The man who was sitting on the dark, lightly weathered wooden bench in front of the off-white brick wall sighed and tapped his brown, matte leather boots on the floor. He looked around with analytical yet impatient eyes before reaching into his left chest pocket.
Click.
A classy half-hunter pocket watch that had a rather large transparent section clicked open. The watch's inner workings were intricate with many gears, cogs and other mechanical parts. A detailed design was engraved into the lid and back of the pocket watch, which was golden in color.
The man, after pulling out the pocket watch attached to his suit by a chain of the same golden color, checked the watch. The watch's hands ticked periodically. There were oddly no numbers or letters or any type of symbol inside the watch that the hands could point to.
Click.
The man shut the the lid of the watch and put it in the pocket he took it out from, before standing up and extending his hand towards a bronze coat hanger, retrieving his black trench coat. He pushed open a wooden door strengthened by metal and walked out with purpose. The elegant rustle of his coat and the rhythmic tapping of his firm steps were heard clearly. The hall was lit dimly by the lanterns placed on the carved protrusions on the wall. A wooden tile creaked as he stepped on it, his leather boots creasing with each movement. Before stopping momentarily before a large door, he straightened his coat and took a deep breath.
The man pushed open another, bigger door reinforced with even more metal and detailed engravings. The muffled and loud sound of a crowd resounded out quite familiarly all across the conference hall.
A passerby with a simple and trimmed mustache recognized him. He spoke politely, as he put his fedora hat on his chest and bowed slightly.
"Nice to see you again, Lieutenant Blackwell."
The man nodded his head swiftly as a response, his face showing intent as he continued walking toward the elevated platform at the other end of the conference hall. The conference hall was huge; the ceiling stretched high, and the hall rose with simple wooden chairs of the tiered structure surrounding the stage. The large entrance now facing the man's back split the audience into two sections.
Yellow light illuminated the conference hall just enough; this was the headquarters of the union's branch in the city and electricity could actually be supplied to important buildings like this one, though still limited. The rectangular electrical lights were only on the ceiling, lanterns were still placed on the amphitheater. The lectern and the table were next to each other on the very front of the elevated stage. On top the table rested a single unlit gas lamp, which seemingly lacked the part that normally stored the fuel.
The man reached the tiny flight of stairs leading up to the stage and stepped on the first stair, before extending his other leg to cover two stairs at a time, reaching the elevated floor of the stage. He walked towards the wooden wall. His hand pushed into the wall, revealing a secret door that simply looked like part of the wall from afar.
He didn't waste any time and stated his name and position, but odds were, everyone inside of there already knew of him or had at least heard of him before.
"Lieutenant Charles Blackwell, currently acting as Captain instead of the vanished Marco Wendelson."
A man with wavy, middle length and brown hair who was sitting on a chair with a small desk next to him spoke as he shot a glance at the other two open doors behind him. The space was quite cramped.
"Hey, it's him! We were expecting you… You don't have to be so dramatic with the entrance and all. So, let me get straight to the point. Any news on Captain Wendelson?"
Said the officer currently on duty. He wore a dark blue shirt and a vest, the vest a deep, rich and darker shade of blue. His trousers of matching color, black shoes and most importantly, the emblem of the organization strapped to his belt completed the standard officer outfit.
Charles took his black trench coat off and hung it on the coat rack mounted to the wall, which was made out of dark, polished wood.
"Looks like he's nowhere to he found…"
The officer chuckled then reached into his pocket, pulling out an ever so slightly yellowed pack of cigarettes. He took one out.
Charles's eyes were scanning the room leisurely as he caught sight of the man holding an unique, rather short, dark and shiny blade. A momentary flash of ember light brightly lit up the entire room as the cigarette was lit.
When the officer realized Charles was staring at him, he stopped for a moment and his lips bobbed up and down before he extended the pack of cigarettes to Charles.
"…"
You want one?"
"Oh, that?…"
Charles quickly regained his wits as answered.
"I'd appreciate it." He nodded with a thoughtful yet thankful smile.
Charles squinted his eyes for a split moment when he saw the brand on the pack of cigarettes. It said Kaeron Darkleaf Tobacco Company. Kaeron was the capital, famous for its industrially advanced infrastructure and liveliness. He half reluctantly took out a cigarette from the pack and placed it in his mouth.
"You want me to light it?"
Charles simply bent down slightly and the officer gripped his unique blade, before the tip of the blade heated up and became red hot, the flame condensing. That sudden, same flash of ember light lit up the room brightly as the lantern on the desk flickered. The dense and smooth flame went out quickly as the cigarette was lit and the lantern flickered again. Charles took the seat opposite from the officer.
"Oh, if it's not a problem, mind telling me your name, officer?"
"Officer Matteo Perseus, reporting for duty. Nice to officially meet you. I was transferred here from the branch of the organization in the capital. Been working for the corps…
No, the union for 2 years. Sorry about the mix-up. I really did use to work for the corps…"
Charles puffed the smoke from the cigarette as he looked at the floor.
"Is that so…"
Charles put his hand with the cigarette on the desk next to him and tilted his head while looking somewhat suspicious of something.
"I don't I've ever heard of such a thing happening… Would the corps really let someone join us, the Protection of National Peace and Welfare Organization, just like that? As far as my knowledge goes, we don't exactly get along….
"Ah, well… What should I call you,
Mr. Blackwell? Captain or Lieutenant?"
He doesn't seem want to talk about his transfer…
"I'd prefer Captain, Officer Perseus. I won't force you if you don't want to."
"Okay… Captain Blackwell. If I had to summarize what happened with my transfer, it didn't go the smoothest."
They both turned their heads back to the open door of the room on the left, where a silhouette of a tall man stood, fixing his brown-beige jacket. The man spoke in a confident yet friendly voice.
"Alright gentlemen, that's enough chatting. Follow me to the stage. The conference is starting and in case you two didn't know, we're the ones speaking."
Matteo had already finished his cigarette and stood up, before looking at Charles, who pressed the charred tip of the cigarette into the ashtray before standing up himself and reaching into his left chest pocket.
Charles pulled out his pocket watch again and snapped the lid open. Many gears and cogs were working tirelessly to maintain the rhythmic ticking of the hands that didn't show the time. Truth was, they never quite did.