The next day I lay in a bed in the back ends of the tunnels under the tavern, my eyes focused on my bionic, the random twitch, the warm and cold feelings, the flexation. If I didn't look at it, it almost felt organic; the only hints were its dark blue exterior and tiny mechanical whirs.
Aiming my arm at the door, I could control the grappling mechanism that would shoot out of the palm of the hand, the blades that shot out of the side of the forearm, and the secondary switchblade that popped out of the elbow. Each fingertip had what looked like the bottom of a rocket, each one sending out a brilliant blue flame. At the back of the hand was a dial that worked as a compass and could change the power output on the arm with a twist, the actual power source being my power.
A knock on the door, and without me answering, Mr Wyvern walks in, a fresh suit and tie on. This time he wears a mask that covers the lower half of his face as he slips on his leather gloves. "Hurry up, the tavern won't clean itself," and he walks out, leaving me to get ready.
I walk out of the room a few minutes later in a basic hoodie and jeans, clean for once, and he stops me in the hall. "No, no, we wear suits when we work, you have to look the part to do the part," he says, turning me around. "There's a nice cobalt blue one in my dresser, try not to rip it with the bionic."
And so, I go get changed once again. What I'm doing this for I have no idea. I agreed to this to save my life, not to become a bartender.
I walk into the main tavern area in the suit. It hugs me well and the black shirt pairs nicely. I keep my bionic arm out of the sleeve to not damage the blazer, so I keep only my left arm in. The red tie, probably being the thing that stands out the most, has a knife hidden in the small part.
"So, what do I do?" I say, walking over to Mr Wyvern, who's pouring a homeless man tea.
He hands me a pair of leather gloves and a rag. "You clean. Table 4 has a kid, so keep an eye on them."
He leaves the things in my hands and walks back to serving customers. I stand a bit lost. I had come here, had my brain prodded in a surgery that gave me powers, learnt the bare-bones secrets of the black market and the underground, and now I'm wiping tables and serving drinks.
Regardless, I walk around the tavern cleaning messes. I don't know why they want me to do this, but I have nothing else, so it would be best not to annoy them.
At table 4, the kid I was supposed to keep an eye on had indeed spilled his juice, and his parents called me over. As I walk, I notice the fox ears on the father and mother—demi-humans.
"Good evening." I smile. "Let me get this out of the way," I say, moving the cup and wiping the spill.
The father pats my arm. "Thank you, boy," he smiles, and his wife pulls at her son's ears.
"What did we say about not messing around, especially in front of these nice people?" She turns to me. "I'm sorry, tell Wyvern we'll pay for anything that gets damaged."
Before I can speak, Mr Wyvern appears next to me. "Do not worry, Mr and Mrs Armoni, the master wouldn't have the heart to force you to pay. Please enjoy your meal." And he walks off, tending to other tables.
Mr Armoni smiles. "Ah, the Devil's Butler, as kind as always," he mutters, and his wife chuckles.
"I wish he would let us pay," she says softly, as their son eats his snacks, occasionally glancing at me like I'm going to steal some.
"I'm sorry, but did you say Devil's Butler?" I say, intrigued, naturally leaning on the edge of the table, curious.
The father looks surprised. "You don't know your own colleague's nickname?" He smirks. "Almost everyone you'll meet will know him as that."
Before I ask my question, he seems to know and answers. "The Master is a known figure in the underground, the black market, and the King's Gambit. Only common folk haven't heard the names. The Master is sometimes referred to as the Devil because of his power and ferociousness, but the Master is physically weak—the Devil is weak. So the one they truly fear is the Devil's Butler, Mr Alexander Wyvern. Because if the Devil is against you, his Butler will find you."
A strange name is what I thought. "Corny is it not?" Could that old man truly be one of the most feared men of the underworld? I didn't know it at the time how stupidly wrong I was. "If you see him as this menacing figure, why not fear him yourself?"
