Favor Repaid by KurokageJS

***

The needle slid into the skin of his arm without warning. Yet instead of flinching, he turned his head towards the location of the sharp pinch. 

He couldn't see with the heavy blindfold on. Nor could he hear, as his ears had been stuffed with small bits of wool. But he could feel, and the shifting air currents that brushed against his bare flesh told him all he needed to know.

His lips lifted into a faint smile.

One, he thought. Two behind him. Three more by the door. And a whole regiment outside just in case.

He flexed his shoulders, corded muscle rippling beneath his skin. With multiple iron manacles binding his arms behind his back from wrist to elbow, it was one of the few movements he could still make. The iron collar around his neck dug into his flesh, and the four chains that hooked it to the floor jangled.

A breeze suddenly ghosted across his face. That meant someone had just moved very quickly - almost as if they had hastily backpedaled.

The air settled and held still. Neither was there any subtle vibrations coming from the hard rock beneath his knees. No one moved. They kept their distance, waiting for the sedative they'd injected him with to take effect.

It didn't take long. Lethargy settled over him, blanketing him like a fog. Weakness took hold and gravity suddenly seemed to be a terrific force, bearing down upon him.

He lowered his head, letting his chin rest against his chest. Still, his slight smile never faded, for as restrained and weakened as he was, he could nearly taste the sour tang of fear that flooded the room.

His captors were wise to be cautious. But even so, they were fools.

***

**

At 3am, the girl flies into the store like a hurricane, making the bells chime wildly over the door.

Behind the counter, Raoul looks up from his book. His appearance is plain, with a nose too big for his face and acne-scarred skin, yet his eyes are dark and calm. He observes his new visitor.

The girl is a mess, red faced, out of breath, with wild hair and one of her scuffed shoes untied. Her brown eyes are wide and teary. There's something in her hands, a tiny bundle that she clutches tight to her chest.

She peers down each of the four isles, like she's looking for somebody. But other than him, there's no one here.

Her shoulders sag, either in relief or despair. She turns toward him, but doesn't speak. It looks like she wants to say something, but yet she hesitates.

Raoul exhales softly, and closes his book. He sets it on the counter. Then he regards the distraught girl with a patient smile. "Can I help you?"

Instead of answering, she looks out through the store window. There's nothing but the two gas pumps, illuminated by yellow lights.

"Miss?"

The girl flinches, her attention snapping back to him. She stares at him, though Raoul gets the feeling she's not really seeing him. He wonders what she's afraid of.

"I don't know," she finally whispers. And again, she peers outside, eyes flicking from left to right.

In other words, Raoul thinks, yes.

"Is someone after you?" he asks.

She physically jerks back like he'd slapped her. "N-no!"

Liar. Raoul smiles gently. "Right. I can call the police, if you'd like."

The police didn't have much power in this gang-run neighborhood, but he'd found that sometimes people find comfort in the idea. It might help calm the girl down a bit.

It doesn't.

She turns whiter than a ghost and rushes back to the door, reaching out as if she couldn't leave fast enough. Yet the moment her hand touches the handle, she freezes. Her shoulders hunch, trembling.

"Okay," Raoul says. "No cops. Is there anything else I can do?"

Slowly, the girl steps back from the door. She bites her lip, casting a sideways glance at him. It's just the two of them in the store. Strangers to each other. But he's the only one who can help at this moment.

They both are aware of this.

A pensive furrow forms in her brow as her eyes drop to the bundle in her arms. It's clear that whatever it is is very important to her.

And in that moment, that split second, she decides. Her decision will permanently affect them both, but neither of them know this yet.

Mouth set in a determined line, she comes to the counter and carefully sets the bundle down. It's tiny, whatever it is, wrapped in layers of soft cloth. "Can you take this to Xiao City and give it to Zhou Liu? It can't be anyone else. It has to be him."

Raoul actually blinks.

Wait, he thinks. Hold on.

Did she just-

"I'm sorry. I don't have anyone else to ask. Please!" She gives the bundle one last pat, fresh tears spilling free. Then she whirls around and dashes out of the store.

Raoul has no words.

Xiao City? Zhou Liu?

Something's not quite right!

To explain, this little town of Breckton is isolated in the mountains, a solid 2 week's journey from any civilization. The people here know that Xiao City exists - only ignorant fools wouldn't know of that terrifying metropolis - but that name, Zhou Liu- no one knew that name.

The man it belonged to hadn't used it in over a decade, and it was all but forgotten by now. So how did this young woman know of it? How did she know this ghost?

The bundle sits on the counter innocuously. Raoul narrows his eyes at it. How ridiculous. He owes this ghost a favor, a remnant from a life he'd chosen to leave behind, but he is no errand boy. Whatever this girl has dumped on him can't be worth the trouble.

