After leaving Momo and a severely mentally damaged Servi, the man known as Fisher Jin wandered throughout the cities of Canary. He walked up and down alleys and streets, squeezing through the moving wagons near the city’s most congested intersection. The man with the blackest armor with a scratched-out word followed his feet as he again fell into a nightmare.
Fisher had thought he had come to terms with his violent past. The man known as the Demi-Reaper had died when he renounced his murderous past. And it should have vanished forever from his mind when he relied on his memories of Feral, Silverado, Desperado, Riki, Rakkire, and Servi to save him from his mind. Even his wife forgave Fisher, promising to always stay by his side until the bitter end.
But that was all for naught when he was alerted to a monstrous force only a few days away. Had Servi not stepped in to rescue Momo, or they had chosen another city to go through, it was likely Fisher would be dead.
His family would have had their flesh torn from their bodies like a hunter skinning a rabbit. Perhaps little Meri and Mari would have been impaled on a stake and rotated over a campfire like they were squirrels. Even worst... What if the damned devils had chosen to make Marissa a plaything to release their pent-up lust?
Even though the worst did not come to fruition, the sheer thought almost upon him was too much for Fisher. As he told Momo, if it was possible to go into the past, Fisher would kill his younger self before he had a chance to go about the road of revenge. It was filled with the bodies of both the guilty and innocent. More than that...
That dark, dank, ravenous trail was littered with hate.
Hate would slowly morph into rage. That would grow into a desire for revenge. And once that had been achieved, the one thing left was more hate. It was a never-ending cycle that never led to happiness or joy. Because once revenge had been obtained, what else was there to live for? In Fisher’s case, he was saved by Marissa. His frozen heart was melted by the adorable sounds his daughters made when they were infants.
Fisher knew then and there, when his firstborn wrapped her tiny hand around his index finger... That his former life wasn’t for him. More accurately, he had wanted to end that for a while, but it wasn’t until Mari and Meri came into his life that he wanted to make that a reality.
Even then, that wasn’t the whole truth. It took six more years after that for a particular black-haired girl with ruby red eyes to come into the picture. Her appearance was invaluable for Fisher to become the man he was today.
And yet, all it took to shatter his confidence and pride as a father and a husband was just knowing that death was days away.
In the middle of an abandoned alley, filled with stray animals and stinky feces, Fisher silently roared and smashed his arms on the ground. He missed any excrement-filled landmines and struck the earth. He pounded and bashed, sending chunks of brown dirt flying through the air. It coated his brown hair in a filthy mist, but he wasn’t done. He cursed himself more times than he had ever done before. Fisher desperately wanted to roar his feelings, revealing his weak self to the city, the country, the planet, and the galaxy.
As he opened his mouth to scream, stressing his face and straining his eyes, nothing came out: not even a hurried whisper or an exasperated breath. Even his body stopped doing anything, becoming frozen in time right as he was about to smash his fist into the ground.
No… I can’t be here doing whatever the fuck this is… I’m the goddamn Captain of the Guard. I still don’t think I deserve the Justice title, but I am still responsible for the lives of everyone in Canary… Yet, why am I here punching the ground…? Don’t I have better things to do? Damnit, Fisher! Get your sorry ass off the ground and make way for the headquarters. You’ve got reports to read and two individuals to interrogate…
Suddenly, it was like time had decided to resume. Fisher’s fist completed its journey to the ground, accomplishing its goal of sending up a fine mist of brown particles.
Fisher got up off his knees, dusted off his armor, and turned on his heels. He walked out of the alley and took a left. It would take him about an hour to reach his destination from his current location.
If I run, I could probably make it then in about twenty minutes. No, I need to use this time to calm my mind. And I know Sea and Jeri won’t be able to escape Tim and Tobba. They’re Koena, who nearly have the strength of a Kobold. Besides, it’ll take my men some time to gather all the statements... The day is pretty...but...
“Can I really enjoy it…?” Fisher audibly spoke. The elderly Dwarf he walked beside turned to look at the armored man, and he nearly dropped his bag of bananas. Fisher saw that odd movement of the corner of his eyes, so he turned and gave a slight wave.
The banana-wielding man exaggeratedly returned the wave, dropping three of his delectable fruits in the process. Fisher stopped walking and helped the Dwarf pick up his food.
“Aye, thank ye,” murmured the Dwarf.
Fisher gave the man a friendly tap on the shoulder and walked away.
