Welcome to the Masquerade (TCoR)

''Another day at the grindstone, ''Iva thought bitterly, as she stumbled sleepily down the hallway of her small apartment one early morning. Waking up at six o’clock every day for the last few weeks had left her sullen and moody – or, at least, more so than usual. The ten-hour shifts at the station weren’t helping either.

The youngest of the Ravenwood siblings fought the temptation of turning around and returning to her warm, cosy bed, and steeled herself for the long day ahead. Flicking on the lights with a yawn, she made her way to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, before checking the fridge to see if she had anything leftover from the night before.

Nothing.

With a sigh she slammed the door shut again and backed away. She’d have to buy something on the way to work – something she hated doing, as it ate into her already-dwindling bank account. She’d need a promotion soon, she knew. Otherwise, she’d have to find a new job.

Finding a well-paid job in Windpath was easier said than done, however. Regardless of whether or not the city council was underfunded, inept or simply corrupt, the one true fact that none could deny was that the northernmost city of Mistral had long since fallen into the hands of criminals, petty crooks, and mobsters. Finding a public servant who wasn’t plagued by manipulating superiors, personal ulterior motives or the enticing bribes waved in front of their face was difficult – if not impossible. Even Iva herself resorted to giving in to a few ‘requests’ from time to time, if only to put food on the table.

She had thought that getting a job in policing would allow her to help fight back against the injustice that had infected the city, but she had been naive. Whenever her child self had told others of her intentions, most had patted her on the shoulder and smiled sadly. Others had laughed in her face. All of them had found the idea amusing at best. Foolhardy, at worst.

All except one.

‘Blessed is the mind too small for imagining greater things’, she remembered the body telling her fifteen years ago, when her brother was picking her up from the orphanage one day. ‘''They’d watch our kingdom burn if they could live to count the ashes.’ ''

The boy’s words echoed in her mind every day – like a morning ritual with which she found the strength to press onwards. All she needed was one big win, and she could free herself of the restraints of being a mere investigator for the police, and become a proper detective just like her mother had been.

One would think that in a city like Windpath, such a thing would be relatively easy. Unfortunately, one would be wrong to think so. Arresting a worthwhile target was difficult enough. Having them sentenced to an even vaguely meaningful punishment was harder still.

With those depressing thoughts in her head, she moved to return to her room, but stopped when a glitter of gold caught her eye. Turning, she saw that something had been slipped under her apartment door in the middle of the night, and now lay on the carpet at the edge of the room. Moving closer, she found it was a folded piece of paper with a ticket-like object poking out of the side.

“A letter?” Iva wondered aloud, bending down to retrieve it. She turned the mysterious message in her hands as she examined the outside carefully with the abnormal curiosity and suspicion that she was known for. It was plain paper, the kind one would use for printing, and clearly not of any value. On the front, the words ‘For Iva’ were drawn neatly in pencil. Whoever the mystery messenger was, they knew her name at least.

Opening it, she yelped in surprise when the letter exploded in a shower glitter and confetti so loud and sudden that she almost had a heart attack. A chorus of party horns sounded in inexplicable excitement from a small contraption glued to the inside of the paper, making a frightening experience equally as embarrassing; to the point where Iva was thankful she lived alone.

''Fucking letter! Jeez, someone’s seriously bored! ''Iva steamed silently, shaking pieces of plastic out of her hair as she brushed her shirt clean. The urge to crumple the noted immediately was only stalled by three more words written on the inside.

''Good luck! – D.G.''

Iva was momentarily confused by the words, before remembering the golden ticket that had fallen onto the floor when the trap had been activated. On closer inspection, she found that it wasn’t a ticket at all – but an invitation.

Iva’s jaw practically hit the floor.

''The Golden Masquerade ''was written in large black letters, along with an address written on the back of it. Any resident of Windpath knew the name – the annual event where every person of importance from the city was invited, hosted by the boss of the infamous Granado Cartel – Auriel Aquila.

The cartel was arguably the most powerful of the various organisations that dominated the city’s criminal theatre. It was common knowledge that the cartel smuggled illegal weapons from Atlas throughout northern Mistral, but a member hadn’t been successfully arrested in years. That was likely to change soon, though, as there had recently been reports of shootings taking place between them and the Diavolo Clan – the city’s resident mafia. The latter’s strength had been waning these last few decades, so it was no surprise that someone eventually began to challenge them. No doubt the masquerade this year was intended to be a display of strength.

