Sharlok moved through the streets of Hellington with a decisive stride, his coat slicing through the air like a black blade.

His gaze scanned the crowd: faces, alleys, furtive gestures.

Every corner seemed to promise a lead, and every street dissolved into nothing.

The deeper he pushed into the city, the clearer it became.

He was searching for a needle in a haystack.

Hellington sprawled like an untamable organism — bridges, ramps, districts stacked against one another all the way to the horizon — and without a concrete clue, finding Sky and Shark had become impossible.

They could be anywhere: lost in the chaos of the markets, hidden in the basements of old factories, or sheltered by some criminal family ready to trade silence for favors.

He stopped at the center of a square lit by electric lanterns; light carved sharp lines across his face as he clenched his jaw, registering every flicker of movement.

He was used to controlling variables, to predicting moves.

For the first time, he was blind.

No leverage.

At last, he made a decision.

Night had already fallen… and it was the perfect time to descend where the city stopped pretending.

“If someone has seen those two,” he murmured, voice low, “it will be the rats who live in the dark.”

Bandits, fences, dealers — the invisible network that kept Hellington standing.

Information did not pass through Imperial offices.

It passed through dirty hands in the underbelly.

Sharlok knew that language — targeted pressure, carefully measured favors — and he knew someone would talk.

He only had to find the right point to break.

Hellington shed its skin beneath artificial lights.

Streetlamps ignited in sequence, casting long, trembling shadows over still-damp streets.

Industrial buildings, gray and lifeless by day, exploded into neon signs: red, blue, green — pulsing like artificial organs.

The city breathed at night.

And that breath was filthy.

Sharlok advanced slowly, absorbing every detail.

Deafening music spilled from half-open doors.

People laughed loudly, drinks in hand.

Luxury cars streaked past like predators through distracted bodies.

Men in suits negotiated indecent deals a few meters from women leaning against walls, eyes waiting beneath the neon glow.

It was nauseating.

Ordinary people kept living.

Unaware of the blood shed by those born to obey, hidden beneath the promise of an invincible Empire.

They laughed, drank, danced as if war belonged to someone else.

He lit his cigar without taking his eyes off the crowd.

“These idiots dance… and call it peace what others pay for with blood.”

Smoke slipped from his lips, dissolving into the tainted night air.

He tightened his coat around his shoulders and left the luminous heart of Hellington, turning into an alley where neon did not reach.

There, in mud and broken pavement, began the kingdom of scum.

That was where he would start digging.

It did not take long before he noticed them.

Two thin figures moving through the dark alleys, quick steps and nervous glances.

They were not looking for company.

They were looking for something to take.

Sharlok slowed slightly.

He did not stop them.

Instead, he followed at a distance, letting them open the path for him.

In the underbelly, even rats could lead to useful information.

Around them, the city felt hollow.

A few shapes curled beneath filthy blankets, shadows seated against walls, slow breaths blending with the distant hum of neon.

No one truly looked.

No one wanted to see.

The two advanced until their eyes settled on a few girls crossing the alley with uncertain steps, laughing to chase away tension.

Sharlok stopped in the shadow of a doorway.

He watched.

Still.

Invisible.

He understood immediately what they were about to do.

The girls split at the mouth of the alley, their laughter cut short by the alley’s dirty silence.

The two men paused briefly, studying movements like starving predators.

They chose the most isolated one: blonde, short jacket, purse clutched to her chest like a useless shield.

She turned into a narrow side street, convinced she was taking a shortcut.

They followed without haste.

Silent.

Precise.

Like blades sliding through dark water.

The street tightened into a corridor of shadow.

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Her purse was torn away and her body slammed against a metal dumpster.

Their hands tried to erase her, piece by piece, as if she were nothing more than an unattended object.

That was when Sharlok stepped forward.

He did not shout.

He did not run.

He simply emerged from the dark.

A man in a dark green uniform, coat still, cigar glowing between his lips.

His gaze steady.

Heavy as a sentence already written.