Let that favor wait for another time.

He grabs a fistful of cloth and lifts the bundle from the counter. It weighs a few pounds, heavier than it looks. He swings it out over the trash, fully intending to drop it in and forget about it. But-

It moves.

Or rather, something inside it moves.

An animal?

He lowers the bundle back to the counter. This changes things. If there's an animal in there, then he can't just dump it in the trash. Frowning, he carefully peels back the layers to reveal what lies within.

Once he sees what it is, he goes stone still.

It's a baby.

No more than a week old and as naked as the day it was born. It stares up at him solemnly with eyes the color of ice.

Zhou Liu's eyes.

Dumfounded, Raoul stares. The baby stares back.

What is this?

He braces himself with a hand on the countertop. With the other, he pushes the hair up from his eyes. And then his shoulders shake.

He laughs.

Raoul laughs until tears leak from his eyes. He laughs until his belly aches. And he laughs until a car roars up to the shop outside and a pile of men pour out. One of them carries a baseball bat.

Raoul notices them quickly, because the headlamps of the car shine through the window and into his face. His amusement fades in an instant.

As they approach the store, he can see their hard, grim expressions, and he understands these aren't just thugs. They are hard men with blood on their hands- literally, because the end of the baseball bat glistens with dark fluid.

Raoul looks down at the baby. It's still staring at him. All this time, it has not made a single sound.

He's not sure why the gangsters are coming to his store. In this neighborhood, one never knew. Half the time, stores got robbed because someone was bored. But that bat with the blood raises a quiet warning flag.

The first brute doesn't bother with opening the door. He just swings his bat and smashes the glass.

Without thinking, Raoul grabs the edges of the bundle and swings it under the counter, baby and all. He drops it on a shelf next to the computer tower.

When the man with the baseball bat steps through the ruined door, his boots crunching on broken glass, the baby is out of sight. And Raoul stands calmly behind the counter.

"Yo, look at this place." Bat guy sneers, then swings his bat at the nearest shelf. Packs of instant food fly. They make a scattered mess on the floor. "It's a dump."

There's five of them. Four are big men with tattoos, scars and cold, cruel eyes. They're armed with various weapons and don't even bother to hide it.

The one with the baseball bat comes to the till, swinging his weapon idly. He grins at Raoul. "Heh, look at this fugly dude. He fits right in with the dump."

Raoul doesn't pay the bat guy any mind. He's busy observing the fifth member of the group. The fellow is tall and lean, and dressed in a button-down black shirt. Compared to the rest, he looks like a classy businessman. And so far, he's remained at the back, saying nothing.

"Can I help you?" Raoul finally asks. He's still watching the classy guy in black.

Bat Guy guffaws. He abruptly raises said bat and smashes it down, throwing his whole body behind the movement. It strikes the counter with a loud crack, like a gunshot, and wood splinters beneath the blow. Despite the damage, the counter holds solid.

"You sure can!" A second brute comes up beside the first. He's balder than the baby. "See, there's this girl. She came in here, yeah?"

Raoul tilts his head. "Is that a question?"

The bat arcs through the air so fast, there's a loud whoosh. It impacts flesh with a smack.

Raoul has his hand up beside his head, palm out, and his fingers are curled around the bat. Shock plasters the thugs' faces. They hadn't expected him to stop the blow. But their surprise only lasts a moment.

"Yo," Bat Guy snarls, and yanks his bat free. "Who do you think you are, huh?"

"I'm just a store clerk," Raoul says mildly. He lowers his hand. Even as he says it, he knows it's a lost cause. These gangsters are out for blood and they aren't leaving until they get it.

"Why you-" The bat rears up once more.

"Stop."

The bat stops midair. Bat Guy looks back over a beefy shoulder to the one who, with a single quiet word, put a stop to all action:

The classy guy in black.

"There's no need to resort to violence," Classy Guy says pleasantly. "We only have a few questions, for you... ah-"

Baldy leans forward to read Raoul's nametag. "Raoul," he supplies.

"Raoul," Classy Guy repeats. "Thank you. Now, Raoul, would you be able to tell us if a young woman came in here in the past half hour?"

The question doesn't surprise Raoul in the slightest, since he hadn't missed a single detail since these rambos bulldozed their way into his store. His eyes flick to the end of the baseball bat. Most of the blood had flown off, but some specks still remained. "Yeah," he says. "There was a girl."

Classy Guy smiles. "Excellent. She had something important with her, and I'm wondering if you've seen it?"

Had, huh? Roaul considers this. Then he matches Classy Guy's smile with one of his own. "Did you kill her?"

It catches all five of them off guard. By now, Raoul has more or less pieced together what's going on. The girl has no value to these thugs. But the thing she was carrying – the baby – was pretty valuable, considering Zhou Liu's name was involved. Though he wondered how, exactly, this gang knew all this. How was it that a ghost became so well known all of a sudden?

