The Watcher: Adaptability Of A Bounty Hunter

Chapter 5) Shadow's Requiem

How long has it been, five maybe six hours? That was all the Watcher could do, guess at the passage of time. Proceeding the fight, he had been knocked unconscious, stripped of his armor, and dumped in some dreary holding cell.

Well at the very least they managed to save his arm, not with any prosthetics or anything affordable, no instead magecraft had been used. And this isn’t just any typical healing spell, the quality was simply too high. What once resembled a half eaten chicken leg now looked good as new, arguably even better than before since any scars or other unnatural markings had been removed completely. While grateful he could avoid any form of robotic limbs, the implications were unsettling.

For this group to have mages of such caliber, perhaps the Watcher truly had underestimated the Shadow’s Requiem. Through the complete darkness that shrouded his cell, the Watcher was able to get a solid grip on his surroundings. The confined space he found himself inside held a toilet, covered in grime and filth. Moving up against the bars, a row of three identical cells could be seen directly in front of the Watcher’s cell, it can be safely assumed that his cell was a part of a similar row of cages. Right, cages, the Watcher was defeated.

Without a doubt, that reality was a painful one to the bounty hunter. Once again had he been brought to his knees before a foe. Although, this time however the Watcher held his own and if it wasn’t for more Dulvian agents arriving he would have claimed victory. Perhaps just a façade used to fool a man with a broken ego, but it was justification enough for the Watcher. He was alive, that was all that mattered. Who knows what fate has in store for him, after all he still has yet to meet the organization's leader, Agma.

If a city has a sizable Dulvian population, it’s impossible not to catch rumors of this man’s supposed divine abilities. The Watcher’s heard all the stories, all of the devout followers singing his praise or mentioning one of his many ‘miracles’. A particularly impressive feat the Watcher’s eavesdropped, is that Agma convinced one of the mage academy’s alumni to join his cause. Some call him a god, others a terrorist and now, the Watcher was going to meet him.

The door to his cell opened, accompanied by an ear grating whine. Two armed men approached, one had their weapon pointed towards the Watcher while the other ordered him out of his cell. With no other options, the Watcher oblogized and stepped out of the confines of that rusted cage.

“Hands up,” the Dulvian holding a gun demanded.

“I don’t think I pose that much of a threat in my current state,” the Watcher replied, clearly the guards did not appreciate the hint of arrogance behind his words. As they yanked both of his arms back, practically popping the bones out their sockets only to slap on a pair of steel cuffs around his wrists.

The decrepit nature of the Watcher’s prison cell was echoed throughout the structure. Stone walls covered in dirt, floor caked in all sorts of grime and muck. Doesn’t exactly fit the romanticized home of a deity. He had been led to a lobby of sorts, a central hub that connected everything together. Many came and went each buzzing about completing their assigned task. Young, old, it didn’t matter this group was composed of Dulvians spanning all age groups.

The two men acting as his chaperones led him right though the heart of the operation, they moved through and entered another lengthy hallway. Didn’t take long to arrive at their destination, a rusted set of double doors. He’d be lying if he tried denying the anxiety crawling up the back of his spine, that’s when the door was opened

“ He’s here,” a familiar voice called out to her allies waiting inside the room. The one who opened it did nothing to soothe the Watcher’s worries, small frame, golden locks, and that damned smile…

“Staring? Guess you fell for me after last night huh~”

“You were the one who fell off the roof,”

“Nice try, you aren’t gonna get under my skin like last night,” Mari turned around, hesitantly the Watcher took a step forward. His escorts shut the door behind him, leaving the room as black as night. Light footsteps reverberated, Mari’s presence disappeared and the sound of the steps became fainter, until there was nothing but the dark, with a man enveloped inside it. The Watcher didn’t move, simply bracing himself for whatever fate was going to throw his way.

A loud click repeated throughout the room, all of a sudden what seemed like four spotlights had been turned on casting blinding rays of light onto his tanned skin. Even the smallest glance at the light sources above felt like staring into the sun. Someone was watching him and he could feel it, an instinct he picked up on shortly after becoming a bounty hunter. Almost as if responding to the Watcher’s acknowledgement of another person’s presence, another set of spotlight activated revealing a man sitting at a desk several meters away.

Standing at either side of the desk were the Dulvian’s the Watcher had encountered the night before, to the right was that imposing figure of Cliff and to the left, the short but fierce swordsmen Mari. The man at the center however, the Watcher had never encountered before, Agma he assumed. The angle of the lighting was altered in such a way that his face was covered in a black shadow. Even so, his amber eyes seemed to glow amidst the darkness.

