Hunt For The Stolen Child (Third Night, Trail 2)

--- Jon ---

He couldn’t help but adjust the forest green scarf around his neck, and the hood over the helmet he’d gotten. A part of him felt it was probably overkill, especially since anyone who looked at him would immediately identify the helmet/scarf combo as a Mask’s, well, mask. Another part of him however felt the added anonymity would make it easier for him to return to his normal life after this mess was settled. (And that’s what’s important.)

(Maintaining that sweet lie.)

He shook his head, earning a concerned look from Pix.

“I’ll live.” He assured her, only mildly annoyed by how muffled his voice was through both the helmet and scarf.

Pix looked like that wasn’t a good enough answer for her, but knew better than to press when they were out on the hunt. Which is why she ducked back into his backpack as he returned his attention to the Dealer he’d found prior to pulling the majority of his gear out of his backpack.

He couldn’t help but roll his shoulders at the lack of an axe’s weight, having left the thing stashed away given how he felt it’d be just a touch too much to be using on regular people.

(After all-)

(The axe hacked into the Corrupted’s flesh, sending black blood spraying through the air as-)

(The arrow tore through the man’s throat, the one shot sure to end it all save the smell of smoke and-)

(Ash filled the air as he threw yet another corpse onto the fire, forcing himself to remember that-)

(-I don’t want to kill anyone.)

A dull ache had already begun to fill his skull, leaving him wanting for nothing more than this night(mare) to be over with as soon as possible.

He could’ve sworn he heard a beast howling in the distance, something he was sure was just his mind playing tricks on him as drew closer to his (prey).

Despite keeping watch for cops and clients alike, the dealer didn’t notice him even as a scream tore through the air, similar to how an arrow had torn through the man’s calf and removed his ability to flee.

(Let’s get this over with.) He told himself, as he made his way to the whimpering man, fully aware of how unlikely it was for anyone to come and investigate but still unwilling to waste a single moment’s time.

“Who, who the f-fuck are you?!” The dealer cried, drawing a gun as he stepped into the man’s view.

He didn’t speak, not trusting his muffled voice to carry his words through both the helmet and the scarf. Though this didn’t stop him from stepping around the Dealer’s sloppy aim and kicking the man’s arm aside, before stomping on -and breaking- his wrist.

“Agh, fuck!” The man screamed as Jon pulled out his cellphone and showed the man one of the texts he’d written earlier in the night when he first realized how hard it was going to be to talk with the helmet on.

(“I’m looking for one of your friends, an Antonio Ramirez. Where is he?”)

“The, the fuck is that?!” The Dealer whimpered. What little bravado the man had had, having already been beaten out of him as he tried to read the message.

Jon took a frustrated step closer, only to pause as something squelched beneath his foot. A quick glance revealing its source to be a small pool of blood trailing behind the man as he tried to crawl away.

(Must’ve nicked an artery.) That hadn’t been too much of an issue with the Corrupted, (but it could be a real one with a living human.)

Shaking his head, he crouched down before grabbing the Dealer by the collar and pulling him closer to read the phone.

“I-I don't know who that is.” The man promised him after a moment. “You’ve got to believe me, I-I swear!”

He did believe the man, which is why he pulled up a different text.

(“Then tell me where I can find someone who does know.”)

“I… We’re a big gang… I don’t, I don’t know who’d know that kind of thing!” The Dealer told him.

He broke the man’s nose.

“Gah!” The Dealer’s unbroken hand jumped to his face as Jon pushed the phone forward once more.

“I don’t-” He pulled his fist back. “Wait, wait, there’s this, this warehouse a lot of guys pass through… M-maybe your guy is there!”

He opened a map on his phone and flicked it towards the warehouse district before putting it in front of the Dealer.

“It’s, it’s… there! Right there!” Pointed tapping the phone and leaving a marker in his own blood.

Memorizing the location, he nodded before kicking the man hard enough in the head to knock him out as Jon tugged on his contract bond to Pix inciting the little fairy to investigate.

“Mind patching him up?” He asked, ripping the arrow out of the man’s leg. (Going to have to burn this somewhere.)

Pix nodded, her inhuman mind completely unbothered by the sight of the man he’d essentially been (torturing…)

He froze as that thought hit, before once more shaking his head clear as he forced himself to focus on the moment at hand.

(Alright, I’ve been at this for a few hours now so I can either head back home or investigate this warehouse now.)

On the one hand if he investigated the warehouse now, that’d be one less night until he found Kenneth. On the other however, was the fact that he wasn’t as well equipped as he could be with a bit of prep work. (Not that that stopped me when Rosalind was kidnapped.)

He knew from experience that he could clear the warehouse as he was, and that Pix could fix just about any damage he’d accrue from the siege. Unfortunately, he also knew that Pix didn’t have the same near limitless reserves she’d had back in Blackwell, nor did he particularly enjoy being shot when he had an option to avoid or negate it.

Pix trilled, letting him know she was done healing the Dealer as she drew him out of his thoughts with her curious if concerned chirping.

“Alright, we've still got time until sun up, so we’ll go ahead and hit the warehouse next.”