'This is a black market? Not at all what I expected,' Zoe thought. The limousine slowed as it turned onto the cracked, uneven street, the sound of its tires crunching against loose gravel barely audible over the hum of the engine. Zoe peered through the heavily tinted windows, her gaze sweeping across the run-down neighborhood. Most of the homes had boarded-up windows or sagging roofs, their exteriors marked by graffiti or years of neglect. The occasional dim porch light flickered like a dying ember, illuminating stray figures slouched on doorsteps or standing in shadows. The building in the far distance loomed over the nearby businesses and homes. When they got closer, Zoe's eyes widened; she'd never seen a building that large. It was as if a convention center took up several city blocks. In a smaller building next to it, was the auction house, an invitation-only event. Cars honked impatiently behind them, some veering recklessly into oncoming traffic to edge ahead. Pedestrians began filling the sidewalks and streets, their faces illuminated by the harsh glow of streetlights as they hurried toward the market’s entrance. The cold sleet bothered none as it slammed them from above from the black sky. The limousine stopped in front of the building’s glass doors. The crowd swirled around the vehicle like a river flowing around a boulder. Zoe stepped out first, pulling her hood tighter against the cold. The sleet stung her cheeks, and her breath puffed out in visible clouds. She glanced toward the entrance, her gaze darting nervously across the sea of faces.

  On the other side of the car, Gemo emerged, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with practiced precision. His hands stayed in his jacket pockets. Seeing this, Zoe decided to look out as well. Not exactly sure what she was looking for regarding 'dangerous body language,' but no one seemed too interested in them. Zoe thought back to the many books she'd read on body language in the past.

  "I'm looking for four items," Ayla said. Zoe followed Ayla and Gemo into the building, the glass doors sliding open with a soft hiss. Her first impression was of overwhelming light and noise. Vendors lined the walls, each with their own stall set up like a street market. The air buzzed with the sound of dozens of conversations, haggling, and the occasional laughter of a deal struck. The scent of exotic spices, mingled with an almost metallic tang, hit Zoe’s nose as she walked deeper into the space.

  "Do you know where they are?" Zoe asked.

  "Kinda," Ayla shrugged.

  After several minutes of wandering, Ayla suddenly stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors. A brass sign above them read Meat Market. Her face lit up with excitement as she clapped her hands together, "Ohh!" She pointed, jumping up and down, "Here!"

  "Meat Market?" Gemo muttered, not loud enough to be heard over the flow of people.

  Zoe glanced over to a nearby vendor stand; on one of the plastic tables was a set of glass tubes, each filled with a murky dark red liquid. Her stomach contorted, seeing a chunk of white flesh floating in the concoction. She looked away quickly, going back to scan the crowd once more. Another shop had large black bags that were hung from meat hooks; eyes widening, she averted her gaze back to the crowd. People of all races and nationalities walked through—some she'd never seen, speaking languages she'd never heard. The whole room smelled of exotic spices—a pungent odor that seemed to stick to everything. They followed Ayla as she wandered; she kept insisting she knew where she was going. "Oops!" Ayla looked down. "My shoe's untied!" She bent down, grabbing her laces just as someone from the crowd carrying a long, sharp sword turned. Its blade sliced the air right where her head was half a second prior. Gemo tensed, pulling his hands from his jacket pockets. Zoe stared at the man with wide eyes, pulling a card from the box, but the man kept walking like nothing had happened, disappearing back into the crowd.

  "Lucky," Gemo and Zoe exchanged looks.

  "All done," Ayla said, hopping to her feet.

  Taking a spontaneous detour, Ayla suddenly stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors. A brass sign above them read Meat Market. Her face lit up with excitement as she clapped her hands together. “Here! I’ve been waiting to see this!” she said, bounding toward the doors. The lone light swung hesitantly over the room's center, where two burly men stood, their right arms bound together by a long leather strap. A figure approached, bearing two large hunting knives on a velvet pad nestled in a wooden box. Each person seized a blade, plunging the room into hushed anticipation.

  Gemo reluctantly tore his gaze away from the spectacle, scanning the room. Every pair of eyes was fixated on the unfolding event, blissfully unaware of their presence. Ayla's eyes sparkled with delight, like she was watching the most amazing fireworks show in the happiest place on earth. His attention shifted to Zoe. Observing her curiously, he noticed her eyes glued to the floor.

  Skipping out of the room, happy with the event's outcome, Ayla pointed to a vendor in the back of the market hall. "What'd you think?" She asked Zoe as they approached.

