Outsider ||ONC 2024|| {Currently Editing}

Chapter Two

I stumbled back and nearly fell over when Noah caught me yet again. He was holding me up, looking down at me with composure in his eyes.

He took once step and I took ten staggering ones, until we were standing outside, the dead of night drowning me under while keeping this all a secret.

Everyone else came out a few seconds later, carrying bags on top of bags. One in particular was drenched, red dripping through and tainting the ground.

I knew what it was but my mind refused to accept it: We didn't kill someone. A man. A father. Maybe a husband or a brother. That wasn't him in that bag.

Noah let go and I slouched, still weak in the knees, a burning sensation in my chest. He took my mask off and I immediately inhaled before coughing.

The smell in the air was vile. The scent of sweat and mud lingered, thick, swamp-mud. It fumed with metallic and the start of roadkill—rot.

I'd never smelt anything so bad in my life. I had to choke down the vomit that was tickling my throat; it rose and fell, leaving behind a sour taste.

Noah ripped his mask off and shook his frizzy hair from his face. He combed his fingers through and turned around when he heard an uptight whistle.

"Your hands are looking a little empty." Jonathan said. He tossed a bag to Noah before sighing in relief to finally be out of that mask.

He looked at me with beady eyes and then turned his attention back to the pile at his feet, sorting through it before lifting a pair of bags over his shoulder.

Ash took her mask off and used it to wipe the balls of sweat from her face. She let out an exhausted breath before walking over to the pile, pulling out two bags.

That person I couldn't put a name to, that turned out to be 17 year old Issac Adler. He was the entertainer: a master hand-shadower who loved to mess around.

But Issac was also a thief. A weapon maker. A lousy kidnapper, and the only person I know who couldn't kill to save his life. Yet here he was, still alive.

I couldn't give an exact reason how. It could've been because he could track people in the blink of an eye, or that he was even better at playing the system.

We weren't close but I knew a lot about him, mostly from rumors: he was an only child which made for a more comfortable living than most could say.

His parents, no one knew much about them. Word got out that he'd grown up in one of the deadliest areas and couldn't handle it so he ran for the North.

He ended up here, in this small maze of a city where he made a name for himself as one of the most valuable people I've ever crossed paths with.

All self-taught, I could only respect how he built his own language around this lifestyle.

'Being needed makes you harder to kill.' Those were his words and they sure did make an impact on him.

His only downfall: with little to no influence, he was a talker—to put it mildly—and all he needed was trust from the most vulnerable in exchange for coins.

I didn't trust him. I truly saw him as the perfect opportunity for the higher-ups: he gathered information and used it to gain favoritism.