"What is up with this grime, it's disgusting," Mr. Valen grumbled, goosebumps lining his skin as the smell of piss assaulted his nostrils.
His mind had cleared up—hardly so, but still evident. He felt caged, not just in this horrid building but by his own mind.
'I need a smoke,' Mr. Valen thought as he looked around. He was in a bathroom, urinals on the left wall, while toilet stalls lined the right.
By now he was about done, so he picked up his cleaning supplies, washed them in a sink, and kept them in the corner of the bathroom.
"That's the last of that," Mr. Valen muttered as he discarded his gloves, frowning as he observed the time, it was six thirty two, way past his closing time by four.
"Why do I have to do Sebastian's share of the cleaning? It's not like they let me clean the level one room," Mr. Valen grumbled.
He had a level zero clearance card meaning he was only allowed in the basic containment vaults housing Skilion corpses and genetic material.
«I would really love to see a Skilion one day. I've never seen their appearance; I heard they can become real beasts.»
Letting out a sigh, Mr. Valen left the bathroom and walked into the main hallway, his steps echoing throughout the path.
It was then that he felt a chill run down his spine-
"Hey, maintenance boy, a voice suddenly yelled out behind him, its tone commanding, almost bratty.
Turning back, Mr. Valen frowned, but the look in his eyes quickly turned into one of fear and respect as he took a step back.
A pair of green eyes was locked on him, like a predator seizing its prey; those eyes—they weren't just green, but glowing green, possessing a visible luminescence that defied logic.
Only a single class of people possessed such eyes, it was a Witch.
"Tap!"
"Tap!"
"Tap!"
The sound of her heels echoed throughout the halls, her presence like a flickering flame.
"Hey, maintenance boy, I'm talking to you," the woman before him spoke, but Mr. Valen once again was lost in his own world, observing her.
«Ash blonde hair, and an unforgettable eye color, but other than that she doesn't differ much from any other human.»
She was, cloaked in an obsidian coat that shimmered green beneath shifting light.
Glowing emerald runes traced her cuffs and collar, pulsing faintly with each breath, the logo of the Eagle alliance: a majestic Eagle was imprinted behind her garb something he barely caught as her coat swayed.
A high-collared undersuit hugged her frame, armored with sleek, hexagonal plates that pulsed like magic.
One gloved hand bore a glowing sigil, once again being the mark of the Eagle alliance, a symbol of her craft, and there was a badge on her coat, one that bore the number Forty-Two.
She was a Witch, alright, a full-fledged green-eyed Witch affiliated with the Viper Family of District Forty Two.
"Ouch," Mr. Valen groaned, abruptly shocked back to reality by a flick to his head. It burned a bit.
Looking at the woman before him, Mr. Valen noticed that he was a head taller than her, but that did not undermine how intimidating he found her.
"When I speak to you, you answer Do you understand, maintenance boy?" The green-eyed woman demanded.
"Yes, Miss," Mr. Valen quickly responded, his frame rigid as he avoided her gaze.
"I'm looking for my dad, Mr. Walter to you," she intoned her breath light as she added. "Lead me to him, but walk fast and make sure to keep your distance, you smell horrible."
Mr. Valen could feel the disgust dripping out of her voice, and yet he could not refute, he dared not to, he just moved.
To become a Witch was very difficult, even becoming one meant you were extraordinary.
First, you had to be of a certain IQ level to even be able to pass through the gates; how long you could stay before dying also depended on your IQ level.
And once you passed through the gates it wasn't guaranteed that you'd survive. Neither was it guaranteed that you'd turn into a Witch.
To put it into numbers, of a hundred people that pass through a permanent passageway, at most fifty would survive, and at most twenty would mutate and become Wizards or Witches, the rest would just become extremely paranoid, or become mentally unwell.
"It's here," Mr. Valen stopped at a certain door and gestured the green-eyed Witch to the door, which she opened without even regarding him.
With that, he moved quickly.
