108 REWIND
It was late afternoon when the elderly man stepped into the newly opened detective firm of Strong and West. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped his worn hat.
"Are you detectives? Please… help us."
Lander came forward, his expression calm but alert. "What's wrong, old man? How can we help you?"
The man sat down as Dorin offered him a glass of water. "My name is Rohja Wiez. I've lived in this neighborhood all my life. It's a rough area—I've seen my share of trouble. People go missing sometimes… but this time, it's different. This is something else entirely."
"What do you mean?" Lander asked.
Rohja's voice shook as he spoke. "My neighbors, my friends—they all disappeared in a single night. Around us, hundreds of people are gone. No bodies, no signs of struggle. They just… vanished into thin air. Whole families, gone. They left everything behind. None of it makes sense."
Lander and Dorin exchanged glances.
"Alright," Lander said finally. "We'll take your case."
"Then come with me," Rohja said.
Dorin stayed behind to mind the opening party, while Lander and Damen followed the old man out into the cold streets of Melrose City.
They walked deep into the slums, where narrow alleys smelled of rust and rain. Rohja led them to a dilapidated two-story house.
"So, everyone in this house disappeared?" Damen asked.
"Yes," Rohja said. "A family of eight—father, mother, three sons, three daughters. All gone in one night."
Lander stepped inside.
Dust hung in the air, and the faint smell of burnt oil lingered. The furniture was untouched. Dishes were still neatly stacked. Nothing had been ransacked.
The locks on the doors weren't tempered with. This wasn't a burglary.
"You're sure there was no sign of struggle here?" Lander asked.
"I'm certain. I spoke to them the day before it happened. They invited me for dinner, even. But the next morning, they were gone."
Lander pulled a small handheld scanner from his coat and began sweeping the room. The device hummed softly. After a moment, faint readings appeared on their display.
"Lingering meta particles," he said quietly. "Were they meta-humans, those who disappeared?"
Rohja frowned. "No. They were ordinary folk."
While Lander examined the readings, Damen toggled his Vision Connect and scanned the house. His eyes flickered faint blue as data overlays filled his view—jug, table, bed, vase etc.
Most of it was normal. But then, something caught his eye—a pamphlet under a nearby table.
He picked it up. The faded cover read: The Church of Rejuvenation.
"Did they go here?" Damen asked.
Rohja nodded slowly. "Yes. They were devout followers. They asked me to come with them once or twice, but I'm too old for faith."
Lander turned the pamphlet over in his hands. "The Church of Rejuvenation…" He looked up, meeting Damen's eyes. "Perhaps this is where our trail begins."
-----
Damen left the detective work to Lander.
It was his business now, not Damen's.
He walked back toward the office alone, hands in his pockets, threading through the maze of alleys that cut through Melrose's lower slums. The streets here were chaos—with broken lights flickering, and rats scurrying through puddles that shimmered with oil.
Without Rohja as a guide, he quickly realized he'd lost his way.
"Damn it, how can I get lost?" he complained.
Even his navigation app doesn't work in the slums.
He passed a row of abandoned buildings, their windows hollow and black. That was when the air split—
a flash of silver light streaked toward him.
Damen moved instinctively, twisting aside.
It was a weapon- a blade.
The blade missed his throat by inches, sparking against the wall beside him.
When he straightened, she was already there—
a woman in dark brown garb, her face half-hidden by a polished-steel mask. Her curved blade caught the broken streetlight and sent a thin line of reflected light dancing across the alley.
"You're quick," she said coolly. "No wonder they'd spend a million aur on your head."
Damen let a smirk pull at one corner of his mouth as he dusted an imaginary mote from his coat. "So… you're the killer from the Order of Black Cocks?"
"Black Cockerel," she corrected, her voice as sharp as the blade.
"It's the same thing," Damen said, his grin widening.
He remembered the Six O'Clock Diner—Shawn Zetheris had put a bounty on him. One million aur. For weeks, nothing had moved.
He'd almost begun to think the hit was off.
But now the order had finally served.
"I knew your kind would show up eventually," Damen said, loosening his stance. "What took you so long?"
"For a while you were hiding well," she replied. "You made it difficult for us to track. But here you are—alone, wandering through the slums. A perfect opportunity to finish the contract."
Her blade shimmered again—this time it left a faint trail of meta-energy, like heat haze.
Damen's eyes flickered as Vision Connect activated.
"All right," he said quietly. "Let's see what a million aur buys these days."
Name: Rewind IX
Strength Rank: C Meta Rank: E
Strength: 336 | Charm: 25 | Meta: 96 | Command: 95
"Rewind IX, eh," Damen muttered.
"How do you know my alias?" Rewind asked, surprised and irritated.
She moved first—faster than common men, a blur of brown cloth and a curved blade. Her strength outclassed many, and even if her meta rank was only E, her strikes carried the weight of practiced power.
Damen dodged the first flash of steel by an inch.
Although she was stronger than him in Strength meta, he was imbued with blue blood; power and instincts the cursed vein supplied pulsed at the edges of his senses.
It wasn't raw power that kept him safe — it was the reflexes the blood sharpened.
"This could be the only time I'm thankful for the cursed blood", he thought.
Rewind flashed again, with a staccato of strikes.
Her curved blade was signature and, at first glance, the sum of her tricks. Damen slipped between her attacks, his movements clean and efficient.
"How can you be so fast? You anticipated my every strike," she spit, anger making her words hard-edged.
"I trained with the best simulators," Damen said, his voice flat. "You're still too slow for me."
Fury flared across her hidden face. "If I don't show you my real skill, you won't die easily."
"Real skill? What is that?" Damen asked curiously.
She struck again. Damen evaded again.
In the same breath, Rewind IX vanished—only to reappear where she had been a heartbeat before—and struck again.
This time the blade found Damen's shoulder.
Pain flared, hot and immediate.
"What the hell was that? How the hell did you hit me? I was certain I dodged that strike," Damen grunted, tasting blood at the corner of his mouth.
"They don't call me Rewind for nothing," she said, her breath ragged with effort and triumph.
"I can rewind a move by a few seconds—return to a previous position to correct my course."