In this moment, while he's watching the shock fade into murderous intent, Raoul considers his options. He can run, leave the baby behind, and let the thugs have it. Or he can run and take it with him, though that means he'd have to cart around Zhou Liu's offspring. That particular idea gives him a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

Or, he thinks, there's option three.

He can quit his job with style.

These thoughts flit through his mind in the space of a second. There isn't time to weigh the pros and cons - only the gut instinct of what feels the most right.

He plants his hands on the counter and launches into a cartwheel. From there, he twists and hooks a leg around Bat Guy's face. The momentum carries them down to the floor, with Raoul's full weight landing on Bat Guy's head.

Something crunches.

The bat clatters to the floor.

Bat Guy is still.

But Raoul is not, for he dives into another cartwheel. He keeps moving, never slowing. A low kick takes out Baldy's feet from beneath him. This is immediately followed by a high kick that catches him in the chest and slams him into the ground like a hammer driving a nail into wood.

Baldy wheezes, gasps, and then chokes when Raoul thrusts his knuckles into the soft flesh of Baldy's throat. The thug writhes, hands grasping at his neck as he struggles to breath.

Raoul rises. He steps over Baldy and approaches the rest of the group, who haven't moved an inch. His expression is calm. After all, it took him mere seconds to drop two big men. What are three more?

Classy Guy spits out a not-so-classy curse. He draws a gun, takes aim, even as his remaining minions lunge at Raoul. It's futile.

Raoul ducks and weaves beneath the reaching grasp of the closer man, each step precise and flowing like the moves of a dance. He dives forward, hands bracing his weight against the ground, and he snaps up a reverse kick that strikes like the tail of a scorpion. It smashes the thug in the chin with so much force that the man is thrown off his feet. He hits the ground limply and does not move.

A shot cracks the air. The liter of Pepsi on the shelf behind Raoul bursts, showering the surrounding area with sticky brown soda.

Raoul immediately drops into a crouch, making himself a much smaller target. The last thug comes at him with a machete, snarling in rage yet there is fear in his eyes. He's seen what Raoul has done to the rest, but he's too loyal or too afraid of his boss to back down.

From the ground, Raoul lunges. He keeps low, and pivots from the hips. He feeds the forward motion into a kick that arcs up, then whips downward with terrific momentum. It's one of the strongest kicks he has. It catches the thug in the ribs and lays him out flat. An elbow strike to the temple finishes him off.

Classy guy fires again. But his hands are unsteady and his aim is thrown off. The bullet flies down one of the aisles harmlessly.

Without a word, Raoul rises. He walks toward Classy Guy, who fires a third time. The bullet scores a thin line across Raoul's shoulder. Closer, but still a miss.

"Stop!" Classy Guy exclaims, but all the command has fled his voice. The gun shakes even more.

It's a simple thing to kick the gun from the man's hand. It's even simpler to do a hard push kick to the chest. It shoves Classy Guy right back out the door. Raoul steps through after him, his strides smooth, almost gliding.

He smiles in the night air. It feels good to stretch his legs like this. On a whim, he decides to take his time with this last guy.

When dawn breaks over the gas station hours later, it's greeted by five cold bodies. Four of them lay amongst shattered glass and merchandise, while the last is sprawled on the pavement outside. Over half of the bones in its body are broken.

There is no sign of Raoul or the baby.

**

***

Hands grasped his face, holding his head immobile while someone else dug the wool out of his ears. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but the prisoner endured it without complaint. If they were returning his sense of hearing to him, then it meant someone wished to speak to him.

With one ear cleared, he could hear a low murmur. "How long since the last dose?"

"About 45 minutes," came the reply.

"Good."

The prisoner showed no reaction to their words, for he was focused on listening. With the quiet breaths and whisper of clothing added to the soft brush of moving air, he could paint a better mental picture of his surroundings. His hearing had always been his sharpest sense, and more than once, he had to rely on it to navigate in the dark. Now was no exception.

A faint rasp of cloth occurred ten paces in front of him as something moved. It was a very subtle sound that was smooth and soft, and he identified it as silk. The coarser materials of his jailor's uniforms made a different sound, and he heard it now as the two men beside him finished clearing out his other ear.

The prisoner smiled. "My Emperor," he murmured. "How kind of you to visit me."

His jailors startled badly at the sound of his voice, immediately backpedaling several paces as if he could somehow kill them with his voice alone. His smile grew, amused by their display of fear.

"Lord Macabre," came the cool reply. The familiar deep timbre drifted across the short distance between them like the cold mist from a drought-quenching rain.

