Chapter 29: I Lack the Training

Avery drifted in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of a world gone sideways. One second, Edward's face loomed over him, waving frantically. The next, he was rummaging through the Butcher's pockets. When Avery's eyes fluttered open again, he caught Edward dragging that monster of an axe across the floor.

Finally, after what felt like years, Avery clawed his way back to slight awareness. Every inch of him screamed in agony. His body felt like one giant, throbbing bruise. He couldn't even twitch a finger, just lie there on the ice-cold floor.

But he was alive. Somehow, against all odds, he'd survived.

"Oh, hey! You're back in the land of the living!" Edward's cheerful voice pierced through the fog in Avery's head.

Avery's first words came out as a croak. "The Butcher...?"

"Oh, him?" Edward's face lit up with an innocent smile that had no business being there after what they'd just been through. "Dad always says people who die go to 'a better place.' So I guess that's where the Butcher is now!"

Avery's brain short-circuited. What kind of messed-up life lessons was this kid getting? They'd just taken a man's life, and Edward was talking about it like the guy had gone on vacation.

"Did your dad teach you that about... killing people?" Avery asked.

Edward nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! Since the bad guys are so awful here, I'm sending them somewhere better. Give 'em a chance to turn over a new leaf. That's how I can save them at least"

Avery's stomach churned. Talk about twisted logic. But he bit his tongue. No way he'd undo years of brainwashing with a single conversation.

"But how am I still breathing?" Avery croaked. "What about the poison?"

Edward's eyes lit up. "You don't watch anime, do you? There was this show where they said poison users always carry antidotes. I found it in his suit" pointing to the lifeless body of the Butcher.

As Edward rambled on, Avery's mind drifted. Back to the beginning. To the day his parents sold him to the orthodox faction, kickstarting this whole mess of a life.

The cold floor beneath him faded away. Suddenly, he was that scared kid again, thrust into a world of shadows and bloodshed...

…

A dimly lit room. The acrid smell of cheap incense. A gruff-looking warrior, claiming to represent the Orthodox Faction, stared down at Yeomra's parents.

"Two silvers. That's my final offer," the man growled. "Your boy gets a shot at learning real martial arts. Hell, you should be paying us for this opportunity."

Yeomra, huddled in the corner, felt his stomach twist. His own parents were haggling over him like he was a sack of rice.

His mother's voice, dripping with false concern: "But you're asking us to give up our child! Surely that's worth more?"

Yeomra knew better. It wasn't about him. It was about squeezing every last coin from this deal.

The warrior's eyes narrowed. "Two silvers. Take it or leave it. Plenty of other families ready to jump at this chance. You really want to rob your kid of his shot at greatness?"

His mother's resolve crumbled. "Fine, fine. Two silvers it is."

Just like that, Yeomra's fate was sealed. Two measly coins, and his childhood was over.

Yeomra found himself crammed into a rickety carriage with a bunch of other kids. The air was thick and stale, making it hard to breathe. Some of the children looked like they'd been trapped in there for days, their eyes hollow and faces pale. Yeomra wondered if they'd all make it to... wherever they were going.

Finally, they arrived at a massive building that looked more like a fortress than anything else. 

Inside, darkness swallowed them whole. Day, night – it all blurred together in an endless sea of black.

For three long years, this was their world. The darkness wasn't just about not being able to see. It gnawed at your soul, eating away at any shred of hope you tried to hold onto.

Yeomra wasn't the strongest or the smartest kid there. But he had one thing going for him – a stubborn will to survive. 

"Things suck now," he'd tell himself, "but if I can just hang on, I'll find a way to turn it all around." It made him selfish, sure, but it kept him alive.

The Orthodox Faction worked hard to reshape their minds. As a kid, it was easy to buy into their twisted logic. Before long, Yeomra truly believed that everyone outside the Orthodox Faction was pure evil, deserving only death.

…

Avery's eyes fluttered open, his brain fuzzy and disoriented. Gone was the cold floor of the Lazarus Facility. Instead, he found himself tucked into his own bed, bloody clothes gone. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged with surprising skill.

