Jet was feeling it again. Deep under his skin, unattached to the tiredness that haunted anyone so unfortunate as to find themselves forsaken in Soporifick, he had a feeling of deep dissatisfaction. At least, he believed it to be dissatisfaction. It wasn’t unlike a feeling of something very wrong, but it was hard to describe outside of dissatisfaction.

He was trying to ignore it.

His fingers nimbly rifled through the confessional vinyls, trying to find one that was particularly dastardly. He wanted to find something incriminating, something that would ruin the reputation of Leonard Callow, should it ever be leaked. So he needed something nasty.

He rubbed his eyes. Everyone in Soporifick experienced some shape or form of tiredness, although, from what he’d observed, how that tiredness was experienced varied. Some became drowsily sleepy, unable to think coherently and stumbling through the endless hallways of offices and miscellaneous workspaces. Others felt the tiredness experienced in dull lecture halls, a constant droning sound lulling them into a sense of exhaustion.

For Jet, the tiredness was the kind he usually experienced when studying for too many hours. A kind of pressure in his head, a dryness in his eyes and an itch for anything but whatever he was doing. For a while, caffeine, even in mild dosages, had been helpful against Soporifick’s cloying tiredness, but in recent weeks, he was suspecting that even the strongest doses of caffeine weren’t working.

And that was already burdensome enough without the constant sense of dissatisfaction.

He came across a vinyl labelled “My talentless Angel”. It sounded promising. He took it over to his portable vinyl player, which, when closed, looked like an ordinary briefcase. He placed the vinyl on the turntable and started playing. The vinyl came to life and Callow’s voice droned out.

“… Of course, I did still have to do a little bit of bribing. Nepotism is good, but not nearly enough. You see, my darling angel has no talent for studying, but it will bring such shame to the Callow family if any family member were to go anything other than Evenglome University. From what I hear, they’ll be using the same strategies they used with my son. The test scores of other applying students will be lowered, so she will get in without any trouble at all. And, of course, the professors understand to give her good marks, regardless of performance, once she is matriculated…”

He listened to the vinyl some more and as it continued, it painted worse and worse picture of Callow and, apparently Evenglome University. Perfect. This was the best vinyl to start sinking the politician’s reputation with. As a nice bonus, it would tarnish Evenglome’s as well.

He put the vinyl in a thin cardboard cover and tucked it away in his satchel, where the other collected vinyls were stowed away. He then closed the vinyl player into its briefcase form and left Callow’s office, entering the sprawling hallways of Soporifick. Outside, his partner was waiting for him, whittling away at a misshapen bird.

“Let’s go,” Jet said. His partner looked up.

“Got ‘em already?” Finn asked with a friendly smile, putting his knife and wood project back in his pockets. “That was fast, even for you.”

Jet ignored him and continued walking. Finn always played at being jovial and friendly, but the man was two-faced. Jet didn’t need to look back to know Finn was scowling at him, under the impression the teen wouldn’t notice his disdain.

“You sure you don’t want to drag Callow in here? ‘Ey?” Finn egged, as he joined Jet’s side.

“Too messy and Callow is more valuable to us alive than dead,” Jet simply answered.

“I think dead sends a clearer message,” Finn argued.

“Dead is too serious. It will attract unwanted attention,” Jet reminded him coldly. Finn just laughed.

“Some assassins we are,” he joked. “Not killing until you consider it absolutely necessary.”

“You are an assassin, I am an executioner of will,” Jet corrected. “Mr Lark wants Callow made an example of. If we make him crash and burn, our friends will see what happens if they betray us.”

Finn let out a low whistle. “So you’re releasing all those vinyls, eh?” he asked, poking at the full satchel.

“No. It’s better to release them in a steady stream. Make Callow think he can climb out of his mess, realize he can’t and gradually become the blubbering, pathetic worm that he is,” Jet corrected. Unlike Finn, who had a more immediate and impulsive approach to their night-job, Jet tended to keep his eyes on the big picture. It was why their boss trusted him more than the loose cannon that was his assigned partner. In fact, it was the main reason why he was in charge, despite being half Finn’s age.

Finn clicked his tongue.

“Man, this is so dull. Didn’t even get to see any andahts,” he complained.

“That’s a good sign. We’ve been here, what, three hours? And no sign of an andaht. The gas masks are working,” Jet remarked.

“Pfff, with these on, we look like andahts,” Finn pointed out, pretending to be a monster and raising his arms over Jet’s head. Jet just shoved him aside and kept walking. “Kid, get a sense of humour,” Finn called after him.