The prisoner reveled in the sound, even as every sinew in his body tensed. Even the pharmaceutical concoction they gave him couldn't suppress the bone-deep rage. Nevertheless, while his fingers twitched behind his back, he maintained an amused curve of the lips.

"That title no longer applies to me," he said.

"It is no title," the voice sounded almost fond, "but who you are. All these years, you have proven that time and again."

"Ha." The prisoner spat onto the ground between them.

"Come now." Soft boots scuffed hard stone, three times all together. "You've served me most of your life. Surely I know well the man I consider to be my closest brother."

Seven paces, the prisoner noted. He canted his head to the side, listening. The closest guards were a dozen paces back, surrounding him and the Emperor.

"You are my right hand, Lord Macabre. Without you, I would not have been able to bring this country to the prosperity it enjoys now."

"Yes," the prisoner agreed. "Without me and all 212 of my brothers, you would have been overrun and dethroned the day you became Emperor."

The Emperor laughed quietly. "Indeed. For that I must thank you."

"Is that why you have come here?"

"No, old friend. I have come to see if you tire of this place. The Mad Dog is ferocious and clever, but he is a poor successor."

The prisoner's smile widened. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before sacrificing my brothers."

"It was necessary," the Emperor stated firmly, and there was the faintest note of annoyance there. "Sacrifices must be made for the betterment of all."

"I see." Smile fading, the prisoner's voice became cold. "Then allow me to be yet another sacrifice and join my brothers. You have your Mad Dog. Perhaps he'll be better at licking your boots."

"You-!" The Emperor shouted and made to lunge forward, but stampeding boots and cries from the guards drowned him out. The prisoner listened as a whole unit of sweating men formed a taut line of defense between him and the Emperor.

With no choice but to back down, the Emperor nearly snarled at the guards to stand down.

"Please, my Emperor. It's for your safety. You must keep your distance!"

"Be silent!" The Emperor snapped. All pretenses of pleasantry were gone now.

The prisoner lowered his head. "You should kill me, my Emperor. Or I will find a way to drag you down to hell with me."

"Ha!" The Emperor barked out a laugh. "No, Lord Macabre. You are not going anywhere. You will witness with your own eyes the glory I shall bring to this country!"

With that, the Emperor and his guard left and the jailors cautiously returned to the prisoner's side. They replaced the wool in his ears with trembling hands.

Soon, he was left in both darkness and silence. His body ached in its kneeling position, both from the inability to move and from bearing the heavy weight of the chains. Yet he endured, because he owed it to his fallen brothers.

It wasn't revenge he sought, but justice.

***

**

The man formerly known as Raoul, the store clerk, no longer exists.

Now he's someone else. He leans over the sink in the small motel bathroom, carefully washing the last of the glue from his face. His hair is wet, still dripping from its blue-black ends.

It's been a while since he saw his own face, and it's completely different from that of Raoul's. His features are smooth, with the kind of structure models would kill for. His skin is flawless, and glows with a natural dusky hue. It's the kind of face that attracts attention, and that's why he usually hides it.

The only thing that hasn't changed is his eyes. He stares into them through the mirror.

"If I'm using my own face, I may as well use my own name." He sighs. At one time, that would have been dangerous. But with everyone who once knew him being dead – well, almost everyone - it doesn't really matter anymore.

He glances to the tiny bundle propped up on the counter, where little ice-blue eyes watch him solemnly. "What do you think, baby?"

The baby doesn't make a sound. But it blinks sleepily and sucks on its fingers.

With little half-smile, the man turns back to the mirror. "Aeron," he tries. It sounds strange to his own ears, almost as foreign as his real face. But it's his, and he decides that it could be interesting walking into Xiao City with his true name and face.

But not as interesting as seeing the look on Zhou Liu's face when he is presented with his own offspring.

"Aeron the dancer," he tells the mirror. And then a true smile lifts his lips as whispers of old dreams and better days past come drifting in like an ocean breeze.

*

Next morning, Aeron walks into the drugstore.

He's wearing a heavy motorcycle jacket over a black tank and jeans. The baby is tucked into the crook of his elbow, its blanket loosely wrapped around it from head to toe.

Regrettably, Aeron cannot avoid drawing attention, because smiles immediately spread across faces as he wanders through the store. Eyes follow him, as do curious whispers.

"Do you see him?"

"Yeah, he's gorgeous!"

"He's even got a cute baby!"

"Ahh, it's not fair! I wish I was his girlfriend. I'd have 100 of his babies!"

"Hush, before he hears you!"

"I hope he hears me!"

Aeron feels a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He does his best to ignore the overly thirsty onlookers, and wanders down the aisle with diapers. He isn't sure which one to get - there's a lot of options.

"Oh, excuse me." A woman nearly bumps into him.

He withholds a wince at the sugary sweet voice. "It's fine."

