A ripple of shivers ran down his spine. This place, which was a presumedly desolated warehouse, was the perfect setting for one of those stereotypical murders. Ezra could already picture the shot’s layout: him hung up from one of the building’s steel beams, dead. Two detectives would be circling his remains with lit cigarette buds littering the ground around their polished dress shoes. One would probably angrily curse out Team Rocket and declare his undying effort to throw them all in jail. It would the perfect scene, really.

Returning to his dim reality, Ezra took in a deep breath before taking a step forward. Darkness enveloped him and the grotesque smell of rotting fish almost immediately assaulted his nose. “Yeah, I’m not.” His curt response hid the quivering boy inside. Whether his sharp tone was enough to mask the absolute terror in his eyes was up to the mysterious man behind the veil.

”But I’m here for the same reason.” Ezra took a moment before cautiously approaching the office to his right. He made sure to only go as far as permitted, which seemed to be a few feet from the entrance at this point in their conversation. He hoped his ability to get in contact, even through this method, was enough to show he has some merit in his abilities.

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Ezra gulped. The sudden appearance of the dreepies made him sick with apprehension. It was clear that this was a mere intimidation tactic, but the intentions didn't dispel the fact that it was extremely effective. "Him?" He approached the question cautiously. In truth, he hadn't done anything to the man besides swipe the ticket to this meeting. Violence was still a very off limits method for the reporter. He was a writer, not a fighter. Still, he knew 'nothing' would be an insufficient answer. Or, at least, that's what he thought.

It was at this moment his façade began to slip. Ezra was no stoic, nor could he ever pretend to be one. Especially when put in tense situations. "I...I would be surprised if he hadn't left town already." A nervous chuckled struggled out of his lips. With nothing but anxiety pumping through his veins, his mask of fearlessness was struggling to stay on. "He'll meet his fate soon enough." A half lie. While he attempted to sound like one of those nasty criminals from his favorite detective show, the reality was that all he did was spread a few webs after swiping the slip. You can learn some crazy things through stalking someone. Things that could get you killed if found out about - worse than killed in some spheres. All he had to do was leave a note indicating that some of that kind of information might be leaked soon.

Running his hand nervously through his slicked back hair, Ezra took another shaky breath before speaking up again. "I'm..." It took a moment for him to recollect his thoughts. What WAS his name going to be? "...Raz."

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Blinking, Ezra stared back at the horde of Dreepy, unsure of how to react. Again, it was all such an obvious intimidation tactic, but for someone as normal as him, it was super effective. Was his answer insufficient to the recruiter? Did they want him to go into more detail? Thoughts rattled in his head as his legs trembled at the sight of the Pokémon looming closely in front of his eyes. “I-“ Before he could continue, a portal etched itself onto the north facing wall of the warehouse, releasing croaking Dragapult.

The sight of this large Pokémon flinging himself towards Ezra nearly brought a blood curling scream out of his quivering lips. Nearly. Thankfully, right before the Dragon’s appearance, Ezra had taken the initiative of biting down on his bottom lip. By the time the Pokémon had disappeared into nothingness, a stream of blood had already begun to swirl in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste of iron.

That’s when a male figure erupted from the darkness. Donned in all black and a Fox mask, he approached Ezra with a dagger, at which he soon offered the trembling man after mentioning how he had to “prove himself”.

All color drained from his face. This was the moment he feared the most. The dreaded evaluation of his worthiness. With a shaky breath, he reached out and accepted the sheathed dagger. He gulped. ”Alright. I’ll...” He really didn’t want to say it. He really really didn’t. ”I’ll do whatever it takes.”

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A mixture of awe and terror swirled in his eyes as he witnessed the Dragapult's obedience to the man's single trigger word. The way it dove straight down and swiftly created a large gaping portal behind them was both haunting and intimidating, as it served to be another reminder of the severe power difference between them. The reporter ran his forearm across his forehead, wiping the drops of sweat from his brow. Then, with shaky reluctance, entered the portal as the man had directed, knowing that there was no other alternative left for him.

Darkness clouded his vision briefly, making it feel as though all the world's light had been gulped up by that Dragapult, leaving behind only his withering thoughts to cling onto for support.

His brown eyes flicked from left to right, hastily examining the rooms entirety. What a fucking horror show this was. The walls were tall and suffocating, the air was thick with dust, and there was a pungent smell seeping out from the floorboards below. And, to top it all off, there was a single wooden table situated near the center of the room. On that table laid an unmarked brown paper bag. Ezra's eyes fluttered back to the masked stranger as he desperately tried to read SOME kind of emotion passed the fox-like shield. This person, whoever he was, had to be human, right? 'Fuckfuckfuck.' He thought to himself as the man barked out another command. Never could he have imagine his night would devolve into this. Not in a million years.

