“Read through it carefully,” Mark advised. “How you wish to execute the mission is also the purpose of our exercise.”

Gwen read through the document with a pace which surprised Mark, then read through it again as insurance. As she had noted prior, the Quest involved escorting a young woman from Blackheath to Surry Hills.

“Why would a NoM Escort need a Mage to accompany her?” Gwen enquired, confused by the context even after reading the document twice.

“Mmhmm…” Mark made a sound that that was both amusement and impatience. “Do you know where Blackheath is?”

“I know it’s within city limits…”

“And yet, you have never travelled beyond the inner west, correct?”

"No..." the Diviner was correct.

“Have you ever been to a suburb with NoMs, and I mean only NoMs?”

Gwen pondered Mark's sardonic inquiry, realising that, no, she had indeed never trespassed a suburb exclusively inhabited by NoMs.

“No…”

“What kind of place do you imagine it to be?”

Gwen had no answer for Mark's enquiry. A slum perhaps? She had seen the poverty-stricken ghettos of Sydney in her old world. There were hobos sleeping parks and the occasional guy smoking crack by alleyway. It wasn't that bad.

She shook her head.

“So there you have it, that is why you are chosen specifically for this simple task.”

“Specifically?” Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, tailor-made to your specifications." Mark Chandler chuckled, his demeanour choric and morose. "Henry specifically asked me to have you thrown into the lion’s den, although in all honesty, it's more of a rat den. But, you get the idea.”

“Is the girl special in some way?” Gwen pursued the matter. She couldn't understand why anyone would spend upward of 200 HDMs to recover a young prostitute. Was there a conspiracy of some sort? Was she a femme fatale with dire information?

“All life is special,” Mark replied evasively. “But I have spoken too much. You are meant to be speaking to the employer yourself, not to me. It's your Quest. If you don't wish to take it, go home to Henry. He'll find a spot from you in a Tower Kill-Team, I am sure.”

He pointed to another envelope on her desk.

“Your Licence.”

Gwen popped the yellow envelope, and inside was an ID made from the same trans-fab material as her student card.

**Gwen Song**
Conjurer (2)
Evocation (3)
Lightning (3)
Age:: 16
Achievements:: [N/A]
Sponsor [Mark C. Surya H.]
Agency:: Black Cat

“That card allows you to perform minor magical feats within city limits: a provisional public practice of magic licence."

There is also a pamphlet regarding the licence, as well as a contract.

“Read through these carefully. If you are fine with it, then sign here, and here.”

Gwen chewed through the heavy-handed legal documents. She glanced at Mark, feeling a detached suspicion engender in her chest. A licence for her to attack others? They weren't expecting her to kill or maim people, were they?

“Did Alesia have a similar experience?”

“Your sister-in-craft was sent strictly on away-missions far from human civilisation…”

“Right." Gwen tempered her paranoia. If Mark knew about the Apprenticeship, it was self-evident that her Master trusted the Diviner. The whole thing was a test; if she went about zapping people and burning down their houses, its not a good look for her proclamation of Noblesse Oblige.

She read through the documents again.

“Says here, that I am allowed to use deadly force to defend myself within the city limits… am I to anticipate that someone will be using deadly force against me? In the city?”

“That’s a clause the Tower has negotiated with the Frontier government. If indeed a NoM or a Rogue Mage threatened your life, you could hardly be expected to use your weakest spells."

“Doesn't that seem a little excessive?” Gwen couldn't help but wondered what were the odds someone would threaten her life on this Quest.

“It’s not a perfect system. See there, how I am your sponsor?”

“Go on.”

“I am personally held accountable for your choices. If your actions turn out to be criminal offences, it is my job to cooperate with the police to take you in.”

Gwen held the card between her fingers; it felt more substantial than her student card, denser.

“I take it the card also tracks my location?”

“It also tracks significant magical activity,” Mark added. “But nothing detailed or substantial. We're only a Frontier city, after all. Sydney isn't London.”

“I see.”

Gwen was no longer surprised that her privacy had been fed to the dogs. Her Master was tracking her; the school was tracking her, God knows who else was tracking her.

She signed the documents, watching the parchments disappear into Mark’s Ring.

“Well, I better get to work then.” Gwen stood from the chair and eased down her dress. “I suppose the Madam is expecting me. Say, is there a story behind the fact that both the bordello and the cafe share the same name?”

“There’s a long story behind that,” Mark replied distantly. “You see, I would tell it one day, but…”

“…maybe when we're acquainted. I read you loud and clear. Can I consult you if I have any questions?”

“Of course, I am your guide and mentor after all, here is my Message glyph. Do you know how to use Message yet?”

“Not without a Device, no.”

“I’ll teach you someday - if you make it through this one.”

“Thanks, I’ll be going then.”

Gwen knocked on the very same door she had left two hours ago.

“Welcome back.” The same Madam opened the door with that big red smile of hers. “Dame Agnes Kitson.”

“Gwen Song. I’ll be in your care,” Gwen replied. “Are you the client?”

“I am paying, but no, I am not the client. Come on in,” The Madam ushered her in. “Your client is in my office. She’s worried sick from waiting. Mark said you'd be here earlier.”

“Sorry, the red-tape took a while," Gwen apologised. "I am here now.”

They went through the corridor. Inside, the decor was modelled after a decadent period of French history, classy, despite the nature of its business. Within, she drew curious glances from women in various states of undress. Gwen praised her timing, it was noon, and the place would not be taking customers until much later. Instead, the girls were having tea and coffee, watching Vid-Casts in the common room.

At the back of the double-terrace, the duo reached what looked to be the Madam’s office, a converted master-bedder. Inside, the Madam introduced Gwen to a young woman named Sally Cantwell.

“Sal, this is Gwen. Gwen, Sally Cantwell.”

Her 'Client' possessed auburn hair that fell around her neck in ringlets, pale green eyes, and a face that was comely, sporting a girl-next-door vibe that Gwen knew to be particularly popular with certain kinds of men. By that same measure, though Gwen herself was uncommonly svelt, men often found her intimidating.

Gwen offered a hand in greeting which the girl frightfully shook. To her chagrin, Sally made the supplicating gesture of holding her fingers with two hands.

“Mistress Mage, I am so glad you could help us,” Sally supplicated.

“Please, just Gwen.” The sycophantic manner of Sally's plea made her skin crawl.

Sally looked to Agnes for guidance; the latter nodded once.

“Miss Song, Gwen, thanks for coming, I am… hoo..."

Agnes patted the poor girl with a jewel-encrusted hand.

“The NoMs from areas beyond zone fifteen don’t get to speak to many Mages, much less Quasi-elementalist elites,” Agnes explained patiently. "They get spooked easily."

What about you? Gwen wanted to ask. Agnes looked like she could do some damage.

“Sal, calm yourself. Gwen is an affable young lady. You can speak to her as if you were speaking to me. She won't hurt you or try to take advantage of you.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“A-alright.” Sally caught her breath. “Hello, I am Sally Cantwell…”

“Nice to meet you, Sal.” Gwen appropriated the nickname, hoping it would put the girl at ease. “Tell me about your sister, Stacey.”

Sally retold them what Gwen already gathered from the dossier. The sisters were from a poor District known as Blackheath, a place inhabited by working and underclass NoMs. The girls had a troublesome, abusive family which made them left school and home prematurely. They found work here and there, eventually finding their way to Agnes’ place. The Madam treated them well, gave them a place to stay, and things were dandy for about half a year. Unlike Sally, Stacey had a soft spot for their family back in Blackheath, returning with gifts of money and foodstuffs fortnightly. Just a week ago, Sally and her sister had the opportunity to be tested for affinity thanks to a curious client. To their surprise, Stacey registered as an Illusionist with an affinity for Water. Awakenings later in life were rare but seldom significant, so Agnes had thought nothing of it. But, when Stacey returned to Blackheath for the weekend, she evaporated.

“She didn’t leave a Message or anything?” Gwen asked incredulously.

Sally stared at Gwen blankly. Agnes coughed gently to upset the awkward silence.

“NoMs can’t use Message spells, not even on Devices. They can’t produce mana…” Agnes said softly, instructing Gwen’s ignorance with a tone that was now less than pleased. “They could do it if they had access to mana crystals of course, but Sally had no training.”

All of which costs crystals, Gwen recognised awkwardly, especially as LDM and HMD exchanges inflate in areas lacking Mages.

“Do you know if Stacey is safe?” She pivoted back to the mission, knowing she appeared out of touch.

Agnes tapped her ears, where there was a large ruby earring.