"Oh my, what a cutie!" The woman is wearing clothes two sizes too small, and it's nearly bursting at the seams. That doesn't stop her from thrusting out her chest and flipping back her long blonde hair. Her gaze, which is fixed to Aeron's face, gives away the object of her affections.

Hint: it's not the baby.

Aeron grabs a random bag of diapers and flees. He also needs some kind of formula to feed the baby, so he wanders the nearby aisles until he finds it.

The woman follows him like a leech. "Here, you poor father. You can put your number into my phone. It must be tough dealing with a little one on your own. Call me anytime, okay? I'll come over and look after you, sweetie."

Aeron finds what he needs (hopefully), and speed walks to the nearest till. The woman jogs after him, panting heavily, her chest heaving laboriously. "It's okay, I can see your hands are full. I'll tell you my number, okay? It's 554-"

"Will that be everything?" The clerk looks at the woman, grins, and then shakes her head at Aeron. She's the first female to actually act like a normal human being, and there are no words for how much he appreciates that.

"Yeah." He pulls out a wad of cash. "How much is it?"

"Did you get it?" Asks the woman behind him. She reaches to take his arm, but her fingers grasp through air as he abruptly moves out of the way. "I can repeat it for you, sweetie. As many times as you like."

Aeron ignores her and pays for his items. She pouts, sidles closer, but he abruptly lifts a knee. She bumps into it belly-first, a soft rush of air escaping her pink lips. He holds her back with his knee while he finishes up, while balancing easily on one leg.

The woman gets over her shock and lays a hand on his thigh. She gives it a squeeze. "Oh," she breathes, "so-"

"Receipt?" The clerk asks. She looks at the woman with disgust.

"No." Aeron grabs the bag, jerks free from the woman, and nearly sprints out the door.

"Wait!"

He doesn't wait. He rushes into the parking lot, and finds his motorcycle. Not even a minute later, he roars off, grocery bag dangling from one wrist, and a baby wrapped in his other arm.

Pedestrians and motorists alike stare as he flies past.

Maybe, he muses, I should get a helmet for the baby.

*

The diapers are way too big.

So he goes out to his motorcycle and grabs the roll of duct tape. He winds it around the diaper to hold it closed. It looks terrible, but neither he nor the baby cares. It gets the job done and that's good enough.

Aeron wraps the baby in the blanket it came in, and it seems to like that, judging by the tiny open-mouthed smile he gets.

Maybe keeping this tiny human alive won't be as bad as he originally thought.

He's fashioned a sling from the baby's blanket, which he currently wears across his chest. With the baby tucked inside, he can easily zip his jacket closed over it for additional protection.

The minute he does that, he feels the baby squirm a bit against his chest. But after a moment, it relaxes and goes to sleep. It feels strange to have something so fragile pressed against him like this.

He's hyper aware of its presence as he rides his motorcycle down winding mountain roads for the rest of the day.

Once the sun sets, he pulls off the road and finds a quiet clearing in the surrounding forest. He builds a fire, then sets about feeding the baby.

It's not a pretty process. At the end of it, both Aeron and the baby are covered in regurgitated milk formula. He thinks the baby kept maybe half of it down though, so that's probably good enough.

He changes its diaper again, using a knife to cut it off since all the duct tape turned it into armored underwear. The smell that wafts from within nearly makes him gag. It's very possibly the worst thing he'd ever inhaled.

Only the thought of Zhou Liu having to deal with this gives him the strength to continue on.

He cleans them both using water from his canteen and a piece of the baby's blanket that he cuts off. Then he burns the soiled diaper and makeshift rag.

After that, he watches the fire with the baby in his arms. The tiny creature nuzzles into his neck, soft and warm and ever so fragile.

It goes to sleep like that, and he sits the entire night, unsettled by having another person so close to such a vulnerable point, but also afraid to move lest he disturb it.

Like this, days and nights pass, and though the baby never fusses or makes a sound, Aeron gets very little sleep.

***

**

The thing about Mad Dogs was that they tended to bite their masters. This one was no exception.

The prisoner watched with interest as the Mad Dog himself crouched before him. Unlike most, the Dog showed no qualms at being this close to him. In fact, the man wasn't even paying attention. Instead, he focused on picking the lock to one of the chains.

"You know," the prisoner said, "you might be taking this successor thing too far."

"Oh?" With a faint click, the lock released. The Mad Dog tossed it to the side with a heavy clank, and moved to the next one. There were four chains in total, each as thick as a man's wrist.

"Just because I defied the Emperor doesn't mean that's part of the job."

Pausing, the Mad Dog looked up, pale eyes regarding the prisoner. "Do you or don't you want to be rescued?"

The prisoner smiled. "I'm still trying to understand why you're rescuing me. I was under the impression you wanted me dead."

