Kieran's fingers traced the information on the virtual docket, his expression difficult… no, seemingly impossible to decipher while gliding his finger through the rows and down the columns, simply to verify this couldn't be a coincidence.
The applicant's identity wasn't entirely relevant; instead, their address caught his attention.
A sort of universal address provided to many children.
Orphans, to be exact. Those discarded and unclaimed.
Intrigue rose in Kieran's gaze, and concentration stirred, becoming laser-focused once his vision became trained on Altair.
"Are you sure you're familiar with this kid?"
Vacant of doubt, Altair nodded.
"I'm positive that I've seen this kid around. Though the entire event is foggy, his eyes just seem uniquely familiar. The kind of eyes you'll never get out of your mind once you meet them. Something… resonant is buried within that kid's eyes."
It was uncommon for Altair to speak so much and with so much emotion, no less.
Though Altair failed to precisely identify what he sensed, Kieran vaguely understood what he meant or was at least trying to construe. It took a moment, but Kieran pieced together the clues hidden in Altair's words and the document's information.
Kieran's musings settled on one of the undeniable truths he and Altair shared.
'Like us, this kid may very well teeter on the edge of being broken. Those are the eyes of a suffering child, betraying misfortune—misguided and untreated—bereft of their innocence. A shattered light in a child is a terrible thing. We should know….'
Without giving the matter further thought, Kieran placed the relatively thin docket containing the child's information on the table.
"I want the boy with us. He won't require additional testing."
Astonishment was prevalent, both Alice and Lillian eyeing Kieran with a strange expression. The decision seemed too hasty to be a fastidious choice made after ample analysis.
Not even one minute had passed since Kieran picked out the docket and came to a decision.
Problems quickly became the focus of everyone else's analysis.
Shockingly, it was Lillian who spoke up on behalf of the guild's longevity and the importance of protecting it.
"Isn't that boy too young to be a prospect? I've looked at his evaluation. Many things about him are off or even sub-par. Above all, he suffers from severe malnutrition. There's no telling if his body can handle the stress of the virtual devices. He is a severe risk. If something were to go wrong…"
Kieran understood her point, and it was something he had pondered deeply.
There was a great, immutable significance in her words.
The virtual devices, announced to become obsolete in no less than two days, placed a hefty strain on the user's body but, more importantly, mind.
The more active the user's mind became, the faster it would sap nutrients, essential vim, and sustenance from the user's body. What started out as proportional would eventually—perhaps sooner than later—become an exponential disconnect.
X-hancers could remedy this issue except for one glaring flaw. A severely weakened body could not accept X-hancers.
An immediate rejection was guaranteed.
Previously, Kieran believed that claim to be a lie. Charles claimed he couldn't be healed on his deathbed. His body was crumbling, suffering from malnutrition, and his reasoning tended to blink in and out of existence.
After experiencing X-hancers firsthand, however, Kieran knew it was the truth. Trying to take an X-hancer at that point in his life would have only accelerated his death date.
Though… that did really matter. He died within minutes of learning the truth.
Kieran scoffed, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless, hostile light.
'Heh. Vile snakes."
Calming himself, Kieran continued to review his thoughts.
X-hancer's current formula was too volatile, doused in rigidity and overbearing delivery methods, and lacking the flexibility to provide a range of treatments. With all these issues, Kieran could see how Lillian and the others viewed this recruit as far from ideal.
A nuisance, even.
However, Kieran couldn't ignore the young boy. Not after the dream he had earlier. Not after the faint, barely recognizable remembrance of his young friend.
Convinced, Kieran chose to shoulder this risk and burden.
After all, Kieran had created Sanguis Requiem to become an aegis of the broken, a creed of strength, resilience, and conviction for those lacking. An example of righteous malice, just vengeance.
What Kieran sought wasn't talent, but rather the listless and hopeless. From within the murkiness of their wretched despair and lonesome solitude, direction and drive could be extracted, tempered, and forged.
But only in a select few. Kieran understood this did not apply to everyone, especially not the incorrigible.
Though, he didn't need it to be. Kieran's indirect and personal goal was complete if even one of those forgotten, abused, or abandoned could flourish.
At least stage one of his personal aspirations.
'Sometimes all the misguided needs is guidance without judgment.'
"I've heard your concerns. But it's decided. At least, it's decided on my end. I want to privately check if the boy is suited to become one of us."
Lillian thought to protest more, but she bit back her response, offering a faint nod. She decided to trust the judgment of the young man before her.
Silence ensued while the number of floating virtual documents gradually lessened. A few categories depicting the level of favor towards each applicant were created to organize the clutter, keeping it orderly.
The most favored was the thinnest, barely numbering twenty-five. The secondary list contained at least five times that number. The third and final list included roughly ten times the amount in both the previously mentioned lists combined.
There was a fourth list, but it was unimportant, only containing the rejected applicants. Every rejected person possessed a trait or background that Kieran despised, loathed, or simply didn't see enough value to bother with.
After hours of sifting through documents, Kieran sat back, groaning through the pain of his bruised, battered, partially torn muscles contracting. He pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it to ease the building fatigue.
Logistical work, somehow, was more tiring than physical training. Perhaps it was the prevalent silence, the acute attention to detail, or the monotony of reading similar words, but it was all unusually taxing.
Lillian supplied rounds of coffee, tea, and other refreshments throughout the process but after enough sifting, careful and deliberate perusing, it proved ineffective. Downing the contents in one bafflingly huge gulp was no help either.
Several hours into the decision-making process, Altair and Allan prepared to leave the hotel room to embark on the task Kieran had asked of them.
Unlike typical upright businesses, the department of the Caelum Lenders, steeped in usury and other immoral, unethical, and downright illegal practices, operated in the dead of night.
Furthermore, access could only be acquired through the correct channels, like knowing the precise time, room number, and codename of the finance agent handling the night. Kieran acquired the information with the help of some unpracticed but practical skills learned from Weasel.
It was difficult to obtain without setting off alarms in the world of crime, but he managed… barely. The stress of it all reminded just how much he needed to get Weasel on board. Though his technology savviness was undetermined at this point, Kieran believed it outmatched him by leagues.
Even if imperfect, Weasel was still a valuable addition to the team.
Before Allan and Altair left, however, Alice stopped them, offering a solemn gaze.
"You two better remain safe. I don't like how Kieran described all of this. So I don't want your safety—rather endangerment—on my conscience."
Kieran lifted his arm from the couch, lazily tilting his head back until he viewed them from an upside-down point of view.
"What she said. Protect yourself at all times. Altair… you have permission to harm should you find yourselves in a predicament. Through any means necessary. Remember that."
Altair acknowledged the authorization.
A subtle nod came, followed by gestures for Allan to follow along.
Whereas Altair appeared composed and poised for the job, Allan fidgeted about, his throat feeling parched and his lips unnaturally dry.
He wouldn't fuck this up… right?
