“Good morning Isumond!” 

Under silk sheets, a wrinkled blue freckled hand emerged. Pill bottles and spectacles fell from their resting place on top of a nightstand in its fumbling search for an alarm clock. 

“Traffic is backed up on the Imperial Highway and shows no sign of letting up. In other news, The Blue Royals won against the Ice Goblins in last night’s game and caused a minor riot on-” 

The newscast abruptly ended after Amzer pounded the snooze button with his fist. He was annoyed that he had forgotten to change the channel the night before. Sports never agreed with Amzer nor did he find joy in them, except for finding an excuse for social interaction.

Dawn greeted him with a cold embrace when he pulled away his bedding. Chills ran down his spine and he thought about covering back up and going back to sleep. Yet his loyalty to his job prevented him from acknowledging the idea. He pivoted his body and perched at the edge of his bed yawning. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a T-shirt lay on the floor, beckoning him closer. Heeding its call, he snatched it from its slumber and threw it in his hamper. 

Images flooded his mind of him and a dapper-looking gentleman who could have been mistaken as a child without the goatee. They jumped on a pool table, drinking and dancing, kicking other customers' tankards off. Another memory resurfaced of them fighting in a bathroom and Amzer getting his face smashed into a mirror.

Amzers head pounded. “Note to self: do not try to out-drink a halfling.”

When he exited his bedroom, he glided his hand along the wall to keep him stable on his way to his bathroom. Little to no picture covered his walls, nor did he have knick-knacks on his dresser or selves full of trophies. Just like his job, he slept and breathed in order.

With a swift wipe of the mirror, he was greeted by the damage from the night before. Black and blue blotches covered his face, but most of it hid behind his graying grizzled beard. To shave or not to shave he thought. On the other hand, if he did shave, it would show off his chiseled chin and sharp jawline. 

He decided to shave.

A bag of ground beans sat on the counter by the kitchen's entrance. A new drink had hit the market in the neighboring kingdoms. Amzer was not sold on the taste, but it gave him the energy to get through his day. Once the coffee brewed he cooked which was not his specialty. He preferred to have takeout, but with the increase in the cost of living, he had to make do with home-cooked meals.

After having his morning meal, he donned his signature fit, a tan three-part suit. Its outerwear was nothing special, a plain beige coat with one chest pocket. The waistcoat tucked inside his attire was a modest five-buttoned piece with a golden base and a paisley floral pattern. A gold chain hung from his inner vest which connected to his pocket watch. A token of his grandfathers.

Soft humming, in quick succession, startled him. Gentle light gleamed from a milky purple crystal lying beside his firearm on top of his nightstand. 

“Now, who could that be?”

Amzer snatched his sidearm and inspected it. The standard issue tool of his department in the Kingsarnment. Firearms were not his favorite but he understood their usefulness. He holstered the weapon under his jacket and focused on the glowing crystal. 

Crystals were used as a magical communication device in the Athewen Kingdom. There have been whispers that The Ivory Vale had invented a device that used copper wires to transmit voices across long distances. Amzer could hardly believe that the majority of the population would abandon magic so easily. He lifted the purple crystal and activated the message contained inside. 

A distorted, cheerful, feminine voice emitted from the enchanted tool. “Hey Amzy, it’s Yuki. I got your baby running again, but… you should stop by the shop so I can tell you in person. Okay, bye.”

Last week, he was involved in a shootout. His vehicle sustained substantial damage and required repairs. Normally his department would issue him a new ARC, but this one was special. They don't make this model anymore. Fortunately, he knew of a girl who managed a repair shop nearby and gave him a deal he could not refuse.

Amzer delved into his breast pocket and yanked out a carton of Hellhounds. He pulled out one stick and placed it in his mouth before walking out on his patio. It tasted bittersweet, the news and his smoke. He leaned on the ledge of his balcony, ignited the stick, and inhaled deeply. He expected this conversation to rear its ugly head. 

Nervous laughter escaped Amzers’ lips. 

“Fuck.”

A gentle morning breeze weaved through his salt-and-pepper locks. Amzer didn't mind the graying in his hair. It was mostly concealed by his slick-backed horns that glided over his head and curved skyward. They were the first to be noticed. A real eye-catcher, those blackened things were. 

Heat caressed his throat with his next inhale. I finished already, he thought. The pack of Hellhounds in his breast pocket called his name, but he knew better. He flicked the butt of his Hellhound off the ledge of the balcony and left his condo prepared for the worst.