Gwen noted that Sally also had one, though far less expensive looking and far subtler.

“I had Mark run an Augury, so we know where she is. I had the device designed so that if the girls are hurt, really hurt, I would know. She’s still wearing the earring, which means she’s at least unharmed.”

“So this would be a rescue and escort request then?”

“I sure hope not.” Agnes made a face, her red lips pressing together tightly. “I don’t know why Stacey can’t come home by herself, but your job is to bring her home. How hard can it be to convince a dozen NoMs to leave a girl alone?”

“Do you think they could be holding her because she awakened as a Mage?” Gwen asked Sally.

Sally moved her head in a way that was neither a confirmation or a denial.

“People back home... dislike like Mages.” She muttered incoherently, afraid to insult Gwen. “So maybe that's why? I… I don’t know. I hope they don’t hurt Stacey.”

“She’s safe dear…” Agnes pattered Sally’s hand, tapping her ruby earring. “I know, trust me.”

Man, this is messed up. Gwen organised the scenario a few times in her head, running the narrative through her mind. From the sounds of it, she needs to enter a slum where people are going to be hostile, keeps the NoMs at bay, find the girl, then return with her to the Black Cat Bordello.

“Well, can ya do it?” Agnes demanded, growing a little annoyed at Gwen’s hesitation. “The clock is ticking.”

“Yes, I’ll accept the Quest,” Gwen replied solemnly. It wasn’t as though she could refuse. The whole thing was a test to see if she could handle going out into the real world.

The women shook to seal the deal, after which Agnes expelled Sally from the room.

“Gwen, Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Gwen nodded.

“So, Gwen Song.” Agnes smiled broadly. “You’re all over the grapevine these days.”

Gwen smiled innocently.

“You’re Henry’s… protègè and Surya’s granddaughter, right?” Agnes grinned with mischief, an expression unbecoming on an older woman.

“Oh, how are you acquainted with Magister Kilroy and Magus Huang, Ms... Missus Kitson?” Gwen ventured a question of her own. Was this woman a member of the Codger’s Club?

“You can call me Kitty.” Agnes chuckled. “That’s what the boys call me.”

“May I call you Agnes instead?” Gwen insisted. She'd rather not call Agnes by her pet name.

“Just Agnes, then.” Agnes shrugged. “Gwen, I wanted to ask you something, then you can be off.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Agnes stalked around Gwen in a circle. Casually, she brushed a hand past the hem of Gwen's skirt, sending the fabric riding up her pale legs, exposing their impressive length before falling back into position. Gwen yelped and looked at Agnes peevishly, questioning her uninvited harassment. If Agnes had been a man, she probably would have slapped, or zapped her.

“So, not much experience with boys? Don't go out much?”

"..." Gwen stared, forcing herself to remain polite. The hell's wrong with this woman? “Not that its any business of yours. But is that going to be a problem?”

“Well...” Agnes cocked her head. She pointed to Gwen's dress. "Did Mark put you up to this?"

“What do you mean?” Gwen furrowed her brows. What's wrong with her dress? It wasn’t as though she was going deep into Abu-Dhabi and had to wear a hijab. Blackheath was two hours away from the CBD! Even if she wore the minidress into the Wildlands, it would only be a minor inconvenience. Was there a dress code for working as a mercenary?

Agnes caught Gwen's prickly annoyance with a scowl of her own.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried about your shoes. They look mighty uncomfortable for walking long distances.”

The matron chose to say nothing. In her mind, Mark could do no wrong, and Henry couldn't be wrong if he tried. The Quest was Henry's pupil's baptism of fire, designed to teach her that real life followed no instruction manuals. The girl would emerge from her trial stronger and wiser, as per Henry's purpose, or she would fail and return to the crucible.

“Good luck." Agnes slapped Gwen on the bottom, pushed her from the room, then closed the door.

What a rude woman. Gwen gave her smarting bum a gentle caress. From the woman's overly familiar tone, she certainly fitted into the Old Codger's Club.

Once she exited the bordello, Gwen made for Redfern.

Blackheath station was within walking distance of Cantwell's divined location. As for Blackheath itself, she knew the suburb only in name. It belonged to part of Sydney strange and unknown to her.

But her greatest fear was becoming lost.

Gwen knew her orienteering was sub-par. That was the problem with this world: no Google Maps, no Tripadvisor, no satellite imaging. For all the bluster of Mages moving mountains and boiling the seas, she couldn't so much as access a pin, pointing her in the right direction.

All she possessed was a map provided by Mark Chandler and an address: Rogan Crescent, Blackheath - G6: D23. A physical map! Gwen grimaced. The last time she had touched one was in junior Geography. The process was so primitive that Gwen felt lost trying to find north.

Nonetheless, she played out the scenario in her head. Ideally, she entered what she assumes to be a house: a single abode, a shack. She would demand from the occupants the whereabouts of Stacey Cantwell. She would recover the girl, ideally safe and sound, then take Stacey back to the Black Cat, at worst firing off a few spells to frighten the NoMs who may try to stop her, or at worst, unleash her Familiars.

The reality was likely going to be different, of course. The mission was a test as well as a Quest, judging from Mark's evasiveness.

With her mind still running analytics, Gwen took 7th Line toward Greater Western Sydney, one of the largest NoM regions within the Frontier city. Station after station, passengers boarded and alighted, mostly Mages and NoMs with useful professions. Once she was past the City-Circle, the number of individuals in their Sunday best changed to that of working-class outfits. After Strathfield, the Mages thinned out, and NoMs began to inundate the carriage. Past Granville, these men and women too alighted, leaving Gwen alone with a few unsavoury looking figures that now lounged here and there in the abandoned carriage.

She pulled out her Message Device. A simple display read 15:44. The sun outside boiled, blasting the cracking pavements. During Sydney's summer, the sun sets after 8 PM.

She was getting close, and her heart was beginning to race, matching the crashing undercarriage as it pounded the rails. The further she travelled, the more persistently the suburban-scape dissolved. The scenery outside had changed from that of suburban houses to cramped apartments, and now they were quickly growing denser, becoming more compact.

'Bing Bong~.'

"Next stop, Seven Mills, the service will terminate in Blackheath. This service will terminate next stop."

Gwen's sense of alarm grew in intensity as station after station; the sky contracted while the temporary buildings expanded. They were at Seven Mills now; only the landscape was nothing like the Sydney she had known.

The station wasn't under shade cover, yet it felt as though she was underground. Arching her neck to see, she saw that an outbreak of haphazard construction had taken over the station, jutting here and there like architectural cancer.

'This train terminates next stop.'

As the train began to move again, plunging deep into the slums, Gwen realised her terrible naivety.

This Blackheath was not the Blackheath she had known. It was not dilapidated houses and working-class men languishingly in front of beat up Holden Commodores. It was not scantily clad women with too much make up getting catcalled by youths wearing popped collars. It wasn't even dodgy looking migrant men and bummed out Aborigines napping on the sidewalks with their dogs.

It was a city unto itself: a municipality of NoMs, a township built without the help of Transmuters fabricators, without the conjured pylons or the reinforced magic of the Abjurers. It was a suburb carved out by hapless NoMs eking out a living at the edge of the Mages' city. Blackheath was made from scraps and leftovers. Above and below, it was bones piled atop of bones, each skeletal houses cannibalising the next for parts.

The train was pulling up into station now, although Gwen hadn't moved from her seat. She was no longer sure of what to do. How was she going to find this address in a place like this? The damn suburb expanded as much horizontally as it did vertically! From the shelter of her carriage, she could see some NoMs milling about outside the platform. Some of them appeared to be vagabonds, old men living under stitched pieces of sheeting. Elsewhere, more threateningly, were wayward looking young men who assembled under an abandoned bus shelter, surrounded by a ring of acrid looking smoke. A woman stood under a doorway, backed against a wall by a large man drinking from a bottle. There was a scene of money been exchanged, then they both disappeared. Not far, a dog sauntered through the thoroughfare. One of the young men threw a bottle. It missed, the dog fled, and his friends roared with cankerous laughter.

Still petrified like a Greco statue, Gwen considered her options.

She looked outside at the walls that shielded the rails, and saw an articulate and aesthetically pleasing graffiti tag:

'Fuck Mage$,' it elegantly read.

She was confident that the other one said something to the tune of:

'$$ape B$tches'

Apart of the script was covered up by a series of dollar signs. Sufficient to say, Gwen had no faith in hoping the line read 'Grape Britches.'