  "About what?"

  "What we just saw! I wanted the guy with all the tattoos to win, but something told me to bet on the other guy."

  "Uh- I didn't watch it," Zoe admitted.

  "Oh?" Ayla looked at her curiously.

  Zoe noticed this particular stall had far fewer customers than the others, and she soon saw why. Spread across a large dark-blue tarp were various oddities and curios, some of which were unsettling. Small jars filled with dirt and insects sat next to rusted weapons and yellowed bones. Covered shapes of all sizes lay scattered around, their contents hidden under stained cloth.

  "Ooh," Ayla cooed, holding up a jar filled with dirt to the light. Zoe squinted, looking through its glass, watching small insects move back and forth.

  "I know that!" Zoe said excitedly, "Colloquially, the red velvet Skull beetle. These are only a few weeks old based on the size; soon, they'd need their own terrarium as they're two and a half inches when fully grown." She pointed to the jar, "You can tell which one is male or female based on the coloration of the skull pattern on their fur."

  "Are they rare?"

  "Not particularly, but-"

  "Oh." Ayla said, disinterested. Placing it back down on the table.

  Zoe sighed, feeling like the wind had been taken from her sails.

  Ayla crouched down, picking up and uncovering a smaller object, revealing it as a lampshade. She handed it to Zoe and began grabbing some other objects, rummaging through the yard.

  Zoe pulled a face, cradling the lampshade in her hands. It seemed like dried, thin pieces of leather were meticulously stitched together. She turned it around, and Zoe’s stomach dropped as she recognized what the lampshade was made of—thin, stitched-together pieces that looked eerily human. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the faint outline of a face embedded in one of the panels. "What..."

  "Yeah!" Ayla exclaimed eagerly, "So, the infamous serial killer Ed Gein, he would kill people and make furniture from their skin!" A wide, macabre grin crossed her face. "Cool, huh? I heard these would pop up, and I had to come! This is perfect!" She squealed with delight.

  Zoe's grip on the lampshade faltered; her face became even paler than before. Before it could slip from her hands, Gemo snatched it, holding it steady. She glanced at him, realizing he held a large, misshapen human skull in his other hand.

  "Are those all?" The vendor gave a thin-lipped smile.

  "Translate," Ayla ordered Zoe.

  Zoe cocked her head, "He asked if that's all we're buying."

  His gaunt face split into a grin, watching Ayla pull out her card from her luxury purse.

  Ayla stared down at her phone as she walked through the convention center. Zoe peered over her shoulder, seeing that she was texting someone named Ethan.

  "My bodyguard, Kashi, is with me." Ethan texted her. "Imma buy something real quick, and we can link. Where'll you be in ten?"

  "Not sure. I've got the lamp that I wanted. I'm trying to find that gun, and the ritual beads from the tomb, then the bird that was supposedly extinct." Ayla texted back.

  "Word. I'll let you know where I am when I'm done."

  Ayla noticed Zoe's face in the reflection—her eyes staring at her phone screen, clearly reading it. Ayla scowled, looking up at the nosey girl with a frown.

  A tall man, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo and adorned with a luxurious watch, emerged from the crimson sports car. He courteously opened the passenger side door, and a woman, donned in a sleek red dress paired with matching stilettos, gracefully accepted his hand as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the auction house. Together, they walked forward, seamlessly blending into the line of eager attendees awaiting entry.

  Approaching the grand, engraved wooden doors, they were greeted by a young light-skinned man with large diamond earrings, a bandaid on his cheek under his right eye, and a black suit stuck his hand out.

  There was something odd about the boy, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shook the boy's hand.

  "Welcome to the Auction house!" He said eagerly.

  "Thank you."

  They walked past the entrance, sitting in what resembled a large auditorium, rows upon rows of seats until it reached a stage.

  "What's on your hand?" His fiance asked when they sat down.

  "Hm?" He flipped over his hand, staring at his palm. He scratched at it, rubbing it frivolously. He looked at it once more, holding it up in the light. "What the hell did that guy do?" He got up angrily, taking off his jacket, his fists balled. "That kid at the front doors. I shook his hand!"

  "Stop," she pleaded, grabbing his arm to pull him back in his seat. "Just let me see it." She squinted at his hand, "What is that?" Her face scrunched in confusion. "Is that a tattoo?" They both studied it. In the center of his palm was a full hourglass, intricately inked into his skin.