"I do want you dead. But I think we're both on the same page when I say the Emperor's time is at an end. Millions are going to die if things stay as they are."

"Ah." The prisoner's smile faded, his gaze growing solemn. "Yes."

"Also, you'll owe me a favor." The Mad Dog sneered. He tugged at one of the chains a litter harder than necessary, sending a rippling shock up each link until it snapped at the prisoner's collar.

"In that case," the prisoner stated, "leave me here. I get lots of rest, 2 meals a day, an armed escort to keep me safe, and enough drugs to kill an army. That's much preferable."

The Mad Dog scoffed and went back to the lock. "You're madder than I am, Lord Macabre."

"Maybe we should trade names, then. I'll be the dog and you can be the lord."

That startled a laugh out of the Dog, catching them both off guard. Awkwardly, the Dog cleared his throat and tossed the lock aside.

"Last one," he stated, and went to work on the final lock.

The prisoner lifted his head, dark eyes settling on the door. "We will have company soon."

"It's only been 8 minutes." The Mad Dog didn't seem very concerned.

"They've increased patrols to 10-minute intervals as the Ambassador from the Shian'tu Country is here."

For a second time, the Mad Dog looked up. "How do you know that?"

"One of my jailers had a fling with the Ambassador's retinue. He carried the scent of her perfume with him." The prisoner hadn't taken his eyes from the door. "Less than a minute now."

With a flick of his wrist, the Mad Dog sent the last lock skittering across the floor. "There's still the manacles-"

Chains jangled as the prisoner rose to his feet for the first time in months. The four chains fell around him like a cloak, swaying from the collar bolted around his neck. His arms were still bound behind his back, but he was able to curl his fingers into fists.

He showed off his teeth in a chilling grin. "It's fine. My legs are all I need."

"Then-"

"Just stand back. I've got this." The prisoner rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and then strode towards the door with gliding steps. The chains swayed, but not once did they strike each other.

The door opened, and a guard peeked in. He never saw the foot that smashed in his face. His body flew back and the prisoner leapt over him and through the door.

Shouts quickly rose from the outer corridor.

The Mad Dog glanced down at the 8 open locks. His pale eyes gleamed. Then he tucked his hands into his pockets and went to enjoy the show.

After all, today was the day the Emperor would die.

**

***

Xian City.

It's a massive metropolis, surrounded by walls forty feet high. The only way in and out is through a massive metal gate. Years ago, when the Emperor was still alive, he had troops stationed along the walls and by the gate, screening every person who entered and exited the city. Now the gates are always open, allowing people to come and go as they please.

Aeron roars through on his motorcycle, passing by three slow-moving cars and getting angry gestures as a result. He ignores them.

He's tired, hungry and miserable, and he's pretty sure the smell of baby poo and vomit clings to his clothes. All he cares about right now is finding an inn where he can soak in a hot bath.

A lot has changed over the years, but The Swan Inn still stands. When he enters the main lobby, it's like being teleported 10 years into the past. Everything is as he remembered, from the mahogany wood furniture, the violet accents and old hardwood flooring. Even the girls are dressed in the same flowing skirts and the men in long, almost outlandish coattails. The Inn is always a bit over the top, but it has class, just like the woman who runs it.

As he strides towards reception, he wonders how the place has fared since the Emperor's downfall. The Inn, in some ways, was a front for a lot of rebel business back in the day.

The baby is still zipped into his leather coat, creating a small bulge that no doubt looks out of place. He folds his arms carefully to hide it. For now, it's better that no one knows what he carries.

"Good afternoon, sir!" The young woman behind the desk beams at him. "How can I help you today?"

"Is Madame the Third still around?" Aeron asks. It's been a while, after all.

His question catches the lady off guard. She hesitates, but maintains her friendly smile. "Oh, um, we don't- we don't use those titles anymore. Perhaps you are referring to Miss Evelina?"

Aeron wrinkles his nose. "Miss Evelina?" That can't be the right person, because there was nothing Miss about the woman. She had six husbands! Not at the same time, mind you, but they constantly died accidentally and it wasn't long before she was off to find another one.

"Come now, love," comes a deep, charming voice from above. Both Aeron and the reception girl look up to the grand staircase, where a woman in a black gown and face veil descends. She lifts a hand from the rail and waggles a finger at him. "You know how it goes. An unwed lady does not go around as a Madame."

Aeron raises his brows. "Was this number seven? Or Eight?"

"Nine, actually." Evelina takes the last step and gracefully moves towards him like she's gliding on ice. "It's so hard to find a good husband these days. They just don't last very long anymore."

"Uh huh." His expression goes amused when she stops before him, and lifts a black-gloved hand to cup his cheek.

She traces the line of his jaw and smiles behind her veil. "It's so good to see you with your true face, love. You always were such a handsome boy."

"And you were always a clever con artist," he returned.