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit, her mind moaned. How far up shit-creek was she? Maybe she could do this tomorrow? She can come back wearing daggy sportswear.

That fucking Agnes. Gwen realised. She knew, she fucking knew. 'These boots ain't made for walking,' my ass.

She pondered her next course of action. Her train service had terminated. Either way, she had to leave the train to catch another train out of here. She had to find Stacey and do her duty. She had to do this.

As the Goddess of Victory used to say: 'Fuck it, Just Do It.'

Gwen took a few seconds to pump herself up. There was no turning back. She can't return to Mark in disgrace. What would be her excuse? Mark, I was frightened by poor people? What would her Master think? What would Opa think?

With renewed confidence, she moved toward the exit. As she stood, a few remaining passengers followed, moving to block the doors.

FUCK.

She looked up, meeting the eyes of a lanky looking feller in a workman's overalls. With a pounding heart, she turned and saw another man, older and uglier, blocking the back exit. A third man was making his way towards her, this one was taller, with a beer belly that hung over too-tight jeans.

Instinctively, Gwen pulled on her dress, forcing the hem down another inch. She backed away sideways, wedged between two seats in the midst of the carriage. Whatever she chose to do, she preferred not to be sucker-punched by a sneak attack.

"G'day, young lady." The man tipped his invisible hat mockingly.

His eyes licked Gwen like a tongue, measuring her all over. The other two sniggered.

"I was wondering," the man said piously. "If you might have some crystals to spare me and me-mates?"

Crystals? Gwen could see the man's stained teeth and already felt sickened. She backed away a little more, almost pressing herself against the glass, but that seemed only to excite her assailants.

Test number one? She wondered. Could she get herself out of this dilemma without three smoking corpses?

"And if I do?" Gwen tested the waters, unsure where she was going.

"Why, then we would leave ya well alone."

The other two persisted in their ogling.

It's just a few crystals-

Gwen caught herself. No. Giving the men crystals was not a solution to her problem, it was an invitation.

She swallowed nervously.

Ariel, get ready. She commanded her Familiar; her marten had been feeding off her Empathic Link. Slowly, Gwen sensed the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind.

"Fine. If you let me get through the door, I'll give you something."

The man nodded smugly, then motioned to his two companions.

They watched as Gwen moved outwards carefully, ensuring that none of them stood behind her. The men hungrily eyed her bare legs, white and smooth, juxtaposing the oily sheen of their scabby skin. The trio followed her confidently as she made for the sliding door. When she arrived at the threshold, Gwen paused.

"Here's the smallest change I have on me." She materialised a crystal shard. It resembled a mana crystal, but within was the churning, volatile mana of a Flashbang spell. She tossed it towards her would be assailants. The men watched it sail through the air, clinking and falling onto the floor of the train.

Gwen ran as the men greedily groped for the crystal, their friendship instantly dissolved by potential profit. Behind her, the automatic doors slid to a close.

Sprinting at a dead bolt, Gwen covered her ears as the carriage erupted in sound and light.


The click-a-clack of her Mary-Janes may as well be rolling thunder as Gwen Riverdanced down the concrete pavement. For about ten-meters, Gwen considered moving the rest of the way barefoot, though the sight of shattered glass killed that prospect outright.

On the next platform, restless passengers began to gather around the light and noise emitting violently from the terminated carriage.

Thankfully, she made it without incident to the escalator extending upward toward the street level. The automated stairs disregarded her presence when she clanked onto its metallic surface.

Nothing, it was unpowered, some sod probably dug out the mana crystal or disconnected the power.

Gwen groaned inwardly, then loudly clunked her way up and over the metal, making enough noise to mimic a theatrical troupe. When she had finally emerged, two stories worse for wear, she was already sweating profusely. There was something about the air here, oppressive, low and moist, like the night before a thunderstorm.

The avenue that now unfolded before Gwen was the streetscape she had seen earlier from the shelter of the carriage. Immediately, a stench violently violated her sense of smell. It was a tongue-tingling scent of age-old urine, a stinging synaesthesia of neglect and destitution: so vivid that Gwen wondered if she should stun her face to numb its senses.

Gathering her wits, she surveyed her surroundings, finding a half dozen homeless men peering at her from the shelter of their cardboard boxes. Their eyes met, the men's wide-open with disbelief; Gwen’s watery with the injurious odour of their wastewater.

A spark of electricity escaped her fingers.

She watched wordlessly as the men retreated into their boxes like hermit crabs. One of them even had a lid with a hand-scrawn ‘CLOSED’. What? Her mind wandered unpleasantly. For what activity had the man been open for? Shaking herself from the stupor, Gwen realised she had to keep moving.

'Splat!'

Half-a-meter later, she found herself inch deep in something. Not daring to look down, Gwen persisted in moving forward.

It only took a hundred meters for her to be beset by her worst fear.

Where the hell was anything around here?

She had a general idea of where Stacey was, but there was no landmark, not even a street sign to show her the way. Perhaps she should ask one of the box people? That seemed like the best course of action. They appeared docile and likely wouldn't test her mettle. Feeling confident, Gwen gathered her courage, fortified her nose, and walked toward one of the boxes. The one with the ‘closed’ sign seemed as good as any other.

“Hey!” a voice called out.

Ah, here we go. Gwen cursed her presentiment. She had been expecting to be accosted, although not so soon.

She turned on her heels, placing herself between the box people and the gang. There were no walls here to shield her back, so the box-hermits would have to do. From their attire and age, she confirmed that these were very same ones who had attempted to glass the dog earlier. These young ones were not like the old hermit men. She could read the continence of their body, the manner in which they carried themselves. These men were bored. Bored and unemployed, and that made them stupid and dangerous.

“Oi sweetheart!” One of the young men called out in a voice that made Gwen’s jaws clench.

Let’s try to do this peacefully, give that old charisma a workout, she told herself. Gwen knew she had panicked a little on the train when she had gotten crowded, but her mind was measured and calm now. It was amazing, what she could acclimatise herself to, given sufficient time and crisis.

“Gents,” she answered coldly, standing her ground firmly with her legs slightly apart, her heels well planted in the mysterious gunk. Avoiding them would only incite them, what she needed to do was project was the idea that fucking with her was a terrible idea. With that intent in mind, Gwen circulated a mote of lightning mana through her body, lighting her irises with a pale, cobalt glow.

The leading lad, a skinny young man with a tattered, dirty white Tee and jeans, stopped himself cold.

“Cor! You got some freaky eyes,” he replied, then again loudly to his friends. “Beautiful glowing electric eyes!”

This one's rather acute. Gwen was pleased. Maybe this won't go over so badly.

But if Gwen had expected the speaker's friends to be awed into withdrawing, she would be disappointed. Rather than heeding their friend's warning, the rest of the gang instead congregated around her in a semi-circle. After all, it wasn’t every day that a six-foot beauty in heels and couture walked through Blackheath. Be it curiosity or something more nefarious, their intention mattered little to Gwen, for all she could see was a pack of fanned out mongrels eyeing a stray cat.

“Oi, mates, she’s a Mage.” The acute one stated again before repeating himself. “A quasit Mage.”

To both Gwen and the young man's chagrin, his 'mates' remained oblivious, far too enthralled by the prospect of mobbing the girl and having their fun. Their obtuse reactions made Gwen even more furious. Can’t a girl chat up a hobo in peace? Did these dickheads take their cue from Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange? Fighting her better impulses, she remained determined to resolve this peacefully: after all, how far could she go if she had to drop a Flashbangs every other block?

“Gents, I would move on.” Gwen attempted to stare them down. In her mind, she assumed the air of a dangerous, confident Mage. She didn't know that in their eyes, she was a defiant prey tugging on their testosterone.

When they still refused to move, Gwen knew she had to escalate.

She produced her ID, the one for the Public Practice of Magic, from her bag.

“Tower business,” she intoned coldly. “Remove yourselves from my sight.”

A few of them drew back.

One of the young men edged closer carefully and read the card.

“Ha!” He suddenly hooted, “She’s only 16!”

“What the fuck, for real?”
“Ha ha ha…”
“What's this sheila think she's doing?”
“Who you think you trying-ta-scare?”
"A real school girl?"
"Maybe she's from one of dem private academies, out here looking for thrills."

FUCK! Gwen screamed internally, almost snapping her card in half. Fuck, I am an idiot. A fucking imbecile. She might as well have pulled out her student card and warned them that bullying was for losers.

