The hooves of a black stallion clopped along the cobblestone road at a rapid pace. It moved at a graceful speed, but also one of determination. Its rider was none other than Bob Galrus, the store owner and inventory manager of the Nocturne Kingdom.

  Bob had recently crossed into his fifties. He was a short and stout man, and due to this he was decently muscular while sporting a beer belly. His wide hands had a meaty grip that any farmer could appreciate. Whether he was shaking hands or grasping the reins of his horse, he was sure not to let go any time soon.

  Bob had beady eyes behind his sunglasses, and thin lips on a clean shaven face. Not particularly an attractive man, though his wife Erma might argue with the statement. He wasn't exactly a lady-killer, but that didn't stop him from dressing the part. Bob sported a maroon colored beret and flashy brown leather jacket with white fur trim. Both were of exquisite make and design, and signaled to anyone who saw that he was either wealthy, or one to put appearances first.

  The sun was setting as Bob rode into a nameless town. Judging by the appearances of the buildings, this was more of a business establishment than any residential location. Yet, it was isolated out in the forest away from anything else, a location that did not make much sense for what it offered.

  What it offered was not entirely understood, and to be honest, Bob did not understand it either. It was not his job or place to know though, and for these reasons, he hated ever coming here. The irregular shaped buildings sat silently on either side of the poorly kept road, and not a single soul was outside to see him arrive.

  This damn place hasn't changed one bit, Bob thought to himself.

  The black stallion neighed as Bob dismounted it. He hushed the steed and tried to calm it down, but even the horse knew that this location was suspicious.

  "Easy, buddy. Give me twenty minutes, okay?" Bob spoke to the animal that was built for speed.

  Speed indeed. Bob had chosen to venture to this location on a single black stallion that could race away from any danger at a moment's notice. While Bob did not anticipate issues from his mission, the risk of them was very real.

  He tied the reins of the horse up to a nearby post, and swallowed hard as he prepared himself to enter into a nearby building he had hoped he'd never enter again.

  His snakeskin boots tapped the road as he approached the door. Boots that Bob would never wear under normal occasions. This was not a normal occasion though, it was one that required him to dress in such wealthy attire. Wealthy, but also quite obnoxious, Bob believed. No one ever seriously wore snakeskin boots.

  The door creaked open as Bob entered the building.

  He gave a final gulp as he readied himself to shift into a constructed personality that would keep him from getting killed. An aggressive, outwardly, and abrasive personality that was beyond what he even normally had. That was saying a lot since Bob already was quite honest and harsh.

  Immediately, the smell of recreational drugs entered Bob's nostrils. He'd be embarrassed to admit at one time he moved them. First organically grown, then modified with extremely questionable chemicals, these drugs were known to kill most who indulged in the stuff.

  Bob's eyes adjusted to the black light of the room. Special black flames burned on exotic candles, a sight rarely ever seen anywhere else. The lanterns that held these flames illuminated the room brightly, shifting the color composition of everything in sight.

  As soon as Bob walked in, two very rough men approached him from either side of the room. Their bodies were more like canvases with the amount of tattoos all over them. Besides those, and all the piercings plaguing their body, it was their glowing yellow eyes that sent the most chills down Bob's spine. Both of these men were on the very drugs being manufactured here, and that resulted in their illuminating eyes.

  One of the two slammed the door behind Bob, who had left it proudly open. The man locked the door behind him, which begged the question on why it was unlocked in the first place.

  "You won't be leaving here," the first thug had slither out of his mouth. It was an obvious threat that they were going to kill him for stumbling into a place he had no business being at.

  "You're damn right I won't be. Not until I get what I came for," Bob immediately fired back, showing absolutely no fear, despite feeling a great deal of it.

  Bob's voice boomed at the two, he radiated some form of natural authority and aggression, but that alone wouldn't save his hide.

  "And what exactly would that be?" The thug spoke, his voice slimy and unnatural sounding.

