The Story of the Cipher Brothers

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312067, Ukrenium Dimension

Bill slipped the ring onto the young lady's finger. "Trust me, my dear, it looks ravishing on you." He gingerly kissed her hand, and she giggled, blushing.

"Well...alright. How much is it?" 

"$200, nice and easy," he replied, winking.

She hesitated only for a moment, but then she instantly went for her pocketbook. She pulled out  several emerald bills, the Ukrenium Council's face staring back at him. He quickly accepted it and blew her a kiss. "Pleasure doing business with you."

She blushed, and then scurried off, leaving Bill to have a good laugh. People were so gullible these days. Most people say that their face is their money maker, but in Bill's case, it was quite literal. His tan skin was the color of honey, and it was dotted with freckles mimicking constellations. His electric blue eyes could convince you of anything. He had bright blonde hair that swept in front of his right eye, and his grin always told you he was up to no good. He wore a yellow button up shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, a black bow tie, and black suspenders.

He had set up a small booth filled up with cases of cheap jewelry, made from anything from plastic to bottlecaps. Luckily, this was one of the only free markets in the city, so it didn't matter if his products were fake. As long as he had a permit, he could sell whatever he liked.

Except he didn't have a permit.

He grinned, slipping the bills into his pocket, and as he turned back to his stand, he bumped straight into Marshal Leviathin. Marshal was the owner of the market, but he rarely dropped by, except, it seemed, whenever Bill was there. He was a grotesque, portly demon, with the head of a spider, the body of a bear, and the feet of a horse. Despite his frightening appearance, he was only a lesser demon, so Bill wasn't obligated to bow in his presence or have his toes cut off if he misbehaved.

"Cipher," he growled. "What did I say if I ever caught you selling your knockoffs here again?"

Bill paused, pretending to think about it. "You'd take me to dinner?"

Leviathin snarled even harder. "None of your cheek, kid. Unless you've gotten yourself a permit in the last two weeks, I'm going to have to take you in to get processed."

Bill gulped, trying to mask his nerves. He'd heard about his neighbors getting 'processed.' The Stranges in the apartment next door had held a gathering at the club where they preached about equality and revolution. A week later, the cops showed up to their apartment in the middle of the night and hauled them out. When Bill asked what they were going to do with them, he said they were going to be processed. He still didn't know what it meant, but he knew it wasn't good.

"As a matter of fact, I do have a permit. See for yourself." He knelt down and began to slowly click open the dirty briefcase lying next to his stand. Leviathin stood there, glaring at him skeptically. 

The second Bill opened the case, a torrent of wind burst out of it, sucking the stand inside, and knocking Leviathin off his hooves with a yelp. Bill closed the case, and dashed down the nearest alley as fast as he could.

"After him!" Leviathin shouted, and Bill knew he was in for a rough afternoon.

Bill tore down a series of back alleys and passage ways, throwing off the expensive shoes pounding after him. He crawled up a nearby fire escape, and climbed through the unlocked window, which led into a vacant apartment. He trekked up the long flights of stairs outside the apartment, and reached the roof of the building. He jumped, and landed on the roof of the next complex over. He dropped down from there onto the fire escapes that surrounded the walls, and banged his fist against the window furthest to the right.