But this didn’t make any sense. Why would a man as important as Auriel invite somebody as insignificant as her? And a police investigator, at that! Unless...

Iva looked at the letter again. The way the letter was written and presented, in stark contrast to the invitation itself, made her think whoever had given her the invitation was not Auriel Aquila or one of his henchmen, but somebody else.

Somebody who wanted her to go to the masquerade.

But why?

***

“What is this?” Chief Inspector Sabra sighed, flicking wearily through the stack of sheets Iva had dumped on her desk.

“It’s a list of suspects I’ve compiled for the recent murders in the fifth district,” Iva replied evenly.

“And...why are you giving me this?”

“I thought we could discuss the matter.”

Sabra massaged her temples and frowned at her subordinate. “This case wasn’t assigned to you, Iva. I already have the others working on it.”

“I know, but I haven’t received any important cases in weeks. Surely I can be put to better use on this?”

The Chief Inspector glanced over the first few files, before unclipping one and raising it so that Iva could see it.

“Veneni Sitis? Really? The remnants of that man’s body were pulled from the wreckage of Borbeck Tower by the Decimari months ago. Unless we have zombies rampaging around now, your ‘prime suspect’ is just a long-dead corpse.”

Iva bristled at having her deductions challenged. “All of the signs point to it being him. They match perfectly with his past murders!”

“Then the last of his pitiful band of terrorists are copying him!” Sabra snapped angrily. “Without their leader, Smiler’s Gang is nothing more than a fading memory. The scars they left in Vale are practically already healed! This is just a desperate attempt at trying to gain some attention, nothing more!”

Iva wanted to challenge her superior, but couldn’t find the words. Noting this, the chief turned in her seat and shouted out of the open door of her office.

“Roderick! Get your ass in here, now!”

Iva’s eyes widened in shock as a slim redheaded man hurried into the office, generally unaware of what was happening.

“Yes, chief?” he asked uncertainly, his eyes flicking between Sabra and Iva nervously.

“Take these. They might help you in your investigation,” the Chief Inspector answered, thrusting the wad of papers unceremoniously into the man’s waiting hands. Roderick nodded his head in thanks before quickly ducking out of the room, leaving Iva dumbstruck.

“That’s...that’s my work!” Iva exclaimed, pointing at Roderick’s retreating figure. But the chief didn’t look impressed.

“It doesn’t matter who does the work, so long as it helps us catch the perpetrator,” she replied stiffly, sitting back down in her large leather chair. “Although from now on, I expect that you will stick to your own assignments and not meddle in those of others. Dismissed.”

Iva was speechless. She’d been working on those files ever since the crimes were reported. And now, Roderick was going to get all the credit! Fuming, she turned her hateful glare away from her boss and marched out of the room, slamming the door shut with such force that she half expected the glass to crack.

“Sorry about that,” a voice said behind her. Turning, she found Roderick Shields flicking through Iva’s files with a thin smile on his sharp face. He was looking at their contents with more interest than the chief had, but in her frustration Iva couldn’t tell if that was good or not.

“Sabra can be awfully rude sometimes, can’t she? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take good care of your little...project.”

Iva glowered at the man. “Go to hell, Roderick,” she spat, before turning and storming away – her face reddening as she heard the man chuckle at her back.

She made a point of violently kicking over his bin on the way out.

***

By the time the day of the masquerade came around, Iva had long since given up on her previous investigation. She was annoyed with herself that she hadn’t considered the possibility of the murders being imitations, but perhaps this was to be her chance at redemption. The event was no doubt a hotbed for juicy information and rumours circulating Windpath’s deepest criminal circles – groups which she previously would have only dreamt of being able to infiltrate. If she couldn’t find a worthwhile lead today, she might as well give up being a detective forever.

Needless to say she’d dressed up for the occasion. It wasn’t often that gathering information involved wearing the kind of fancy dress she was wearing now, but besides her lack of practice with high heels she found that she cleaned up quite nicely – although she decided something elegant but simple was more suitable for going undercover than an extravagant getup which would draw all the male eyes on her.

As she rode in the back of her hired limousine, she watched as Auriel Aquila’s mansion slowly loomed towards them with nervous excitement, and her heart skipped a beat when her chauffeur suddenly opened the door to let her out. It was already nine o’clock at night, but she wasn’t alone as she joined several groups of fellow invitees who had arrived at the same time. They were chatting amongst themselves as they walked up to the front gates of the mansion, no doubt familiar with the procedure. Iva trailed behind the group uncertainly, glancing back at the limousine as her escape route.

