Arcane: Painted Tapestries

[Westside - The old timeline]

"Odd route." Commented Callian, pursuing behind the severely out-of-breath Shala, who was heaving loudly in front of him

The pair had quickly left the darkness of the outskirts via the woman's surprisingly competent guidance, making a key turn about a mile back and climbing up through a manhole Callian hadn't even known existed.

They were now running up through a winding tunnel that seemed to lead, by one of Callian's educated guesses, to the Promenade level.

"You're. One. To talk." Shala panted over her shoulder, all but jogging now; the constant running finally beginning to take its toll on her.

"True," The teen mused, his grey eyes momentarily flitting towards the taller woman's legs before focusing in on her still-trembling fingers.

No, it was more than just trembling now, they were downright shaking - and violently at that.

"But I'm not the one taking us to Promenade of all places." He finished, speeding up and falling in stride next to her. "Isn't the Revolutionary based in Westside?"

"I'm. Not. Taking. You. To. The. Revolutionary. Am I?" She replied, too tired to even manage to elaborate beyond that.

"Fair enough." The teen shot back, sprinting forward and outpacing his companion.

Up ahead, there was what seemed to be the final bend in the tunnel; as a beam of faint, orange light cut through the pitch darkness the pair were running through.

Shala staggered in disbelief, watching as the shorter boy blitzed past her with a practised ease; and despite having run for the same duration as her, he didn't look tired at all.

She huffed, the woman's frustration granting her a temporary boost in speed that only lasted a few seconds before quickly giving way to utter exhaustion.

"Bastard." Wheezed Shala, but Callian was already far too ahead of the woman to hear her gasped insult.

The teen turned the corner, his grey eyes squinting somewhat as they adapted to the flickering orange glow that seeped through the man-sized hole in the dilapidated flooring above.

Callian grabbed hold of the rustic metal ladder that was propped up in front of him, scaling the short distance it covered within seconds and emerging out onto what looked to him like the floor of a basement.

The room was sparse - spacious too, and lacking the furniture or items that would normally be found in such a place.

Only a singular lantern hung from the ceiling; a strong flame burning behind blackened, heat-stained glass.

A lantern that used real fire?

Now that was an oddity and something Callian hadn't seen in quite some time.

Anyhow, the lack of furniture was something the teen found strange, especially considering how well the room seemed to be maintained - minus the obviously gaping hole in the flooring.

A gruff male voice echoed from behind a heavy iron door that was the only other visible exit from the room.

"Callsign?" The man asked, and the sheer boredom contained within the stranger's flat tone would've made Callian snort with laughter if he wasn't so caught off guard by the sudden noise behind him.

He dropped to the ground, whipping around to see a small peephole carved into the iron door.

Luckily for him, the guard was down, which meant the man standing outside couldn't see inside.

The teen stalked toward the door as silently as possible, pressing his back up against the wall next to it and reaching for the knife stowed in his belt.

"Oi," The man grunted, and Callian heard him shuffle around before the peephole guard was slid up, clanking loudly as it did so. "Who's there?"

The sound of Shala beginning to ascend the rusted ladder echoed up into the basement, causing the man to grunt in annoyance as he dropped the guard back down.

Callian watched as a tuft of curly white hair bobbed upwards, signalling Shala's successful exit from the manhole.

She stared at his precariously hidden figure in disbelief, pulling herself over the edge and collapsing onto the wooden flooring.

The man's voice sounded across the room once more.

"Callsign?"

"White sheep," The downed woman answered, taking a heavy breath before continuing. "And a new face too."

"Hmmm. White sheep…" The voice hummed.

The peephole went up again.

"Ah, it's you, Scars." The man taunted, his tone losing its natural flatness. "Did you manage to get what he asked for, or did you crawl back here to die begging for my help?"

"I did get it, and fuck you." She bit back, struggling to her feet upon unsteady limbs.