Without warning, the young man nearest to her moved to grab her hand. Backpeddling, Gwen cursed under her breath, then allowed the electrified mana to infuse her body. A semi-circle ring of electricity sprung up around her, forming a Semi-Dome Shield. She was using her Gunther Shield, a two-layered wedge of crackling Lightning with a cushion of raw mana particles in between. Her control was far weaker than the Radiant Magus, but it stopped low-tier projectiles just fine.

“Fuck! She's for reals!”

“Shit! She’s a Lightning Sorc...”

In the next moment, the men scattered like beaten dogs, fleeing from the vicinity and into the dark alleyways and byways that were formed by the chaotic architecture. Around Gwen, the air hummed and sizzled with fresh ozone, her lightning crackling and whipping the air currents into a frenzy.

One lad remained, the astute one, nervously wringing his hands.

“What do you want?” Gwen demanded coldly.

The young man swallowed hard; Gwen could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Do… do you need a tut?”

“What the hell is a tut?” Gwen's tone possessed an edge of frost. Was he offering her drugs at a time like this?

“Like- a street guy, a guide, like, maybe I could show you around.”

Oh? Gwen's face remained impassive. That sounded exactly like what she needed. Still, she had to be careful. It's all a part of her test.

“What makes you think I need a tut?” She asked. “I got business here. Mage business. What makes you think I want to be disturbed?”

“Right… right…” The young man supplicated by lowering his profile. He looked like a skulking rat. “So, you know your way around here, do ya? Used to live in this neck of the woods?”

Gwen glared at him.

Their eyes met. She could sense the low cunning in his face. It wasn't malicious, but it was conniving and greedy, the look of a guy wanting to make a quick buck.

“So… can a guy show you around-like? Save you some bother? Just doing a good deed, right?”

Of course, the gangster was right.

With a snap of her will, the Shield around her waned, leaving only the smell of burning cardboard.

“Like, ya need to watch where ya shoving spells around ‘ere." Her self-imposed companion advised. "It's real dangerous for the common folk.”

Gwen glared at him.

“Juz saying, Miss...Cuz you juz set Bub’s house on fire.”

Gwen spun around and saw that she had indeed set alight one of the old men’s cardboard houses. By now, the flame had almost reached the petrified old man, who preferred being burnt alive to making any sudden movements while behind her. She swore and kicked at the cardboard, sending half of it flying.

“N’ now he’s homeless too,” the acute man observed sardonically.

Gwen faced her criticiser angrily, forcing the feller to shirked away like a whipped dog backing away from a raised hand.

“You jus like the others! You Mages don't care none, stepping all over us with your fancy pyrotechnics,” He sulked. “Ya tossers think you’re all so righteous.”

Fuck, right in the heart, Gwen grumbled annoyedly. The man was right. She had been careless, but she wasn't about to prove him right. Forcing a smile to her face, she turned back toward the newly homeless Bub and hunkered down to speak to him at eye level, careful not to touch the sticky floor.

“Tell me where this is.” She produced the scrap paper with Stacey's last whereabouts, simultaneously pulling out an LDM crystal. “And I’ll compensate you for your house.”

The old man regarded Gwen with bewilderment, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. Gwen noted that he had no teeth, just red and infected gums. Instantly, she baulked. The smell that came from his breath was enough to make her eyes run. Overwhelmed by the sudden revulsion, she dropped the shard in the man's lap and removed herself from his vicinity. She was ready to fry a folk or two, but she wasn't ready to face decades of dental neglect.

“Ya wasting good shard, I tell ya.”

The bloody young man was still there! Gwen felt an urge to let loose a blast on the annoying little punk.

“Oi, I know that address, you looking for a good deal? To pick up some goods? I can take you ta see the Boss. She runs the place you're after, she does.”

Gwen held up a scrap of paper. If nothing else, the acute young man had acute eyesight.

“You know this place?”

“Sure do.”

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“You can take me there?”

“For a crystal- for two crystals, I’ll walk you the whole way.” His face lit up.

“You better not be lying to me, Acute.”

“Whose acute?”

“You are,” Gwen said smugly.

“I am cute?” The young man blushed.

“…” Gwen allowed the moment to pass. “What’s your name?”

“Anthony, but me mates call me Tonna, as in a ton-o-shit. On account that I am all glib like.”

“Right, Anthony.”

“Tonna, please.”

“Tony,” Gwen said firmly.

They stood awkwardly while Bub carefully bit into the crystal, gumming it. He must have acknowledged its authenticity, because in the next split-second he was gone, bolting away into the darkness of the hive city.

"..." Gwen turned to Tony.

“Tell me about this place. Tell me about 'Boss'.”

Tony gave her a big grin that was full of tobacco-stained earnestness.

“We walk and talk yeah? It’s at least a good half hour away, even going through shortcuts.”

“You better not be trying to shaft me…” Gwen warned, flashing a crackle of electricity.

“No Miss, no way,” Tony assured her.

They departed from the plaza, Tony falling in step beside Gwen.

“You’re tall Miss, so pretty, you a model out in the city?”

“I am a Mage and an... an Agent.” Gwen corrected herself.

“Prettiest girl I ever see Miss, prettier than even the ones at the Boss's place.”

The man kept stealing sideways glances at her, seemingly disbelieving every other moment that she was real. Gwen could see he was full of questions as well. Where did she come from, why was she here? What were her three sizes? The man's antsy manner had his curiosity clawing at his throat like cats on a piled-rug.

They were now moving into a complex, though Gwen used the word complex loosely because it was more accurate to say that she was between buildings. Without any regard for code, whatever government housing that had once existed were now extensions built on top of other extensions, giving the place the feel of a sprawling Jenga tower.

As they moved deeper, Gwen could feel wayward eyes upon her. When she looked up at the windows, she could sense gazes darting away, sometimes accompanied by the sound of slamming windows.

“Tell me about this Boss,” Gwen insisted.

“Alright…” Tony considered his choices and went with the first one. “She owns that building you’re trying ta get to.”

“What does she do?”

"She's a broker,” Tony continued. “The old house is her place of business, lots of people work there.”

“What kind of business?”

“Ah well, ya know, the usual kind here.”

“Drugs? Prostitutes? Got any Mages there?” Gwen's voice rose an octave.

“Sure, here and there. No whores though, nothing so low, she's a stock trader.”

Now it was Gwen’s turn to say, 'What the fuck?'.

“Ya know, goods, like stocks, inventory, that sort of thing.”

“What kind of portfolio does she deal with?”

“Port... Wha? She does business - you know, with people like you.” Tony was gazing at Gwen like she was the weird one. Maybe the too-pretty Mage wasn’t in the know after all. They said that looks could be deceiving. The ones that came from outside to see the Boss were all pretty weird. God knows they had some sick tastes.

"Just keep talking," Gwen commanded as the passage became narrower yet again.

"She real good to us, keep us fed. Brought water to the area, that kind of thing."

"What do you do for her?"

"I am just a runner, message boy, on account that we got no crystals for Message here."

"You said other Mages come here often?"

"Nah, just once a month. People like you, looking to buy."

"Tell me more..."

They continued to walk, the corridor getting narrower until Gwen had to duck between buildings that hung too low, filling some sections with fetid water. Luckily, her new ‘mate’, Tony, offered himself as a tribute, stand in the puddle and allowing Gwen to balance herself without the risk of slipping and falling into sewerage. The little bugger could be cute like that, Gwen amused herself. Now to see what his Boss had in store for her.

According to Tony, the place was likely a trafficker's den. If so, they could be holding her target. To Gwen, she was beginning to see how her Quest was shaping up. A smuggler's den full of NoM criminals meant she could exercise her spells without getting into trouble. In the off-chance she ran into a Mage or two, she was sure they couldn't compare to the likes of Gunther and Alesia.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the street once known as Rogan Crescent, Blackheath, G6: 266 on her defunct map. From station to the den, the duo had walked for over forty minutes, though Gwen was positive they were no more than four to five kilometres from the station.

The building itself was an amalgamation of several fire hazards combined to create a multi-storey OSHA nightmare, looking as though it could go up in flames and create a national tragedy at a moment's notice. The windows were boarded up, not suspiciously at all, and only a single entrance made itself known. The was a bouncer out front, a giant of a man with a bull-like facade, build like a brick shit-house.

"Oi, Tonna, who's the chick? She a real stunner, mate." The man cracked his neck impressively as they approached.

"We need to see Bozza, Pieto."

"This the right address?" Gwen looked up at the tower of horrors.

"Yeppers."

She turned to Pieto. In Gwen's eyes, the crack-house-mafioso-urban-decay looked lifted straight from a B-grade film.