Checking his phone the time was already seven, he was late for his class meetup.
"Dumb Witch," he cursed as he practically ran into the locker room discarding his clothes and moving to his locker.
Upon reaching the thing, he discovered that it was open, which was an oddity that confused him greatly. "Did I leave it open?" He asked himself, but shrugged it off.
Changing his clothes he took his keys and his wallet, but upon opening it, he noticed that there was nothing inside.
It wasn't completely empty; his ID card was inside, but there was no money. Someone had taken all his money.
"It can't be," Mr. Valen muttered with an unnatural pause.
With widened eyes, he checked his locker hoping to god they didn't take anything else. "Where is it," he muttered to himself, his voice almost cracking in tears.
"Where the fuck is it," he screamed internally, but no matter where he looked he couldn't find it, it was gone, the ring he went through hell for was gone.
"Zzzz!"
His phone suddenly rang, and upon seeing the number he picked it up. "Hey babe," he spoke trying his best to mask the defeat in his voice.
"Where are you? Everyone is already here," she asked, her voice slightly drowned out by the sound of fancy music.
"I-I don't think I can make it," Mr. Valen said. He was intent on looking for the ring—he had been hit in the head because of it, for God's sake.
"Bang!" He hit a locker his breath heavy with frustration.
As though noting something, Lia, asked. "Why are you stuttering? What was that sound? You only stutter when something's wrong. Is something wrong?"
With every breath, one could sense the worry in her voice increase, and Mr. Valen sensed this, so he said. "I'm fine. You know what? I'll be there, bye."
He cut the call, not wanting her to see his weakness.
"I've had a fucking bad day," he said to himself as a tear leaked out from his cheek, it wasn't just the ring, it wasn't just the people around him, and yet it was.
He felt unwell, incompetent, incomplete, confused, and alone.
But then he remembered Lia, and his mood brightened ever so slightly.
"Are you a kid," Valen picked himself up, trying hard to stay positive, and he truly was trying.
Leaving the building, Mr. Valen flagged a Taxi, and got in, "This place," he said, showing the taxi driver the location his girl had sent him on his phone.
The taxi driver, seemingly surprised by something, gave him an odd look, which confused Valen a bit as they drove off.
It was a quiet ride, but his life would be damned if it chose to remain silent.
It was subtle.
His surroundings suddenly shifted, no more taxi, no more driver, but it wasn't what he expected, it wasn't a white room, it was the opposite.
Darkness so strange that it allowed sight but only in a limited capacity.
The smell of iron, no, it was a smell he was familiar with, he had smelled the same thing when Lexa slit Tom's throat, it was blood.
He looked down, at his immature hands, his otherwise white sleeve was soaked in blood, then he noticed something.
He was seated on something soft and hard at the same time. Slowly, he felt around with his fingers and grabbed something.
As soon as he grabbed a piece of whatever it was, a red light turned on, illuminating the room in the most cinematic way possible.
He could see, yet he wished he couldn't, he wished he had never been curious.
In his hand was a human head, a woman or once a woman, whom he held by her hair.
He was seated on a pile of corpses, he was seated on top of people, and yet he felt nothing.
That should be impossible, but it was the case.
It was so sudden, this sudden lack of emotion—of empathy, that Mr. Valen felt his eyes dull.
Then he heard a mechanical door open with a beep, a voice speaking in the distance. "His performance is better than the rest."
"As expected of subject one, he even cleaned up the room, dismembering and piling up the victims in his own little way, how cute."
"We're here," the head Mr. Valen was holding suddenly spoke spooking him until he heard it again and blinked.
"We're here," the Taxi driver called out again with an annoyed expression on his face.
"Sorry," Mr. Valen thought as he paid the man with the spare change he kept in his pocket. At least the thief hadn't gotten that.
Getting off, Mr. Valen, who hadn't been paying attention to the outside, felt his eyes widen; he suddenly realized why the taxi driver looked at him funny.
"Am I at the right place," he thought as he gazed at the building before him.