A barrage of voices fill a sheet metal warehouse large enough to be compared to a small village. The young boy once again adjusts his arm pads before zig-zagging his way in and out of the bazaar of stalls. He takes in the stands, pausing every so often to witness a deal struck. One in particular really sets his heart pumping; a small beast feathered to the neck with a reptilian tongue.

His footing continues on, squeezing him through a small gap between a piled fruit stall and a stand littered with sparkling jewels of all size and design. He then ducks though an opening of clothes racks, and dodges his way past a large woman with an augmented leg trying on a long fur coat infront of a reflective sheet of metal.

His mind wanders back to his first few visits, being escorted through the maze of junk-like treasures. He remembers how much taller the stalls seemed back then, with every keeper either big and burley or slim and dodgy. How overwhelming it all was. Yet now, after spending almost a year coming and going, it seems like a second home. Or a third if he counts the forest.

Once skimming his way through a section of chips, screens and wires sold by tall thin men wearing tech over a single eye, his destination comes into view. The oily scent almost clogs the back of his throat.

Just in front if the stall he’s targeting, an older lady passes a bottle of Evantia’s finest ale over the counter to a well-dressed man and his wife. He’d always wondered what the ale tasted like, but figures he’ll just have to wait until he’s old enough. The buzzing of a nearby tattoo artist distracts his thoughts. He arches his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the design, though cannot quite get the angle around the small girl sat in front of them, cheek deep into a large fruit.

He stops beside a large counter to the far corner of the warehouse. Its red metallic surface reflects the beaming lights from the high roof. He presses his chest against the edge, crafting a mental note of the items he’ll buy once he makes enough money. A pair of green RX goggles fitted with compatibility of the B1R Scanner and the absORBer A07R; three models more recent than his own A04B, with a capacity of 10 orbs.

How he’s longed for such high tech gear, though it would have to wait until his current mission is complete. A mission he holds dearer to his heart than any piece of tech available on the market.

"Hey Reg. I got another." He says through a tooth filled grin.

Reg, the dark skinned man behind the counter, switches his attention from his tinkering to his young customer. "Zeke my boy!" He grunts. His chizzled cheeks crinkle slightly as he reveals a set of the whitest teeth Zeke had ever seen; a complete contrast to the black of his eye patch. "You got'un more o' those crawlers did ya?"

Zeke nods holding out his absORBer to Reg to take for inspection.

"You shu' look int'a upgradin' this ol' thing boy. We got 's all the latest models."

Zeke laughs only for politeness. He already has his eye on the model he wants, but for the time being that isn’t an option. "It's okay. I like it. I don't think I'll be able to work a newer one anyway."

Reg swivels around to his workspace, more than likely expecting such a response. His long leather jacket hugs his muscles, barely shifting as he moves. Upon the counter he finds a thin strip of leather and hooks it over the ear closest to his good eye. A holographic screen flicks alive.

Zeke always enjoyed watching Reg. Mainly from seeing the single eye being in use. As usual, he smiles at the notion, though would never make his chuckles audible.

The inspection doesn't take long. The sight of the ‘1’s’ are witness enough of the successful hunt. "Yeah, that'll be wha' we're after lil man."

He drops the holographic-glasses and proceeds with the next step; disconnecting the steel shaft and attaching it to a large machine with a glass sphere at its centre. The machine chugs to work offering Reg a moment to admire the product.

"Hard t' believe tha' these lil' things er wha' keep this whole city hum'in."

The twinkle in his eye would be awe inspiring if Zeke hadn't heard it all before. It seems every time he brings in the low levelled orbs Reg feels the need to talk about their entire existence. Though as before, he stays polite and just smiles to the older man.

"Lev'l one crawler. Lav'ly source o' en'rgy orbs. Ev'un the li'lest o' orbs'll run un entire fa'tory fer ‘alf a season."

With the two pearl-like orbs now extracted from the steel shaft and floating intertwined within the glass sphere of the machine, Reg reaches below his counter to pull up a tin. Inside are two neat stacks of blue notes. "Not none o' the nicest beasties to encounter I believe."