"You want in or not, lady?" Piet blasted Gwen with his loudspeaker voice.

Gwen hesitated but told herself that between Ariel, herself and Caliban, she should be fine. After all, she also had her non-Newtonian Shield. There was no way some NoMs could get through that.

"I am here to buy." Gwen flashed her Public-Practice I.D at him, too quick for Pieto to see.

Before Pieto could respond, she moved for the door, just like in the films she had seen. To think there'd be one day she would be using Hollywood flicks as real-life references!

To her dismay, her passage became blocked by a thick, hairy hand the width of her waist.

"Gotta check youse for weapons." Pieto grinned idiotically; his intentions couldn't be more blatant if he had tattooed it on his face.

"No," Gwen replied. "Fuck off."

"No check, no entry," Pieto insisted.

"Oi Pieto mate, I wouldn't try if I was you. She's a quasit, the blue and sparkly kind," Tony added beside them. "You'd be lucky if ya just pissed and shat ya-self right here. If Bozza found out you tried to stop an Initiate she'd have you skinned."

Pieto did not look pleased to be interrupted.

"You bringing trouble for Bozza, Tonna?"

"Nah, mate, she got business, don't cha Miss?"

"I do indeed. I am looking for someone. Your Boss should know."

"You got a name for the Boss?"

"Gwen," Gwen said simply. "Why am I wasting my time speaking to you again?"

Pieto growled menacingly.
Eyeing her figure hungrily, he back off. In the man's limited mind, he realised that a girl waltzing into Blackheath showing that much leg likely had no qualms dealing with unwanted attention.

"See? No dramas mate." Tony tried to laugh it off.

Pieto shrugged. Whatever she may be, the girl was above his paygrade.

"Fine. I got my eyes on you, Tunna. She fucks up and I beat you like a dog."

"Ha ha.. eh..." Tony choked on his own laughter.

Pieto moved to open the door. Reinforced Hardwood. Gwen noted. No 'average' Mage could blast through that, but she should be fine. Her mind caressed Caliban and Ariel for a second, who were both snuggled in their pocket dimensions, semi-aware of Gwen's circumstances. Using her Empathic Link, she told them to get ready. Ariel responded with an 'Eee!'; Caliban growled, informing her of its eternal hunger.

Within, a few wayward strobes of glow-bulbs long past their mana dates shed a sickly light. There was an immediate smell that Gwen found foul and familiar at once, reminding her of the synthetic weed that people used to smoke in her old world. Gwen eyed Tony again: the young man seemed to be at ease, his body language betraying nothing. The stink grew in intensity as the door closed behind them with a 'thunk'.

Well shit, I am in the thick of it now, Gwen fought her better instincts to remain calm, hoping that she wasn't about to throw shit at the fan. Along the way, she spied a glimpse into one of the rooms along the corridor: there was one with its door ajar. Within was a woman, naked from the waist up, drawing blue smoke from a glowing pot.

Gwen reminded herself that the whole place was a fire stack.

They soon reached what appeared to be an atrium carved out of someone's living room, now opened up to two storeys via a violently displaced ceiling. The broken skylight was covered by semi-transparent canvases, providing light and shelter. There was a woman in the midst of the room, elevated upon a divan that placed among piled up rugs and cushions. She languishingly puffed away on a hookah, sending out jet streams of blue and grey smoke. Her most distinguishing feature was her hair and her scar, a crawling pink thing that ran from the base of her jaw to the tip of her right eye. Wow, nasty, Gwen winced. Another millimetre and she would be one-eyed Bozza. Her hair was neon-electric, adding a dash of colour to the otherwise drab room. The woman dressed in a pair of skintight calfskin pants rounded off with a black tank top, pushing her considerable bust together to form a deep cleavage.

"Who's this, Tunna?" the woman asked.

"She's a Mage, looking to buy."

"What you looking for sweetie?"

"My name is Gwen," Gwen announced, it never hurt to be polite. "I am taking delivery of Stacey Cantwell."

"Bozza. Nice ta meet cha." The woman seemed surprised. "You sure came quick. What's with the urgency?"

Gwen did her best to read Bozza's body language. The 'Boss' did not appear to be hostile, not even tense. Additionally, she seemed entirely at ease with Gwen's presence, even prepared.

"Master's orders." Gwen switched lanes of enquiry, keeping her reply as vague as possible. If she could talk her way out of this, Marc would surely be impressed as anything and so would her Master. "Where is the girl now?"

"She's down below."

"What are we waiting for then?" Gwen demanded, injecting a tingle of annoyance into her voice.

Over on the dais, the 'Boss' looked Gwen over. In her eyes, Gwen lacked the creepiness of the crew she had come to expect, but even she had to admit the young Mage had spunk. Just rocking up in Blackheath in that dress was enough of a ballsy move. With a bemused snort, she wondered if the girl had her fun on the way in and what damage she had done.

"Jones, go get the girl." Bozza made a motion with her hand

Another bouncer, a Maori this time, materialised from the dark recesses of the chamber. So many nooks and crannies, Gwen glanced around nervously. As they waited for the Maori to return, Bozza seemed interested in making small talk.

"So, which House you from?" Bozza seemed very keen indeed to speak to Gwen. "Didn't realise they sent pretty little things like you out for errands. I wouldn't want to let you out of my sight for a second if you were my blood-sister."

What? Gwen thought. What the hell is this woman talking about?

"Comes with the territory," Gwen answered, playing along.

"You bred and born in-house? Or did they dig you up from somewhere and had you contracted to serve?"

Gwen smiled coldly.

"Born and raised," she tested the waters.

"Nice. That lightning element all yours?"

"Au natural."

"Ho ho, halcyon days? They're grooming you to be a big-wig!" Bozza cooed at Gwen, licking her lips. "Young pretty little thing like you, must have the Maguses in a tiff, no? Got yourself a few old men to syphon crystals? When'd you start?"

"Young," Gwen replied briskly. Inwardly, she was fighting back the bile in her throat.

"Fuck. Lucky you. Got a bright future ahead." She smiled, making a smacking sound with her lips. "Hows Master Klaus?"

"Angry."

Gwen persisted in her laconicism role. Come on, woman, Gwen felt her stomach knot. Where the fuck was Stacey?

"Ha ha!" Bozza laughed, her voice like the cawing of crows. "Ah, here's the merchandise."

Gwen turned to see the Maori pushing a giant box toward her on a trolley. The bouncer respectfully stopped half-a-meter from Gwen, popped the box-top, then stepped back. Within, amongst fresh hay, was a young woman cradled in the foetal position. She appeared to be unconscious, or at least in some form of deep slumber. Stacey was entirely naked, immobilised by a calfskin strap wrapped around her neck, linked together her hands and feet. Even if the girl awoke somehow, she couldn't struggle free without enduring painful contortions.

With the human 'cargo' presented in full, Gwen felt her throat constrict. Within her bosom, her heart jackhammered against her chest.

Fuck! She screamed internally. What the fuck is this and how is it an appropriate first mission for a novice like me?

But an act's an act. Gwen knew she was in too deep to pull out. Leaning down to 'inspect' the goods, she noted tags tied to the girl's feet.

**S. Cantwell**
F (21)
Illusion (1) Water (1)

"Satisfied?" Bozza asked in a friendly voice. "You want to pay in crystals, cash, or items?"

"How much?" Gwen asked, ironing her nerves and modulating her tone and cadence.

Bozza regarded Gwen, puzzled. Her voice was tinged with suspicion when she next spoke.

"The agreed amount. Your Master's not thinking of Jewing me, is he?"

"I simply need to affirm the amount," Gwen stated matter-of-factly.

"Forty Large."

Forty HDM crystals... Gwen made a mental calculation in her mind. She had just enough. If she managed to scrape together all her HDM and LDMs, it was enough.

Was it too much to pay in small change? Gwen wondered. Crystals are crystals, surely?

On the other hand, what if things go south? Should she subdue them then call the Police? She was confident she could take everyone in the atrium. Only Bozza seemed like a Mage, and her aura was feeble. Perhaps a powerful show of force would frighten them? She could also retreat and call Mark. Yes! She should call Mark. The Madam had been anticipating an angry family member or a vindictive group of Mage-haters. A 'Slaver's Den' was at least an 11 on a scale of 5. Blood-sister? Bond-slave? These guys are human traffickers!

"Well? What will it be?" Bozza's voice was outright antagonistic now.

Gwen flashed her Storage Ring.

"Boss!" A familiar voice called out from the direction of the exit.