“Sewer rats… I’m afraid this is not your lucky night.”

The two spun around.

Blades flashed almost instantly.

Sharlok did not retreat.

Their arms stopped mid-strike — a sharp grip on both wrists, one fluid motion.

He lifted them off the ground effortlessly, as if they weighed nothing.

“Take what is yours,” he said to the girl without turning. “And leave.”

She hesitated for only a second, then grabbed her bag and ran, footsteps vanishing into the dark.

The bandits reacted on instinct, kicks and punches thrown blindly.

Every blow died against the Imperial uniform or cut through empty air.

Sharlok’s grip did not waver.

With a brief motion, he hurled them aside.

Their bodies rolled across the filthy pavement, stopping among crushed cans and black puddles.

They staggered to their feet and tried to flee, shouting for help.

They did not make three steps.

The sidewalk rippled beneath them.

Asphalt gave way, then sealed shut around their legs like a living trap.

They sank to their ankles.

Then to their calves.

They struggled, but the ground tightened like a silent vise.

The Captain advanced without haste.

The cigar glowed once more between his fingers as smoke veiled his eyes.

No pity.

Only patience.

The two, now immobilized, began to beg in broken voices.

“Please… don’t kill us! It won’t happen again! Give us another chance!”

Sharlok stopped in front of them.

“Your redemption does not interest me.”

He inhaled slowly from the cigar.

“I need information.”

“Two recruits, wearing eolite shackles, passed through this city. Do you want to live? Tell me if you’ve seen them. And where. Now.”

Terror shifted.

The fear of immediate death gave way to something slower.

Deeper.

“And after we tell you everything, what if you kill us anyway?” one stammered.

A thin smile curved Sharlok’s lips.

Without warmth.

The cement around their legs cracked softly, tightening by a few centimeters.

“I have not buried you yet,” he said quietly. “Consider that a gesture of goodwill.”

He stepped closer.

Bent slightly toward them and exhaled cigar smoke directly into their faces.

“Speak… and this night ends here.”

His fingers moved slightly.

The cement groaned.

“Stay silent… and you will discover how frightening a burial can be.”

Sweat streamed down their faces as the air in the alley grew heavier.

“I—I swear we’ll tell you everything, Captain!” one blurted. “Today we saw many recruits moving around the lower city… but those two, we’d already noticed them. Two days ago.”

Sharlok leaned forward just a fraction.

“Describe them.”

“One was blond… wearing sunglasses. The other had red hair, taller. They didn’t look like normal soldiers. They moved like they were running.”

The cigar remained suspended between Sharlok’s fingers.

His gaze narrowed.

He did not need more details.

“Were they wearing shackles? And I want the exact area.”

“N-no… no shackles. We spotted them near Grey Wall. That’s all, I swear!”

Sharlok’s jaw tightened slightly.

The cigar stayed still as his eyes lowered for a brief moment, calculating.

No shackles.

Someone had intervened.

He stepped closer.

“Were they alone… or was someone else with them?”

The two exchanged an uncertain glance.

“We saw them as two… but maybe there was another. Not with them. Behind. Like a shadow.”

Smoke rose slowly into the air.

“Describe him.”

“Black hair. Cold eyes. Normal clothes… dark pants, simple shirt. But he didn’t look like just anyone.”

Silence.

Sharlok stepped back half a pace and inhaled slowly from the cigar.

Smoke veiled his gaze as he stood perfectly still, as if the decision had already been made.

“Good,” he said simply. “Forget this night. If you open your mouths… I will find you.”

A slight movement of his foot.

The asphalt gave way instantly.

The two collapsed to the ground, staggered… then fled without looking back, vanishing into the dark alleys.

Sharlok remained motionless.

The smoke dissolved into the cold air.

Those pieces of information changed everything.

If a third was tailing them… then he was not an ally.

Or perhaps he was merely playing at confusing the trail.

His jaw tightened faintly.

One certainty remained.

Grey Wall.

—

Next Episode — No Name, No Face