Chapter Text
The clouds hung low, blocking out the moon and stars. The city was unusually quiet and empty tonight, as if something in the air was telling every living being to keep out of sight. Only his steps echoed off the walls as he walked along the lonely road.
With his head throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse, Jimmy couldn’t be bothered to care. It felt like it might burst at any moment. It had since the incident at work. Since the voices-
The Voices. They were back. He pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes. He needed to focus. Jimmy had to ignore them. But they didn't disappear, they only grew louder. And they didn't come from inside his head, Jimmy noticed.
They came from an alleyway nearby.
Jimmy stopped and listened. Someone was talking. Not loudly enough for him to understand anything, but he could guess: People lurking in the dark. Probably lying in wait for lone passers-by who would offer their valuables in exchange for their lives. Maybe, if he was quiet and quick enough and kept to the shadows, they wouldn’t notice him. Maybe he could keep the few bucks he had left in his pocket to himself.
And then, the sounds of violence started, accompanied by grunts. They had found a victim already. He could walk on unscathed.
Jimmy entered the alleyway. Only dim light reached into it, casting the group and their victim lying on the ground in half shadows. He counted their silhouettes. In a fight, it would be five against one. They hadn’t noticed him. He could still go.
“Hey!” Jimmy called and they turned, the man on the ground forgotten.
“Whaddaya want?” the one nearest to him growled.
He could hear the click of a pocket knife. A steel pipe was banged against a dumpster.
Jimmy's heartbeat slowed.
“Wanna join?” They chuckled, secure in their superiority of numbers. It made them brave, but it also made them careless.
Jimmy rushed at them, aiming for the one with the pipe. He could use it, even if the narrow alleyway hindered his movement. Somehow, he knew that it would suffice for a bunch of small-fry criminals.
His opponent barely managed to raise his weapon in time to strike at him. Jimmy struck his elbow to deflect his attack, grabbed the pipe, and twisted it out of his attacker's hand in one fluid movement. When his attacker stumbled back into the perfect reach of the pipe, Jimmy brought it down on the man’s head.
Blood rushed in his ears. His headache was gone, his senses sharpened. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
The others, recovered from the surprise by the time their first member fell to the ground, began to surround him.
Even in the sparse light, Jimmy could make out their movements. It was almost like he could see their next moves before they made them, and instinctively knew how to counteract each one. And as if he had a special vision, he could see their next moves and how to counteract them. Just as he had done a moment before. How had he known? When had he learned to do this?
A sign from the leader; they attacked and Jimmy stopped thinking and started moving.
It took him only a few minutes to win. Mostly because the thugs had hindered each other more than they had attacked him. And so, Jimmy watched them hobble off, as fast as their injuries allowed them to.
Jimmy threw away the blood-stained pipe. The adrenaline in his veins began to fade. He had just fought off a group of five without hesitation. Without ever thinking that a loss might be a possibility. He looked at his hands. They were completely still, like the sea before a storm. No one in their right mind just fought against half a dozen thugs and wasn’t at least a little afraid. He was definitely going insane.
Jimmy’s gaze wandered to a pair of meticulously clean shoes on the ground. They were the only part of the thugs’ would-be victim not covered in shadows. And they looked very expensive, too. No wonder they had wanted to attack this man. But why was someone this fancy wandering around in the middle of the night, anyway?
The shoes moved and the man they belonged to got to his feet and stepped into the light.
He was covered in black from his tie to his shoes. And just like his shoes, everything looked expensive but dishevelled. The man was older than Jimmy and shorter by quite a few inches. His head was covered in receding dark hair the same colour as his short-trimmed beard. He wasn’t classically good-looking, but even now, Jimmy could feel the charm radiating off him. He looked at Jimmy with bright, warm eyes.
“Well, hello! You aren’t just a prince in shining armour, you look like one, too,” he said and smiled, revealing blood-smeared teeth. His voice was rough but in a pleasant way. Like the sound of a crackling bonfire.
“Are you hurt?”
The stranger didn’t answer. Instead of answering immediately, the stranger took out a tissue to clean the blood off his face. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”
He offered his hand. “Fergus MacLeod.” He oozed nonchalance while his eyes gazed over Jimmy’s body.
Jimmy wasn’t sure what the stranger thought he would find there. His retail uniform wasn’t anything special to look at.
He took the offered hand; it was warm and soft. Not the hands of a worker. “Jimmy Novak.”
“You work in retail?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Great!"
Jimmy creased his brow in disagreement. He needed money to pay rent and eat. Getting fired today was bad, not great.
Fergus MacLeod must have seen his face, since he quickly added, “Because I would like to offer you a job.”
Now it was Jimmy’s turn to eye the man before him. Fergus clearly didn’t work in retail. “What kind of job?”
“I watched you fight. I could definitely use someone with your talent.” Fergus took a small card out of his pocket.
Jimmy gave it a closer look. “The Nightingale,” he read aloud.
“A nightclub. I’m the manager. And I could give you a job as part of the security staff. I know you can take care of people that don’t take a “no” for an answer.”
Why not? He needed a job anyway. He could even call himself lucky that a new one had just fallen into his lap. He nodded. “Okay.”