Pieto entered the room in a huff, glaring at Gwen with unmistakable hostility.

Every hair stood on Gwen's neck.

He had another woman behind him, shorter than Gwen, wearing a dark cowl that hid her face.

"Master, this Mistress Mage says that she is here for the Cantwell pickup. Tunna! Who the fuck did you say this girl was?"

The entire gathering turned to look at Tony, who was by now sweating buckets, literally standing in a pool of his excretions.

"I- I found her by the station; she was looking for this place..."

A heavy silence fell over Tony's audience.

"Tonna..." Bozza said carefully, rising from her divan chair. "Who... the ... FUCK is this Mage?"

"She's a.... a Tower Mage!" Tony stuttered, realising that he had made a dire, dreadful, deadly mistake.

"And who might you be, seeking to impersonate an Initiate?" The cowled Mage demanded of Gwen.

"I would like to know as well. Gwen." Bozza's eyes flashed, Gwen caught a flow of mana escaping Bozza's hair, wetting her hair. She was a Water Mage.

The two bouncers drew out steel batons, extending them with a swish of their hand. Beside her, the female Mage threw open her cowl, revealing a daring outfit of dark flowing silk, her young face framed by a pixie cut. From her, Gwen felt free-flowing motes of Air.

Awww SHIT. Gwen's mind kicked into overdrive.

She could only hope all her training paid off.

Bozza allowed her Body of Water to suffuse her form, making her resistant to fire and physical attacks. There were two girl-Mages before her. The cowled one looked the part, while the other one was out of place. She had been careless, Bozza swore, the bitch had caught her off guard. The fact that she was momentarily bamboozled likely meant there would be a penalty from their employer.

But the girl was herself a prize.

This 'Gwen' was a rare specimen. If Bozza could offer her as a gift to the Houses, she would not only avoid punishment - but receive a reward!

She commanded her goons to subdue the young Mage, watching the girl as she pull-back in fright and panic. The young sorceress was fresh, untested. Just looking at her face, Bozza knew that the stupid whelp would panic once her charade was up.

She almost laughed when Gwen fell to one knee, a dozen mana crystals scattering in all directions in her moment of distress.

"!"

Bozza felt the air vibrate. Something was off. The HDM crystals Gwen had scattered thrummed with unstable mana. What the hell was she doing? Was the girl trying to blow herself up? Bozza wondered bemusedly.

Then suddenly, a tenebrous Shield smothered their target. A Shielding spell like nothing she had ever seen before. A black membrane darker than black, a perfect semi-sphere that sucked in all light.

"The fu..." Bozza started to swear, but no one heard her curse.

'Crack!'

The Flashbang crystals shattered; from within, came the sound of thunder.


The half-dozen Flashbang shards erupted with enough sound and fury to flake wallpaper from the walls.

Nestled safely within the shelter of her Void shield, Gwen counted to three, then dispelled her half-sphere dome. As expected, Void Shield drained little vitality when pitted against sound and lumens, resulting in a little more than shortness of breath. Once the tenebrous membrane faded, the wailing of her assailants and their lamentations assaulted her ears.

Bozza was out of her water form, vomiting and puking her guts out on the floor. The NoM bouncers were bleeding from every facial orifice, holding their heads in their hands and groaning. The Initiate air Mage covered the side of her head, crimson oozing from between her fingers. A powder coat of dust drifted from the ceiling, falling like filthy-snow. Gwen raised a hand and conjured Ariel; a secondary jolt expanded her Familiar into its combat form. Bozza gasped as a white mongoose balled her over, snarling and growling, it's slavering fangs an inch from her face.

The Initiate crawled onto her knees.

"Air Whip!"

Gwen preemptively dived sideways, having felt the motes of air manifest before the spell materialised, a spontaneous reaction drilled into her by Alesia. A barbed whip of cutting wind whooshed past her face, marking a white line across the dark concrete. The Initiate then staggered upright, her recovery quicker than Gwen had expected. Calling another spell to her lips, Gwen swung her momentum into a forward combat roll, landing on her feet.

Ariel! She commanded mentally. Atop Bozza, her mongoose armed its fur for an electric assault.

"Blast Bolt!"

Though her enemies outnumbered Gwen, she wasn't worried. Common knowledge dictated that Summoners had much higher combat potential than Mages of the same tier. In an equal powered spell exchange, attacker and defender had to wait for opportunities to penetrate their opponent's Shield. Though it was possible to maintain both defence and offence, the complexity of the multi-tasking operation seldom favoured both. With Gwen possessed one of the more dominant offensive elements, not to mention an Evocation specialisation, it took all of her opponent's concentration to shore up her defence. Whereas Gwen directly commanded Ariel to hold fire until the Air Mage dropped her Shield to retaliate.

"Eee!"

Her mongoose shotgunned a fistful of lightning darts at the Air Mage, catching the novice off-guard.

"Air Cann... Arrgh!"

Before the girl could even finish, she took a dozen of needles to the chest, sending her staggering backwards.

"Lighting Bolt!"

Gwen invoked her staple offensive spell. A bolt of cobalt tore open the Initiate's despondent barrier. The resultant explosion flung the Mage bodily through the air and into a wall.

One down! Gwen refocused her attention.

All hell had broken loose over the compound now; doors were opening and people emerging from every nook and cranny. The cacophony of the Flashbang had shaken the gang members from their haze-induced stupor. From the west wing, Gwen saw a half dozen men and women emerging from what must be a guard’s room, carrying clubs and blades.

Bringing knives to a Spell fight?

"Get back!" she howled, having learnt to inject her voice with mana to enhance its volume. She fired off a Lightning Bolt, skidding the plasma off the walls, scorching the plaster. At the end of the corridor, the bolt struck a boarded-up window, blowing out its glass and leaving behind only the frames. In its aftermath, nought but the scent of ozone and black specs of floating, burning wallpaper remained. That and there was now a window from which they could escape.

The goons fled, crawling over one another. The promise of blue smoke wasn't enough to fight a Mage, much less a Quasi-elemental Conjurer. Noting the bouncers by her side, Gwen activated a flash of lightning from her Lightning Blade. With a groan, both Pieto and the Maori were down and out, convulsing on the floor.

A few more rubberneckers to risk life and limb out of curiosity, but Gwen sent them packing with cheap cantrips.

Bozza turned painfully to look for the Initiate: her client’s once lovely face was a wreck of burns and bruised flesh, her body half buried in plaster. Her goons were fleeing left, right and centre.

"You are going to regret this." She uttered dangerously to Gwen. "When the Masters find out what you’ve done to the Initiate, what you are trying’ ta do to their merchandise, you’re going to wish you were never born. You'd be bred in the barracks until you die."

Gwen's eyes flashed. Ariel took a swipe at Bozza's cheek, snapping her head back painfully and leaving behind three bloody reminders on her face.

She approached Stacey. Thanks to the chaotic action and commotion, whatever glamour which had kept Stacey docile was now dispelled. From Gwen's elevated vantage, she could see that her ears were bleeding.

Ah, fuck! Only now did Gwen realised that her haphazard strategy had neglected the fact that her V.I.P was within the AoE. Thankfully, Stacey appeared otherwise unharmed. First, Gwen commanded Ariel to chew through Stacey’s leather bindings. She then produced the only other outfit she had prepared, a compact raincoat she had stowed in her ring, and wrapped it around Stacey's shivering body.

"You alright Stacey? Your sister sent me," Gwen affected a kindly voice. "The Madam is expecting your return. You're safe now."

Stacey still appeared disorientated; her face was full of fright and panic, though from Flashbang or glamour Gwen couldn't guess. Furthermore, Stacey seemed oblivious to her nakedness, gazing up at Gwen with an expression of utter incomprehension. Moreover, her eyes were abnormal, her pupils widely dilated. Watching the girl and feeling the lack of resistance in her body, Gwen confessed that circumstances were quickly escalating out of her control.

"Stacey, can you hear me? My name is Gwen; the Madam sent me..." She persisted.

"..." Stacey forced a smile to her face. The girl appeared younger than her sister, less experienced, almost innocent.

But the girl wasn't heeding her words.
Time wasn't on their side, Gwen cursed as she grew increasingly more concerned, how should she move the girl? By force? Perhaps she could conscript one of the men here.

Above and below, she could now hear the commotion of more bodies moving throughout the building. She had been watching the corridors, but the rapid footfalls informed her there were other means of traversing through the interior.

She needed backup; she needed to call Mark.

With a flick of her hand, she materialised her Message Device.