Questions bombarded his mind. How long had he been out? How did he even get back to his apartment? 

A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the Butcher's lifeless body. Had his backup plan worked? He prayed his team of Third Street gangsters had followed through and taken care of the mess.

Gingerly, Avery tested his limbs. Everything hurt, but at least he could move. Small victories.

He turned his head, ready to fumble for his phone, when he froze. There, curled up on the floor like some oversized cat, was Edward. Fast asleep and snoring softly.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

Avery's mind reeled. How had this cheerful psychopath found his home? More importantly, why was he still here?

Avery groaned, his body aching as he fumbled for his phone. The battle with the Butcher had left him feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. Still, he had a job to finish.

"Slick," he mumbled, pressing the call button. "What's the word?"

"Boss!" Slick's voice crackled through the speaker. "Man, you had us worried! That freaky friend of yours hauled you outta there like a sack of potatoes. Are you okay?"

Avery winced, remembering the fight. "I'll live. What about Davis?"

"Oh, don't get me started on Little Miss Sheriff," Slick grumbled. "We tipped her off like you said, and now she's strutting around like she personally deal with the Butcher. There's gonna be a press conference soon."

"Let her have her moment," Avery said. Staying in the shadows was safer, even if it meant no parades or shiny medals.

"You sure, boss? It ain't right—"

"It's fine, Slick," Avery cut him off, his tone softening. "Look, I need to rest up. I'll swing by soon, okay?"

"You got it. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Avery ended the call, sinking back into his pillow. 

The adrenaline from the night's events was fading, leaving him exhausted and... disappointed?

"So much for being the Cleaner 8827," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. The organization still thought that guy was alive, but Avery knew better. His cover was blown, and with it,he can no longer use that persona. The organization will most possibly hunt the missing Cleaner.

His mind shifted to another of his concerns. Sure, he'd managed to serve up the real Lacuna killer to Inspector Davis. Mission accomplished, one less person hunting him. But Avery couldn't shake the feeling that he'd only scratched the surface.

He'd gone in hoping to unravel the organization's secrets, to dig deeper than Cleaner 8827 ever could. Instead, he'd barely escaped with his life. They'd been ready for him, lying in wait like spiders in a web.

"What a waste," Avery sighed, closing his eyes. He'd known it was a trap, known they wanted him dead. But the promise of answers had been too tempting to resist.

Now what? The tiny scraps of intel he'd gleaned felt painfully inadequate. 

Avery groaned as he hauled himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. He knew from experience that lying around would only make things worse. Glancing down, he spotted Edward sprawled on the floor, dead to the world. It was weird seeing the usually manic guy looking so... peaceful.

Throwing on some comfy clothes, Avery stepped out into the morning air. As usual, Mrs. Kim was perched on her favorite spot near the stairs, teacup in hand like some kind of guard dragon. No tenant escaped her eagle-eyed watch, especially when rent was due.

Normally, Avery flew under her radar. Paying in advance had its perks. But today? The old lady's gaze was practically burning holes in him.

"Uh, morning, Mrs. Kim," he mumbled, trying to shuffle past.

"You know, back in my day, we considered that sort of thing... improper," Mrs. Kim said, her eyes narrowing over her teacup.

Avery froze. "Uh, what?"

His mind raced. Had she somehow found out about the Night Gallery? Was his cover blown?

Mrs. Kim waved a hand. "Oh, I know times have changed. I was just surprised, is all."

"Mrs. Kim," Avery said slowly, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The old lady huffed. "Don't play coy with me, young man. I'm talking about your boyfriend! The one you brought home last night."

"My... boyfriend?" Avery's brain short-circuited.

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Kim nodded sagely. "Live and let live, I say. But please, keep the... nighttime activities... quieter, hmm? These walls are thin."

Avery's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Of all the crazy situations he'd been in, this took the cake. His assassin training had prepared him for a lot, but not... this.

"Mrs. Kim," he managed finally, "I think there's been a huge misunderstanding—"

But the old lady was already shooing him away, a knowing smile on her face. "Go on now, don't keep him waiting!"