Track 15 The Orphan

'This is a black market? Not at all what I expected,' Zoe thought. She peered through the heavily tinted windows from inside the limousine. It, along with several other cars, cruised down the suburban street—a snaking concrete road through an unkempt neighborhood. The sports car behind them sped up, slowing as they were just about to hit the bumper of their vehicle, honking for them to speed up. The building in the far distance loomed over the nearby businesses and homes. When they got closer, Zoe's eyes widened; she'd never seen a building that large. It was as if a convention center took up several city blocks. In a smaller building next to it, was the auction house, an invitation-only event. As they got closer, the roads became populated with pedestrians, all walking in the same direction. The cold sleet bothered none as it slammed them from above from the black sky. Zoe got out of the car first, looking around. The crowd of people paid them no mind and flowed around them as if they were a large rock sticking out of a river. 

On the other side of the limousine, Gemo stepped out of the car, scanning the crowd intently. Seeing this, Zoe decided to look out as well. Not exactly sure what she was looking for regarding 'dangerous body language,' but no one seemed too interested in them. Zoe thought back to the many books she'd read on body language in the past. 

"I'm looking for four items," Ayla said as they passed through the large glass doors. Inside was a brightly lit, bustling hallway. Stalls were set up on the walls as if they were street vendors. 

"Do you know where they are?" Zoe asked.

"Kinda," Ayla shrugged.

After several minutes of walking, Ayla turned toward the door of a convention hall, its sign reading, 'Meat Market.' Ayla's eyes were alive, "Ohh!" She pointed, jumping up and down, "Here!"

"Meat Market?" Gemo muttered, not loud enough to be heard over the flow of people. 

Zoe glanced over to a nearby vendor stand; on one of the plastic tables was a set of glass tubes, each filled with a murky dark red liquid. Her stomach contorted, seeing a chunk of white flesh floating in the concoction. She looked away quickly, going back to scan the crowd once more. Another shop had large black bags that were hung from meat hooks; eyes widening, she averted her gaze back to the crowd. People of all races and nationalities walked through—some she'd never seen, speaking languages she'd never heard. The whole room smelled of exotic spices—a pungent odor that seemed to stick to everything. They followed Ayla as she wandered; she kept insisting she knew where she was going. "Oops!" Ayla looked down. "My shoe's untied!" She bent down, grabbing her laces just as someone from the crowd carrying a long, sharp sword turned. Its blade sliced the air right where her head was half a second prior. Gemo tensed, pulling his hands from his jacket pockets. Zoe stared at the man with wide eyes, pulling a card from the box, but the man kept walking like nothing had happened, disappearing back into the crowd. 

"Lucky," Gemo and Zoe exchanged looks.

"All done," Ayla said, hopping to her feet.

Taking a spontaneous detour, Ayla guided them into a crowded, dimly lit room. The lone light swung hesitantly over the room's center, where two sweaty men bound one of their arms to the other. A figure approached, bearing two large hunting knives on a velvet pad nestled in a wooden box. Each person seized a blade, plunging the room into hushed anticipation.

Gemo reluctantly tore his gaze away from the spectacle, scanning the room. Every pair of eyes was fixated on the unfolding event, blissfully unaware of their presence. Ayla's eyes sparkled with delight like she was watching the most amazing fireworks show in the happiest place on earth. His attention shifted to Zoe. Observing her with curiosity, he noticed her eyes glued to the floor. 

Skipping out of the room, happy with the event's outcome, Ayla pointed to a vendor in the back of the market hall. "What'd you think?" She asked Zoe as they approached. 

"About what?"

"What we just saw! I wanted the guy with all the tattoos to win, but something told me to bet on the other guy."

"Uh- I didn't watch it," Zoe said.

"Oh?" Ayla looked at her curiously.

Unlike the other stalls, this one had very few people around it. As Zoe approached, she could see why. What looked like a box of small cheap trinkets sat on a large, dark-blue tarp, surrounded by numerous covered objects of all shapes and sizes.

