The autumn air was growing colder by the day. My scarf became more for keeping my face warm than hiding. I made my way towards the back alleys of the Cirsam District on the way to a certain criminal watering hold. The night was young, so there were several people still out walking the streets as well as a number of stores that remained open like beacons in the encroaching night.

  I passed in front of one such store that sold electronics. Televisions lined their shelves and most were tuned to the local news station while others played music videos. I had pushed it all aside as background noise until one phrase caught my attention:

  "...as yet another high schooler is reported missing."

  My eyes were pulled to the screen like metal to a magnet. A middle aged woman sat behind the desk looking intently at the viewer. Over her left shoulder sat the title of the segment, Truancy on the Rise. The reporter went on to say that the newest disappearance marked twelve students since the beginning of the school year two months prior.

  Has it really been that long since everything went wrong? I mean, I can't say the time has dragged by... I need to do this, but I need to protect them. If any of them have been taken...

  Names and faces of the other eleven students flashed on the screen along with a number to call if any viewer sees them. None of them were any faces that I recognized, and I felt an odd sense of relief. The news anchor continued talking about the students for a moment before turning the camera over to a recording of a press conference with the authorities.

  "We are exhausting every possible resource at our disposal," a familiar face said in a calm demeanor. "The safety of the next generation will always be our top priority. As we uncover more of the truth, we will openly share it with Hoenn City, and we will find these students," Detective Fujimori calmly left the microphone.

  He really is almost polar opposite from his mom. Denki wouldn't have given reporters the time of day if any of our friends had been taken... Then again, she's bound by countless rules.

  The anchor had a few closing remarks while showing the names and faces of the disappeared once again. I looked them over before heading on my way trying to commit at least a couple attributes to memory. As I represented them in my own mind, I noticed something about one. His neck, specifically the side of it, had small diagonal lines almost like...

  So, someone's after meta teens, huh? Running low on bodies for your programs already, Eclipse? You won't take my friends. Unlike the authorities, I'm not bound by any rules. I won't let you have your way.

  I walked in silent determination until I found the specific alleyway that Damien had told me about. When he returned that night I changed my appearance, he brought a small note with a name and a number on it as well as an address. He said that the address was a bar called the Shifting Sands. He told me with a shrug that the name on the note could be either the contact or the contract for the specified amount.

  The cold was starting to pierce my layers of clothes, and I still hated being cold. I rounded the corner of one of the buildings to see a man leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. Despite the weather, he wore no jacket and had his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. The white of his shirt was easy to make out in the decreasing light, and it contrasted with the black of his vest and slacks.

  I glanced at the numbers by his shoulder and matched them to the address on the note in my pocket. Without paying him much mind, I walked towards the stairs that would lead below the building. He said nothing as he held out his arm which was much wider than it had appeared from afar. Our eyes met.

  "What? You're gonna ask me how tough I am, or something?" I scoffed.

  "No minors allowed, kid," he answered. "Take a hike."

  "I'm sorry I aged gracefully. Can I go inside yet? It's cold."

  "Look, kid." His voice grew irritated. "Get lost or get hurt. Those are your options."

  "Wrong choice of words, pops." My frustration boiled.

  "Strong!" A whimsical voice called from downstairs. "Let him through; he’s expected. Besides, if anything happens, you can blame me."

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  "Whatever," he grumbled.

  I walked down the stone stairs towards the oddly warm light that had illuminated that segment of the alley. Once at the bottom, I found another well dressed man. He leaned over the host's stand with one arm hanging down. His smile matched his tone of voice and was almost mocking.

  "Well well," he started. "Mr. Damien's reaper has arrived at last. Mind if I see that note he gave you?"

  Reluctantly, I handed over the note. As he took it, his smile grew. He folded up the note several times and gripped it in his palm before closing his fist and placing it to his mouth. With a breath, he opened his hand, and a small plume of smoke appeared and vanished revealing his empty palm. I stared at him unfazed since I knew that there were abilities that could warp objects from one place to another. Our eyes were locked as he spun his other hand and revealed a card in between his fingers.

