Lexa bit her lip as she nervously entered a quiet room bathed in red lights.
It smelled like burnt sugar and old blood.
The room was soundproofed, lit by a single red bulb that swung gently from the ceiling like it was nervous to stay still.
Music buzzed from a radio in the corner—cracking static caught between jazz and more jazz. Her breath sparse as she walked to the nearest couch.
The couch looked soft, but it groaned when Lexa sat down. Yet she did not notice this; rather, her attention was occupied by a person-a man, to be exact.
Lexa refused to make eye contact with the man who sat across from her, as though fearing his gaze would curse her.
He sat in the shadows, his elbows on his knees.
If one could overlook his unsettling presence he almost seemed peaceful, but his mouth did move.
"Click-clack!"
"Click-clack!" It went on, the sound of smacking gum echoing across the room.
Lexa did not speak; instead, she watched, waiting for the man to speak first.
But he did not speak just yet, his face catching the light only in flickers—enough to reveal a clean-shaven jaw, teeth too perfect, and a smile that never reached his eyes.
"You're late," he said, voice smooth, low, and venom-laced, a thick accent accompanying it.
Lexa lowered her gaze. "I had to make sure I wasn't followed, Father."
"Nyet, nyet, nyet," he replied, standing up. "I have told you, do not blame other people for incompetence. If you were competent, da, you would arrive on time."
As he spoke, he stepped into the red light, exposing his features.
His eyes were of a glowing red, almost illuminative, thus exposing his identity as a Wizard.
Yet even that glow did not quell the resemblance of his orbs to dead shark eyes that did not blink.
Tattoos crawled up his neck like ivy, ending just beneath his chin, portraying a rather violent appeal.
He didn't just look like a gang leader—he looked like one who enjoyed his work.
"I received report from men… you grow attached to boy," he said. "Valen, da?"
Lexa opened her mouth but he raised a hand. "Do not waste my time with lies. I know what you do. I watch you read his file again and again. Little smile on face like foolish schoolgirl."
"But make no mistake, you are not allowed to interfere. Let him awaken natu—natu, eh, fuck English—naturally, da? Da, only then can I take control of him."
His words made her tense, but she was curious, so curious that she asked, "If so, if you really don't want me to interfere then why did you send me to him?"
The room grew quiet.
He heard her question, that much was certain, but he did not react, not immediately. Instead, he smiled—said smile never reaching his eyes.
But then he responded, answering her question. "Because you are my daughter," he began, pondering as he continued. "I want you to see with your eyes the birth of a truly perfect human, so you can be perfect just like him."
Leaning in he went on. "This time, if we control him, we will be unstoppable, Imagine a man with so much big brain he can stay on the other side of the gate almost forever. Now, enough talk, your report?"
"Oh, of course," Lexa began. "For the past few days, we've observed that Mr. Valen has stopped all signs of smoking. It is unknown whether he did this to save money or is trying to quit," she said.
"That is good da? Smoke and weed not good for brain," her father mused, "you can go," he commanded.
Lexa, hearing this command hesitated for a bit but ultimately asked another question, her tone truly curious."If he's as intelligent as you claim then how do we control him?"
Once again, the room grew quieter—but mind you, her words did have an effect.
Lexa's question made her father grin, his ominous smirk followed by an explanation, "he might have big brain, but he is weak boy with weak fist, let me tell you little girl, in life, strongest fist always wins."
--------
While Lexa was stuck in a room with her father, Mr. Valen was getting ready to head out.
Looking around the room, he thought, 'I probably will not see this place again by the end of this month.'
A week had gone by since he had awakened allowing him to finalize the arrangements, from his end, "my biggest issue was procuring the funding needed for this endeavor, thankfully tech companies nowadays pay generously if you can find and or fix bugs in their system."
«Wealth is never out of reach for the truly intelligent, no?»
Of course, he could not work from his personal laptop; he had to go to a cyber café and rent a system that supported such tasks.
The days he had work were spent getting closer to the man in charge of the surveillance room.
It was Friday, and Lia was still at work.
She worked as an assistant for a large tech company, earning an undisclosed amount—unknown even to him.
Fortunately, it was enough to pay her half of the rent. "Yeah, too good to be true," Mr. Valen muttered with a chuckle at some inside joke.