A heavy breath slithered out his mouth as he is forced to face the nightmarish paper bag once more.

He took one step forward.

Then another step.

Then another.

Eventually there was nothing but a few insignificant inches between them. As Ezra stretched out his arm, he noticed something squirm from inside the bag. But, as he already figured out, there was no other alternatives right now. He shakily grabbed the bag from it's top and turned back towards the devil himself, a frown pressed against his face. "Wh-what now...?"

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The fox pointed upward, indicating both Ezra's next destination and task. Any extra movement or time wasted would push the ticking time bomb in his head further towards explosion, so a curt nod was all he could offer in response to the man's directive. No more, no less.

Ezra's brown eyes flickered towards the staircase leading upwards. He gulped. Then, with a heavy foot forward, he began to trudge his way across the room and then up the stairs, paper bag in tow. Sweat trickled down his face in miniature ravines. Every few seconds or so, whenever his willpower weakened, his eyes would drift down towards the bag. It was oddly heavy for something so assumedly small. Scarily heavy.

Reaching the top of the staircase, his left hand shakily reached for the door handle. It was rusted and worn out, carrying a glint of old age. He jiggled the nob softly, then attempted to push it open with his knee.

It didn't budge.

He tried again. Nothing.

A ragged breath escaped his chapped lips. He could feel his own heart pulse in his chest, the pace slowly growing faster with each attempt. His eyes briefly steal a glimpse of the paper bag again. Why was it so heavy? What could be inside? He forcibly returned his gaze to the door, his grip tightening, knuckles turning white. He attempted to push the door open once more, this time with a considerable amount of force. The door begrudgingly creeks open, it's hinges howling out in pain. With another breath he moves forward and into the unknown.

Polished granite tiles, sparkling chandeliers, and exotic furniture was what his weary eyes were greeted with upon exiting basement. It was a hotel lobby. Unfamiliar faces freckled his surroundings as the lobby was bustling with chattering guest and overworked staff. No one paid a single mind to him or his paper bag.

The oddly heavy paper bag.

The squirming paper bag.

Ezra shook his head. There was no time to waste - his objective was clear and his time was ticking. So, he pushed himself forward, no clear direction in mind. His eyes, both wide and dilated, searched the area as he moved. It hopped from face to face. Each time he did, it felt as though their eyes would slowly begin to meet his, piercing both his heart and soul. Were they staring at him? Did they know why he was here? It shouldn't matter. The paper bag shouldn't matter. Was that another squirm or was that his own heart beat rattling his entire body? Forward, he had to move forward.

"Excuse me..." He would murmur softly as he crept across the lobby. His eyes flickered up; there was the stairs, placed right beside the elevator. So up he went, each step growing harder than the last, as his body trembled fiercely. "Room...Room 207." The higher he climbed, the more the flames of fear licked his mind, draining his mental state.

Eventually he made it to the door with the bag still in hand. The damned paper bag. The eerily heavy paper bag. The awfully warm paper bag.

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Hazy, fuzzy thoughts rattled in his head. None of them had a clear destination or purpose. They were just there, floating back and forth, occupying his mind in an instinctive effort to retain Ezra's sanity.

"Oh." With a solid plop, the word fell from his mouth like a ball of drool, both heavy and moist. There was nothing else worth saying. Nothing worth communicating. Besides, the infectious fear had already numbed his body and mind, making the process of replying harder than it should've been. A task more daunting than it's worth. So, rather than echo back the man's enthusiasm, Ezra quietly entered the room, his head kept low.

That's when his noticed the various wrinkled faces that filled the room. Confusion overtook the waves of fear inside him as he questioned every inch of these scene before him. Sure, the man who greeted him inside was odd himself, but he held not even a candle light to the sheer absurdity that was his audience. His eyes hurriedly looked back towards the exit only to discover the man's convenient position in front of it. Of course. Ezra was a mouse stuck in a labyrinth set up by the masked fox. There were only two set options left for him: find the cheese or get discarded.

He took a seat.

"Um. I'm..I'm.." Ezra attempted to abide the man's command, but he was struggling to cough them out from the pits of his stomach. They felt lodged deep back in his throat, completely out of his reach. Open, close, open, close, open, close; his chapped lips were stuck in an endless loop. Until they weren't.

"I'm...Ezra...?"

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Remiel Calcifet

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