Chapter 3 - Dark Shadows

The sun rose, pouring golden light into the city streets, killing the fog that had wrapped it's damp tendrils around the city. Mystikal opened an eye. The alley was dark still. He opened his other eye and found himself staring straight ahead at a tall, shadowy figure, it's shape indistinct, like something out of the old ghost stories that described robed figures blacker than night itself lurking in dark corners. He sat bolt upright, an icy cold chill running down his spine. The figure wavered and started to fade like the fog. He rubbed a paw across his eyes and reajusted his vision. There was nothing there but the lightening fog, revealing the black bin bags and over full dumpsters and bins.


He sighed and relaxed a little. He stood up, swaying on his feet for a moment, tattered pack in paw as he mentally checked himself. A public toilet was just around the corner, his next destination, so he could clean himself up. Then he'd be off to scavenge, rob and pilfer, a task of survival, not guilt. Some days it would be easy. Others he would be lucky to get out alive. He had a grim feeling that it wouldn't be easy today. He was several days out of practise and his head hurt with an unexplainable headache. He padded out of the alley, his hood up once more, and made his way down to the public toilets.


He locked the disabled cubicle door behind him when he made sure no one was watching and filled the sink with warm water, pulling what remained of his tooth paste and tooth brush out of his pack. If I'm gonna die today, he thought miserably, I might as well die with a relatively clean body.

For some reason, that thought tickled him and he bit back a laugh, almost splitting his tooth brush into two. Every day he thought that, and as the years slid past, the thought seemed to get funnier.

A black shadow stood at the door in the corner of his eye made his head turn. No one there. His heart hammered and his head was still aching, but it was a dull ache in the back of his mind.


He wondered if the years of living alone on the streets was making him slowly lose his mind. He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and stared into the mirror above the sink. A few dark lines of stress under his eyes, dull, purple eyes, un-shining with the barest flicker of joy, ruffed purple mane, dull scales and whiskers losely hanging. That same, joyless face he saw every day in window reflections, puddles and public bathroom mirrors. Nothing had changed about him. Nothing ever changes. Apart from the scars. The scars of a low life thief, not a proud, honourable warrior. He didn't feel ashamed. He felt no remorse or guilt or pity for those he stole off. He barely laughed any more; he had no reason to. Even now, when he'd survived something terrible, he couldn't laugh in the afterglow that came with every near death. Twenty one without a care in the world. He wanted to give up, but his body refused to die, no matter how badly beaten he was.


He scrubbed at his face with the cooling water, washing away the night's grime, ready for the sins of the day. He mulled over places of value. Places that held something that was worth more than a loaf of bread. He heard the main bathroom door shut. Two people had walked in talking about the museum.

''Apparently it's over a thousand years old and is worth a fortune!'' Said an excited female voice.

''And it's on show today?'' Replied another, equally as excited.

''And tomorrow, then it's gone.'' Replied the first voice.

The unisex bathrooms contained the most interesting tidbits of converse. Some handy, some not.

Mystikal had an inkling at what they were talking about and suddenly found himself in a strange mood. The kind of mood that cries out for adventure and excitement. After a moment of running water, the two women left and Mystikal cautiously stepped out the disabled cubicle, pack slung over his right shoulder.


A short hooded figure caught hold of his arm and he turned around, startled.

''Hallo Jin.'' A gruff voice said from the darkness of the hood.

Mystikal remained silent, shock swirling about his mind. Only two people knew who he was and one was long dead. How does this guy know me? He thought worridly and pulled his arm out of the grip of the short western.

''How d'you know me?'' He said from the darkness of his own hood.,

''I've been watching your movements...'' He wheezed amusedly, a horrible wheeze that made the crossbreed uneasy. ''And I have an inkling of what you're gonna do next, later on tonight. It's called The Midnight Stone.''

Mystikal shook his head.


''No?'' The man continued. ''Shame. I can pay you a pretty penny for that.''

Mystikal hesitated. His feelings and instincts were conflicting. ''Oh come on. It's not as heavily guarded as you think. I can give you some extra supplies that'll get you past security with ease. You'll be in there and straight out before you know it.''

''How can I trust you...?'' Mystikal managed uneasily.

''I know people. I'm well trusted. If you want the job, come to the Melbourn building on north eigth. Turn up by three pm, or the job get's passed on.'' The small man shuffled off, leaving Mystikal frozen to the spot.


He didn't know what it was, but something felt familiar about the man. Did he know the old woman who'd brought him up? He might know Lyn, but he doubted that. She seemed too upright to be involved in anything shady, but he knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. He stepped out onto the street. The clouds were low and thunderouse again, a familiar sight for the past few weeks.


The streets were busy with people going about there business, always in a rush to be somewhere, never taking their time to just stop and look around. He was once again invisible. No one looked at him. They just passed him, ignoring him. Something in that felt comforting as the offer the strange man had made him swirled about in the back of his mind. The headache was still there, persistent, refusing to subside as he made his way down the street, eyes darting, looking for any signs of someone following him.



Three o'clock was nearing. He still hadn't made up his mind. He sat on the bench, watching the clock tower. the man hadn't said how much money he would get for stealing The Midnight Stone. But curiosity drove him to his feet and towards the Melbourn building on north eigth. He'd never been to this building before. For some reason, he'd always found himself avoiding it, like it would bring up horrible, unwanted memories. He knew where it was, what it looked like, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the faceless building's purpose was.

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