows beneath. In fact, the entity felt like it was darkness given form rather than anything living.

A black tendril fell from the ceiling and picked up George's empty glass, its tip stretching and tearing itself apart until the appendage ended in a clawed hand to better pick up the container, while a similar one came out of the closest wall and picked up the bottle Joe had put down and opened it before pouring a drink. Joe's eyes darted from side to side as he took in the scene, not knowing how to react to the sudden appearance of the monster that had plagued his client's nights.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything. I'd hate to be rude. But, truth be told, it is quite heartwarming to see you didn't forget me, Mister Froko. Or would you prefer George?"

The man in question finally succeeded in leaving his stool, but not in the fashion he'd hoped. The chubby man fell from his seat in a loud crash that sent the piece of furniture rolling as he tried to back away from the dark creature, still on his back, his eyes wide open and never leaving the black frame out of his gaze. The darkness hummed as the tentacles brought the now half-filled glass to the thing's head, gently swirling the clear liquid inside.

"I thought I'd see you sooner. When you didn't come back after a week, despite knowing what you were likely up to, I chose to be patient and give you some more time. After all, I could have been pleasantly surprised. Maybe you were preparing something for me, like a place for me to begin my operations in Zalcien from."

The black-clawed hand holding the glass closed shattered it, sending harsh-smelling liquid and clear debris everywhere.

"I didn't expect much from you, but getting drunk in a seedy bar a hop away from the slums? Every action you take disappoints me more. You must be the most pitiful thing I have encountered in this city. At least the others could prove to be annoying or at the very least had something that sparked my interest or spite. You lack even that. You are not even worth my hate."

Joe raised his gun and pointed to the dark thing's faceless head.

"Leave my customers alone."

Joe suddenly found himself with his back against the wall and his horns scratching the ceiling, a black limb constricted around his neck as his feet dangled in the air and his weapon lost in the shadows on the ground.

"I am afraid this won't be possible. I have already shown far too much mercy to Mister Froko. Though worry not, I have no ill will regarding you or the rest of your clientele. So long as you do not involve yourselves in my business, that is."

The various crooks in the room quickly nodded as they backed away from the shadow.

"It is heartwarming to see there are still people with a lick of sense in Zalcien. Now, back to the matter at hand."

For the first time since he appeared Silhouette rose from the stool, his every move completely silent. On the other end of the room, George was back up and frantically pulling at the entrance door's handle, the wood and metal creaking and shaking in the frame but refusing to open. The scammer grew more and more desperate as the dark figure grew closer, and he tried in vain to kick the way open, with no success. The black mist rose higher and caressed his messy hair and mustache, as well as the torrent of sweat dribbling down his forehead.

"You may not be worth my hate, Mister Froko, but you still need to be taken care of. It wouldn't do for future business partners to follow your example and take me for a fool. Now, is there anything of value you have to offer, in a last bid to save yourself?"

The short man opened his mouth to scream, to call for help in the hope someone outside would hear. The shadows curled and filled his throat, drawing tears from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

"If I recall correctly, the only thing you had that interested me was your hidden passage to and fro the slums, and as you can tell, I no longer require it."

Tendrils emerged from his nostrils, and the darkness beneath his skin pulled to make him the growing figure that now towered over him, close enough that he couldn't move his arms without risking touching it

"So. Any idea?"

The things invading George's facial orifices retreated with a slimy squelch, leaving him free to talk. He gasped, now able to take in air again, and coughed before, no longer held by the foreign appendages, he fell to his knees, his interlocutor retreating to avoid his stumbling body. He stayed silent for a few seconds, his mind catching up to what had just happened before he looked up at the one he had tried to deceive.

"I..."

"Yes? You?"

"I... I can give you anything you want from the junkyard! Anything, everything, it's all yours!"

"I do not need you to retrieve trash. Anything else?"

"I... I can be your guide to Zalcien! You need someone to show you all of the nice spots, no?"

"Any of those in this room could serve this purpose just as well, and none of them have annoyed me in the past. Is that all?"

"I know people! People who know people!"

"Let us put that to the test. All of you, would you say he truly has connections that justify keeping him around?"