He, on the other hand, had the morning shift today, so he was just arriving home. The time was six PM."
But he had no intention to stay home today, there was much work to be done.
Wearing a black hoodie and a pair of jeans, he left the apartment.
Normally, he would have changed into something more presentable, but his current attire was necessary for today's mission.
Outside was as bleak as ever. The sky was a bit dark, the buildings blocking the setting sun.
The air felt heavy—like it carried secrets no one wanted to speak of, but Mr. Valen was used to it.
Taking a stroll, he looked around, noting that people moved with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, their footsteps dragging mostly from the exhaustion of a hard day's work or the weight of crushed dreams.
Conversations were rare, and when they happened, they came in hushed tones or bitter bursts.
Even laughter, when it came, sounded like a mistake—too sharp, too out of place, coming from the people who either did not know the area or were happily entangled with it, "hooligans," Mr. Valen thought.
But he was indeed in search of a particular group of hooligans this evening, and his actions reflected that, his gaze bruising past more than a few people.
Every glance he met felt guarded, every presence fleeting, like the world had taught everyone not to trust too easily.
If he weren't such a known junkie, he would have been robbed a few times over by now—such was the nature of the place he lived in.
Mr. Valen walked for a few hours, thinking that he'd never find who he was looking for, so he decided to head back, "I'm already behind schedule, this will delay me even further, should I just transition to plan B?" He asked himself.
"Hiss," A familiar voice interrupted his train of thought, and Mr. Valen, in sudden glee, turned to look—his gaze landing on a pale guy with a purple handkerchief in his pocket.
It was his plug, looming at the entrance of an alley.
Walking up to him, Mr. Valen sighed his expression still, as he greeted, "hey."
"Yo, looking good brother," the Plug responded, his dull brown eyes sparkling slightly as he ranted, "Have I got a deal for you mate-"
"Hold on,' Mr. Valen cut in, his tone bleak. 'This time, I have a deal for you.'"
"What?" The Plug muttered in confusion, his pupils dilating as he asked, "the fuck you talking about man?"
Noticing how quickly the man's body language became confrontational, Mr. Valen raised a brow.
"He's intoxicated," he thought, his tone and expression changing to one of fear, as he looked around, "I'm in deep trouble, man."
A sober person would have found his abrupt shift in expression strange, but The Plug was anything but sober; instead, he had a very peculiar reaction.
"W-what is it, the cops? You called the fucking cops on me?" The Plug jumped to conclusions, walking deeper into the alleyway as he retrieved a small pistol from his hoodie, pointing it oddly at Mr. Valen.
His gun handling was odd—the way he bent his hands as he spat, "Get the fuck away from me, fucking snitch."
Shit, calm down, bro," Mr. Valen said, raising his hands, crouching slightly as his eyes shook. "I-I'm in trouble with the Brotherhood. I need protection."
"And why in fuck's name should i help-"
"I have money," Mr. Valen said while retrieving a few hundred Vall bills from his pocket, totaling about six to eight hundred Valls.
"Shit," he Plug muttered. "You could've said that from the beginning, man." He walked closer, snatching the funds from Mr. Valen.
"Come with me," he said, not even bothering to ask questions—partly influenced by the fact that Mr. Valen was well-known in the area.
As he followed, Mr. Valen's face transitioned from fear and worry to one of utter blankness.
'That went much smoother than expected. At least I didn't have to force him. But I'd better reinforce.' Mr. Valen thought this before saying, his tone sincere but his expression blank, "I really appreciate you doing this for me, bro."
"No problem man, just know that protection ain't free," The Plug chuckled.
From behind, Mr. Valen followed The Plug, observing him as they passed through twists and turns, back road upon back road, his expression blank.
«Phil Turner, twenty-nine. Never finished high school, drifted into bad company, eventually landed with the Magentas. Surprisingly, both parents are still alive, living modestly in District Twenty—not estranged, but clearly distant. Despite his affiliation, he's never committed murder. Drug distribution has been his primary role, likely due to a lack of conviction for real violence. Given his personality and the fact that we have history, I calculated that he would not shoot. You honestly did not think I'd allow someone unpredictable to aim a weapon at me, did you?»