The First Age

Scion Marveet
PPC



The smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes brought Scion back to his younger days. There was a time when the stoic patriarch of the Marveet empire tuned his own car. A man took a certain sense of pride of caring for his own property whether that property surrounded an engine block or if it were factories sprawling a dozen city streets.

Angel Taxi was a smaller venture in comparison to the world-wide behemoths beneath his name. Yet the company needed care and comfort just as any other. Tonight he strolled into one of several garages in Moscow. Angel was not the largest of its kind in the city, but it was useful. The thing that made Angel Taxi special was their discretion. They saved people in trouble, 'guardians' the drivers liked to joke, but only if they could afford to be saved. Personal angels weren't free.

Two important details led Scion to come to this particular garage on an otherwise fine evening. The hood of the car came into view - that of a Koenigsegg Agera, black with green bio-luminescent stripes - the car his son was driving when he disappeared. Positioned in the middle of the garage, surrounded by Angel Taxis - marked and otherwise - it waited for him.

Scion let his fingers graze the curve of the hood toward the driver's side door. The warmth of his skin left comet trails behind in the touch-sensitive paint. There were finger prints taken from inside this vehicle, but they were inconclusive. The human for whom they belonged did not exist in any network in the world, or so he was told. She existed, that was enough of a lead for Scion Marveet. He opened the driver's side door and imagined his rebellious son lowering onto supple leather seat, anxious to rip out of the city.

The second detail that brought Scion Marveet here this night was presented to him next. Three sets of footsteps shuffled across the cement floors. He let the weight of the door swing open as he turned to gaze upon the man charged with watching his youngest son the night he disappeared. Three months ago.

Scion clasped his hands behind his back, studying the man's face. "Your neck has healed?" He asked of the man. He balked, so Scion explained. "You were shot with a sedative, were you not?" The man grew visibly defensive. The two employees of Scion's whom escorted this man into his presence stepped aside, opening space up between them.

"Yes sir. I said before, many times. To your people, and to these... men." He replied carefully, but not so much as to hide the seething from his voice.

Scion considered a moment. "Now you will tell me."

The man explained the girl that he caught by surprise by Jaxen's car. He described her appearance and everything going dark. He'd hit his head, he'd discovered upon waking, and that he'd called in the event as soon as his mind cleared.

"As soon as your mind cleared? You caught an armed woman breaking into my youngest son's car on the night he disappeared and you called it in as soon as your mind cleared." Expression hardening, Scion's gaze flicked to the pair that escorted this man in here tonight. They stepped aside. Scion never entertained excuses.

Scion snagged the man's shirt in one balled up fist and with the other laid into his scrunched up face. He'd thought he'd left these days behind him, from the years he spent changing his own engine oil, but pride had new roles to play in his life. The man spun beneath the punches, but when Scion trapped his elbow behind him, the arm snapped with a little effort. The man screamed with satisfactory pain, but Jaxen remained unaccounted for, screaming did not bring him back. He brought the man back to his feet and hurled him toward the car. The dent in the three-million dollar Agera was nothing to Scion. No amount of money could replace his youngest child or soothe the nerves of his mother. Thick, trunk-like legs sent Scion's knee into the man's gut where he crumpled in front of the driver's seat, positioned between the car and the open door. Scion fisted his hair and sent that same knee up his nose. He fell back, limp and clutching his face with one hand. Scion stepped forward and slammed the car door into his skull.

Over. And over again. Until the door closed and the body fell away.

He stepped away, pulling a pocket square from his coat and wiping the sweat from his brow, spit from his mouth, and muck from his hands. He dropped it and one of his men offered theirs with which he wrapped knuckles weeping their slow welling of blood.

"What have you found out about the girl?" He asked, leaving the Agera and dead valet behind.

"She flew into Moscow air port on a ticket from the United States last summer. Your friends in government security services have facial matches from a number of different venues, most of them down town. There is a known acquaintance. Some young artist. We'll be speaking with that one next."

Scion nodded. Progress at last.



Continued at Shadows for the shy


Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Apr 19 2015, 11:27 AM.