"Maybe after you die," The voice drawled, "I wouldn't trust you not to stab one of your knives into my neck while we're at it."

The woman ignored his crass jibe, instead beckoning Callian toward her and mouthing that it was fine to come out.

"And who is that?" The man asked, jabbing a finger through the peephole to point at the small blue-haired teen who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"He wants to be a runner, he has the-"

Shala's reply was abruptly cut off midway as the cynical man quickly stifled a laugh. 

"He wants to become a runner? Fucking hell woman, I didn't think you were that heartless - bringing him here of all places… I guess even saints can fall from grace."

Callian stared up at his taller companion questioningly, and she gave him a look that screamed; 'I told you so'.

"Show me the item." The voice requested, and Callian glanced at Shala for confirmation before unbuttoning the satchel and pulling out the vial.

The teen held it up near the peephole, just close enough for the man's shrewd green eyes to see it clearly.

"Closer." He instructed, and Callian could see his left cheek rise in what he assumed to be a smirk.

The bastard wanted to grab it and leave them outside.

"Fuck off." The blue-haired teen replied, retracting the vial and replacing it back into his satchel.

"Oooo." He mocked. "You've brought home a feisty one Scars - whatever will I do."

The peephole was dropped down, and the two companions heard a series of metal latches get pulled across, one after the other.

The door swung open seamlessly, revealing a tall, muscular, black-haired individual who stared down at them condescendingly.

"In." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, his green eyes scanning the rest of the basement suspiciously.

Callian cautiously stepped past him, carefully noting the gear-like tattoos and lattice of scars covering the entirety of the man's left arm.

Shala followed behind him, glaring up at her aggressor angrily.

He didn't even spare her a second glance, reaching forward and pulling the heavy door inward again, crouching down to re-set the numerous latches that had locked them out prior.

"I'd hurry up if I were you, White sheep." He called over his shoulder, "It's looking dangerously like you're almost out of time."

Shala swore under her breath, taking Callian by the hand and storming up the flight of stairs ahead of them.

The teen idly noticed again, that the shaking in her hands had gotten worse.

Far worse.

They reached the top, striding past the guard standing by the entrance and making a beeline across the wide storage area toward an intricately carved wooden door.

Two burly men stood guard outside it, with one of them placing the palm of his hand on the pommel of the crudely made sword at his waist.

"Back just in time, eh Scars?" One of the men jeered, placating his battle-ready companion and stepping to the side; gesturing them in toward the closed door.

Shala ignored him, reaching for the handle and hesitating.

"Last chance Callian. Give me the satchel and turn around. Go back to your easy life before it's too late."

The teen's grey eyes narrowed.

After coming so far?

"Not a chance." He replied, staring her down.

The woman sighed regretfully.

"On your head be it." She muttered, shaking her head sadly and opening the door before the pair of them stepped inside.

The room beyond was… Not what he expected it to be.

The far wall was made entirely of glass, a barrier that allowed the pair of them to gaze into the river beyond.

The murky water cast an eerie turquoise glow that filled the room, shadowed only by a singular high-backed chair that stood facing away from them.

Numerous jars containing god-knows-what lined the walls, and countless strange filtration apparatuses bubbled quietly all across the room's interior.

"Is that?" The teen questioned, stepping past the woman and toward the thick glass window.

"The great river?" A hoarse, male voice echoed from his left. "That it is. An astonishing sight, wouldn't you say?"

Callian turned, feeling as Shala grabbed his wrist with her trembling hands, attempting to pull him away from whoever had just spoken.

The teen allowed himself to be shifted, falling back in line next to the taller woman.

"Doctor." She said curtly.

"Shala." The man returned, stepping out into the light.

His face was gaunt, sallowed by age and pale from a lack of sunlight. His hair was extremely short, revealing a less-than-perfect hairline.

The man's eyes however, were a deep, calculating brown.

There was something about him that put Callian on edge - that put him on guard.