  "I'm gonna kill him," he decided. "I don't know how he managed to do this, but he's dead."

  "Let's wait until after, okay? I think it's about to start," she said, pointing to the stage.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "Whatever," he sighed, slumping back in his seat.

  Several minutes later, the lights above dimmed, leaving a spotlight shined on the stage podium. Three people stepped onto the stage, walking into the circle of light.

  "That's that little shit!" The man hissed, pointing to the boy who stepped to the podium. His slick suit was tailored perfectly to his wiry frame, giving him an unsettling air of authority. He adjusted the microphone with practiced ease, lowering it to his level as he flashed the crowd a smile that was too wide. He looked down at his hand again. "Look at this," he growled, holding out his palm. The faintly glowing hourglass tattoo that had mystified him earlier was now nearly empty, the last grains of sand slipping away.

  "How'd they do that? It's almost disappeared" She asked.

  "It emptied just now. Maybe it was a timer until the event started?"

  Behind the boy stood a tall, imposing figure with blood red hair. Despite its vivid hue, the hair appeared natural, though most would assume it was dyed.

  "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" His grin widened as he lifted his wrist, admiring a diamond-studded watch. With his other hand, he pointed toward the crowd, leaning into the microphone. "Die!" He screamed into the microphone, the single word cutting through the air.

  The explosions were deafening, shaking the room. The crowd had no time to react. Heads burst like overripe fruit, sending arcs of blood and fragments of skull flying in every direction. The ornate walls, once pristine ivory, were splattered with the grotesque mosaic of crimson and gray. Chandelier crystals overhead caught the gore, casting fractured patterns of red light across the carnage below.

  The last thing the man saw before his consciousness was erased was his fiance's face. Her expression was frozen in shock as her skull split open with a sickening crack. Blood and brain matter exploded outward, her eyes forced out of her eye sockets. Her body crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  The boy's vision went blurry, and he fell to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. He wiped his face with his hand, then stared at it, attempting to focus his eyes. "I've never done that many all at once," he breathed.

  Behind him, the man with red hair extended his arms, gun barrels protruding from his wrists like macabre extensions of his limbs. Unleashing a relentless barrage, he fired into the disoriented crowd, cutting down any survivors with ruthless precision. Chaos erupted as people, desperate for escape, slipped on the blood-soaked floor, entangled amidst the lifeless bodies of their families and friends. None of them survived.

  He hopped off the stage and walked down the aisle, shooting those hiding behind seats and under corpses.

  The third person on stage crumpled backward, his mind grappling with what had just unfolded. He wasn't sure if what had happened had been real. In under five seconds, a room that could hold over two hundred people became a cemetery.

  The older teenage boy turned, his eyes meeting the quivering barrel of a pistol held by the third man on stage.

  "You!" His aim remained steady on the boy. "What's the meaning of this? Why did you..." His words tapered off, his gaze fixed on the subtle amusement playing on the boy's face.

  "Meaning?" The man heard the voice from his right, seeing the guy with red hair walk back up the stage toward both of them. An eerie calmness in his voice, reminiscent of a therapist conversing with a client. "That's an interesting word," he continued to step closer. "I asked that same question for a lot of my life. Then I realized that it wasn't out there. We're alone," With a casual gesture, he aimed his wrist at the man, unleashing a fatal shot that pierced through his head.

  After shooting him, he felt himself collapsing to his knees. The man clutched his abdomen, a nauseating wave sweeping over him. He hunched forward, attempting to stave off the urge to vomit. A hand pressed to his mouth, tears mingling with the exertion, he struggled to pry open his eyelids, each lash feeling like it weighed a ton.

  "Damn, you good?"

  "Culian," he looked at the boy with his now calm brown eyes, "We have everything we need?"

  "Uh-huh," Culian nodded, fumbling in his pocket, pulling out several sealed envelopes. He held them out for John Doe to take.

  "You can hold on to them for now."

  "Oh okay," Culian pocketed the envelopes, avoiding his gaze. 'This dude is high-key weird. Thank Christ, we only gotta deal with him here for a few days.'

  "Ah, Marcello," the butler greeted, elegantly opening the door to the hotel room, and seeing the boy standing there.

  "Mhm," he muttered, marching into the room, and tossing his backpack onto a nearby sofa.

  On a massive screen before him, the local news roared to life. Alder occupied a chair, fixated on the broadcast; Marcello couldn't help but notice beads of nervous sweat cascading down his forehead. Without missing a beat, Alder pulled out his phone and dialed his daughter once more.

