Chapter 12

  A man walked in, sharply dressed in business clothes, making a beeline for the counter to order himself some food without paying any mind to any of the people present in the diner, which were not a great deal many at this hour in the afternoon. Michael noticed that the man’s watch must cost more than his entire life was worth.

  But that was not what had given him pause. No, it was the faint aura of magic that he could clearly see surrounding the man when he observed him with [Mana Sense]. After an entire day spent trying to see if there were other people with magic, he had almost given up, almost allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief thinking that perhaps magic had yet to spread across the world. Now, seeing the feeble yet very present aura around the man, he knew it was not the case.

  “Although, his aura is different than mine. Weaker, and it feels as if it’s been there for a long time, almost like the magic in the air far from the dungeon.”

  It was hard to tell, as it was more like a feeling or a hunch and not real data. Michael wondered if his own mana pool would become like this if he ever stopped going back to the dungeon, a finite resource, a stagnant pond with no intake river.

  Compared to the man, Michael’s aura was vibrant and energetic, flowing and ebbing according to strange rules he did not comprehend, and his mana was always no more than a few days old.

  He pretended to ignore the man, giving him no more than a few looks. The man had clearly not noticed him, either because he was unable to or because he was simply that good of an actor that Michael could not tell, but unless he made the first move Michael was more than content to pretend that he knew nothing about magic at all.

  He ordered another cup of coffee for himself, knowing that he could cleanse the ill effects with his healing skill once the caffeine entered his bloodstream. When it arrived, and Michael was sure that nothing was amiss, he pulled out his phone and began to make some searches.

  He was feeling paranoid, having seen the first tangible proof of magic users in the world at large. He searched the internet for mentions of magic and the dungeon, not for the first time. Last time he had checked, he had found no real news about anything out of the ordinary save for some clearly bogus articles by some not very trustworthy websites. Even now, at a surface level there seemed to be nothing, but what if those bogus articles weren’t bogus after all? He had to make sure.

  Slowly he began to see a faint trail of information he could follow. Nothing much, muddied waters filled with conspiracies about Occult Affairs and the CIA. There seemed to be a black site where people with powers were being experimented on, and Area 51 really was a container for magical threats.

  The Trail was mentioned here and there. It had become marginally relevant for a brief window of time around fifteen months ago, and after a couple months all news about it had disappeared once again, as if it had been nothing but a fluke. Despite this, strange forums and message boards were documenting that something was going on with the world, and that some people were acting strange.

  Signs of magic, perhaps? It was not exactly easy to trust pixelated YouTube videos, or shaky camera footage recorded from a CCTV network, but coincidences and strange things were piling up quickly. Europe, Africa, Japan, China. United States. It seemed that every part of the world was involved, and not just the area around the Trail where Michael had found the dungeon. There was a guy in Australia who claimed to be able to do nasty things with poisons and blood.

  Another claimed to be able to make perpetual motion machines that extracted energy from strange gems that never ran out of power.

  Michael began to suspect that perhaps the dungeon had more than one entrance.

  A 4chan thread talked about these powers in more detail, despite most of the replies mocking the original poster as a poser trying to roleplay on the wrong board. Michael had his doubts that the guy was trolling the users of the forum, though, since the way he talked about his alleged powers was strangely similar to how skills and magic worked for him, if not with some flavor differences.

  It was not definitive proof by any means, but it was too much to ignore.

  Back at the pawn shop, Michael found Old Dave waiting for him in the parking lot. The heat was only barely giving way to the cooler temperatures of the night, even though the asphalt below their feet was still scalding hot after being under the sun the whole day. The light was dim, and being face to face with Old Dave really hammered home just how tall the man was, considering his age and wrinkles.

  He towered over Michael, who was not a short person by any means, but a quick look below his clothing revealed that he was thin, muscles taut but loosed by age, and his skin was stretched and folded. Most of his strength had left him long ago, leaving behind a powerful frame without the power.

  They drove, taking Old Dave’s car to the club, and it was during the short drive that the old man gave his last instructions. “I know it’s not much, but it’s your first job. You’re there mostly to learn. Simple bouncer duty. The disco is quite tame, compared to others, so you can just stand there and look menacing. You need to learn the skill, how to exude presence, you understand? I’ll be watching you and don’t worry, once you get some practice with it, I’ll move you to more profitable jobs. Sounds good?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Perfect. I like the look on your face. Five, ten nights tops and you’ll be a natural. Then you’ll tell me if you want to work where it’s real fun. For now, just go there and be vigilant, break up fights and stop people from shooting too much stuff up their veins if you can help it. That’s it. If there’s a brawl and you can stop it without hurting people too much, there’s extra, but I wouldn’t count on your nerves just yet. Remember that there are other more experienced bouncers as well, if you don’t feel up to it, just call them. Although… you need to show some spine. You get it.”

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  They parked on the private lot behind the club, after which Old Dave showed him the back entrance. “Now, go change, do your job, and there will be a car taking you home when the club closes. I’ll see you at the pawn shop tomorrow with the cash. Remember, I am watching you.”

  ***

  “These sofas really are something else,” Old Dave said, drink in hand, as he lounged on the plush seat in the private area of the second floor of the club. The owner was there with him, buttering him up with free drinks like most other small-time business owners tended to do when they found out who he was.

  “Indeed, only the finest in the VIP section. People who pay should get all the benefits they deserve.”

  Old Dave hummed noncommittally. While what the owner said was true, people were going to splurge fifty bucks for VIP seats and tables only when the VIP service was worth the money and effort. Here it was not the case, and he doubted it ever would be. He shook his head. For a moment, he wished old times could come back. If he could see himself in a mirror now, the frown on his face would match the cruelty of his past, except this time it was not directed at some poor idiot who was going to have his bones broken, but at himself.