His instincts were never wrong.

"Well? I assume you managed to acquire what I requested you to get?"

"I did."

Shala placed her hands on Callian shoulders, pushing him forward gently.

The teen reached into the satchel obediently, pulling out the vial and holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

"May I?" Asked the Doctor, empty palm outstretched.

Callian resisted the urge to frown, keeping his face impassive and unresponsive.

The blue-haired boy felt Shala's hand squeeze his shoulders, indicating for him to do as the Doctor said.

His sceptical grey eyes stared up into the calm brown of the Doctor's own.

He sensed no deceitful intent behind the man's emotionless face; though that inherent feeling of danger remained, a nagging sensation he couldn't bring himself to ignore.

Callian dropped the vial into the man's hand, watching as the man's long fingers curled around the teen's only bargaining chip.

"Fascinating." The Doctor murmured, shaking the vial slightly and watching as the bubbles within swirled downwards. "This might just be the last piece of that particular puzzle."

Shala's grip on Callian's shoulders tightened.

"So? Can I have the antidote now," She said, concealing the desperation behind her tone well. But it fooled neither the man nor the boy standing by her.

"And my payment too?" The woman continued unblinkingly.

The Doctor's eyes sidled down to stare at her, his gaze now critical.

"You obtained this by yourself?" His carefully placed question pierced through Shala's confident facade.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Callian frowned, he couldn't help it.

If he was to do business with someone so high up the Westside food chain, he needed to look as skilled as possible in front of them.

Shala was taking the credit for his raid.

The only reason he hadn't spoken up was because she had mentioned needing an antidote, which sounded alarmingly important.

"Then who is the young man you've brought with you." The Doctor pressed, and Callian noted that he had correctly guessed his age range.

"He wants to be a runner," She replied stiffly. "He's got the skills for the job, I guarantee it."

Her compliments, genuine or not, didn't placate the teen's bristling attitude in the slightest.

The Doctor hummed, turning away and retreating back into the shadows he had come from.

He returned not a moment later carrying only a small glass bottle, the orange vial he had been carrying previously gone from his hands.

The man held it out to Shala, who reached past Callian and snatched it from his bony hand fiercely.

As soon as the blue-haired boy heard the woman behind him drink whatever the bottle had contained, he spoke up.

"The one who stole that vial was me - and I did it alone."

The Doctor paused, clasping his hands behind his slightly hunched back.

"I know." He replied calmly, and Callian suddenly heard a wretched coughing emanate from behind him. "It's truly a shame to lose an asset as skilled as you Shala - but this decision I am afraid, is out of my hands."

The teen whipped around, barely managing to catch Shala before her frail legs gave way.

What the fuck?

He stared into her steadily reddening eyes, blue veins bulging visibly underneath her pale skin.

Blood began seeping out from her eyes, nose and mouth, leaking all over his hands and arms which were still slick with that luminous green liquid.

Tears mixed with the blood still dripping from both corners of her eyes, dripping down and splattering onto the cold stone flooring below.

Shala stared up at him in fear, her face creasing unnaturally, filled with pain and despair.

A final mouthful of blood was spat onto Callian's trembling hands.

He stared down into her now glassy eyes, devoid of even a speck of life.

She had died in his arms.

A hot prickling traced down the back of the teen's neck, his eyes staring down at the dead woman lying on his kneeling figure.

Fear.

Now he knew why he was instinctually wary of this man.

Callian closed his eyes; pushing the searing sensation of fear that was burning across his exposed skin.

The teen reached up and shifted Shala's curled fringe aside, taking one last look at the scars tracing the left side of her face.

"Did you know her well?" The Doctor asked him, his calm tone unchanged by this casual murder.

Callian's eyes hardened, and he placed two fingers on Shala's eyelids, closing them.

It was too late for her now. Far too late.

"No." He said sharply, placing the woman's corpse onto the ground gently and standing up again. "We only met today."