Forty-five minutes after the banana incident, Fisher waved to the two armored men standing guard outside the headquarters. With the gorgeous white, sparkling stones being cleaned every day, they were absolutely spotless. And the deep ocean-like ramparts were always a lovely sight to see. The first thing Parrel did when he became governor was order a remodeling of the guards’ headquarters. He turned it from a podunk two-story building made out of dirty brick and soggy tweeds to something respectable. Out of all of the cities in south-eastern Lando, Canary had the finest barracks and equipment. To say that most of the taxes were spent on defense wouldn’t be incorrect.
Still, that kindness wasn’t out of the good of his heart. Parrel was a man who had grown cold and heartless over the years, and there wasn’t enough goodwill to be done in the world to wash away his wickedness. Servi had done the city a solid service in getting rid of him, and the new governor and his secretary were better in every way. Blasé and Eina had clear directions they wanted to take Canary in, and they believed they could take the city to a new level: one surpassing what Parrel could ever hope to achieve.
“Good afternoon, sir!” They both stiffly spoke and said together.
“Good afternoon,” Fisher said. “Has Jeri and Sea come back?” he asked them.
“Yes, sir! Tim, Tobba, and a few other men had them in restraints when they returned about twenty minutes ago. Sir, what did they do?” asked the man on the left. His name was Riley.
“Riley, Tim didn’t tell you?”
Riley shook his armored head. “No, sir.”
“It seems Jeri and Sea caused a bit of disturbance near one of the city entrances. If what I heard from the initial reports was accurate, those two chased after someone they believed to be a criminal without thinking of the people around them. In short, they wanted to catch two ‘criminals’ even if it meant endangering the civilians they swore to protect.”
“Sir!” the guard on the right said. His name was Rita. “Were the criminals dangerous enough to resort to such drastic means?”
“No, Rita, they weren’t. It was only a Singi who wanted to protect her friend. It was a case of misunderstandings, and everything checked out. However, Jeri and Sea acted out of turn. Be sure to keep Canary’s safety in your best interest and avoid bringing your own personal bias into your work.”
“Sir!”
“Sir!”
Fisher cracked a smile and saluted Rita and Riley. They were good men who grew up playing with sticks and stones. The life of a guard whose only job was to stand tall in front of a building wasn’t desired, but it was perfect for those two. It paid well, and it wasn’t that likely they would ever see combat. Regardless of that, the two friends did achieve their dreams of guarding the city they grew up in. In all secrecy, Fisher did think the two were brothers because they shared the same dirty black hair and bright hazel eyes. With their armor on, he could only tell them apart by their build, and even that was difficult since Rita was just a hair taller than his companion.
But if things had gone to plan, Rita wouldn’t see his mother again… And Riley’s brother would have to find another guardian… His legs didn’t grow in right, and he relies on his brother to pay the bills… Servi, you have my thanks for protecting Canary... I hope you know that.
“Good. Now, be at ease,” Fisher said after he left the confines of his mind. He walked by the two men, opening the door to the lobby. A fresh blast of cool air practically smacked him in the face, sending beads of sweat barreling to the floor. His sharp, brown eyes glared at the receptionist's desk and locked onto Roland. He was hard at work surfing through folders and flipping through binders full of information to assist the elderly woman standing at the counter.
Fisher walked by, nodding the mostly filled seats in the lobby and waved and greeted all he saw. When he reached the counter, he introduced himself to the woman and asked if his presence could help with anything.
“Oh, no, dearie. It’s nothing serious. I just had a question about my taxes, and this nice gentleman was helping me,” she responded. Her voice was slightly ragged and hoarse, almost as if she had a bug caught in her throat.
“I see. Roland, be sure to help this lovely woman, you hear?” Fisher cracked a smile and walked away.
“Sure thing, captain,” Roland replied with a charming smile of his own. He looked up just long enough to catch sight of a man in black armor turning a corner.
Fisher’s footsteps noisily echoed off the floors, sometimes even squeaking like a hyperactive mouse. He kept waving, saluting, and nodding to all he saw. Even on the days he felt like avoiding everything, Fisher had a self-imposed rule to do what he could to keep his appearance and reputation up. That declaration was brought into the world after a childish bet between him and Arnold back when he was alive, but it wasn’t a wage Fisher wanted to make. As he knew very well, he was a weak shell of man, and the so-called ‘Justice Captain’ was a further amalgamation of the ‘Justice’ imposed on Fisher by Arnold.
“Nah…” Fisher shook his head as he rounded another corner. He did anything he could to wash away those negative thoughts and past memories. They didn’t have a place in his current life. He knew that. He knew that very well. But as he once said so himself, he was a weak man who surrendered himself to a bout of violence, and his bloody legacy was built on weakness.
Even Fisher himself was getting tired of calling himself weak. But for him, it was like a never-ending cycle of negativity. He had broken out of it once before, and it almost cost him his life. Could he do it again? Would relying on the strength of his students be enough to lift him from the sea of depravity? He didn’t know. What about his wife and darling daughters? Could their love for their husband and father be the strength needed to pierce the veil and let in the light?