  If the David of the past could see the old man he had become, it would beat his sorry ass and probably kill him. He knew he was reduced, living in memory and pretending he still mattered.

  He looked below. The dance floor was minuscule, and the stage was an affront to basic building codes. On the far wall, a miserly LED wall failed to breach the dark atmosphere, half of it not even working properly and flickering constantly. The smoke and lights were barbaric. The music was decent, but the speakers were awful.

  Clubs were profitable, and Old Dave—not David—needed still to feel like he was doing something that mattered, and this was it.

  Besides. He surely must be wrong in his assumptions, he thought as he looked around, seeing just how many upstart youngsters were sitting in the VIP lounge surrounded by pretty, dolled-up girls, doing nothing at all. Some of them were feeling each other up, but this was not the place nor the time to do anything more than touch some skin and clothes, and drink overly expensive cocktails.

  Perhaps Old Dave was being too harsh with this place, with himself. Perhaps his mind state was addled, down the spiral it often took these last years. Twilight years of his life, when scars and bones ached and the body did not work properly anymore. The owner of the club was staring at him now, puzzled by his silence, but Old Dave did not care. He leaned on the railing.

  That’s when his eyes scanned the room in search of his new bouncer boy. Michael was one na?ve fool, green despite being 25 years of age. Heck, Old Dave had been much wiser about the ways of the world before he was even a teen. For a moment, he envied the upbringing the young boy must have had, but then he remembered that people who live good lives don’t end up as shady bouncers working for washed-up losers who still thought they mattered in life.

  But then again, it had been him who had offered the young fool the job. While David in his prime had been savage and—some would say—evil, Old Dave in his twilight years had mellowed out a lot. Some could say he was even grandfatherly, although those very same people would be hard pressed to say it to his face even in his diminished old form.

  He had seen something in Michael, an eagerness to change things, as if his naivete was being slowly but surely eroded away by a harsh new reality imposed onto him by outside factors. A mirror of Old Dave. He was sure, perhaps arrogantly so, that he could help polish the kid up to be a real gem one day, for he did seem to have potential despite being a late bloomer.

  Right now he was standing there, scanning the crowd with unusual intensity and none of the boredom or tiredness Old Dave assumed he would see on his face after three hours of booming music. Instead, the kid was studying everyone carefully: assessing, profiling, memorizing.

  He could see it in his eyes, the way they shone whenever he saw something interesting, that he was aching for some action. Truly, if squinted hard enough, the boy was a mirror of an alternate version of young Old Dave, of a David who never was.

  This could be a win-win for both of them, he decided, each getting what they wanted from the other. He only needed to see if the kid could be trusted. Old Dave, despite his mellowing, had not grown soft to the point he had become an idiot.”

  “Your new kid. He’s pretty decent,” said the owner after a while, following his gaze.

  Old Dave wanted to snicker at him, laugh at his pathetic attempts at becoming relevant, but then stopped himself. By virtue of simply being here, he himself had given the man confidence enough to feel important, if only for a night.

  “Picked him up from the street. I’m hoping I can avoid him turning into a delinquent, if I can.”

  The owner laughed. “You truly have a soft spot for the wretched and the hopeless, don’t you? How can you even handle a pawn shop, robbing people of their cherished possessions for mere pennies?”

  Old Dave shrugged. “That is business. You don’t know me well, do you?”

  The owner made a face, knowing he had overstepped. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “You should watch your tongue. That kid? He’s decent, he’s handling it well. Not that there’s much challenge in a dump like this place.”

  “Excuse me?” the owner said, alcohol riling him up.

  “Speaking of,” Old Dave continued as if the other man had said nothing, and his voice was clearly audible even with the loud music, “tonight was a freebie because I needed to test the water with the kid at your expense. Next time I want payment.”

  “Payment? For what?” the owner asked, now truly riled up.

  “Listen,” Old Dave turned to face him, staring at him in the eye with an intensity that made the man shrink in his seat, “this place is a dump, there’s no way it can take off on its own. Not only is it in the middle of nowhere, but people can barely even dance down there. I saw you had them wait in the parking lot while your men fumbled to let them in, you damn moron. Is this how y’all do things in this day and age?”

  The owner shrugged. “I work with what I have, man. The bar’s working overtime, guest list is amazing, the DJ rocks, what else do I need? So what if they are made to wait in the parking lot? It’s summer, they can deal with it.”

  Old Dave sighed. “Who helped you secure the DJ? And the guests? Who brought them here? And who hired the extra barista you got there? Mmh? The hot one, by the way, who’s selling twice the drinks as the other one because all the drunk guys hit on her. Who did all that?”

  “You did…”

  “Damn right I did,” replied Old Dave, but at that moment, the euphoria of being important did not come. It eluded him, a shadow of his past. Why was he even trying? What did it matter?

  The owner said nothing, but Old Dave could easily see that he was displeased and wanted to say more.

  “That’s it,” he thought, “no more working with morons. I already have enough on my plate as it is. Carmela is coming from Italy in a few days, and I need someone to pick her up from the airport. Perhaps the kid could do it? Well, I would need to test him first, let’s see…”

  He pulled his phone and sent a text message. Normally he would have waited before testing Michael, as they had barely even met two times and only for a brief window of time, but he did not feel like waiting. If it all went to shit, too bad, then he would have to look for a new recruit. But if it went well? It would mean that this Michael had potential, and Old Dave could start to polish him a little bit.