“Your invitation, ma’am.”

Iva turned back around to find a large man towering menacingly over her. He was dressed in a smart jacket, but lacked a tie or anything that gave her the impression of him being a particularly important member of Auriel’s cartel. The sword sheathed at his waist and the pistol holstered on his leg made it clear that he and his fellow guards were expecting trouble – most likely from the Diavolo Clan, who would no doubt try to use the masquerade as an opportunity to hit back at the cartel. Or perhaps from Malal’s Chosen Motorcycle Club, which she had heard was becoming a bit more daring with every passing day.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Your invitation, ma’am. Please let me see it.”

Auriel’s men were polite, at least. Iva handed over the golden note compliantly, to which the guard fed it into a small handheld machine hanging from a device at his side, nodding when it made a positive ''ding! ''

As Iva moved to walked passed him, however, he stuck his arm out to stop her in her tracks.

“Apologies, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to check your name on the list before I let you in. Simple procedure, you understand?”

The man was clearly afraid of accidentally offending a major player in the criminal underworld, and wasn’t taking any chances. But Iva didn’t have time to dwell on it as she was too busy swearing violently in her mind.

''What do I do? Do I tell him my real name? Is my name actually on the list? Oh, shit, I don’t have a choice do I? ''

“Iva Ravenwood,” she answered with a pleasant smile, which seemed to put the guard’s heart at ease. He scanned his clipboard for her name for a few tense moments, and she froze in fear when she saw him frown momentarily as he did so. Thankfully, he nodded his head and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Welcome to the masquerade, Miss Ravenwood. Please wear your mask from this point onwards, and enjoy your evening.”

Iva smiled her thanks and hurried through the large iron fence gates as quickly as she dared, before stopping and swivelling around in horror.

''Crap, my mask! ''

Iva could only watch despairingly as the limousine that still contained the essential masquerade item on the back seat drove away, leaving her speechless and wanting to kick herself, despite knowing that with her high heels doing so would most likely cause her to fall over. She could have sworn she had taken it with her, but her memory must be betraying her as much as her luck was.

Gripped with a chilling fear, Iva took one shaky step forwards before realising it was hopeless. Unless she found a mask soon, she’d probably be thrown out for violating the damned dress code! In her despair, she almost didn’t feel the hand tapping her on the shoulder.

Standing silently behind her was a lean young man dressed in a smart black suit, wearing a similarly-coloured simple half-mask that covered the top half of his face. His face – or what she could see of it – was handsome and his dark brown hair was surprisingly long and unkempt for an event like this. His most defining feature, however, was his deep, almost hollow-looking green eyes, that seemed to drink in what little light there was that evening.

Over his shoulder he was carrying what looked to be a guitar case, and in his right hand he was holding out a slender green mask that looked like it would compliment her dress surprising well.

“There’s always one who forgets their mask,” the man told her, as she accepted the gift like a human that was given fire by a helpful god.

“Oh, thank you. I was on the verge of a panic attack just now,” Iva replied with a shaky laugh, with the honesty in her words bringing a small smile to the man’s face as he motioned for her to join him on the long walk through the mansion’s gardens to the building itself.

They walked in silence for the most part, but as they neared the mansion she began to speak.

“So, you’re a guitarist, huh? Did our host hire you?” she asked as a way of combating her nervousness, while glancing at the man as they walked. He didn’t seem particularly interested in either her or her looks, however, as he stared straight ahead the entire time.

“Naturally,” he replied.

''Well, that didn’t work.''

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Iva made another attempt.

“Have you ever played here before?”

This time the guitarist took a little longer to respond, although his empty gaze never left the mansion in front of them. Eventually, after what seemed to be a long thought process, he nodded his confirmation.

“One time.”

***

The main hall of Auriel Aquila’s mansion was gigantic. There was simply no other word to describe it suitably – except maybe extravagant. Pillars of marble and priceless paintings, combined with exquisite, foreign carpets gave it a look of majesty that left Iva wondering how long it had taken to built.

The floor was bustling with over one hundred fashionably-dressed visitors – each with their own unique style designed to draw the eye, and each making Iva feel more and more out of place than the last. The air was filled with conversation – some excitable, some harsh and boastful. But in the background, Iva could hear the distinctive sound of hushed whispers. Strange that she could still pick it up over the noise. Perhaps her brain subconsciously separating what was valuable information, and what was pointless banter.