Again, he didn’t know.
Fisher turned yet another corner and came to a locked door. His last name of ‘Jin’ was etched into a bar of silver and embedded into the wall. During one of his previous promotions, he was artificially made into a noble, and since they all had a surname, he was given one by the courts.
Every day, there was someone whose sole job was to clean and polish the stone. If Fisher had his way, he’d donate the silver to a poor sword-smith. Then he’d march right down to the local carpenter and order a nameplate forged from wood. That would be cheap and effective enough, but it was up to the governor. Even after his death, Parrel was always around to make Fisher’s life just a little bit harder.
Governor Blasé had far too many things on his plate that he needed to accomplish: things like reviewing how well the tournament did, finding out how they could do better, how much money the city had for structural repairs, what improvements needed to be made to the infrastructure, what kind of welfare the Canary could afford, and more ways to bring in the cash flow that didn’t rely on slavery. It all went towards Canary’s well-being, something vastly more important than a nameplate.
A quick use of Dimensional Storage later, Fisher unlocked his office and walked right in. The three pictures littering his desk were paintings he had commissioned of his family. They were always in his heart. Other than that, his desk, a cup of pens, a hidden dagger, and a bottle of alcohol, Fisher's office was the definition of plain. He had no charming decorations to spruce up the spot where he spent most of his days. Whenever his family visited him at work, his children would complain it wasn’t colorful enough.
Not a moment later, Fisher heard a set of running footsteps, and he turned around. He saw a young Singi known as Springy. Obviously, that wasn’t the name his parents had given him, but Springy had a reputation for being hyper, bouncy, and most importantly, fast. It was only natural he became Canary’s speediest messenger.
“Fisher, sir!” Springy saluted. His gray hair was so short that he was nearly bald. A layer of sweat covered his chin and nose, and Fisher retrieved a napkin and handed it to the wet cat.
“Here, take that and clean your face up. What’s the message, Springy?” Fisher asked.
Springy’s tail bounced twice and wrapped itself around its owner’s waist. After wiping his face, he stuck his hands into a pouch on his hip and retrieved a stack of bounded papers. “Sir! These are the witnesses’ statements collected from the incident earlier today. Oh, uhh… Here you go…?” Springy held out both items, but Fisher grabbed the one that wasn’t soaked with sweat.
“Just toss that in the trash on your way out,” Fisher said. He turned around and walked to his desk. When he sat down, he noticed the messenger was still standing there. “Is there anything else?”
“Sir! Not really, but did Sea and Jeri…” Springy trailed off and grabbed at his tail.
Fisher sighed and rubbed his head. “Yes, those two drew their swords on two citizens and threatened them. It seems minor enough to gloss over, right? No one was hurt. No one was injured. What good are witnesses to a crime that didn’t happen? Should I just throw these away?” Fisher said, using a few seconds to test Springy’s devotion to his city's safety. His hands were on the statements.
“Sir, even if there were no witnesses, I don’t think abuse of power should be allowed or encouraged. I know that if I did something wrong when I was supposed to be guarding the city, I would want to be punished because it would feel like I betrayed this city that I love. I know Rita and Riley feel the same because we’ve talked about this before.” Springy narrowly avoided Fisher’s piercing gaze, but he eventually met it with a pair of uncomfortable gray eyes.
Fisher nodded. “That’s a good answer, and one I was expecting. And you’re right. Those who vowed to uphold Canary’s safety should be punished if they break that promise. You’ve passed the test.”
“Sir!” Springy saluted and scratched his head afterwards.
“You’re dismissed,” Fisher saluted. He watched as Springy was true to his nickname. The gray Singi bounced out of Fisher’s office and ran back to join his partner at their post.
As for the captain of the guard? He took a deep breath and began to filter through the statements his men had gathered.
With how beautiful the guards’ headquarters was, one would assume that standard of beauty would consist through the actual location. And for the most part, those people would be right. Everything from the first floor up to the roof was just as gorgeous as the ocean-like ramparts and deep, white stones. However, from the basement downward, any stylistic choices had been long discarded for nasty bricks and rusty cells.
The drastic difference from the first floor to the first basement was like walking through a portal. And when Fisher journeyed down those dank, creaking stairs, and had his senses assaulted by trashy filth, he wished the budget was just a little bit higher. When he reached the bottom step, it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit candles and weakened lights. When they did, he saw the guard in charge of watching the door to the cells. Sampson was his name, and he was asleep during his job, leaning his head against a desk filled with empty bottles of booze. A set of shiny, silver keys on a wooden key ring sat unwatched. They were supposed to be attached to the person standing watch at all times, but since it wasn’t, it was another demerit to be added.