A gravelly voice behind Amzer startled him as he locked his front door. “Good morning, Mr. B. I got thossssse partsssss to fixssssss your bathroom ssssssink. By the time you get home from work, it will be fixsssssed.”  

Green and brown patches of scales covered the beast that stood in front of Amzer. Oil and grease stained its blue overalls. In one hand it held a worn red toolbox and in the other a wrench that had seen better days. 

Two Pixie children gilded between Amzer and his scaly friend. They then weaved in and out of the balconies on the bottom and top floors before flying close to a net stretching over the complex. Above Amzer, a humanoid bird cawed at the Pixies to cease. 

“Thanks, Fix,” Amzer replied.

“It’ssssss my pleassssssure.”

Fix bid him goodbye and turned to leave. A Minotaur woman barged through a nearby door and yanked him inside; shouting about her broken shower. Amzer snickered as he descended the condominium staircase. 

Historically, The Fae district divided humans and Fae before the war with the Elves. It was never considered  After the Kingdom experid a housing crisis, it transformed into a district for low-income. With Amzer being part of the kingdom's defense force, he could live anywhere. He believed it was safer to live in this part of town than engage with mankind, being a Cambion. Demonspawn.

Just a short distance from Amzer's dwelling sat The Nine Wrenches. A run-down repair shop owned and run by Fae. One Fae in particular, Yuki Kuro.

A white-hued Kitsune with dark-pointed ears perched precariously at a workbench. Tools and parts are scattered across various tables. Vehicles, new and old, littered her shop floor disassembled. 

Amzer was drawn to one ARC in particular. The classic T-65 series with its unique two-door design and shiny gray coat. Parked in the middle with its hood open and hosesding into its engine compartment.

Yuki smeared her charcoal-tipped fingers on her oily gray overalls, smearing a thick paste across her chest. Her three ivory black-edged tails wagged at the sight of Amzer walking into her shop. 

She leaped up and granted him a firm hug. 

“Don’t-” Amzer gently shoved her aside after hugging her back. “Don't you have other customers?” 

She tilted her head. “Of course, I have other clientele. I’m not a charity mechanic, Amzy.” 

Yuki skipped to the rear of the garage while wagging her tails. It broke Amzer's heart to see his baby on life support. Large crystals hanging from the hood illuminated the darker parts of the engine compartment. Yuki jostled a few hoses while wrestling a wrench out from her back pocket to fasten a few bolts.  

“You messaged me saying it was ready,” Amzer said.

This was not what Amzer would call ready. Ready would be if his ARC was parked outside with a fresh coat of wax. Maybe even a set of new tires.

“I sure did,” Yuki popped her head up from the engine compartment. “But I also said I need to tell you in person. Now get over here.” 

Amzer peered into the inner chamber. He didn't know what he was going to be shown, but he had a bad feeling. It ate at him. This could be the last time he could see his classic vehicle. 

“You see it?” she asked.

Amzer leaned closer, focusing on the section she pointed out. After a brief investigation, he spotted what she was referring to. A pen-sized gap with several winding fissures emerges from its edge. Cracks that were encroaching on the ambient magic container.

“That’s a crack on your magiblock. You are lucky it didn’t blow when you were in that shootout.”

She yanked out of the compartment before sprinting to her workstation, which was brimming with junk. Loud clanging and banging of spare components collided as Yuki searched her workbench for assorted pieces. After a few moments, she found what she had been looking for. Amzer stepped back and observed as she performed speedy and crude surgery.

“I put a temporary fix on it for the time being, but you need a new generator… Nine hells, man, you need a new ARC. This thing should be in a museum. Do you think you can pick up girls in this? How old are you now? One hundred?”

“Yuki,” Amzer rested his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Like I said, it's a quick fix. You might get another week before my fix becomes worthless. I recommend not waiting that long.”

Amzer helped Yuki disconnect the cables so he could depart. Bittersweet, he thought. One last drive to the station where it will finally be retired for good. The well-worn leather driver seat hugged his aging body. Like greeting an old friend, his fingers snuggly gripped the steering wheel. He adjusted the rearview mirror and cranked the window down.

“I’m one seventy, for the record.”

Yuki's ears twitched. “You look so young.”

Amzer cracked a smile. “Liar.” 

“I could use some company in the shop. Plenty of work.”

“If I retire, it's going to be on the island of Niverwood.”

There was a long pause. Yuki's smile faded and ears folded back. “When… you retire.”