Her companion seem neither impressed nor unnerved by the sight, however, and merely adjusted in his mask in silence as he scanned the ballroom. The entrance of the mansion was slightly elevated by several steps, so one could see across the entire room from that point. He made use of that as he pointed a man dressed in a posh-looking black suit.

“Kolr Shroud. He runs a shady transport business which Auriel utilises for many of his deals,” the guitarist told her with a monotone voice. Iva tilted her head to the side in confusion, but before she could ask why he was telling her this, he was already speaking again.

“Mai Elmquether. She’s one of Windpath’s richest entrepreneurs, and owns one of the largest private security firms in Mistral. Between her employees and Auriel’s goons, they run one of the harshest protection rackets in Remnant.” This time he moved his finger to a short, plump lady barely visible behind a wall of guests shouldering past each other to talk to her. The information made Iva’s skin tingle in anticipation.

“And finally...” the man lowered his hand and nodded towards the large staircase at the far end of the hall, where a line of suited cartel members separated the guests from a man dressed entirely in gold and white, who stood overlooking the scene in front of him just as they were.

“Auriel Aquila,” Iva finished, with a smile playing on her lips. “Head of the Granado Cartel...” And then, to herself, “...and biggest scumbag in the city.”

Surprisingly, the guitarist chuckled then, causing Iva’s skin to crawl at the unnerving sound of it. She turned her head to find him staring at her out of the corner of his eye – his dead gaze staring straight through her. The look – from what she could gather – was one of cold amusement.

“Good luck networking, Iva,” the man said, before shouldering his guitar and moving down the steps towards a platform set up at the far side of the room next to the staircase, once again leaving Iva alone.

Swimming with sharks.

***

“And then I was like, ''‘liquor? I hardly knew her!’” ''

Iva groaned inwardly as the terrible joke got a chorus of forced laughter from the group of lavishly-dressed guests all taking turns trying to get Kolr Shroud’s attention – albeit unsuccessfully. The portly man was too immersed in retelling his story that he wasn’t aware of the fact that nobody actually cared. Not that any of them would say that to his face. He was, after all, one of Auriel Aquila’s closest associates.

''No luck here, either, ''Iva thought sullenly, as retreated from the group in a depressed daze.

She had already hovered around the crowd that had gathered around Mrs Elmquether for the better part of an hour, in the hopes of overhearing some small snippet of information that could point her in the direction of something significant, but to no avail. The masquerade was already in full swing, and yet she hadn’t caught even a smidgen of a lead. The thought of it was almost depressing, although it wasn’t half as bad as the pains in her feet.

Spinning slowly towards the refreshment table, Iva was suddenly sent stumbling as a force caught her hard on the shoulder, causing her to lose her balance and fall inelegantly to the floor.

At least she would have, had the man to her left not stepped forward and deftly caught her before she landed. As if she weighed nothing, the man lifted her back to her feet before rounding on the person who had knocked her over in the first place.

“Watch where you’re walking, you damned fool!” the man cursed, causing the red-haired man to cringe.

“I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” he quickly replied, although this only gave him another look of annoyance from the man.

“Not to me, idiot! To...!”

Too late. The young man was already gone, weaving between the other masked participants in his rush to get away. Iva’s saviour grumbled irritably for a moment, before his gaze turned back to his ward.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the man asked, to which Iva quickly nodded.

“Thank you for that,” she replied, as she fixed her hair distractedly. The sudden jolt had wakened her senses somewhat, and her eyes trailed the path her accidental attacker had taken, shivering as she felt the sensation she always felt when she was missing something important.

Her thoughts broke off as the air was punctuated by the distinct sound of a guitar playing in the background, drawing her attention to the stage. It was quiet at first – muffled by the countless voices of Windpath’s corrupted. But then, one by one, the voices died away, until there was silence save for the sad, piercing tunes of the guitarist’s creation. And soon, words joined them:

''“There's a black bird perched outside my window I hear him calling I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers He sees all my sins He reads my soul.”''

After several minutes, Iva realised that she’d lost herself in the man’s voice and allowed herself to be distracted. Looking around, she watched as the ballroom’s participants subconsciously swayed to the music – forgetting their troubles and relaxing to the sound of the smooth words that poured out of the singer’s mouth.

The blissful moment wouldn’t last. The song ended before Iva had a chance to fully appreciate the man’s voice, to loud applause. She watched as the guitarist she had walked up to the mansion with bowed his head in thanks and stepped down from the stage, to which another man quickly took his place at the microphone to announce that the band would now begin to play, and that everyone should find a partner.

