Blackwall

II

The clock strikes four-thirty in the morning and begins to ring. A Faceless man groans and rolls in his illustrious bed. Finally, he pulls a gun out from his nightstand and shoots the clock, completely unconcerned with striking fear into his neighbors once again. He gets up and walks to the bathroom and immediately turns on the shower.

The man is a private eye, a tired young gentleman with no other option than to hunt down bumps in the night. But he is damn good at finding those bumps. The hot water courses over his damaged skin. The scars of countless battles and struggles leave their mark on his life. He cleans himself thoroughly, hearing the screams of those he couldn't save, the terrified howls of those he had killed.

After rinsing and stepping out of the shower, he wipes the steam off the mirror and sees his blank face staring back. Save his one blue eye, he has a pale, scarred face. The screams grew louder in his head. In anger and regret he howls and punches his mirror, blood coursing out of his hand as he snorts in anger and frustration. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door, probably the local officer coming to yell at him again. He wraps his towel around his waist and throws open the door only to find a courier instead. The courier hands him a letter, saying the it was of absolute importance and runs off. The detective rips open the letter, reads it thoroughly, then hurries to get dressed and run to the West gate.

Zen, with her hands burrowed in the pockets of her plaid overcoat, awaits the arrival of the detective. The morning air is brisk, but the rising sun still shines over Blackwall. The rays of light reflect off of the fountain waters. The liquid glistens in the light and it mesmerizes Zen for the moment. Footsteps quake the stone ground. She didn't need to turn her head to know that before her stood the man she expected.

"Fields.."

Zen meets his glare and displays sternness. The way he eyed her was slightly discomforting. She observes the man from top to bottom, noticing fresh wounds on his right hand knuckles.

"Rough night at the bar?"

The detective snorts and cracks his knuckles. "More like something you could never comprehend." he says angrily. Detective Fields is dressed in a leather jacket, a black tee, and jeans. He notices her concealed outfit.

"Any reason why you're hiding yourself?"

Her eyes squint. She was not fond of his attitude. However, she knew him well enough to be able to deal with his ill mannerism.

"Well, it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that I am speaking to a Blank.." She clears her throat, for no apparent reason. "I saw something peculiar as I was strolling downtown. It was drenched in blood. Human blood."

He groans at the word "Blank."

"I guess you don't pay much attention lady, I still have my eye." The detective gestures at his one blue eye. "Besides, in case you haven't noticed, we both live in the Fair District with all you False Beauties."

This slur is the most offensive to the Faces, as it depicts false beauty and deceit within a Face.

She simply snickers. Her thick skin is never scratched with their slurs and insults. The redhead ignores him completely by returning to the main topic.

"I think someone was killed. Murdered. It was no accident.. I bet that machine I saw had something to do with it. You are helping me figure this out."

"And why would I do that? All you ever call me for is to fix your mess of a home."

He reaches into his coat and pulls out his pistol, checking for any damages or malfunctions.

"What did you see?"