It's not like Amzer kept his age a secret, the graying is very noticeable. Retirement hadn't crossed his mind and had no intention of retiring. He was surprised he made it this long without dying in the line of duty or by some stray human with a grudge against his kind. 

Amzer extended his arm out the window and patted Yuki on the top of her head. They both smiled at one another and silently said their goodbyes. With a twist of the key, the generator sputtered to life and he drove out of the shop one last time.

Traffic showed no signs of improving when Amzer reached the on-ramp. He had to find an alternative if he didn't want to sit in traffic and be late for work. Side roads were an option, but they made him anxious. 

Ever since putting the Imperial Highway over the Fae district, it has become a magnet for crime. Diminished traffic meant fewer people seeing dubious dealings, and he suspected he’d stumble upon one or more before reaching the station. He reached into his breast pocket and fumbled with the carton inside. 

Just a few packs left, not enough to get through the day. Amzer sighed and considered going to work without restocking. Against his better judgment, the addiction won and he pulled over to the closest mini Mart. 

It was a typical corner store of the Fae district. Ran down with iron bars that covered the windows and refrigerators that lined the back wall stocked with alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, while the aisles were full of bagged snacks and sweets.

The clang of the bell broke the stillness as Amzer entered. A person in black stood in front of the entranceway near a magazine stand. His eyes gleamed with malice as Amzer grazed his shoulders with him. Another stranger shot a sideways look at him while he exited the aisle.

“Morning! Is there anything I can assist you with?” The clerk asked.

A Faun, otherwise known as a Tyr, with large ram horns that twisted out like a corkscrew, stood behind a register with a twitching smile. Their eyes darted between the four customers in the store as he patiently tapped the countertop.

Amzer pointing at the top shelf. “Just need a pack of Hellhounds.” 

“Typical Cambion.” muttered the customer at the magazine rack.

Amzer took notice of the still air. His training kicked in and took notice of the other customers. One patron paced up and down the middle aisle. Another grabbed a bag of chips and read the back before returning it and picking up the one next to it, repeating the process several times. The one by the door peaked over his magazine and watched the cashier closely. 

Amzer disregarded the comment, although it was more hurtful than a blade. Humans and Fae alike judged him based on his demonic features. Hellhounds were his go-to. Other brands of smoke lacked the same flavor.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Amzer chuckled. 

“Whatever.” The human responded.

The clerk grabbed Amzer's hand and drew him closer. He peered into Amzers eyes as a carton entered his possession.

“Two for one special, as the brand is going away.” 

Discontinuing Hellhounds didn’t seem feeble. They’ve been popular with the mythical folk for years. This was a cry for help. A shoot-out was not ideal. Other questions raced in his head but he put them to rest for later. He needed a plan.

First, take out the reading human. This should catch the others off guard. Second, fire at the person walking the aisles, causing the one in the rear to panic and act unpredictably. Third, capture the last individual to question them.

Satisfied with the plan he responded to the clerk. “If that’s the case, I should call my friends to come down here while they still can.”

The Tyr quickly dropped to the floor. Amzer yanked out his firearm and fired a shot into the closest human's leg. The target grasped for the shelf, but it caved in as he toppled to the floor, shouting out in distress. 

The wounded enemy's hoodie dropped revealing just a boy around eighteen. He sprawled out on the store floor, vigorously attempting to stem the bleeding. The boy's eyes turned a ruby red, brimmed with fury. He uttered an incantation and an arcane sigil materialized. A spray of jade acidic fluid spat toward Amzer. 

Amzer dodged skillfully, but his coat had not been so blessed. After firing two additional rounds into the criminal, he slipped out of his jacket before it was completely devoured by acid. 

“Magic?” Amzer looked at his dead opponent. “Really?” 

Amzer sprinted to an end section of the aisle as three minuscule streams of crackling purple arcana whizzed past his head. Merchandise flew off shelves and scattered across the ground, sizzling with the same energy. While obscured by displays, he fired without aiming, vigorously avoiding spells from the back. Two rounds landed as he heard groans of anguish, cursing, and sounds of metallic objects clanging against the floor. 

“Had enough?” Amzer asked.

Grunts and other odd noises materialized.

“Fuck you.”

Amzer slid down the end cap and rested his head on one of its shelves. His heart pounded and sweat dropped from his forehead. He looked at the dead boy by the door. Shame the kid went and got mixed in with the wrong crowd he thought.