“Roman Sylvanas,” a young man’s voice, no more than twenty years old exited the man’s lips. This was not what surprised the Watcher though, Roman Sylvanas… his first identity before creating any of his endless amounts of cover names. Roman recoiled, gritting his teeth together, he hadn’t used his real name in five years, all legal documents even had him listed as deceased so how did they pull the Watcher’s most kept secrets out of the grave.

“How did you-”

“No one asked you to speak tin man!” Cliff shouted, Agma shushed his subordinate with a single look. Begrudgingly Cliff fell back in line freeing the young man to address his shirtless guest.

“Perhaps you’d like a change of clothes first,” he started, “I can see my followers may have been a bit extreme when it came to your capture-”

“How do you know me!”

Agma froze, caught off guard by the outburst. “Do you know what they call me?”

“Agma, the Dulvian Devil”

“No that’s what the Alexandrian have dubbed me, what do my fellow Dulvian’s scream out into the heavens?”

The Watcher’s demeanor softened, he couldn’t get a bead on this man’s objective with all this. “...The Miracle Worker.” the Watcher said.

“Correct, I’m one who brings about miracles. Bringing hope to the many forced to suffer everyday at the hands of oppression. The recovery of your identity is simply another confirmation of my title.”

Mari and Cliff stood next to their erratic leader, un-phased by his babble. The Watcher wasn’t impressed, all that lengthy diatribe managed to convey, was that this guy is a tactical manipulator. Taking advantage of the hopes and dreams of the Dulvian population, and twisting it into fuel for his ego. It was repulsive, but the Watcher wasn’t about to throw away his life due to a bad first impression. After all, he was at the mercy of the Dulvian devil.

“I won’t lie, it wasn’t easy, you were very meticulous in your efforts to erase your previous identity weren’t you?”

Roman remained silent, “Even then, it took two of my personal guards alongside an entire strike team to bring you to us. Quite the feat wouldn’t you agree?” the eccentric man turned to his left, Mari tilted her head as if the meaning of the man’s sentence eluded her. Until the realization hit her psyche like a sack of bricks, she puffed out her cheeks and pushed her chest forward.

“Wha- It was not nearly that impressive!”

“Come now Mari, don’t discredit the man’s achievement. It was quite the spectacle.” She snapped back at Agma’s words, getting rowdy enough to warrant Cliff stepping in to act as a mediator between the two. Meanwhile the Watcher, otherwise known as Roman was deep inside his own head. Trying to assemble all the scattered bits of information he’s gathered into one complete image. Think back… that's it, the first time any irregularities stuck out to him, the previous night on the rooftop just before the battle. A bounty, right a bounty had been placed on my head, the Watcher seemed to drift allowing his thoughts to swell inside his head.

Shadow’s Requiem placed a large target on the Watcher’s back. One million credits was enough money to motivate any number of hitmen to pursue their next paycheck. And yet the terrorist group still sent a detachment of soldiers to bring him in. He couldn’t wrap his head around this decision, if capturing him was intended to be handled personally, why post the bounty? Not only that but why did they seek him out, on a site that, when it comes to the well being of the targets posted heavily leaned towards dead rather than alive… Why did they need him, for what purpose…

“Ahem,” Roman cleared his throat, the bickering group of people put a pin in their conversation, waiting for whatever it was he had to say.

He’d finally steeled himself enough to question the Dulvian Devil, but before the words left his mouth, Agma spoke. “Your bounty has already been lifted, no need to worry over such a small thing”

“How did you know-”

“I work Miracles, my dear Alexandrian friend. It’s not hard to predict what your thoughts are.” Agma rested his chin on top of his hands, “I know exactly what plagues your mind at any given moment.” The tone of his voice was unmistakable, he was trying to scare the Watcher, and it was working. Whether it was his pride, or a reflexive made to protect itself, he called his bluff.

“What am I thinking of right now then,”

“You want to know why I wanted an audience with you.”

The Watcher stayed quiet, he could have sworn the Dulvian l cracked a smile. Leaning back into his chair, Agma carried on, “I’ll cut to the chase, I want to hire you.”

“Hire me?”

“That’s what he said,” Cliff interjected, “Don’t make the man repeat himself.”

Roman let that remark slide, “Forgive me if I’m not exactly convinced. Your the leader of a massive terrorist-”

“What was that tin man!”

Mari flicked the cheek of her taller friend, “Oh simmer down, your ‘tinman’ is practically naked.”

He snorted and turned away, returning the floor to Roman. Who paid no mind to the pair of bickering children. “-Organization, with connections all over the country. I’m talking about black-market dealers, politicians, hell people claim you’ve infiltrated some of the highest points of power inside the kingdom. And yet despite all that you need me.”

“You're wrong,” Roman furrowed his brow, Agma leaned in, “I don’t need you, I need the Watcher. The monster of the night, Tafabid’s terror, I want the masked man who defeated two combat mages, without a drop of mana in his blood.”

