Solomon, Jack, and Malcolm climbed swiftly up through the hidden hatch from the underground vendor area of the fighting rings. Navigating a series of cramped, concealed routes nestled within the ley lines beneath the city, they passed glowing magical wires, water channels, and piping. The dim green glow illuminated their path, casting shadows across murky waters and weathered stone walls. They moved quickly, driven by a desperate urge for freedom.

As they finally emerged into the open, Solomon and Jack drew deep breaths of the fresh air they'd long been denied. It felt intoxicating—like stepping from a suffocating room into the crisp embrace of a winter's night. They tilted their faces upward, savoring the rain that fell gently upon them.

Malcolm allowed them this moment, watching quietly with a gentle smile. After a brief pause, he whistled softly, drawing their attention back. Solomon and Jack jogged toward him, breaking from their reverie.

Malcolm looked around, his expression shifting from curious to confused, then finally to uneasy concern. “Where the… hell is everyone?” he murmured, glancing nervously at the tall buildings surrounding them. These buildings, typically bustling with merchants, entertainers, and crowds, now stood silent and empty.

“What’s wrong?” Solomon asked, sensing Malcolm’s mounting anxiety.

“There should be people everywhere. This district never sleeps,” Malcolm explained, his voice trembling slightly. "But now...it's like they've vanished."

Jack stepped forward, pointing to a set of wet footprints hidden in a nearby alcove. The tracks abruptly ended, as though their owner had simply vanished mid-stride.

Solomon knelt down, touching the damp prints. "It confirms our fears. Either the fog is disintegrating people, or it's transporting them somewhere else entirely. It must have seeped through these buildings and into the arena."

As he rose, Solomon caught sight of a shop window displaying cigarettes and exchanged a mischievous grin with Jack. Without a second thought, Jack shattered the window, quickly grabbing some smokes. Malcolm jumped, startled by the sudden noise, and turned around angrily to see his companions wearing guilty yet amused expressions.

“You have a light?” Jack asked casually, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Are you kidding me?” Malcolm sputtered indignantly, before grudgingly tossing Jack a lighter from his pocket.

Jack effortlessly caught it, lighting his cigarette with a grin.

"You two are terrible," Malcolm muttered, but moments later he himself casually walked into the store, expertly picking the lock on the register. He glanced back at Solomon and Jack, raising his eyebrows defensively. “What? Don't judge me. How else am I supposed to pay for the window?”

Jack burst into laughter, shaking his head. “You mean pay them back with their own stolen money?”

Malcolm shrugged innocently as Solomon joined in the laughter, their camaraderie briefly chasing away the eerie emptiness of the deserted streets.

Truly though, there wasn’t a soul around this entire district.

Finally, after a while of travel the three reached a place full of bustling people moving amongst the ground section streets the buildings here well over 70 to 90 stories tall more towards the central district. 

“Strange…where could they have gone?...” Jack motioned them forward.

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I stood at a street corner with a towering building looming behind me. Leaning against the wall, I stared out into a desolate street devoid of any sign of life. It was just one of many streets I'd examined anxiously, trying to unravel what exactly had happened here.

“It doesn't make sense,” I muttered to myself, flicking a lighter absently. The brief spark illuminated my face, casting a red glow before the smoke enveloped me, quickly dispersed by the wind. “If the fog is abducting people, why is there no rhyme or reason? It takes everyone—strong, weak, wealthy, poor—without any distinction.”

Considering the fog, it couldn’t have a specific purpose, just a simple function. It couldn't be magical either, as it left no magical signatures or residue. Perhaps its aim was merely transportation, but no signs indicated people being relocated anywhere nearby. Teleportation on this scale would be impossible, even for powerful groups, and what reason could anyone have for abducting such diverse victims?

I knew this city well. Abductions typically targeted people with powers or special abilities, not just anyone at random.

“Hmm…” My thoughts drifted with the smoke until three men suddenly emerged from a nearby alley, walking onto the street. They appeared confused, glancing around as though unfamiliar with the surroundings. My curiosity piqued. "Survivors?" I wondered.

Had they somehow evaded the fog? No, they must’ve come from the arena or another underground facility. Yet, the fog had swept thoroughly through the black market district. How had these men escaped it?