"Ooh," Ayla cooed, holding up a jar filled with dirt to the light. Zoe squinted, looking through its glass, watching small insects move back and forth. 

"I know that!" Zoe said excitedly, "Colloquially, the red velvet Skull beetle. These are only a few weeks old based on the size; soon, they'd need their own terrarium as they're two and a half inches when fully grown." She pointed to the jar, "You can tell which one is male or female based on the coloration of the skull pattern on their fur." 

"Are they rare?"

"Not particularly, but-"

"Oh." Ayla said, disinterested. Placing it back down on the table. 

Zoe sighed, feeling like the wind had been taken from her sails. 

Ayla crouched down, picking up and uncovering a smaller object, revealing it as a lampshade. She handed it to Zoe and began grabbing some other objects, rummaging through the yard. 

Zoe pulled a face, cradling the lampshade in her hands. It seemed like dried, thin pieces of leather were meticulously stitched together. She turned it around, her eyes widening as she noticed a human face embedded in one of the patches. "What..."

"Yeah!" Ayla exclaimed eagerly, "So, the infamous serial killer Ed Gein, he would kill people and make furniture from their skin!" A wide, macabre grin crossed her face. "Cool, huh! I heard these would pop up, and I had to come! This is perfect!" She squealed with delight.

Zoe's grip on the lampshade faltered; her face became even paler than before. Before it could slip from her hands, Gemo deftly snatched it, holding it steady. She glanced at him, realizing he held a large, misshapen human skull in his other hand.

"Are those all?" The vendor gave a thin-lipped smile. 

"Translate," Ayla ordered Zoe.

Zoe cocked her head, "He asked if that's all we're buying."

His gaunt face split into a grin, watching Ayla pull out her card from her luxury purse. 

Ayla stared down at her phone as she walked through the convention center. Zoe peered over her shoulder, seeing that she was texting someone named Ethan. 

"My bodyguard, Kashi, is with me." Ethan texted her. "Imma buy something real quick, and we can link. Where'll you be in ten?"

"Not sure. I've got the lamp that I wanted. I'm trying to find that gun, and the ritual beads from the tomb, then the bird that was supposedly extinct." Ayla texted back.

"Word. I'll let you know where I am when I'm done."

Ayla noticed Zoe's face in the reflection—her eyes stared at her phone screen, clearly reading it. Ayla scowled, looking up at the nosey girl with a frown. 

A tall man, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo and adorned with a luxurious watch, emerged from the crimson sports car. He courteously opened the passenger side door, and a woman, donned in a sleek red dress paired with matching stilettos, gracefully accepted his hand as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the auction house. Together, they walked forward, seamlessly blending into the line of eager attendees awaiting entry.

Approaching the grand, engraved wooden doors, they were greeted by a young light-skinned man with large diamonds earrings, a bandaid on his cheek under his right eye, and a black suit stuck his hand out. 

There was something odd about the boy, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shook the boy's hand. 

"Welcome to the Auction house!" He said eagerly. 

"Thank you."

They walked past the entrance, sitting in what resembled a large auditorium, rows upon rows of seats until it reached a stage. 

"What's on your hand?" His fiance asked when they sat down. 

"Hm?" He flipped over his hand, staring at his palm. He scratched at it, rubbing it frivolously. He looked at it once more, holding it up in the light. "What the hell did that guy do?" He got up angrily, taking off his jacket, his fists balled. "That kid at the front doors. I shook his hand!"

"Stop," she pleaded, grabbing his arm to pull him back in his seat. "Just let me see it." She squinted at his hand, "What is that?" Her face scrunched in confusion. "Is that a tattoo?" They both studied it. In the center of his palm was a full hour glass, intricately inked into his skin. 

"I'm gonna kill him," he decided. "I don't know how he managed to do this, but he's dead."