"He's, at heart, a nice man—both the Devil and his Butler, the name was given to him by this group of little kids he saved, while corny as you said, the name stuck as a memory of those kids." the mother answers. "And... A year ago…" Her voice gets stuck in the back of her throat. "A year ago, my son was kidnapped, and he almost turned into one of those... things. When I tried to give myself up to save my child, Wyvern stopped me. He said, 'The Master has asked me to save your son, so I shall by any means, save your son,' and he kept his word." Small tears roll down her cheek. "He is the greatest man in this country. He saved my son, something even law enforcement refused to do because of complications or whatever excuses they could think of to not help us demi-humans."
Her son tugged at her sleeve and smiled bright. "The man in black, the man in black," his little voice chanted.
She ruffled his hair and smiled at him. "Yes, sweetheart, that man in the black suit saved you," she said, glancing at the other table where Mr Wyvern poured coffee and tea, a soft smile on his face as he did. Then she turned to me. "If you work in this tavern, then you must also work with Wyvern on his other jobs. I hope you become as reliable as him." She smiled, the last of the tears rolling down her face.
"I hope so too," I smiled, poured them a drink, and walked away. This tavern was not just a legal cover-up. It was not just for show. This tavern was how Mr Wyvern—the Devil's Butler, underworld hunter—gave back to the people who gave his life meaning, the poor boy who had once been a victim himself. This was not just work. This was character.
I walked up to him and smirked. "What's next?"
"Next," he says, looking up and sighing. "Next you train mobility." He tosses his wet rags in a bucket and places his blazer on a stool as he puts on a trench coat and passes an elderly couple a jug. "Wear whatever you want and come outside in an hour. Park Central should be good enough."
***
About an hour passes, and I walk up to the park in the centre of my city. In this shithole, it's one of the few beauties we have—lush green grass, large oak trees, and lovely gravel paths all around.
"Afternoon," Mr Wyvern says, appearing at my side, looking me up and down in my jeans and hoodie. "Not the best, but I expected this at the very least." He hands me a watch. "Wear that on your left wrist. It's a second grappling hook—weaker, but it should be good enough." He explains as he walks over to the trees.
"So, am I supposed to swing around," I say sceptically, "or are you going to show me something else?"
"Well, you can swing, that much is easy, but what I'm going to help you do is object specification." He smiles. "To answer the question in your head, object specification is when you use your power only on specific objects. For example, I can control metal, so how can I move metal one way and move a different piece another way? Well, that's specification. For you, it would be slowing down certain objects while not slowing down others."
"So, like the grappling hook—slow down everything but the hook."
"Exactly," he smiles. "I want you to slow down everything and grapple up the tree. If you miss and fall, try and slow yourself down while falling and realign your shot and go again. This way you can move around cities and areas better by grappling and pulling yourself along."
I glance up the tree. "And if I fail and plummet to the ground?"
He just stands there. "What? This is your training, not mine. Learn quick, because you'll only get to go back inside if you manage to hit me once in a spar."
I sigh and walk down the path, spin around, and aim my bionic arm up at a tree branch. "So I just… shoot?" And at just the thought of the wire flying out, it does, responding to my thoughts as it wraps around the branch and yanks me up. "WHOA, WAIT!" But I've already been launched up and grab the branch with my left arm.
"Hey, not bad. Next time try not screaming so loud; the old folk don't have the best experience with loud sounds," he says as I glare at him.
"Just get me down," I say, annoyed. "The thing's jammed, and it won't shoot another line."
He sighs and walks up to me, stepping on air. "That's not how it works. You're just scared of falling, so your arm won't risk it."
"How on earth are you doing that?"
He taps his shoes together as they make a metal clink. "The soles of my shoes are metal, of course. Use your brain." He looks to his right. "Oooo, look, a bunch of High Breeds."
"A bunch of WHAT?" I shout as a dog's jaw almost bites my leg off. "What the actual fuck is that?" I try kicking it away.
Mr Wyvern grabs it by the neck and strangles it mid-air, then snaps its neck as it falls far down to the ground. "That is what we call High Breeds—two animals that have somehow done the deed and created a fusion creature. That was a flying mutt, it seems."
"Now what kind of stupid logic is that? Why and how, like what???" My mind was completely lost, hanging from a tree as Wyvern talked to me mid-air while he broke the neck of a flying dog.