  The television showcased a live aerial feed of a nearby building. Although Marcello didn't know much of the local language, he gleaned tidbits of information through his limited understanding.

  'There's some type of terror attack at a black market not far from here. If I had to guess based on the reaction of Alder, he's scared that someone or something could be hurt. Looking around, I don't notice any sign of his daughter, so I'd say it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume she's in the general area of the attack,' he thought. "Is everything alright, sir?" He asked, looking at Alder. "Do you want me to go get your daughter?"

  Alder looked at him with surprise, "I…I don't know," in his hands, the phone displayed that the call had gone to voicemail.

  Marcello looked at the television, seeing the blurred footage of the perpetrators who carried out the attack. The news anchors on the screen spoke rapidly in the local language, their voices laced with panic and urgency. Marcello, standing stiffly near the massive screen, couldn’t take his eyes off of the red-haired man displayed there. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the rings on his fingers catching the bluish hue of the light. "The Marionette," he hollowed, his eyes wide, staring at the red-haired man.

  Mitani, standing nearby, gestured at the screen, "You know the guy?"

  'That's him! Though pixilated, the image is clearly of him!' Marcello balled his fists. "I need to go find something…"

  The door swung open, and Ayla skipped inside.

  Zoe entered the room, her gaze sweeping over the newcomer standing before the colossal screen adorning the wall. He appeared to be around fifteen, with olive skin and deep, dark eyes. Clad in a sleek full-body black training suit, it sported a crisp white collar with an orange hem. Five large rings adorned his fingers, two on the right and three on the left, while the remaining fingers boasted small silver bands. His attention momentarily flickered to the door, seeing who was entering the room.

  'He looks familiar. I know I've seen him somewhere before, but where,' Zoe thought, studying him as he frantically switched channels and scrolled through his phone with the other hand. 'What is he looking for?'

  When Gemo walked into the room, he stopped; his eyes widened and gleamed. "He's a total eight! No, probably…no, definitely higher!"

  "Dad! Look!" Ayla grabbed a bag from Gemo, taking out the human lampshade. "We didn't get everything I wanted, since the market was shutdown for some reason. I don't know why," she talked quickly, as if the world was running out of oxygen and she had to tell everyone something very important. "Then I saw Ethan, but then there was all this noise and people started running…" she paused, running out of breath.

  Olivia tried to hide the disgust on her face when she saw the lamp in her daughter's hands. A forced smile, "That's nice…Ayla."

  Mitani stood at the TV, watching the screen intently.

  Bulwark stood next to Zoe as she looked down at the flashing red and blue lights from the city below. Every few seconds, helicopters and police aircrafts whizzed past the window.

  "Why do the Apris security team care about what happened?" Zoe asked.

  "Security Team? Oh, you mean the police? Well, from what I know, this blackmarket stuff is Apris' biggest draw."

  "Really?"

  "Mhm, I think the tourism from this event makes up the majority of the annual revenue for Apris."

  Soon, the Parks went to bed, leaving their bodyguards to do whatever they pleased; as long as at least one was standing watch at any given time.

  Marcello looked up from the television, noticing the familiar-looking girl with white hair watching the boy with sad eyes she recognized. When he looked over again, she was walking toward him. Standing in front of him now, she pointed, her finger a few inches away from his face. He looked up at her, not knowing what to say.

  "You were in Crater earlier this year," she decided. 'That's right! He was there when I first met Ivy…June 2nd.'

  "Ah," Marcello nodded. "Briefly, but yes, I was," he looked past her, and glanced back at the screen. The pixelated image of the red-haired man still lingered, hauntingly familiar and impossible to ignore.

  "You know him?" She squinted at the blurry, pixilated picture, putting her face a few inches from the screen, trying to take in every detail.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, as though the words were being dragged from him. "Kind of."

  She sat on a nearby sofa. "What does he look like?" Was it her imagination? When he turned, it looked as if his face flashed with fear—a fear so petrifying that his olive skin turned an almost pasty white.

  Marcello’s eyes darted away, his discomfort palpable. For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t answer. But then he exhaled, his shoulders sagging as if under an immense weight. "Uh," he composed himself. "He's uncanny, for sure. His voice is too smooth, and his face is too perfect. You get close and see his skin is too flawless. And his eyes…glassy and black. He's like a parody of what a human is supposed to look like. It's almost a beautiful but horrifying oddity. A terrible thing to see…"