"Let's wait until after alright? I think it's about to start," she pointed to the stage. 

"Whatever," he sighed, slumping back in his seat. 

Several minutes later, the lights above dimmed, leaving a spotlight shined on the stage podium. Three people stepped onto the stage, walking into the circle of light. 

"That's that little shit!" The man hissed, pointing to the boy who stepped to the podium, adjusting the microphone and lowering it to his level. He looked down at his hand again. Nudging his fiance, "It's fading, or something." He showed her his palm; the hourglass had almost emptied entirely. 

"How'd they do that?" She asked. 

"It emptied just now. Maybe it was a timer until the event started?"

Behind the boy on stage was a tall man with dark red hair, though natural. Most would assume it was dyed, as per the pigmentation. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" The boy grinned. He held up his wrist, looking at an expensive diamond watch. With his other hand, he pointed at the crowd. He leaned in, "Die!" He screamed into the microphone. 

The explosions sent shockwaves through the room as the heads of almost everyone exploded at once. Fountains of blood erupted throughout the hall, painting the walls, floor, and ceiling with the inside of their skulls. 

The last thing the man saw before his consciousness was erased was his fiance's face, her skull splitting open, as if someone had put an explosive in a watermelon. Chunks of her brain pushing out of her eye-sockets before her skull ruptured. 

The boy's vision went blurry, and he fell to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. He wiped his face with his hand, then stared at it, attempting to focus his eyes. "I've never done that many all at once," he breathed.

Behind him, the man with red hair extended his arms, gun barrels protruding from his wrists like macabre extensions of his limbs. Unleashing a relentless barrage, he fired into the disoriented crowd, cutting down any survivors with ruthless precision. Chaos erupted as people, desperate for escape, slipped on the blood-soaked floor, entangled amidst the lifeless bodies of their families and friends. None of them survived.

He hopped off the stage and walked down the aisle, shooting those hiding behind seats and under corpses. 

The third person on stage crumpled backward, his mind grappling with what had just unfolded. He wasn't sure if what had happened had been real. In under five seconds, a room that could hold over two hundred people became a cemetery. 

The older teenage boy turned, his eyes meeting the quivering barrel of a pistol held by the third man on stage. 

"You!" His aim remained steady on the boy. "What's the meaning of this? Why did you..." His words tapered off, his gaze fixed on the subtle amusement playing on the boy's face.

"Meaning?" The man heard the voice from his right, seeing the guy with red hair walk back up the stage toward both of them. An eerie calmness in his voice, reminiscent of a therapist conversing with a client. "That's an interesting word," he continued to step closer. "I asked that same question for a lot of my life. Then I realized that it wasn't out there. We're alone," With a casual gesture, he aimed his wrist at the man, unleashing a fatal shot that pierced through his head. 

After shooting him, he felt himself collapsing to his knees. The man clutched his abdomen, a nauseating wave sweeping over him. He hunched forward, attempting to stave off the urge to vomit. A hand pressed to his mouth, tears mingling with the exertion, he struggled to pry open his eyelids, each lash feeling like it weighed a ton.

"Damn, you good?"

"Culian," he looked at the boy with his now calm brown eyes, "We have everything we need?"

"Uh-huh," Culian nodded, fumbling in his pocket, pulling out several sealed envelopes. He held them out for John Doe to take. 

"You can hold on to them for now."

"Oh okay," Culian pocketed the envelopes, avoiding his gaze. 'This dude is high-key weird. Thank Christ, we only gotta deal with his this here for a few days.'

"Ah, Marcello," the butler greeted, elegantly opening the door to the hotel room, seeing the boy standing there.

"Mhm," he marched into the room, tossing his backpack onto a nearby sofa. 

On a massive screen before him, the local news roared to life. Alder occupied a chair, fixated on the broadcast; Marcello couldn't help but notice beads of nervous sweat cascading down his forehead. Without missing a beat, Alder pulled out his phone and dialed his daughter once more.

