Dark Wizard's Case

In the middle of the almost empty container stood Alex's pride and joy. Spokes made of chrome-plated steel. A leather seat. A shiny glass windshield. Saddle bags decorated with leather in the back. A V8 engine. Individually adjusted front and rear suspension. The motorcycle had been custom-made for Alex.

It was a classic Road King by Harley-Davidson. Assembled manually from all-natural components, with no faux leather or magic metal, the old girl was 100% authentic.

There was no magic drive or crystals in place of the cylinders. Only gas.

In the age of high-magic technology, the rarity in front of Alex had cost him a fortune. The price he'd paid was the entire Tkils gang.

Doom had actually ordered the chopper custom made, but he'd used the crew's shared funds and claimed he'd be giving the bike to the Tkils boss as a gift.

But after terminating his membership in the gang, Alex had taken both the lives of its higher-ups and the bike.

The exact price was so high that it wasn't polite to say it out loud in decent company. Just the annual tax charged for a bike like that was higher than a middle manager's salary.

Alex patted the accelerator handle. Then he checked to see if the saddle bags were firmly affixed, the suspension was still tight, and the spokes were straight.

The bike was in perfect condition.

That's a custom-made Harley for you.

"Your wait is over," Alex whispered almost lovingly.

As though in response, the chrome stand reflected the light cast by the bulb swinging above them on the ceiling. Alex clapped his old metal friend on the seat and stepped over to get the second item he'd stored in his half-empty container.

Hanging on a wardrobe rack was his suit, encased to keep anything from happening to it. It was a simple, fitted, two-piece suit with two buttons and sleeves that barely reached his wrists. The shoulders were raised a bit, the white stitches visible.

The creased pants looked more like chinos than proper dress pants. They were perfect, making for exactly the kind of suit Alex loved.

Back in the day, he'd had a different suit for every day of the week, but right then…

[Item: ArmaniMagico Suit

Item rank: B

Maximum mana absorption: 1025.7

Physical resistance: 24.5%

Magic resistance (general): 7.8%

Magic resistance (specific): Fire 12.5%, Water 3%, Energy 15%, Nature 1%

Additional powers: Self-cleaning, Ventilation, Nonwrinkle]

"Nonwrinkle," Alex snorted. "There should be a dash there."

Changing into the suit and white shirt (plain silk, without any enchantments), he finally felt like a man again.

He also slipped a pair of patent leather shoes onto his b.a.r.e feet, black and cinnamon brogues by the same brand.

ArmaniMagico was one of the best magic clothing makers out there. They offered fantastic pieces with unusual attributes.

After all, fire and energy were the magic elements most commonly used by the cops.

"It doesn't hold a candle to bespoke suits," Alex said as he adjusted the jacket's collar, "but it's good enough for a rainy day."

[Item: ArmaniMagico Shoes

Item rank: C

Maximum mana absorption: 84

Special powers: Levitation (4 sec), Leap (20 m)]

Alex had no idea when he would possibly need the built-in levitation spell or 20-meter leap. He just liked the way they looked.

Even dark wizards have their quirks.

Alexander Dumsky, an orphaned kid who'd never had any personal belongings, compensated for his childhood complexes with stylish and expensive clothes.

He looked good in them, after all.

"Move over, buddy." Grabbing the handlebar, Alex shoved the heavy bike aside.

Then he squatted to run his palm, now with a different sort of pentagram flashing on it, over the container floor. The steel hissed, boiling and melting to reveal a small hollow in the hangar's cement floor.

Groping around in the hollow, Alex found a small item wrapped in a rag. It was about the size and shape of the flash drives so prevalent a century before.

It was his digital wallet.

Quite the convenient little thing to keep e-cash in.

After pulling it out, Alex unwrapped and inspected it.

"Cash in," he said. "Code: 17B72221."

The transaction was soon complete. Alex saw his wallet balance in the lower left corner of his vision: 17,147 credits. It was a tidy little sum, if nothing compared to what he owed the Syndicate. The suit hadn't mentioned anything about his salary, either. Damnation.

But all his thoughts and worries disappeared the moment he placed the second item from his cache onto his finger: a simple black ring engraved with magical runes.

There was nothing special about it, only…

"Let's go." Alex jumped onto the bike, kicked the stand up, turned the key, and yanked back on the throttle.

The engine roared to life like a rearing mustang. Without a single spin of the tires, the steel horse burst out of the container and hurtled through the hangar. Alex ducked beneath the rising gate, which also looked like a pile of trash, and raced off down the street.

The wind tousled his curly, overgrown black hair. The slim black tie flapped around behind him like the end of a rope.

Alex had no idea what lay in store for him, though there was one thing he did know for sure: anyone trying to pull one over on a dark wizard might just as well have pulled the same stunt with the devil himself.

And while Satan wasn't someone Alex knew personally, rumors have a way of spreading.

"This is going to be interesting." He almost laughed, pressing down on the gas and skidding around a turn that took him toward downtown Myers City.

***

Much as he may have denied it, Alex still had a bit of sentimentality to him. He attributed it to the same thing responsible for his taste in clothes: his early years spent on the streets and at the orphanage.

Before leaving High Garden for the foreseeable future, he decided to pay back the last debt he owed to his small but unforgettable homeland.

Stopping by a 24/7 shop, Doom parked his bike and calmly walked in. He wasn't at all worried that someone might try to hijack or scratch his steel horse.

Life in High Garden had a way of quickly teaching one to understand the limits of their power.

A small bell tinkled over Alex's head, the sound melodious and entirely unlike the one at Bromwoord's. Behind a counter stacked high with chocolate bars and cookies, a nice-looking girl appeared.

"Good evening," she said.

She was about sixteen, with long red hair flowing down behind her slim neck. Her firm b.r.e.a.s.ts and protruding collarbones were conspicuous even in her baggy uniform. And her long, slender legs and s.e.xy b.u.t.t.o.c.k.s, reflected in the glass door of the drink fridge, were accentuated by the short skirt she was wearing.

"A pack of Kents, please."

The girl slid back the aluminum lid of the cigarette case and, after finding what he was looking for, placed it on the counter.

"That'll be two credits and five cents."

"Sure." Alex nodded and ran his fingers through the air. Perceiving his command, his lenses transferred the exact amount to the store account.

"Thank you for your purchase, and—"

Before the girl could finish her spiel, Alex flashed her his most disarming smile, one he'd practiced over years spent as a panhandler. It had filled his "pan" with money when he was little; it had started landing girls in his bed when he got a little older.

"The tip of your nose is insanely beautiful," he said. "I've honestly never seen one like it."

"That's a very strange compliment," the girl said with a smile.

"Trivial, you mean?"

"Maybe," she replied evasively.

"Maybe you'll agree to…"

Alex hadn't yet decided what he was going to ask the red-haired girl to agree to, but he knew she was going to say yes.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to finish his question.

The reflection in the same fridge he'd noticed before told him that three youngsters were pawing at his bike, wriggling around on it like strippers on a pole and taking pictures on their cheap smartphones.

"Damn," he spat. "What a shitty day this has been."

"What?"

"Sorry, dear. Maybe next time."

Leaving ten credits as a tip, Alex walked out of the shop, slamming the door shut behind him.