“How about you just act your age?” Jet retorted. Finn didn’t reply, but Jet was certain the man was gritting his teeth. If it weren’t for Mr Lark, neither of them would be working together. Finn was too laid back for Jet’s tastes and Jet was too uptight for Finn’s. Still, they’d been working together for four years, so despite everything, they at least could work together. Even if it was unnatural for both of them.

They exited the building and made their way to the public bathrooms. From there, slipping through the mirror, they’d return to the real world, with the confessional vinyls ready to be handed to Clodie Kellen, Mr Lark’s pet daytime talk show host, one after the other.

— 📀 —

“Your work with Callow has once again been astounding,” Mr Lark praised Jet. “His reputation is up in flames, he’s become such a pathetic mess of a man, even if he tattles on us, no one will take him seriously. More importantly, our partners are more devoted to us than ever, some have even increased our funds. Your plan was very effective. Sometimes, I still can’t believe someone of your calibre is working for me.”

He put a hand on Jet’s shoulder, patting him gently, and Jet suppressed any reaction at all. Mr Lark mustn’t know how much influence he had on him – that the words made him feel important and needed, and the gesture felt so comforting and paternal, the teen could drown in its unfamiliar warmth.

“Thank you sir,” was all Jet said. Mr Lark walked past him, looking up at his collection of confessional vinyls. Although hidden in plain view, no one would suspect that Mr Lark’s collection of red vinyls held the secrets of all his contacts, be they enemy or friend.

And why would they? Confessions and secrets weren’t supposed to be found on red vinyls, scattered across an alternate reality of endlessly warped workspaces, with an atmosphere so oppressively tiring, it threatened to kill you.

“All this work will be over soon,” Mr Lark promised. “Fulfremed believes that at this pace, we will be able to seize power this coming winter.” He looked back at Jet, smiling. “My precious assistant, this is all thanks to you. Ravuspel knows Finn Elender isn’t even half as effective as you. Everything we have achieved is thanks in part to your hard work.”

There was that word again. Ravuspel. Mr Lark had started using the made-up word in July. Was it a conscious decision on Mr Lark’s part… Or did it have something to do with Fulfremed? For now, he chose not to comment on it.

“Any news of my father?” Jet asked, pretending that the flattery wasn’t having an effect. Mr Lark just chuckled.

“How is it you are so young, yet it’s always all business with you?” he asked. “At your age, you should be causing trouble with your friends, chasing after girls…”

“If I was doing that, I wouldn’t be worthy of your sponsorship,” Jet replied. “Or the work you have me do.”

Mr Lark smirked. “I suppose that is true enough.” He looked out the window, at the sprawling city skyline of Orthank.

“My father, sir,” Jet repeated.

“Still nothing conclusive,” Mr Lark admitted. His gaze returned to Jet. “I’ve told you before, I’ll inform you once something comes up.”

“I’d appreciate any scrap of information.”

“After all the dead ends you’ve had to chase down, I don’t have the heart to give you any new information until I am absolutely certain,” Mr Lark insisted. His tone became cold, “Don’t ask me again.”

Jet’s jaw clacked shut and he looked away, teeth clenched together. At this point he was certain that Mr Lark was just stringing him along, and yet he didn’t have enough of a spine to do something about it. He’d rather hold on to Mr Lark and hope he found his father, than rebel against Mr Lark and deal with the consequences.

“Any progress with the Red Gent?” Mr Lark asked.

“No sir, we still haven’t found him,” Jet lied.

He had, of course, sighted the mysterious Red Gent plenty of times. In his personal opinion though, there was no need to go after the only other person able to enter and exit Soporifick at will. The Red Gent was only interested in rescuing people that got lost in Soporifick. And while yes, that had initially caused trouble, seeing as back then, Jet’s preferred method of murder had been stranding people in Soporifick for an andaht to find, it had all been resolved now. Finn and Jet now simply killed whoever they brought into Soporifick, before an andaht or the Red Gent could find them.

“But the night classes are beginning soon,” Jet reassured, “As I’ve told you, I’m fairly certain that our Red Gent is someone in their late teens, whose school performance has to be suffering from being up late at night. Considering his heroics, he is probably upright or something in that direction, and unwilling to embarrass his family by failing high school. He is sure to sign up for the night classes.”

Mr Lark looked unimpressed.

“Worst case, if the night classes do not attract our Red Gent’s attention, it will boost your popularity, seeing as you’re funding a new, inclusive form of education,” Jet added.

“Hm. I suppose that’s true enough,” Mr Lark muttered. “We can’t have the Red Gent ruining our plans, Jethro.”

“I know, sir. He won’t,” Jet promised. He didn’t know why Mr Lark was getting so upset over some kid playing superhero, but he didn’t question it. In the end, he didn’t really care.

He was dismissed shortly afterwards.