The various crooks cowering in the dark all exchanged looks. It was true George knew people who knew people, but so did the rest of them. The scammer wasn't the most valuable asset in the bar at the moment, and they all knew that. At the same time, though not of them were acquainted with him, none of them wanted to be the one who said it out loud and doomed the man to die. He was a regular of the bar, one on friendly terms with Joe, and in their little corner of Zalcien's criminal world not ratting out the others was an unspoken rule. Whether it's the police or more murderous folks, once they realized no one would talk, they would leave them alone, marking the spot as useless for information gathering. This shadowy man either hadn't gotten the memo or didn't care.

"Well? I'm waiting for an answer."

One man, a perfectly forgettable human, stepped forward.

"He does know folks. Guys who wouldn't be happy to deal with someone who hurt a regular associate."

George looked at his savior with awe in his eyes, the crook becoming a saint.

"Very well."

The tentacle choking Joe let go, leaving the bartender to fall only for him to be caught by two clients who had been near.

"You have two days, Mister Froko. Two days to provide me with a way to obtain fake official documents, find a location for me to set up a new shop in a roughly legal manner, and do some information gathering regarding the area. I have my eyes and ears, but the viewpoint of a local is always good to take into account."

The dark figure began to melt, its body slowly vanishing into the blackness covering the ground.

"But this, Mister Froko, is your last chance. If in exactly 48 hours you aren't in this bar with everything ready... You can hazard a guess as to what might happen. Am I clear?"

The scam artist shook as he nodded.

"Good. Oh, to the rest of you, please pardon me for ruining the atmosphere. I simply couldn't bear being thought of as a fool any longer. As for damages caused, I am certain my dear associate will be happy to pay the bill."

By that point, the figure had completely disappeared, yet his voice echoed one last time.

"Goodbye."

Once the word was said the black mist faded away. The neon lights returned to their full glow and the shadows retreated, and before they knew it the rays of the setting sun reached the inside of the bar once more. The bartender rubbed at his sore neck as he got up with the help of the two who had caught him, before addressing the room.

"Bar's closed tonight. After tomorrow too."

Usually, this sort of announcement would be met with boos and complaints, but in this case, the clientele proved to be extremely understanding. Watching a Super play with someone's life while essentially demonstrating there was nothing anyone in the room could do to stop them tended to do that. George tried to leave discreetly but was quickly caught by the collar by the nearest crook, and though they all had something to say and a lot of questions, they also knew better than to be too rough with a guy who not only just narrowly escaped death but also was just tasked by a Super to do something. None of them wanted to get involved in that thing between the scammer and the shadow, at risk of replacing him. Still, they weren't about to let him leave without a word.

The one who had spoken up to defend George stepped forward, and the chubby man smiled like a maniac as he beheld his savior.

"Marty, oh thank the Nine you were there! How can I-"

"Yeah, remember how the spook said he didn't care about your junkyard? Well, I'm interested. Anything I want, right? I mean, I did save your life."

All of the loved and adoration that had begun to grow in George's heart disappeared at once.

"Fine. One time only, one trip only, one vehicle only."

The shrewd savior grinned.

"Good enough for me. Now, since I want you to survive to uphold your end of the bargain, do you need some help with the whole 'two days' stuff?"

The scam artist opened his mouth only for Joe to interrupt him.

"No, you can't run away this time. That thing found its way here, it can find you again. So do as it says."

George sighed before trying to speak once more, only for another crook to talk over him.

"Yeah, if you need help, just ask."

"Yeah, I like this place, I don't wanna think about your dead face when I come over next week."

"Plus, new Villain, new job opportunities!"

"We'll also be taking junkyard stuff for our help."

"Regular money's fine for me."

"Me too."

George's shoulders sagged out of relief. It might cost more than his brother would be happy with, but with all of this help, he was sure to succeed and hopefully live a little longer. Maybe if he did a good enough job he would even be forgiven for his past transgressions.

Before he could mull any longer, he was questioned by Marty once more.

"By the way, George, what the hell was that thing?"

The short man was about to answer when Joe beat him to it.

"Silhouette."