Just as she was about to punch in Mark's glyph, Stacey escaped her protection, forgoing Gwen’s raincoat. With surprising agility, Gwen's ward stumbled past Ariel, past Bozza, and made straight for the hookah.

There, the woman dropped to all fours, tore a mouthpiece from the bulbous bottom, then began to draw out its euphoric contents greedily. Gwen felt her heart sink as Stacey exhaled a long stream of blue-grey smoke. The girl then sat cross-legged, heedless of her indecent exposure, and began to rhythmically huff at the phallic mouthpiece with a look of pure bliss.

"What ... what the hell did you do to her?" Gwen demanded of Bozza, stunned by the grotesqueness of it all.

"She's too far gone" Bozza cackled, her face splitting into a malicious grin. "You'd just be saving a worthless junky now. Once the Blue had its claws into you, it's all over."

Gwen repositioned beside Stacey and tried prying her away from the hookah.

"Stacey, listen to me, Sally is waiting to see you, that stuff's poison, come on, we need to go."

Stacey's grip on the hookah was stronger than she had anticipated, but the woman was no match for Gwen's tempered strength.

The moment Gwen tore her away, however, a look of panic and pain took over Stacey's ashen face. In her distress, her flailing bare legs kicked the hookah, dropping it from the platform. The device fell heavily and a part of its mechanism come loose with a clattering jangle. The powder compressed within blew out in a rolling fog that flowed over the struggling girls, covering them in an expansive envelopment of blue dust.

Gwen held her breath, careful as not to breath it in.

"!"

The engendering of an indistinct magical phenomenon filled the air.

On reflex, Gwen whipped around, manifesting a semi-dome Shield of lightning. Her eyes scanned the room, surveying nothing of interest. The Initiate-Mage was still in the wall, the bouncers comatose and Bozza pinned by Ariel.

I can’t escort Stacey like this… Gwen cursed her dilemma. She wasn't strong enough to carry the girl, and Stacey was too drugged up to be relocated compliantly. Filling with frustration, she fought off an immense migraine, wishing she lie down and sleep.

Producing her Message Device, she hammered the Glyph for Mark.

In the course of her action, a curious sense of déjà vu swept over her.

"Mark, I need backup," she spoke immediately into the floating icon. "I am in trouble. The gang who caught Stacey are people traffickers!"

"You're kidding! Are you alright?" Mark's unmistakable voice soothed her nerves.

Gwen began to explain what she had found while scanning for danger. The Initiate was in the wall, the bouncers were down, and Bozza was on the floor. Ariel remained on top of Bozza, but to her surprise, it was no longer in its combat form.

"Eee! Eeeee!"

Ariel! What are you doing? Gwen demanded. The adorable marten began to screech and scream at her, its face beset with worry, it was gesticulating at something.

Gwen tried to access their Empathic Link but found her thoughts muddled and full of interference. It felt as though they were trying to speak underwater, shouting across distant rooms.

What the hell is happening? She felt drunk. To her growing incredulity, Bozza rose from the floor.

But it wasn't Bozza.

Instead, the gang leader possessed a beautiful face both sensuous and desirous, full of exciting promises, gazing into her eyes with a pair of hazel orbs Gwen would recognise anywhere.

Helena Huang, her mother, was standing in front of her with an expression full of mocking disappointment. Rigidly, Gwen froze. What's she doing here? Her mind cried out in confusion and panic. The agony in her brain was akin to being probed by fingers of fire.

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"Mother! What? A-are you a part of this?"

"You have failed us terribly, Gwen. I guess in the end, your Uncle was right. Your only use was in bedding your betters, go back to Forrestville, Gwen. Go home! Forget about your future. Shut up! Don't you dare speak to me like that! Get out! Go to your room!"

Gwen reeled from the force of her mother's psychic command as though struck by a physical blow.

A part of her mind questioned this reality. She tried to pierce through it all, but her will had been reduced to wool. Was she the victim of an Enchantment? An Illusion? But Gwen's consciousness was already spiralling, taken by dark and troubled waters, drawn by the suck of a psychic sea.

The weight of the mongoose beast faded into motes of fizzing lightning, finally allowing Bozza to rise onto her shoulder. She had been in her water-form when the sonic blast struck. The combination had shifted every molecule in her body, introducing her to the indescribable feeling of having every organ rattled.

Beside her, the blasted lightning girl was now talking to thin air, emoting expressions of disbelief and shock, her face undergoing the various stages of one taken by Phantasmal Killer. Thank the Magus there was an Enforcer here, Bozza coughed, spitting out blood. With great annoyance, she realised she would have to beg for a high-tier restoration potion.

"Let's hope Master is feeling charitable," a voice spoke quietly from across the room.

The owner of the voice was a stick-thin Mage with a pulled back cowl. His eyes were deeply sunken into his overlarge skull, his gaze dark and sickly. Pale, jaundiced skin wrapped the man's skull like stretched canvas; as he spoke, a shortness of breath gave the impression of permanent illness.

With a glance, his victim's imaginary horror grew in intensity. The duo watched as the girl flailed and stumbled, failing to flee from some unseen foe. The sorceress resisted well, but ultimately fell to her knees and began to whimper.

The gaunt Mage grunted with yet more exertion, pushing more mana into his spell. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he sought to overwhelm the last bastion of the girl's will. Finally, their victim convulsed, once, and laid still upon the stained concrete floor.

"Tough customer." The Enforcer grunted. "She's strong. As strong as a Magus."

He looked at Bozza, who stood beside him quietly, one hand trying to hold her guts in.

"Amazing specs on that one." The Illusionist exhaled. "I could feel... something, even when a part of her mind was overwhelmed, another part of her kept fighting. Did you see her casting?"

"Yeah, Evocation and Conjuration," Bozza responded with a measure of jealousy.

"Looks like you might be in for promotion after all. What luck huh? A one in a million prize waltzed right into your lap." The Enforcer chuckled sardonically. "Maybe you did something great in a past life?"

Bozza grunted. She kicked her bouncers until they were awake. It would have taken the drug-rats days to recover from the paralysis, but these were large men with well-fed constitutions.

Pieto and the Maori regained their senses. Their body had been beaten, but their mistress's order was absolute. The Maori took Stacey, who was still in a half stupor trying to breathe in the blue dust. Roughly, he wrapped his hand around her neck. She moaned painfully but had no motivation to struggle or flee. Pulling her upward, the big man then wrapped his arms around her legs, scooping her up bodily before moving into one of the corridors.

Pieto, his mug face full of undisguised intention, moved to pick Gwen from the floor.

"No drugs," the Enforcer stated coldly. "No damage must come to this cargo. She's worth more than you and your entire family ten times over."

"Don't fuck this up, take the utmost care," Bozza commanded her goon as well. The Boss then turned to her companion. "She's yours anyway. You managed to capture her. You take the credit."

"We share the credit," came the reply. "Trust me. You'll need that healing potion if you want to live past forty."

Bozza smiled, an expression that was unbecoming on her scarred face. The Enforcer had worked with her for a year now, and though they had a professional relationship, he could be softie too. Was it a quirk? She sometimes wondered. He wasn't a sick fuck like some of the men who came down to Blackheath, just a man doing a job. For a while now, she'd been curious as to his identity, but dared not pry. That was strictly forbidden.

Meanwhile, Pieto was already getting handsy.

"Pieto, you want to lose that hand?" Bozza barked at her simple-minded bouncer. The man had scooped the girl in his arms but was attempting to slide a hand under her dress. "You want to know what it's like to slowly drown over an hour?"

"Sorry Bozza," Pieto sulked, princess carrying Gwen down another corridor.

"Oi, Pieto..."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Strip her items for inspection, then get her ready for transport. We'll relocate tonight."

They watched the big man disappear with the girl. Bozza's ears were still ringing with tinnitus.

"What do you think?"

"We need to move her quickly. She had a Ring of Storage. It looked to be a signature build too, pretty high tier."

"Expensive."

"Which means she's being tracked, I guarantee it."

"Alright, what's the play?"

“Scatter and hid, get our reward, then rebuild, wait for this to blow over."

Bozza cursed. She rather liked the place.

The Enforcer moved towards the broken plaster wall where Gwen's Lightning Bolt had deposited the Initiate. He pulled out the comatose girl, then placed a finger under her nose.

"Still alive, nothing a few minor pots won't fix," he observed casually, smacking her face a few times until she began to awaken.

"Wake up, Initiate."