“Excuse me,” Mari and Cliff exclaimed in unison.

Pleased with himself, Agma let out a smug chuckle. “That’s right, The Watcher or Roman to be more specific hasn’t a single droplet of mana swimming through his veins. Apparently the result of a strange medical condition called drought.”

Mari planted her arms on the side of Agma's desk, standing on the tips of her toes. “B-But that’s impossible! We saw him use telekinesis, Cliff tell him!"

“Yeah, he snatched up our bullets and flung them back at us.”

“Ah the wonders of modern technology. Telekinesis can be perfectly replicated with a well hidden antigrav generator.”

“Huuuh,” Mari twisted around, angrily shoving a finger Roman’s direction, “You mean, I was taken down by a magicless- nobody!?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“No, there is no way that’s possible!”

“Did you not find the thick layers of body armor suspicious? A very well thought out distraction. Most assume it to be nothing more than a suit, leaving them open to an attack via a concealed blade.” Agma rested into his chair, “Your amalgamation of scrap seems to have become an efficient tool for administering pain, Roman.”

No matter the angle, the Watcher’s suit was recycled bits of metal. Raw and unrefined in every conceivable way. To Roman’s credit, this trashy look was intentionally or at least that’s what he told himself. Whatever the case, the Miracle worker seemed to be quite smitten with his little pet project. Could this be it, the reason why he was scouted by the Dulvian?

“And? Did you want to see my blueprints, maybe mass produce my armor for your men?”

Agma narrowed his eyes and waved his hand, “Please, while effective for a bounty hunter your armor would be torn to shreds on the battlefield. If I was looking for armor there are hundreds of candidates I’d choose over you. Although, you do have the skills necessary for this job,” He snapped his fingers, prompting a holographic image to appear in front of Roman.

Displayed through the transparent blue light was what appeared to be a small, programming chip? The sequence, A-A-P-21 engraved into the midsection. While pondering the purpose, and why he was specifically needed to retrieve this item, his captor explained. “Do you know what that string of text means, Watcher?”

“No.”

“Autonomous, android, protocol twenty one. This tiny electronic will be the messenger of Dulvian suffering. Once implanted inside a few thousand robotic shells of course.”

“So you want me to steal this from an Alexandrian production facility? Why not use one of your scout teams for this?”

“I did,” Agma’s jovial tone disappeared, “And they completed their mission. However, they were intercepted by one particular group…”

The hologram flashed, four corpses were scattered across a dirty concrete floor. Standing among the piles of bodies was a man anyone would recognize, “Felix Nishi.”

“That would be correct. And even with my sphere of influence, the Nishi twin’s syndicate is out of my reach. Now that's where you come in, my shirtless friend.”

“Hold it, you're asking me to steal from the Nishi family?”

"If only it was that simple,” the Dulvian devil slumped his shoulders, “As you know, Felix Nishi is a businessman, and a smart one at that. Unfortunately that means we’re on the receiving end of his cunning. In hindsight we more than likely could have bought it back, but pride is a hard beast to conquer. After a… minor setback, Nishi became aware of the item's importance.

Roman interrupted, “And now you fools are playing by his rules?”

There was a stunning moment of self reflection for the leader of this operation. His lackeys however made a run at quelling their rage, to little success. For once things were finally starting to make sense. Tangoing with the meanest criminal organization in Alexandria was a messy situation, even for the government. Of course a fellow underground group would have troubles.

“This is starting to make sense. But I still have one question, why do you need me?”

“Easy, Nishi wants to discuss an exchange for the protocol. Regrettably, my legend brings more than just infamy to my name. Now the man refuses to directly interact with me. And my followers, loyal as they may be, have trouble dealing with those… less respectful of our movement. You on the other hand would have no trouble dealing with a few petty remarks thrown our way.”

“You're asking me to be an ambassador?”

“Precisely.”

I don’t like it, he thought to himself. Either act as Shadow Requiem’s puppet, or die. This illusion of choice was insulting. Why else would those two, Mari and Cliff be here, an insurance policy. And those damned eyes, all Dulvian’s have amber tinted iris but Agma… his seemed to burn brighter than the rest. Like a luminous sun, who’s warmth inspires confidence in allies and causes the opponent to second guess their strategies. Nishi was smart, he had the common sense to avoid this enigma.

“Not much of a choice,” Roman sighed, “I’ll do it.”

“Splendid, I’ll begin compiling the relevant data for your mission-”

“Wait, there is still one thing we need to discuss.”

“Ah of course, you want to know what we offer in return for your services?”

Roman nodded and Agma carried on,

“Aside from letting you breathe. Well, you are in need of a new suit to continue your line of work, correct?”