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+--- Thread: Hooked (closed) (/thread-1721.html)
Hooked (closed) - Jaxen Marveet - 01-03-2025
He’d been in a kind of fog ever since the House Party. Not the harmless, dreamy sort of fog either, but the thick, clinging kind that makes you forget what day it is or why you even got out of bed.
The nights blurred together, slipping through his fingers like water. Entire evenings spent hunched over his desk, the glow of his screens the only light in the room. Voxel had never been so busy—chat rooms, dark-web auctions, forums he didn’t even remember signing into. He couldn’t recall much about those nights, only fragments: a Hello Kitty avatar, a snatch of distorted laughter, and a bid for something he didn’t understand. The Key.
When he finally emerged from his condo, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because his back had seized up from sitting too long, cramping hard enough to make him wince with every step. He thought about calling a masseuse—somebody to come and untangle the knots in his muscles—but the sites he found were full of yoga-speak and holistic garbage. He powered the screens off. No way was he letting some crystal-toting hippie touch him, at least unless it came with a happy ending.
Instead, he pulled on his leather jacket and left. It was cold on the streets of Moscow, but the chill woke him up, if only a little. The plan—if he could call it that—was to head to the parkour gym and sweat out whatever was twisting him up inside. But somewhere between the condo and the metro, his body stopped taking orders.
By the time he snapped out of it, he was standing on the docks, staring at a stretch of chain-link fence like it had dragged him there itself.
The docks smelled like rust, oil, and something sour that made Jaxen’s stomach churn. The Moskva River whispered to itself in the dark, slapping lazily against the pylons as if it didn’t care one bit about him or his problems. Overhead, the sky hung like a damp wool blanket, heavy and suffocating. It should have been quiet here—this was the kind of place where quiet ruled—but the air was alive with sounds: groaning metal, the faint hum of machinery, the occasional bark of voices muffled by distance.
He didn’t know why he was here.
He pulled out his Wallet to figure out where he was when he discovered a message glowing faintly.
Find the one who knows.
The words felt more like a whisper than a command. Like they’d crawled into his head through the cracks that had been forming ever since the party. Ever since the Emissary. Ever since he’d let—something—inside.
Jaxen shivered and tightened his scarf around his throat. He told himself it was because of the wind, but that was a lie. The cold out here was nothing compared to the icy knot twisting in his gut. He tried to focus, to think, but his thoughts slipped through his fingers like oil. It wasn’t just the gaps in his memory now—it was something else. Something bigger. Something inside.
A sound cut through the hum of the docks: footsteps, steady and deliberate, crunching against gravel. Jaxen turned, ready to seize the Ancient Power if needed.
The man who stepped out of the shadows was broad-shouldered, with a heavy coat that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade. The hood hung low over his face, casting it in darkness, but the mechanical arm glinted in the dim light. It wasn’t sleek or smooth; this was no cutting-edge prosthetic. It was jagged, brutal, all exposed pistons and scarred metal. The kind of thing that belonged in nightmares or bad war stories.
The man stopped a few paces away, close enough for Jaxen to see the faint puff of his breath in the cold air.
“Voxel,” the man said, his voice low and rough, like gravel grinding underfoot.
Jaxen blinked, his mind stuttering. That name. That arm. He’d heard stories in the kind of places where rumors grew like weeds, places where people got drunk enough to start talking too loud. Stories about The Hook.
Except The Hook was suppose to be bullshit.
“You’re shitting me,” Jaxen said, his voice thin. His pulse thumped loud in his ears.
The man chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter.
“Heard of me, huh? Good. Saves us time.”
“You can’t be for real?” Jaxen shook his head, trying to shake off the fog, the disorientation.
“Depends on who you ask,” the man said. He took a step closer, and the mechanical arm hissed faintly as it moved. Jaxen flinched before he could stop himself.
“You wipe your ass with that thing? Or did you learn to do it left-handed?”
The Hook tilted his head, his hood shifting just enough for Jaxen to catch the glint of sharp eyes beneath it.
“You want to find out?”
The joke had run its course by then. Jaxen shook his head.
The Hook snorted, and for a moment, Jaxen thought he might actually try to show him. But then the man’s face—or what Jaxen could see of it—hardened.
“You’ve been making noise, Voxel. Poking around where you shouldn’t. Bidding on things you don’t understand. Now you’re here, and I want to know why.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaxen said quickly. Too quickly.
The Hook didn’t answer. He just stared, and Jaxen felt like that stare was peeling him apart layer by layer, looking for the truth buried somewhere inside him.
“What do you want then? I doubt you’re my guardian angel.” Jaxen said, the words snapping out like a rubber band stretched too tight.
The Hook moved closer, and the dim light caught on the jagged lines of his arm, on the grease stains and scratches that told a story Jaxen didn’t want to know.