Iva almost sniggered at how many of Mistral’s most unlawful minds hurried to obey. It was only now that she truly understood just how highly they regarded their host – and how much they feared him. She doubted any of them enjoyed dancing, or if many of them actually knew how to. But the way in which they craved the attention of their peers only amplified the feeling of loathing Iva felt as she watched them.

The young investigator retreated to the refreshments table and helped herself to a glass of some expensive-looking alcoholic drink she found there. When she set the empty glass down again, she realised she wasn’t the only one seeking solace from the mass of dancers that dominated the floor.

“Another marvellous event you’ve held, Mr Aquila. They are not likely to forget this night any time soon!” a boisterous voice said, drawing her eyes to the broad back of Kolr Shroud, who stood only several metres away.

“Spare me your empty compliments, Kolr. They will remember it just the like others,” a second voice replied with a sharp, volatile edge.

Iva could barely hide her excitement as she spotted the silvery-gold hair of Auriel Aquila over the other man’s shoulder. The host of the Golden Masquerade was surrounded by white-suited guards, who formed a protective ring around their boss that even Shroud could not puncture. It was no surprise he had the nickname ‘untouchable’.

“My men will need several of your trucks to transport some stock for me next week. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

As he spoke, the older man lit a large cigar with a gold-plated lighter and blew out a cloud of smoke directly in front of his companion’s face, though if Shroud was outraged by it, he hid it well with an obedient smile.

“Of course. I’ll make sure you have what you require.”

“Excellent,” Auriel replied, moving his gaze across the ballroom as his guests pranced about, his lip curling in distaste as he did so.

''I suppose even the host doesn’t enjoy the show he puts on, ''Iva thought with a knowing smile. ''But man, even his suit looks to be made of golden thread! Does he really like the colour that much?''

Iva allowed herself to fall victim to her own pointless questions, and by the time she snapped herself out of her daydream she found Auriel’s light green eyes staring directly at her.

“Girl,” he called, motioning for Shroud to step aside so that he could see her properly. “I don’t recognise you. What’s your name?”

Caught completely by surprise, Iva could only mumble out a few illegible words as she took several nervous steps backwards, shrinking as she watched the man’s brow furrow in suspicion.

“I don’t remember inviting you here,” he decided, before turning to the white-coats that surrounded him with an irritated look on his face. “Take her to the back. I’ll question her later.”

Iva could only watch, momentarily paralysed, as six of Auriel’s personal guards began making their way towards her, clearly not concerned with whether or not she came quietly. She made sure to kick off her heels before backpedalling away from them, determined not to let them near her. But in the few seconds that his guards turned their attention to her, Iva noticed Auriel suddenly jolt in surprise as a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his throat from behind.

And then the room went dark.

The music stopped immediately, and room filled with gasps and curses as men and women stumbled over each other in the darkness, before a chorus of angry voices called for some light. And light they received – as no sooner had the room gone dark did it suddenly explode in a storm of sparks and thunder as a hundred fireworks suddenly careened into the air, showering the dancers in burning ash and molten plastic. And over the screams of a hundred terrified voices, Iva heard a nightmarish howl erupt from in front of her, followed by the sickening snap of bones and cartilage.

Iva clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut as she weathered the deafening blasts of fireworks and the chaotic pushing and shoving of the mob trying to escape back through the main entrance – completely awestruck by the scene developing around her. At some point during her quest to escape she felt a small object being pushed into her hands, but in the confusion the person’s shadowy figure was lost to the crowd before she had a chance to find out who it was. Not that she really cared – all she wanted right now was to escape from this hell.

Carried by the swarm of fleeing guests, Iva barely managed to keep herself from being trampled by the stampede as she was forced out of the building. But before she was pulled away, she caught sight of the lights flickering back on inside as the last of the fireworks died away. And there, lying broken on the steps of the main staircase, she saw him. Auriel – his head twisted at an unnatural angle, so that he was staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes whilst his body lay down towards the floor. Around him, his would-be guardians were exchanging expressions of terror and incomprehension at the grizzly scene they were beholding.

Auriel Aquila, the ‘untouchable’ cartel boss and most powerful man in Windpath, was dead – murdered in his own home, surrounded by the city’s most wicked 1-percent.

And yet Iva felt she knew who the cartel would think was the murderer.