"They're not too bad," Zeke replies, keeping his eyes locked on the currency being counted. He knows how much his orbs are worth, but he always wishes for more. "Anyways, once they go feral, they're dangerous right? Not anymore them."

"Ar lil forest protector, ay boy?" Reg passes Zeke his notes, which the boy shoves deep into his pocket. He knows Reg too well, and he believes he would respect him enough not to rip him off. Besides, the man almost certainly can count better than a boy such as Zeke.

"Any sign o' that there lev'l two today boy?" Reg probes, his body closes in and his tone hushes.

If the rumour of a level two made it out, hunters of all levels will rush out in search. Yet a beast so strong would likely cause a lifetime of pain to anyone who thinks himself worthy, or is wanting of reward.

Zeke nods and shifts his eyes left and right in search of prying ears. "There were a few tracks, but they were almost gone. Maybe four or five days old. He might be anywhere by now."

Reg smiles, again showing that set of pearly white teeth. Zeke can almost see him figuring, and working out the worth of its orbs, and what world of power they could possess. Though after a moment, his smile fades and he turns back into the adult he should be, offering wise advice over life threatening requests. "You stay 'way from that 'un boy. Ain't no money in whole o' Evantia that'll be worth ya life."

Zeke lowers his eyes to the ground, giving him the image of a schoolboy in trouble. "I know Reg. But what if I..."

"Ain't no buts boy. Now ya go promise me tha' you'll stay right 'way from tha' lev'l two." Reg cuts in, before Zeke can vision even a single strand of thought.

"I know. Anyways, mama would never let me fight it. If the crawler doesn't kill me, she really will."

With those final words, and many a thought growing in his mind, Zeke turns away from Reg's stall. "Don't ya go now bein' a stranger boy. And say hi to ya folks for me!"

Reg's shouts almost blend in the masses of chatting and bartering as Zeke winds his way out from Reg's corner. With every step that he takes and every stall that he passes, the thoughts of the level two crawler grow within his mind. Maybe he could defeat it, and collect its orbs. Surely it would be easier than heading into the forest every day in search of the level ones. Even now he's barely scratched the surface of the money he needs, and all it would take is the orbs of a single level two to finish the job. Then he could go back to normality. Back to the academy, and his friends.

He'd have to find it first, and even if he did, he knows only of a few famous hunters that have taken on level twos, and all of them are a hell of a lot stronger than he is. Now if he had the strength of the Maur's or the Drake's, things would be different. Currently that isn't the case.

It doesn't take too long for Zeke's expert navigation to bring him to his next stop within the warehouse, and for any stray plans to fade into nothing but old thoughts. This time as he arrives, an old woman with beige prune-like skin hobbles around the side of her counter to meet him before he reaches it.

"There he is. A little late today, get lost out there in them trees did ya?" Her wrinkled voice approaches. She dusts some stray flour from her hands onto an apron which hugs snugly onto her round figure. Those same wrinkled hands shake their way towards Zeke's soft rosy cheeks and begin pinching away.

"Hi Moggy. The Crawler's were hiding today. It took ages to find one." He matches the old lady's smile, trying his best to hide his flinching eyes. Zeke had always been confused with the need to pinch cheeks, and hates when old women did it. Not that he’d ever say anything about it.

"You look more like your mammy every day." A heave of relief throws his head back as the mild assault ceases. Moggy manoeuvres back behind her stall. "How is she holding up? The poor dear."

Zeke edges closer to her counter to rest his head upon his arms. "She's fine. She was cleaning yesterday. Even went out for a walk." His heavy eyelids follow the old woman's actions as she packs a brown bag with a variety of groceries. She places them beside his resting head.

Zeke heaves his head up to rummage through the vegetables and sauces that fill the brown bag. As usual there are no sweets. A hidden sigh is enough to show Zeke's displeasure, though he continues to smile on the surface and searches his pocket for enough notes to complete the transaction.

With his orbs sold and his mother's groceries collected, Zeke has achieved all that he intended. His arms wrap around the bag, holding low enough to keep the fragile paper steady. He wanders out back into the maze of stalls, after both he and Old Moggy pass on their thanks and farewells.