“It’s about what you need. And right now, I’d bet what you need is a way out of this mess you’ve wandered into.”
A sudden thought stirred then, a faint hum in the back of Jaxen’s skull. It wasn’t a voice—never a voice—but it was something else. A nudge. A shove. An instinct that was his, but wasn’t his.
“I’m looking for someone,” Jaxen said, the words slipping out before he could think better of them.
The Hook’s eyes narrowed. “Someone like who?”
Jaxen hesitated, but the thought pushed again. “Bode.”
The Hook didn’t move, didn’t blink. For a long moment, he just stared at Jaxen, and Jaxen wondered if he’d made a mistake saying the name. Then The Hook smiled, slow and sharp, like a knife dragging across skin.
“Bode,” he said, tasting the name like it was some exotic dish.
Jaxen’s chest tightened. “Do you know where they are?”
“No,” The Hook said. His smile didn’t falter. “But I know someone who will.”
“Who?”
The Hook’s grin widened, and the mechanical arm hissed faintly as he raised it. “Someone who doesn’t work for free.”
“What’s the price?” Jaxen asked, though he wasn’t sure if the question was his or not. He never really cared about money.
The Hook leaned in, his voice gritty with a rasp. “The kind you pay in blood, Voxel. You still interested?”
Jaxen didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. But somewhere deep inside, his thoughts stirred again, and the decision was already made.
To be continued...
[[The docks location is near a known entrance to the Undercity]]
RE: Hooked (closed) - Jaxen Marveet - 01-13-2025
The Hook led him to a wickedly suspicious drain system that connected to a hidden world he had never imagined. Only steps inside and the air was thick with dampness, each breath corrupted by the metallic scent of decay that made his nose wrinkle in disgust. Flickering lights cast erratic shadows, revealing glimpses of makeshift shelters and the wary eyes of those who called this subterranean labyrinth home.
When the rare, fleeting thought crossed his mind, he had always assumed that Moscow's wealth had eradicated homelessness, but the resourcefulness displayed here told a different story. The city's forgotten souls had carved out an existence beneath the opulence, creating a society that thrived on next to nothing.
The Hook's mechanical arm whirred softly, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in this forsaken place. Jaxen's senses were on high alert, and he questioned why he would spend an otherwise lovely night in the muck until a persistent pressure at the back of his mind urged him forward. He sighed in compliance.
After what felt like hours navigating the maze, they arrived at a chamber bathed in a sickly green glow. The space was a chaotic blend of dystopian decay and technological ingenuity. Ancient computer monitors flickered alongside vintage radio equipment, their screens displaying streams of indecipherable code. Cables snaked across the floor like digital serpents, and the air hummed with the low buzz of machinery. The heat from these machines mixed with the humidity, creating a sort of smog that almost choked the lungs to drink it in. Combined with the smell, Jaxen wanted to hurl.
In the center of the room stood a man, his back hunched over a cluttered workbench. He was older, perhaps in his late sixties, with a shock of uncut white hair that framed a face etched with the lines of a life lived in shadows. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing as he swiveled on an old chair to face them.
"Voxel," The Hook's voice cut through the ambient noise, "meet the Auctioneer."
The Auctioneer's gaze locked onto Jaxen, assessing, measuring. "I know you,” he said, his voice hoarse from decades of poor air and cigarettes.
Jaxen crossed his arms and inclined his head, maintaining a facade of calm. "And you are?"
A faint smile tugged at the Auctioneer's lips. "Names are inconsequential here. What matters is the business at hand. You're seeking Bode."
"I am," Jaxen confirmed. "I want the Key she's auctioning."
The Auctioneer's expression darkened, shadows playing across his features. "The M'Antinomian have been... disruptive. They've shut down the auction site permanently. My reputation and profits have suffered as a result."
Jaxen raised an eyebrow. "Isn't client confidentiality paramount in your line of work?"
"It is," the Auctioneer replied, his gaze hardening. "But when my operations are compromised and my livelihood on the line, exceptions can be made. I'll tell you how to find Bode, but in return, you will eliminate the M'Antinomian. Fail, and I'll ensure the world knows who Voxel truly is." The long-winded answer caught in his lungs, and he began to cough.
Jaxen's lip curled when he witnessed the Auctioneer spit out whatever lodged in his throat, and tried to distract himself weighing his options, but the pressure in the back of his head nudging him toward acceptance. Finally, he nodded. "Agreed."
The Auctioneer's smile returned, though it lacked warmth. "Very well. Bode can be found at Kallisti House of Burlesque. Be cautious; she is not one to be underestimated."
With the deal struck, Jaxen turned to leave, The Hook falling into step beside him. As they retraced their path through the underground maze, Jaxen couldn't shake a nervous feeling creeping up his spine.
[[Bode's reveal moded with permission]]