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At the end of Blackthorn street was a building even the Nighthawks didn’t dare enter unless absolutely necessary. It was strange; ordinary people entered and exited regularly—none of them could see the problem. That was because there wasn’t a problem, there was never a problem in the Abattoir.
But inevitably, there was a case filed—reports that trailed to the Abattoir. The crimson red moon shone high and brightly as a Nighthawk team was dispatched to investigate. And inevitably the Nighthawk team never returned.
And so the Backlund Cathedral was contacted, and the slaughterhouse was wiped from existence, all of its anomalies purged from daily life.
—
Klein Moretti had recently become an official Nighthawk and a seer.
This morning he had received a case to investigate, a child had been kidnapped. He was given a singular shoe that was all that was left behind of the child to perform his divination with.
He was forced to report to Captain that the divination received no result; it was interfered with.
As a Nighthawk, he now held a weekly wage higher than he could have ever known before.
It was mid-afternoon, he had just gotten off work. He decided to purchase some high quality meat for his sibling’s dinner that night—the Goddess would know what a luxury meat was for them.
He decided he would source his meat directly from its source, part of his keyboard warrior skills involved knowing how to theoretically prep meat. Besides, it was cheaper.
Strolling down an alleyway towards his destination, he noticed a hand reaching into his clearly full wallet.
He grasped his wallet before it was stolen and noticed a young boy with a crystal monocle on his right eye scampering off into the distance.
“How strange,” he thought. Since when was it in fashion for children to wear monocles? He brushed off the attempted theft by holding the wallet closer to his person and by keeping a more vigilant eye on his surroundings.
He continued walking and noticed droplets of water landing on his head. It was raining—how odd: that was not in his divination for today.
He pulled the brim of his top hat down towards his face and hurried forward, trying to escape the rain. His footsteps splashed against the puddles he couldn’t avoid. Unfortunately the bottom of his pants became wet.
But it didn’t hinder him, minutes passed and before he knew it, he had arrived.
—
The Nighthawk headquarters under the pseudonym Blackthorn Security Company had a telegram in one of its upper offices to ensure direct communication with headquarters.
As the sun was setting, it suddenly began letting out a beep. It’s various mechanical parts sprang to life, encoding a message directly from headquarters.
Bzt… Clatter Clatter Clatter, thud.
The telegram grew motionless. Half the message was sent.
Warning! Threat Level 0. Beware the——
Click.
—
The first thing Klein Moretti noticed at the brick building with two chimneys strangely silent for this hour was a broken window just beside the entrance. The glass shards were still covering parts of the sidewalk at the building’s front. It must’ve been recent.
He knocked, noting the sign posted on the door that it was still operational hours. He tried the door knob; it swung open.
The lights were off but he noted various animal corpses strung open on racks at the corner diagonal from him.
He called out: “Is anyone here?! Can I make a purchase?”
He heard footsteps approaching from another room. He turned, there was an adult, scruffy man with a crystal monocle adorned on his right eye. He waved.
“Welcome in, what product are you seeking?”
Klein thought for a moment: “Do you have any pork?”
The butcher nodded, he gestured towards the racks by the side. “Would you care to pursue our selection?”
“Of course.”
Klein moved to follow the man but he noticed, hiding behind a pillar, the same boy who tried to steal his wallet on the way here. He thought to confront the child but decided against it, choosing to instead worry about his siblings' dinner tonight. Perhaps in his conversation with the man he could bring up the attempted theft and ask him to instruct his child better.
He didn’t notice the man suddenly give a bright smile or his monocle suddenly gleam. They had arrived at the racks. The pork looked, unlike the pig anatomy he knew. Perhaps it was due to the differences between their worlds.
The butcher began enthusiastically pointing out the differences in the meat between each rack. He gestured to one that looked fresh.
“This one was a piglet when we acquired it just this morning—some people prefer more lean, younger meat. I’d buy it now while it’s still fresh.”
Klein nodded, seriously considering his options. He decided to choose the best one with a subtle divination. He grasped his cane, subtly letting go to have the dowsing rod point to the best pair of meat.
His cane didn’t move.
He turned around and saw the man holding a pair of bright red roses. He extended them to Klein.
“If you cook your meat with them it will have a better fragrance and taste.”
Klein carefully accepted the gift.
“Thank you.”
He was still stumped by the mystery of his failed divination. He turned back around, part of him still deliberating which selection of pork he should order.
As he looked back, he froze, he had noticed within one of the holes in the corner a shoe. The shoe was at a size only a child could possibly fit in.
It was the other pair to the shoe he had used for divination just that morning.
He spun around to see the man sitting on a chair some distance away from him, sharpening a butcher knife against a whetstone. He immediately reached beneath his coat to grab his gun but found himself frozen, unable to move.
He could speak though.
“What’s going on?!”
He heard the man gently sigh, shaking his head. “You know what you did.”
What did he do? Klein thought and thought but he couldn’t think of anything he could’ve done to offend such a man—Hell he hadn't even seen anyone who resembled him before in his life! He cried out, desperately.
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!”
The butcher shook his head, laughing, still causally seated. He set the whetstone down.
Klein blinked, and then saw the world spin black.
——
He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, but when he awoke, he was laying on his back staring at a brick dusty ceiling. He noted the crimson moon shining through a giant circular window directly onto him. Somewhere outside he heard rain pounding against the walls and windows. Some of the droplets came through the broken window and into the room—forming a slowly growing puddle that was approaching where he lay.
His limbs were spread out in the anatomical position and tied to the ground with a sturdy rope.
He struggled against the ropes, he tried to scream, but failed. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak.
He looked around. He noticed himself surrounded by countless identical young men with black eyes and curly black hair. They all had a broad forehead, a thin face, and a crystal monocle adorned on their right eye.
He heard them begin singing—it was some ancient language, most likely an older dialect of ancient hermes.
He could make out an honorific name being chanted. It started with the lines that he could roughly translate to: “The Lord that created everything.” Unfortunately, he didn’t have a high enough clearance level to know which evil deity that referred to.
He heard the ancient chorus reach its climax, the group all harmonizing in a single song.
“Presgard di—“
He felt a knife enter his heart as the final word was said.
His vision blackened. He was dead.
His wallet was fished out of his pocket and the cash was distributed amongst the circle. His clothes were strewn around, discarded carelessly to be cleaned up later. His body was dissected in its entirety, to be hung up on another rack.
Another Nighthawk had died in the Abattoir.