  Bob knew exactly what course of action to take, and it would not be entertaining these scoundrels for another moment.

  "Do I look like I answer to you, you brain-stumped frog?! Bring me to the viceroy immediately and maybe I won't have you both reprimanded for not kissing my boots the moment I walked in."

  Alright, that had done it in for him. One of the two thugs went in for an attack, an assault of some form for the threatening words that Bob spoke.

  Before the thug made his advance, Bob rolled his sleeve up, revealing a tattoo of some symbol on his forearm.

  The thug froze.

  "Yeah, yeah that's what I thought, you dense retard," Bob immediately fired off. "Now bring me to whoever is running this abysmal, low-end joint before I bash both of your hollow skulls in."

  If Bob was lucky, this entire front he was putting on might just work.

  The two thugs looked at each other with their yellow eyes as they decided if this short old man was stacking up to be who he claimed. The tattoo certainly should prove his authority to them.

  They both stupidly looked at each other for a moment, not many comprehensive, meaningful thoughts inside their drug-leeched heads.

  Finally, one turned to him. "What's the name of the Viceroy?" He demanded at Bob.

  "His name is Viceroy I-don't-give-a-sheizer. I'm here on behalf of Apollo Elfen himself, and if you don't bring me to him, that array of Xylone in your system will be the very last pleasantry you'll ever get to experience in your miserable life."

  He had the tattoo, he knew the ranks, he knew Apollo, he knew the terms of the drugs. Bob had too much knowledge to risk writing him off as someone not associated with the organization.

  The persuading and false act worked, and the two thugs escorted him deeper into the building. Maybe it wasn't necessary, but Bob gave one of the thugs a hard shove forward just to continue selling the idea that he was some high ranking exec who could abuse the grunts.

  He passed rooms filled with other shady people, all with glowing yellow eyes as they ingested strange powders formed into odd patterns on tables. Every room was black lit from the darkfire flames contained in glass lanterns. The specific lighting was necessary for the drug known as Xylone to have its full effect.

  The deeper into the building he got, the more he realized that this building would be the last place he'd see if he messed up his act. They would kill him on the spot the moment they thought he wasn't who he claimed to be.

  "You came at the perfect time, senior inspector," one of the thugs said. "Our Viceroy has been very-"

  "Shut your yap. The disrespect from you both has been astronomical. You have no privilege to be uttering my title out of your drug-addicted mouths."

  Both the thugs finally found it best to stay silent and bring Bob directly to the Viceroy, the manager and overseer of this particular outfitted location.

  More yellow eyes gazed at Bob, each one sizing the store owner up, each wondering if they'd have to kill him later or not.

  Bob simply cracked his neck side to side in an effort to look tough and relaxed as he walked by.

  Finally, the two grunts brought Bob down a long hallway, and at the end, to a red door. They both parted to either side of the hall, allowing Bob passage. For a moment, Bob stood, waiting for one of them to open the door for him.

  Then in a moment, it occurred to Bob that maybe he was the one who needed to formally open the door in some official move. Without standing a second longer, in fear that messing up an action would reveal a false front, Bob marched forward and with great aggression, threw open the red door.

  On the other side was a room in a different color lighting. In the center was a desk with a single individual behind it. Bob walked in, and noticed that the two grunts remained in the hallway behind him.

  He turned around and looked at them. "Get in here!" Bob demanded.

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  "No! The lighting in there hurts my eyes and-"

  "I SAID WALK!"

  The thugs began entering the room as well, each of them shielding their eyes from the new bright lighting in this specific room. It was apparent that their Xylone vision did not appreciate the more reasonable environment.

  "Put your hands down, you babies," Bob ordered.

  At this point, Bob's act had both of the former threatening thugs now as his personal grunts. He had one on either side of him as he took a seat in the chair before the desk.

  The man sitting at the desk was faced away. Bob hoped that at his arrival, this 'Viceroy' would spin around in the chair and address him, but it hadn't happened yet.