"Who cares," he yawns. "You're going to fight much worse in the future, so how about you practise," he says, slowly cutting the tree branch.
"Don't. You. Dare." I try to lift myself up onto the tree.
"But then," he says, faking concern, "how will you learn?" He smiles as the branch snaps, and I tumble down.
"Shit," I say as the wire instinctively shoots out of my palm and wraps around another tree, causing me to swing through the park close to the ground. As I pendulum my way back up, I come face to face with another flying mutt. "You've got to be kidding." I slow down everything around me and look around as the dog's mouth slowly opens, the drool slowly gliding towards me.
I spot a good, sturdy branch to my left and aim my watch. "God, please let this work," I say, attempting to un-slow just the grappling hook. To my surprise, it works and shoots out. While the dog still flies towards me in slow motion, the wire wraps around another tree branch. This time I use it to yank me left only a bit, dodging the dog and not going flying into the tree.
As time speeds up again, the dog blinks in surprise as I seem to teleport a meter to the left mid-air, its snout slamming into a tree.
"Not bad," Mr Wyvern calls out. "Again."
So I do it again, and again, and again. Hours pass as I practise swinging from trees, using the wires to yank me in any direction while mid-air and up buildings.
As I dash past branches, I land on the gravel path's edge, the exit of the park in front of me. As I'm about to step out, "Now, now, you can't leave unless you beat me in a spar, remember," Mr Wyvern calls out from the bench he was sitting on, slowly taking off his trench coat. "If you win, you get to go inside. If you lose, you have to sleep out here."
"That's some bullshit. You can't just force me to sleep back out here," I say, pissed off. How can this guy just threaten to make me sleep outdoors?
"Then prove it," the playfulness in his voice gone. "All you have to do is land one clean hit. No skimming, no near misses—one proper, clean hit." He tugs on his leather gloves and adjusts his tie. "Start when you're ready."
So I do. I slow down time around me and shoot a wire, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him towards me in slow motion while also yanking myself forward as I ball up my fist. But as I do, his foot collides with my chest, sending me backwards into a tree.
I cough, and some blood comes out. He straightens his tie. "When you first unlocked your power, your body naturally used a high output. That's why you were able to move for a while, yet it felt like only a few seconds to me. However, now you're only manually able to use a mere fraction of your powers. Normally people may see a slight blur, but I see you. I see every punch, kick, and desperate attack. Now go again," he smiles. "Either figure out how to use more power or use your brain."
I slowly get up, clutching my side. "How inspirational of you." I aim my bionic up and grapple up a tree, then kick off towards him. As he's about to kick again, I pull my body slightly right and aim for his head as he leans back and dodges. I kick off the ground to knee him, and he swats it away. I then shoot a grapple at his leg, trying to distract the shot with a punch, but he grabs my fist and manipulates a metal plate to fly in front of the wire. As he twists my wrist and kicks me in the air, he moves his hand down, and a plate of metal I hadn't seen flies into my back, pinning me against the ground.
I pant as he straightens himself. "Not bad. You seem to be able to know when to slow down time, but your hand-to-hand is quite literally dogshit. Try something new. Surprise me."
As he says this, the metal plate lifts off my back, and I get up tired and sweaty, breathing heavily. I aim my bionic at him. "This is really unfair. You could just remove my arm," I smirk.
He smiles. "Ah, that is tru—"
And I appear in front of him, my fist about to collide with his face, when my body freezes. All around me, metal wires shoot out of the trees, wrapping around my limbs and joints, holding me in place. He didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled again. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
"You always close your eyes when you smile. Getting you to talk and do that annoying smile of yours gave me a shot to jump at you, slowing you down so your eyes stayed closed for even a second longer, and yet."
"It was a good plan. No need to explain it—I understood it the second I stopped it. Maybe I should open my eyes more." He chuckles. "Anyway, you lost." He smiles again, eyes closed in his annoying way. "Sleep well. I'll bring you down tomorrow."
He walks off towards the tavern as I stay stuck, suspended in the air by these wires, unable to even move. He even purposely angled the bionic in a way so that I couldn't grapple onto anything to tug myself out.