That was something Fisher couldn’t handle. He purposely stomped the ground as loudly as he could while tapping his nadrium dagger against his armor. Metal scraping against metal produced an eerie screech, but it still wasn’t enough to wake up sleeping beauty. With a sigh, Fisher grabbed an empty beer bottle and smashed it down, missing Sampson by a few centimeters.
It was as if the life had been forcibly reignited within the sleeping guard’s body, and he jolted awake with a fear-filled holler. Like a frightened beast, the guard’s eyes darted up and down, left and right, while a hand went for the sword lying faithfully at his waist.
Fisher slammed his hand down on the desk, missing the glass shards by just a few centimeters. “Why the fuck are you asleep, Sampson?!”
“I—me—I mean—Sir!!” Sampson, the sleepy guard, hastily stood up, banging his knee against the desk’s edge. He elicited a cry of pain, and as he reached down to rub his wounded leg, he inadvertently bent down too far and smacked his chin. Sampson’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. Just like that, the guard guarding the prisoners had knocked himself unconscious.
“Come on, Sampson,” Fisher murmured. He walked around the desk and crouched down. He looked at Sampson, tapping his cheeks with an armored hand. A few gentle slaps later, the knocked-out guard left the world of nocturnal slumber and woke up. The first thing his reddish-brown eyes saw was an outstretched hand. Covered in the blackest metal, it only took a few heart-stopping seconds for Sampson to know who that hand belonged to.
“Fisher! Sir!!!” Sampson lowered his hand and scrambled to his feet. Fisher stepped back and gave Sampson a bit of space. Once he was standing on his own two legs, he promptly gave a messy salute.
Fisher returned it, then he started to lay into his subordinate. “Sampson, you can’t just get drunk and fall asleep on the job. And you can’t have the keys to the damn cells just sitting there. What if I was someone who wanted to break my friends out? Your ass was dead to the world, and I’m surprised you even woke up when I broke that bottle.”
“Sir! I’m sorry, sir! It won’t happen again, sir!” Sampson’s voice had a wobbly tremble to it, and his eyes were tearing up.
“You’re right. It won’t happen again because you’re now on patrol. Maybe some walking will wake you up... Head upstairs and tell Mire she’s on prison duty.” Fisher pointed behind him to the musty stairs, whose wood definitely needed to be replaced. The whole prison needed reform because as it stood, it was something resembling a torturer’s den.
And it wasn’t supposed to be like that.
Prison was a place where reformation was expected to take place. After a criminal had served their time, their debt to society was supposed to have been fulfilled. And, yes, that was how it played out. But Fisher had a problem with the prisoners’ experience while in jail. He didn’t want them to live like royalty, but he thought they at least deserved a hot meal and a bed. As it stood now, every prisoner was forced to sleep on the hard floor with their excrement and urine to keep them company. Only those convicted of minor crimes could have a bed, and even then, it was a plank of wood and a thin cloth with holes.
As for food, those who had committed murder or arson received raw meat and water with no bread. If someone had robbed a store or was caught with stolen property, then they could expect bread, water, and blackened meat a day or two old.
Sampson saluted a final time with tears in his eyes and rushed back upstairs. Three minutes later, a pencil-thin Elf descended down. Her eyes were like that of a lavender sun, and her hair was the color of pearls. Mire was rather attractive, with skin the same color as the desert sands, but she didn’t consider herself an Earth Elf.
She had joined the force a couple of years ago, back before Fisher was even a lieutenant. She may not have been as strong as her peers, but she was speedy, agile, and rather skillful. In a way, she fought using an altered version of Dineria’s combat style, but the two Elves had never even met before. But it was that raw technique and thirty years of experience that accelerated her rise through the guard. There were probably only four or five in the guard that could beat her without skills, and that was where her weakness fell.
She was unblessed, and for an odd reason, she never chose to ascend past Rank 8 in Warden.
“Mire, stand guard. Do a better job than Sampson,” Fisher ordered her. His subordinate deftly raised her hand to her head.
“Sir! Yes, sir!” Mire said, louder than Fisher expected. He simply nodded, grabbed the wooden ring of silver keys, and let himself in the door.
When Fisher closed shut it behind him, hearing it slam against the frame, the smell of waste grew by a factor of four. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to just how little light there was. He had hoped Sea and Jeri were taken to the interrogation room on the second floor. But when he gave commands to Tim and Tobba, Fisher didn’t specify which one because Servi and Momo demanded his attention.
Still, the smell wouldn’t do much more than stain his armor and body, and a quick wash for both would be enough to erase the rancid scent.