  "AHEM!" Bob finally let out.

  The Viceroy spun himself around and faced Bob in his rolling chair.

  This man had on the most ridiculous attire Bob had ever seen. His shoulder pads ended in curves so high, the points almost went higher than his head. His white hair was braided in such a stupid configuration that it left Bob wondering if he spent more time on it than he did running this sorry drug ring.

  The worst part was the coat he wore that appeared to have over twenty layers, each layer as thin as silk, each a different color, all stacking up in an obnoxious appearance before him. Bob couldn't help but think that this Viceroy had a separate grunt put every airy-thin layer on his torso every morning before business started.

  "And what brings the little beret man to me?" The Viceroy asked, his voice wavy and aloof in nature.

  "I'm here to make a transaction," Bob demanded, ignoring the fruity and carefree tone of the excessively dressed man before him.

  "You waste my precious time. File your request with one of my underlings, that's if you can sort through them."

  Bob found it a necessary time to flash his tattooed symbol at the Viceroy.

  "Oh…?" The Viceroy looked closer. "It's odd meeting a…" He paused for a moment. "...A branch enforcer at this time."

  Branch enforcer?

  Bob was pretty sure that the two thugs called him a 'senior inspector' earlier.

  This had to be a ruse. A test, actually.

  "Are you also as braindead as the drugged up grunts you order around here? That symbol means I'm a SENIOR INSPECTOR! I think you need to go back and relearn your status symbols. No wonder this place is failing as bad as it is!"

  The Viceroy slightly grinned and nodded his head in approval.

  "Just a test, Inspector. I wanted to be sure I was speaking with a genuine official," the Viceroy spoke in a more serious tone, losing the wavy and careless attitude he had on earlier. "What brings you to Stockholm at this time? Rounds aren't made until the closing month."

  Bob had no idea what any of that meant, but it didn't mean he couldn't play along and act like he knew.

  "I'm not here on official business. Yet. But by the looks of things, you need to fix this place up better if you want a passing grade. I'm here to search the Underworld. There's some information I need," Bob explained.

  "We don't proxy much with the Underworld these days, Inspector. You'd know that if you spent any amount of time outside the Core," the Viceroy responded.

  "Of course I know that, but Stockholm still has a connection to them even if its outside our offerings anymore."

  The Viceroy scoffed. "Why aren't you contacting them yourself? You're more than capable."

  "And show my face to those fleabags?! We have outfits here to do that for me! Specifically you, that is, if you want your passing grade from me," Bob bluffed.

  "...You're going to bribe me to make a transaction with the Underworld on your behalf to receive a pass on inspection?"

  "Damn skippy! This place is ass but I'll let it slide if you do this favor for me. AND! These two numskulls on either side of me have to shine my shoes!" Bob demanded.

  The Viceroy stared at him in disbelief.

  "WELL GET TO IT!" Bob shouted at the two grunts at his side.

  The thugs didn't know if this was something they were supposed to follow or not, but it was quite apparent they shouldn't risk not doing it. They both immediately got on their hands and knees and began polishing Bob's snakeskin boots.

  Bob was selling this act way too well.

  The Viceroy began to think he was in the presence of not just a senior inspector, but a senior ranking executive of the Xylone Organization entirely.

  "I'm sorry, but I feel like you're holding back on me. Who are you really?" The Viceroy asked with piqued curiosity.

  "I'm the Big Walrus," Bob Galrus responded.

  "T-the what?"

  "THE BIG WALRUS, you dense… God, you're just as bad as these shoe shiners at my feet. You really don't know anyone in Apollo Elfen's inner circle, do you?"

  "I know a few of them!" The Viceroy quickly said back, trying to act like he was fancier than he really was. "There's his brother Ian Elfen, and Tenner, but he fell out a while ago."

  "Ian's not actually his brother. But you'd know that if you spent any time at the Core."

  "Wait, he's not?"

  "ARE YOU HELPING ME OR NOT?!" Bob thundered out again, reminding this Viceroy that there was a deal to be made.