Keeping a discreet distance, I began trailing them as they moved casually through the streets toward the western end of the city, known for its bustling entertainment district. But instead of crossing the lengthy bridge into the district itself, they turned sharply left, descending steps toward the river piers far below.

“Could they be heading to the River Miranda to leave the city?” It was plausible since merchants frequently utilized these waterways for trade and travel.

I followed carefully, peering over a low stone wall toward dilapidated shops lining the waterfront, home mostly to the city's homeless. This wasn’t a major docking area, but still provided access. Observing from about 500 feet away, I saw the men enter an abandoned shop, disappearing through a backdoor built into the stone wall alongside the river.

“Sewers, then…” They hadn’t even bothered locking the front door, which hung awkwardly on its hinges. After waiting cautiously for a few minutes, I entered, covering my mouth with a sash against the damp, musty air. Darkness swallowed me, but faint light flickered further down a moss-covered passage. I moved carefully, eventually reaching a slippery ladder descending into a subterranean abyss.

Slowly, I reached the bottom, stepping softly into shallow water. Flickering bulbs illuminated the tunnel every fifty feet or so, connected by electrical wiring—unusual technology in a city dominated by magic. Alchemists and Artificers were respected, yet this place relied solely on machinery. A curious anomaly.

Following a clean cement path beside a shallow stream, I noticed the ground ahead suddenly became dirty. Oddly, I hadn’t passed any doors or grates. I turned to examine the nearby wall more closely, noticing faint handprints in five distinct places.

“Five by five… too many combinations,” I thought. A wrong attempt might trigger an alarm, alerting whoever lay beyond. I leaned close, listening carefully. The subtle sounds of gears turning on the other side warned me to step back. Quickly, I moved silently away, blending into the darkness.

The wall shifted open, stones sliding smoothly aside. Voices emerged as four figures stepped through. One, shorter than the rest, argued fervently: “I'm telling you, Zee, they vanished right in front of me! They weren't dead, not until they disappeared. The fog makes no sense—it doesn't discriminate and can't penetrate closed doors…”

The figure named ‘Zee,’ clad entirely in black, nodded thoughtfully and led them away down the corridor. The wall shut securely behind them.

Waiting a moment to ensure safety, I approached the wall and quickly replicated their code. The hidden door creaked open, revealing a workshop filled with scattered papers and strange schematics. Curiosity overwhelmed caution, and I explored deeper, discovering a room lined with doors labeled by city routes—a hub for clandestine travel. A classic of black market trade and manufacturing. The city however had an ancient city it was built upon. That was a story for another time. For all I knew this was an old mail hub.

Among prototypes and crafting tools, a particular display case caught my eye. Inside, a masterfully designed pistol rested, labeled "Detailed Schematic Log." It was a break-top style frame, reminiscent of historical models I'd only read about. Intrigued, I examined its meticulous design: an ornate grip, fireproof wrapping, and an innovative second barrel capable of loading shotgun or rifle shells. My excitement surged upon finding a hidden suppressor accessory.

"Oh, you beautiful thing," I whispered, admiring the craftsmanship. Unable to resist, I claimed the pistol, quickly tossing its empty display case into a nearby furnace to erase evidence.

My eyes scanned other display cases, landing next on an intricately crafted martial-style knife with a unique blade design. It swiftly joined the pistol's box in the furnace. Finally, a compact, heavily built derringer pistol caught my eye. I briefly hesitated—then promptly consigned its empty case to the flames as well.

“I’ll put these to good use,” I assured myself quietly, pocketing my newfound treasures. My watch warned that I'd lingered too long. I quickly exited the room through a marked door labeled ‘Downtown,’ slipping back into the shadows with my prizes.

As I kept my feet from clattering any scrap pieces of metal or pebbles off into the darkness I ran though I considered my theft.

‘Fair trade as a bribe to not report a weapons manufacturer is it not? And they are technically helping someone to prevent crime. So on the behalf of the city I thank them.’ The thought felt wrong, I was just using logic for it. I never stole from innocent individuals, if I found out later on the man was a good one I would bring it back. Unless he forgot about them. Hopefully.

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