"What... what happened?" The girl stammered as she stirred, her eyes coming into focus. Her lumbar was between fire and ice. She must have broken something as well because she couldn't turn her torso without nearly fainting again.

"You got your arse handed to you, that's what happened." The Enforcer replied. "They don't instruct your generation like they use to, huh? Too much horizontal training?"

"That bitch!" The girl winced. "Where is she now?"

"Getting set up for transport. We're cleaning the girl's trackers below in a shielded room."

"I want to see, argh..." The Initiate knelt over, clutching her ribs.

"You stay put, I'll get you back to the House."

"I am fine... erg... oh fuck... " The initiate passed out again. The gaunt Mage shook his head. The new generation can be talented, sure, but they were bloody useless in a real fight. It was the peace, the lack of true grit learnt in trenches.

Watching the two bicker, something that had been scratching the back of Bozza's head clicked.

"Tonna! Tony! Anthony! Where the fuck are ya?"

She was answered by the sound of the building creaking.

Of course, the fucker's gone. Bozza spat. The guy had the tenacity of a cockroach.

Bozza commanded another two goons to fetch a stretcher for the Initiate, placing her in an isolated room to rest until they could leave with all their merchandise. Activity was slowly returning to the compound, but the Enforcer's deduction was right. Soon, all of this would be gone. All her work for a year, up in smokes because some stupid Apprentice-in-training thought it her business to meddle Bozza's business. She ordered sentries to be set, ensuring that the base was fully alerted, then searched for some bloody clean bandages.

Gwen dreamt, paralysed by phantasmal visions drawn from within herself.

In her current vision, she had fought with Edgar for hours, and now she was out of mana. She watched in disbelief and horror as her assailant disintegrated her navy dress with a simple caress of his fingers, exposing the white of her globular breasts. His face was a mask of heat and lust, an amalgamation of various faces she had seen since coming to this world. That man on the train, those workmen who had catcalled her, those boys she had met at Uncles, even that young man she had just met, Tony.

She raised a hand to blast him - Lightning Bolt! She invoked, but no power issued forth. She wasn't a Mage! Gwen remembered. She had failed her Awakening! She was just Gwen, the old Gwen, the NoM of her old world! Shit! Shit! She cried out, gesturing wildly but summoning nothing. Where was Ariel? Where was Caliban? Where were Alesia and Gunther and Henry and Mark? Hadn't they had all promised to help and protect her? Where were her friends? Yue and Elvia?

"A NoM has no friends amongst the Mages, as sheep has no allies amongst wolves." The indistinct vision of Edgar mocked her.

"I am afraid he's right," Another voice announced behind her.

Gwen turned to see her mother, her face also hyperbolically surreal, twisted.

"I am giving you to him." The voice that spoke was her Uncle's.

No! Gwen cried out. No! No! No! I'd rather die. Kill me now! Kill me now you bastards! I want to go home! Go home to Sydney!

"I am going to enjoy this." Edgar discarded his robes. Half his cheek was missing, as well as an arm and a leg. Dark blood oozed from the festered, necrotic wounds. "I will make this as long and unpleasant as possible, my sweet."

Gwen bit her tongue. She bashed her head against the linen. Turning inward, Gwen dug deep for that font of power that was rightfully hers, like a madwoman digging with her bare hands, shredding nail and flinging blood with every handful of dirt, dredging the darkness even an ounce of power. All she needed was one mote, one mote and she could end it all.

Then, just as Edgar's robe arrived at the edge of her vision, she found something. A dark ichor broke free from the crust of the earth like shale oil. It grew until it covered her white legs, wrapped her waist, touched her breasts, black and viscous, thick and suffocating. She had wanted salvation and now she was drowning in its obsidian opulence. If she could find no allies in the light, then she would call for the nameless ones in the dark; if the thick air above proved murderous, then she would breathe fetid water.

Pieto slid his hands up and down Gwen's white thighs as he carried her, the girl's skin proved smooth and moist, toned and tender. She was so different to the women they held here; whose bodies were feeble and frail, wrecked by the Blue, nothing like the supple flesh in his arms.

He kicked open the door to the lead-lined basement, where a dark corridor revealed a dozen more rooms. There were other merchandise here, men and women, but they were nothing like his prize. These poor bastards were locals: adolescents who awakened to one thing or another. They were fodder, useful for some dark purpose Pieto dared not know.

The bullish man walked until reaching the final chamber, shouldering open an iron door. This one was larger than the others, cleaner. It had yellowing tiles that covered the floor, where a trickle of water dripped into a drain. Pieto made for the large steel table in the room's centre, where he deposited the girl's unconscious body, enjoying the feeling of her flaxen hair falling over his hairy arms. Should he undress her? It was the rational thing to do, but Pieto understood that Bozza would likely have something to say about that. Instead, he patted her down, removing from her dress a small purse just large enough for a few cards.

He picked through her wallet and placed gingerly on the table her Student I.D, her Public Practice of Magic I.D, and after a moment of thought, pocketed the hundred or so dollars she had in notes. It was a perk that came with the job.

He then took to her hands, feeling the softness of her fingertips. Not a day of labour, the large man noted, feeling a dark emotion welling in his chest. These bloody Mages! This one particular must have been raised like a princess. That was why she had blundered into Bozza's den, shooting lightning all over, stroking her ego with her superior existence.

Continuing, he took off her storage ring, held it in his hands for a second, then placed it carefully next to her I.D. He wasn't a Mage, but he could tell from its craftsmanship that it was expensive. Her's wasn't some run of the mill Ring from a mall - a Master handcrafted it. Pieto tried to guess how much it was worth, and the answer only incensed him further.

She had another ring, a nondescript, non-magical thing. A dark gem inlaid into a sterling silver band. That looks expensive, Pieto smacked his lips gently. Checking his surroundings, he tugged at her finger until it came loose. After gazing at it longingly for a second, he slipped it into his pocket.

Magic for the Mages, and silver for people like us, Pieto rationalised.

And speaking of perks, he grinned.

The Enforcer and the Boss had to resolve matters above before they arrived below. Pieto's job was to ensure that the girl was tied and tethered. He rolled her pliant body over on its side, then folded her lower limbs until she was in a foetal position. Then, Pieto took a roll of leather strips from a hanging hook, and dextrously wrapped it around her ankles. The same length then moved between her legs, where he had placed her hands together as though she was in prayer. He made a butterfly loop around her hands before moving onto her swan-like neck, where he measured and cut the rest of the length. This way, if the sorceress struggled or strained against the strap, she would choke herself senseless. Pieto wasn't too bright, but he was good at his work. The positioning was expertly arranged, ensuring a smaller profile for transport as well as torturous bondage should the girl awake.

Stepping back, Pieto regarded his handiwork. Even unconscious the girl was absurdly beautiful. Unashamed, he felt the mounting hardness of an all too natural compulsion. He couldn't touch her of course, proverbially, but that was just a manner of speaking. After all, he had bound and gagged her, right? It was a perk.

With trembling hands full of anticipation, Pieto moved to unzip the side of her dress, his breathing growing more arrhythmic, laboured with every inch of exposed flesh, his hand trembling upon her flawless skin.

Just a touch, he told himself. It's a perk.

But as his fingers dug into girl's flesh, there was a slight thrum that engendered behind Pieto, accompanied by the sound of something landing wetly on the floor. Though usually alert, Pieto was too engrossed in his holy task to notice. He was a man on a mission, after all, his mind entirely and utterly focused on the task at hand.

“Ha,” Pieto chuckled. He loved this part of his job. The high and mighty Mages were just people once you had they hogtied and gagged. The girls especially, he loved that look of despair when they awoke in the box. Sometimes, Pieto wondered if that's what it was like to be a Mage.

"Heeheehee," he chuckled.
“Shaa…Shaa... Shaa…” Something chuckled beside Pieto.

The bouncer's fingers froze just as they were about to venture further. He could feel it now: a dense presence hovering over his right shoulder. In slow and measuredly movements, he turned to face his watcher.

His new companion was a strange and alien thing, composed entirely of glass. Its smooth head was semi-transparent, radiating an alien and exotic elegance.

“H…he… hello?” Pieto couldn’t think of anything else to say. How would one answer an otherworld horror anyhow? The creature must have understood him, however, for Pieto watched with paralytic fascination as the glass began to split three-way. From within the carapace emerged an engorged black-purple head with a lamprey’s lips, drooling grey goo.

There was a blur of darkness; then a barbed tongue shot into Pieto’s open mouth.

He screamed, half choking.

Caliban screamed with him.

The basement and its cargo of desperate souls screamed and screamed.