  "Sheesh, tough crowd." He handed me the card. "Street magic, kid. Look, I know I'm not the best, but you have to admit that was kind of cool. Anyway, take that card to Deemo at the bar on the right."

  I walked past the stand and instantly noticed something was wrong. I turned back, and our eyes met again. He dangled a watch in his hand, and I felt my wrist to find mine missing.

  "Keep your wits about you, kid." He tossed my watch back to me. "Not everything is what it seems here."

  The bar had an intense atmosphere. There were several others dressed like Strong and the host. Both men and women are all uniform with black slacks, white shirts, black vests and bow ties. Some walked around with serving trays while others manned the numerous drinking stations. The customers, however, looked like anyone that I would have met on the street.

  I glanced to my right to see a largely empty area with a circular bar positioned in the middle. Only a handful of patrons sat at the bar, so there was plenty of room for me. I walked up and took a seat in one of the high stools. Within moments, a young woman walked over behind the bar.

  "I'm looking for Deemo?" I looked into her crimson eyes and held up the card.

  "That's me." She replied before setting down a glass and filling it with water. "You're the kid Damien sent, then?"

  "Unfortunately," I sighed.

  "Well, Kyu, let's get down to it. You see, there's a nice little bounty on a certain slime ball that skipped out on his tab. The job is simple: go grab him, and bring him back."

  "...that's it?" I asked in disbelief.

  "It's your first job, Kyu." She grabbed a rag and went back to cleaning the glasses. "Besides, it's not like you're making a year's worth of pay. Now, you have, let's say, two days to bring him—"

  I froze time before she could finish her sentence. I was well past annoyed: Damien had essentially volunteered me to be a low-end bounty hunter. I grabbed his address and left the bar in a hurry. I knew that I only had a few hours, six at the most, to find and bring this guy back. His address was, of course, pretty far from the bar itself. When I finally got there, I was reminded of the last time I was in a similar situation.

  The building was almost identical to Thelen Kryne's apartment complex. The stained walls, the newspaper littering the ground, the cramped living arrangements. Even the location was relatively close, if memory served. This mission, however, would not end in his death. The dead hardly ever pay their tabs, after all.

  I found his unit after a little searching and walked right in as if the door had no locks instead of three. The unit was mostly clean save the clothes strung across various pieces of furniture. A few pieces I saw were probably his, but a number of others were clearly mismatched. When I remembered the purse tossed against the wall at the entrance, I knew that I would be in for a potentially scarring sight in the bedroom.

  Thankfully, I was spared a permanently scarring image. The two of them had not yet started, and from the looks of it, he would be in for a rough time when I dropped him back at the bar. I found a bathrobe and wrapped him in it before tossing a blanket over his somewhat attractive albeit exhausted-looking partner. Once she was covered, I threw the bill-skipper on my shoulder and left the complex behind.

  I passed by Strong and the host on my way back into the bar, their expressions unchanged since I left. All in all, about three and a half hours had passed, enough to cause a recoil, but not enough to be unbearable. I turned right once inside and came face to face with Deemo still in the middle of her sentence. I dropped the soon-to-be dumbfounded guy on the barstool and released my hold.

  "—back to us. Huh?!" Deemo recoiled in shock.

  "W-where the hell am I?!"

  "Shifting Sands, lover boy," I answered, my hand still on his shoulder. "Time to pay your tab."

  "W-who are you?! Why the hell am I here? You know what? To hell with all this!"

  He threw his arms up in protest, but another, much larger, hand grasped his opposite shoulder. I felt the heat from Strong's breath as he pressed down and slowly blew a plume of cigarette smoke. The bathrobed dope shivered and let out a soft "eep" before settling down.

  "Heh, not bad, kid." The host chuckled as he leaned against Strong. "I'd say he's more than ready for the others, wouldn't you, Deemo?"

  She had completely recovered from the surprise of her debtor popping back into the bar and picked up another glass to clean. Her long dark hair swayed with each movement of her arms and shoulders. After finishing the short, stout glass, she looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

  "How much do you know about the lovely underbelly of this city?"