  "Oh, right. Yeah I mean, sure. But I need the gold, those guys won't do anything without-"

  Bob had already reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a fat and heavy sack of gold coins. He threw it onto the desk, and it made a loud, but deep and satisfying clang noise as it met the desk top.

  "One hundred gold coins. I want my answer with that."

  The Viceroy nodded and reached for the bag. "What is your request?" He asked.

  "I need information on memory restoration. Nothing simple either, we aren't dealing with a bout of amnesia, here. I want a solid lead on a full blown restoring of the mind. All memories, all thoughts," Bob demanded.

  "Who's going senile?" The Viceroy asked.

  "THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!"

  The Viceroy shuddered at the Big Walrus. "Right, of course. Just joking."

  "That joking is going to get you killed."

  "Sir?" Bob heard a meek voice below at his feet. Bob looked down.

  "We finished shining your shoes."

  Bob studied the shining snakeskin boots.

  "...You missed a spot," Bob said.

  "Where?"

  Bob snorted a huge loogie. He hocked the glob of snot onto his left boot. "RIGHT THERE! NOW CLEAN IT!"

  The two grunts immediately got back to cleaning his shoes. Bob looked back up to the Viceroy, who was currently admiring the large amount of money in his possession.

  "So you're going to pass Stockholm if I get you your answer? What if a follow up payment needs to be met?"

  "Then I'll pay it when we meet again," Bob responded.

  "Come back in one month, and I'll have your answer from them."

  Bob let out a ridiculous laugh. "I'm not coming back here! This place reeks, and your dog-level quality of Xylone permeates the air. I wouldn't give any array of this garbage to a homeless tweaker on the side of the street. No, no, you've lost that privilege.

  You will meet me in one month at Two Doors Inn at Whitewood City. You understand that?"

  "I-I… It's not dog level! You dare insult my facility in this way?"

  "Oh trust me, you large heap, I'd dare to do so much more, but I'm holding back. Now, if I don't see you within this exact day in one month at the specified location, I WILL return, and rip into pieces every one of those twenty-some coats you have on until you're stark naked."

  The Viceroy blinked unbelievably. He adjusted himself in his chair, fixing the outermost coat layer he had on. "That… that won't be necessary. I'll send someone to-"

  "Oh you're really trying to piss me off. YOU will be there. Do you understand me?!"

  "Yes sir."

  "That's more like it. Now have these two idiots escort me out of the building before I begin gagging from the stench of your awful processes here. Tell your chemist that the Branch Enforcer WILL be here if I find out its this bad again."

  From there, the two thugs walked Bob out of the room, and back down the hall. The glowing yellow eyes of the random men in the building were now looking at him with more respect. Whatever he had said to the Viceroy must've already gotten around to many of the other members in the Stockholm outfit.

  Once the two grunts brought 'The Walrus' back to the entrance door he originally came in, he looked at them before he left.

  "Rule number one, you bozo. Never get high while guarding the front door. That's the first mistake you made."

  "Please don't report us, we shined your boots," one of them tried.

  Bob slapped the side of his head. "There, now I won't report you. Don't let me catch you ripping that trash again when I come back for inspection. Now unlock this door."

  The grunt undid all three different locks on the door before opening it for the inspector. Bob promptly walked out. The door shut behind him.

  It was now nighttime. Bob was finally free of that place. Once he was sure the door clacked shut behind him, he doubled over, grabbing his chest.

  He began breathing heavy, finally allowing himself a panic attack that he had been suppressing this whole time. He gasped for air, trying to fight back the feeling of throwing up. Bob wasn't sure what was worse, the acting he had to keep up the whole time, or the nauseating smell of Xylone.

  He stumbled forward towards his horse. He had made it out alive.

  As he walked away from the building, Bob rolled his sleeve up to see that the tattoo had already begun smearing.

  He licked his thumb, and rubbed the fake tattoo away.