Evelina gives a throaty chuckle. "Such praise! How about it, love? Would you like to be number ten?"

He catches her hand when it begins to slide down his throat, and gently, but firmly, lowers it. "Sorry, I plan to live for many years yet."

She smiles, teeth bright behind the veil. "A pity. A man of your talents is exceedingly rare. So, my love, tell this stunningly gorgeous woman why you have come to visit."

"Well," Aeron says, and he carefully unzips his jacket. "This, I believe, is the Dog's pup."

It's not often something surprises Evelina. But her eyes go wide at the sight of the baby nestled against Aeron's chest. Its sleeping, thumb jammed in its mouth. After a long period of silence, she asks, "Are you sure?"

"It's got his eyes," Aeron returns. He stroked a thumb across the baby's cheek, and after a twitch, it opens said eyes. Its tiny face scrunches like it wants to cry, but he knows it won't. "The girl who gave it to me said to bring it to Zhou Liu."

"That's an old name," Evelina muses. "If she knows it, then she must be close to him."

"Obviously," Aeron drily says.

"Where is she now?"

"Dead. Some gang caught wind and tried to capture her and the kid."

"A gang? How did they even find out-?"

"Doesn't matter." Aeron zips his coat back up, ignoring how the baby tries to grab a fistful of his shirt. "They're dead, too."

Evelina shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips. "Of course they are. What are you going to do with it?"

"What else?" Aeron grins. "I'm going to pay the old Dog a visit."

She nods, like she expected that answer. "Then let's get you cleaned up. I won't have my favorite student making house calls looking like a beggar."

His grin vanishes. "Don't say it like that."

But she only beckons him to follow. "Come, my love," she purrs. "I may be old, but I know how a Lord should dress."

Aeron scowls. But he follows her up the stairs anyway.

*

Just after dusk, Aeron approaches the Manor.

It's fenced in with several buildings, gardens, and courtyards, and it used to be the place the Emperor's wife raised her two children. But now it belonged to the man known as Boss Lee, the one who ran Xiao City with his army of trained followers - Boss Lee, whose birth name was none other than Zhou Liu.

Aeron stands before the heavy gate, looking at the two men standing guard. They're dressed in blue business suits, very smart and professional, but both are carrying machine guns across their chests.

"Hi," Aeron smiles. They stare unblinkingly at him. He can understand why.

He's wearing comfortable leather shoes and a pair of dancer's fitted pants. They're laced up the sides and have little silver bells woven into the ties. It's a bit much, really, but he's enjoying the nostalgia. A flowing silk shirt completes the picture.

The baby is wrapped in a bundle of royal blue silk, hiding it from view, and he carries it in the crook of his arm.

"I'm here to see your Boss."

"The gates are closed," says one coolly.

The other adds helpfully, "No one sees the Boss."

Aeron tilts his head. "Not even if I have a gift for him?"

In response, both guards raise their weapons. Their wordless answer can't be any clearer.

With a faint smile, Aeron takes a single step forward. The bells down the sides of his pants jingle merrily.

The guards pull the triggers. Gunfire abruptly spits out in a violent burst of sound. Bullets kick up dust as they strike the ground but -

Aeron is no longer there.

And the bells have gone quiet.

This realization hits the guards and they quickly stop firing. They look around, slowly turning their backs towards each other as they check out both directions at once. The muzzles of their guns move in concert with their eyes, fingers a hair's breadth from the triggers.

A quiet sigh comes from above them. Immediately, they spin and look up. Aeron stands on top of the gate. How he got there without making a sound is a mystery.

Before they can even raise a shout, he leaps backwards and falls out of sight. Even though he's twenty feet high, he lands light on his feet like a cat. The bells give a soft chime, crystalline clear in the cool night air.

"Hands up! Don't move!"

Aeron turns slowly, ignoring repeated shouts to stop, to put down what he was carrying, raise his hands and kneel on the ground. Every guard in the courtyard comes rushing over. If they had somehow missed the gunfire from a minute ago, then they definitely heard all the shouting.

In a very short while, the courtyard is filled with a sea of guards, all sporting business suits and guns. Aeron looks them over, wondering if they realize how useless their guns will be in such a crowd. His smile grows, even as his eyes take on a dark gleam.

He steps forward, the bells singing with every stride.

"Stop! Last warning! Or we'll shoot!"

Aeron doesn't stop. The ringing of small bells fills the air, their merry jangle eerie in such a tense atmosphere. And then, from one step to the next, the bells fall silent. Yet, Aeron still moves, though now his stride takes on a strange, gliding quality. The sudden change startles the guards, raises the hairs on their flesh.

One hand curled around the baby, Aeron lunges. He plants the toe of a shoe, and whirls in a savage roundhouse kick. The side of his foot slams into a guard's temple. Before the man even falls, Aeron leaps into the midst of the crowd.