A chill ran through his body. Fog crept in and engulfed him. Shelves developed a thin layer of white and small crystal spurs expanded outward. A thunderous clap shattered the frozen surroundings, and a gust of wind pushed Amzer backward, sliding him across the floor into the front doors. Before he had time to think about what had happened, the nearby racks and the items on them hurtled toward him. 

Now buried in rubble, Amzer attempted to move. He was pinned against the doors with no way of escaping. Some debris shifted and he managed to wrangle his arm free. Three quick shots from his firearm found their targets as they dropped. 

Muffled sirens soon transitioned to flashing lights as a Kingsarnment cruiser sped around the bend. Radio chatter grew louder as the front door opened. Amzer fell backward onto the pavement looking up at two fellow officers who had their handguns drawn. 

A female Gnome, three feet three inches tall with long ears that tapered off to a tip. Saza was her name. Amzer knew of her, a recruit about a week out of the academy. Her eyes darted and she waved her firearm around the store, eager to pull the trigger. 

Her partner, a Bithasier or rabbit folk, secured the scene, holding bystanders at bay as the commotion drew the public's attention. His name was Genmar, a promising new recruit. A month out of the academy. Amzer never talked to him, but he heard he was straight and narrow, by the book.

Several other cruisers arrived to help secure the scene. After establishing a perimeter and having reinforcements replace the Bithasier, he returned to Amzer and his companion. His ears drooped when he came closer, dropping his intimidating six-foot demeanor. 

“Amzer, what happened?” Genmar asked.

Amzer shrugged. “I wanted some smokes.” 

He grabbed what was left of his coat and threw it in a nearby trash can. 

Saza looked inside, puzzled. “Your jacket?”

“Acid.”

Genmar walked around the destroyed store pointing to potential evidence. He pulled out rubber gloves and placed plastic number placards in various spots. Other law officers entered with equipment and prepared for a formal investigation of the incident.

“The store?” Saza asked.

“Fog with a chance of thunder and ice.”

Saza circled Amzer trying to piece together what had happened. Genmyar assisted the trauma team when they arrived. The team consisted of humans and Fae. Amzer patiently waited for Saza to do her routine questioning. He knew the procedure but didn't want to interrupt her.

“Anyone else?” Saza asked.

“The clerk,” Amzer responded.

“Alive?”

“Maybe?” Amzer turned to the counter. “You still alive?”

The store attendant raised two cartons of Hellhounds above the countertop, waving them like a flag.

“I’m fine, by the way.” Amzer snatched the smokes from the counter. “Thanks for asking.”

A glint of light from the floor beckoned to Saza. A golden pocket watch laid in pieces almost blending in with other oddities from the shoot-out.

Amzer nabbed the shattered clock from his Gnome friend’s hand and tucked it in his pocket. 

Saza was interrupted by Genmyar whistling for the two to converge on his location. An older man rested with his back against the freezer door. Three bullet holes in the chest, dead center. A tattooed symbol stood out on his neckline. Six robust lines radiated from its round core, with a minuscule circle in the middle. 

“Isn’t that…” Saza leaned in closer.

“The Obsidian Order,” Amzer said.

“In the capital?” Genmyar took a photo of the tattoo. “That's suicide.”

“This isn't good.” Amzer stood up and paced while scratching his chin. “I hate to leave the cleanup with you, but the captain is going to want to hear this right away. If The Obsidian Order is this close to the King...”

“Don't worry, we got this.” Saza noded.

Amzer left the store and pulled out a Hellhound from his breast pocket. The second shootout this week is not going to make the captain happy. He took his time with his second smoke of the day.

Radiant sunbeams shone off the window panes of the metropolitan landscape. Amzer had reached the business district, the city's epicenter. Races of all kinds walked the busy roadways in suits carrying briefcases and talking on their crystal communications. Many deals were being made on the main street or in a back alley. No friends were made here and one would need thick skin to survive the constant backstabbing.

Sounds of the inner city reverberated off the high-rise buildings surrounding the antique headquarters of the Kingsarnment. A two-century-old construction remains from the Obsidian wars. Retrofitted and changed over many generations. 

Several vacant spots lined the entrance at a diagonal. Amzer chose the one closest to the entrance to the building. He massaged his temples and tried centering himself to brace for yelling. 

A human woman dashed from the building, making her way towards him. She approached yelling his name. Amzer lowered the window only for her to thrust her head in, encroaching on his personal space.

“The Captain got word about your incident in the Fae district and he's furious. He told me to give you these, your next assignment.”  

“I’m being reassigned?”

“Looks like your luck ran out, Amzer.”