The blue-haired teen turned back around, forcefully shoving the image of Shala's terrified dying visage from his mind.

"I see." The Doctor replied. "Now, Shala said you wanted to become one of our runners?"

Our?

Callian pushed past his feelings of foreboding.

"Yeah, that's right. My last fixer just decided to fuck me over for no reason at all, so here I am."

The Doctor walked over to one of the contraptions standing in the room and started to fiddle with the gauge on its side.

"Talk me through how you stole the vial," Requested the gaunt man, "And don't leave anything out. This is your only chance to enlighten me as to your potential usefulness."

With that morbid warning from the Doctor, Callian started from the very beginning; explaining every single sequence that took place after taking that job from Jason.

At his mention of the bargain he had with Shala, the Doctor paused slightly, before turning around and depositing a new vial in his hands.

"An antidote. It is unlikely, but just in case you were contaminated…" The Doctor let his sentence trail off.

The teen froze.

"Contaminated with what?" He asked, taking the vial in his hands hesitantly.

A new voice echoed from the chair sitting in front of the glass window.

A chair Callian now realised was not as empty as he had first assumed it to be.

"Our runners are fed a unique type of poison when tasked with high-profile gigs. Such practices eliminate the risk of them running off with the desired item, as they do tend to be rather valuable."

A tall man slowly stood up from his seat, his hand tracing the chair's arm as he came to face them.

He sported a maroon-coloured dress shirt, which was covered by a gold-accented brown vest worn over the top of it. His trousers were black, embossed with the same golden lines as his top was, however dirtied by the filth of the Undercity.

His left eye glowed a dark, malevolent orange underneath the shadow cast by his heavy brow.

It was the Revolutionary, looking exactly as Jason had described him.

"Should you choose to become one of my runners, you will be exposed to the same risks as she was," He indicated the dead woman lying beside the teen. "But, from what I have heard, you would be better suited for a different kind of job."

Callian understood now, why Shala had been so insistent all the time. Her life and future were literally out of her hands and control.

It was deliver or die.

Whatever their morals, Callian had to admit their methods were scarily efficient.

"What kind of job?" He asked warily.

"For now, you would be guarding a location I give you, working with men I trust who will evaluate your potential under more controlled circumstances. When your skills are confirmed you will have the option to work under me permanently or, continue working freelance as you had been, however with far more opportunities than you had beforehand. Opportunities that will be provided by me."

Callian stared at the man critically.

That sounded… Perfect.

Too perfect to be true.

"What about Jason?" The teen asked carefully, internally weighing his options. Could he make it to an exit without getting killed? He didn't think so. "I don't know why he betrayed me, but if he still wants me dead then that's a target on your back too."

The man's face twisted with displeasure, and he turned away to face the glass window once more.

"Jason is a piece that is not welcome on the board I am to play with."

He paused, and Callian could see his hands tightening behind his back.

"He will be dealt with in due course. For now, I suggest wearing a mask of some kind."

The teen stayed silent, thinking furiously.

Perfect, it was too perfect.

Was his luck finally turning around?

"Why offer this to me?" Callian finally asked, breaking the momentary silence between them.

The Revolutionary turned back around, raising an eyebrow at him amusedly.

"I always have room to take in people as talented as you are." He said, his tone understanding - kind almost. The man understood the boy's scepticism, after all, his offer really was that good.

Callian looked down at the vial still held in his hand, the antidote that would save his life, had he actually been poisoned by Shala.

He took one final look at her pale corpse lying beside him.

Fuck it.

Callian removed the stopper and drank the entire contents of the vial.

"I'll do it."

The Revolutionary smiled thinly.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Callian." The teen replied, feeling his throat burn uncomfortably as the strange liquid slid down it. "It's Callian."

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And that's a wrap, flashback over. Peak fiction I hope 🙏 

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(Total word count: 3128)