Alarm swells like a building wave, with guards immediately pressing together as they try to catch him. It's quickly apparent that they can't risk shooting, because then they'd end up hitting one another. Aeron dances like a whirlwind, his strange footwork weaving him in and out of clumps of guards like a wisp of smoke. Sometimes the bells sing, but mostly, they are quiet.

Amongst the cries of the guards is the sickening thunks of Aeron's knees or feet striking them down. It doesn't take long for panic to overtake any training they had, because this shouldn't be possible. They outnumber him immensely, yet he slips behind them like a shadow, evading their clumsy attacks as if he sees them coming a mile away. Each time he lifts a foot, someone falls. It's like they're practice targets, mere dummies waiting to be knocked down.

When the last man collapses, he does so with a face stricken in fear. He didn't even have a chance to utter the word shuddering in his mind... monster.

Aeron walks away from the fallen men, the bells ringing quietly into the night. It's enough to announce his presence to anyone nearby, but no one comes out to greet him. It's disappointing.

He wanders into the manor, finding the entrance oddly empty. Even the halls are absent of guards. A tiny furrow settles into his brow. Surely there has to be more people in Boss Lee's employ. The few dozen outside is barely enough to be considered a poor welcoming party.

He finds the grand staircase, and climbs the steps to the second floor. The place looked exactly the same as it had during the Emperor's reign, although someone had torn down all the paintings of the Emperor and his family and replaced them with that of various dogs.

The sight of it makes Aeron smile. How amusing. And fitting.

Eventually, he makes it to the main study. As he suspected, a single man stands inside, his back to the door while he gazes out the window. This man creates an impressive silhouette, back straight, shoulders square, hands folded regally behind his back. It's almost like he's imitating the Emperor himself, because Aeron has seen the Emperor stand in exactly the same way before the exact same window in the past.

After taking one step inside the door of the study, Aeron stops. He observes the man by the window. It's as if no time has passed, because nothing has changed in this man, save for his name. A single look is all Aeron needs to tell that beneath that crisp business suit, beneath that noble air, is nothing more than a barely controlled beast.

For a while, neither of them speaks.

It's not until the bundle in Aeron's arm shifts that he remembers his entire purpose for coming here. He glances down at the bundle, and lets the corners of his mouth lift.

"Your welcoming party was pathetic," Aeron says.

The man in front of the window does not turn. "Apologies. I had them withdraw. I would rather that you didn't kill all of my men."

"I was gentle. Most of them should still breathe." Aeron moves into the room. He gives the place a quick once over, noting that it has received much the same treatment as the rest of the manor. There is even a little statue of a wolfhound on the desk. It has rubies for eyes.

He walks around the desk and sits in the chair.

At that, the man by the window finally turns, and regards Aeron with icy blue eyes. "I did not call for you, Lord Macabre."

"No, you didn't," Aeron agrees easily. He pauses, then adds, "Mad Dog. Or, is it Zhou Liu? I heard you were going by that one these days."

That gaze narrows into frigid pinpoints colder than the deepest part of the ocean. "Why are you here? I distinctly remember you agreeing to stay out of Xiao City for the rest of your life."

"Unless you called," Aeron said.

"Unless I called," Zhou Liu acknowledges. "Which I did not."

"But you did. Sort of." Aeron abruptly leans forward and places the bundle on the desk. With a single flick, he flings the corner of the silk away from the baby's face, revealing its wide blue stare. "I think you dropped this."

The look on Zhou Liu's face is every bit as satisfying as Aeron hoped it would be. The man looks absolutely flabbergasted. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, and finally after a long time of just staring, he finally turns to Aeron.

"What is this?" he demands.

"It's yours," Aeron grins. "Doesn't its eyes look familiar?"

"But-"

"The girl who passed it to me knew your name," Aeron added. He arched a brow. "As did some gang. Really, you should be more careful with who you have a fling with."

Zhou Liu actually took a step back. His gaze went to the baby with something like horror, and then he shook his head. "That girl...? How?"

"Oh no. I'm not getting into that. You should know how that sort of thing works by now." Aeron abruptly stands, brushing off the seat of his pants as if sitting in the chair had somehow contaminated them. "Anyway, that's yours now. The girl is dead. So are the idiots who killed her. You're welcome."

He heads for the door, letting the bells ring as he goes.

"Wait!" Zhou Liu sounds panicked. "You can't just leave this here!"

This being the baby, of course.

Aeron just smiles and lifts a hand. "Consider the favor filled. Goodbye, Mad Dog."

And with that, he leaves. Behind, he hears a wail, high-pitched and plaintive. It's the baby, who chose to finally let its voice be heard.

The bells give one last jingle.

Then they are silent.