The television showcased a live aerial feed of a nearby building. Although Marcello didn't know much of the local language, he gleaned tidbits of information through his limited understanding.

'There's some type of terror attack at a black market not far from here. If I had to guess based on the reaction of Alder, he's scared that someone or something could be hurt. Looking around, I don't notice any sign of his daughter, so I'd say it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume she's in the general area of the attack,' he thought. "Is everything alright, sir?" He asked, looking at Alder. "Do you want me to go get your daughter?"

Alder looked at him with surprise, "I…I don't know," in his hands, the phone displayed that the call had gone to voicemail. 

Marcello looked at the television, seeing the blurred footage of the perpetrators who carried out the attack. "The Marionette," he hollowed, his eyes wide, staring at the red-haired man. 

Mitani gestured at the screen, "You know the guy?" 

'That's him! Though pixilated, the image is clearly of him!' Marcello balled his fists. "I need to go find something…"

The door swung open, and Ayla skipped inside. 

Zoe entered the room, her gaze sweeping over the newcomer standing before the colossal screen adorning the wall. He appeared to be around fifteen, with olive skin and deep, dark eyes. Clad in a sleek full-body black training suit, it sported a crisp white collar with an orange hem. Five large rings adorned his fingers, two on the right and three on the left, while the remaining fingers boasted small silver bands. His attention momentarily flickered to the door, seeing who was entering the room. 

'He looks familiar. I know I've seen him somewhere before, but where,' Zoe thought, studying him as he frantically switched channels and scrolled through his phone with the other hand. 'What is he looking for?'

When Gemo walked into the room, he stopped; his eyes widened and gleamed. "He's a total eight! No, probably…no, definitely higher!"

"Dad! Look!" Ayla grabbed a bag from Gemo, taking out the human lampshade. "We didn't get everything I wanted, since the market was shutdown for some reason. I don't know why," she talked quickly, as if the world was running out of oxygen and she had to tell everyone something very important. "Then I saw Ethan, but then there was all this noise and people started running…" she paused, running out of breath. 

Olivia tried to hide the disgust on her face when she saw the lamp in her daughter's hands. A forced smile, "That's nice…Ayla."

Mitani stood at the TV, watching the screen intently. 

Bulwark stood next to Zoe as she looked down at the flashing red and blue lights from the city below. Every few seconds, helicopters and police aircrafts whizzed past the window. 

"Why do the Apris security team care about what happened?" Zoe asked.

"Security Team? Oh, you mean the police? Well, from what I know, this blackmarket stuff is Apris' biggest draw."

"Really?"

"Mhm, I think the tourism from this event makes up the majority of the annual revenue for Apris."

Soon, the Parks went to bed, leaving their bodyguards to do whatever they pleased; as long as at least one was standing watch at any given time. 

Marcello looked up from the television, noticing the familiar-looking girl with white hair watching the boy with sad eyes she recognized. When he looked over again, she was walking toward him. Standing in front of him now, she pointed, her finger a few inches away from his face. He looked up at her, not knowing what to say. 

"You were in Crater earlier this year," she decided. 'That's right! He was there when I first met Ivy…June 2nd.'

"Ah," Marcello nodded. "Briefly, but yes, I was," he looked past her, seeing the man with red hair once again on the screen. 

"You know him?" She squinted at the blurry, pixilated picture, putting her face a few inches from the screen, trying to take in every detail.

"Kind of."

She sat on a nearby sofa. "What does he look like?" Was it her imagination? When he turned, it looked as if his face flashed with fear—a fear so petrifying that his olive skin turned an almost pasty white. 

"Uh," he composed himself. "He's uncanny, for sure. His voice is too smooth, and his face is too perfect. You get close and see his skin is too flawless. And his eyes…glassy and black. Like a parody of what a human is supposed to look like. It's almost a beautiful but horrifying oddity. A terrible thing to see…"