The Chariot (Part I)

The restaurant wasn’t awake yet, and it should have been. Gabriel rose onto his toes and cupped his hands against the glass, straining to peer inside. Normally, he would greet the bar he admired from a safe distance, all dark wood and gleaming brass. But this time, he could barely make it out in the gloom, reduced to a dim silhouette. His breath fogged the glass.

He rocked back onto the heels of his red Converse, snow and salt crunching beneath them. He pushed on the front door anyway. It resisted, the glass rattling, jostling the sign that was flipped to “closed”.

It was too early for customers, maybe; but not for staff. Someone should have been inside, moving, prepping, and making noise. But it was silent.

Heart thudding, he circled the building and reached the back alley. Most of the staff were already there. Some clustered for warmth in muffled conversation, others leaned against the brick walls scrolling on their phones, as if this were nothing more than a delayed opening.

Down the alley, out of sight, a large truck idled. Gabriel could hear the low rumble of its engine vibrating through the pavement. Normally, he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but today it felt ominous.

Gabriel nodded to a few familiar faces, keeping up appearances. He moved toward the kitchen entrance, gripping his gym bag. A line cook stubbed out a cigarette against the dumpster.

“They’re setting up,” the cook murmured. “Said to wait out here.”

Setting up. If he turned around and went home now…

As if on cue, the back kitchen door swung open. A woman in a charcoal suit held it there, clipboard tucked neatly under one arm. She smiled, polished, practiced, and clinical.

“Staff this way, please.”

The alley emptied behind him. Gabe hesitated just long enough to feel conspicuous, then sheepishly fell in line with the others. Being the last one in earned him a weighted stare; more attention he didn’t need. The door shut behind him with a soft, final click.

The agent herded them forward, the click of her heels clipping close behind him. The sound echoed sharply off the linoleum and the steel of the walk-in freezers, making the space feel smaller.

He tried to compose himself. If she so much as brushed against him in the crowded hall, it was over. She’d feel that spark; that dizzying, heady rush of a contact high. They'd call him what he was by name. A high-pitched ringing flooded his ears, as he felt the hallway start to bottleneck. He blinked hard, forcing the world back to normal.

Inside, the kitchen was sterile, flooded with cold white light. Two suited agents stood at the stainless-steel counters, jackets draped over stools, sidearms deliberately visible.

One agent had a laptop open before him, fingers resting lightly on the keyboard. He looked up over the rim of his glasses as the group entered. A hand radio clicked, the chirp piercing.

“Everyone can take a seat,” the woman with the clipboard said, gesturing toward the locker room benches. “We’ll call you up one at a time.”

Gabe crossed the locker room and chose a spot in the far corner, his back turned to the group. As calmly as he could, he set his nylon gym bag on the bench and unzipped it. Everything he’d packed the night before was still there, neatly arranged; his life, condensed.

Knife, wallet, prepaid phone; these cold essentials were already on him. Still, he needed more: his safety net of remaining cash. A change of clothes, the familiar, pilled fabric warm with his scent. Clothes that belonged to him.

He crouched and slipped his hand into the bag. He only had a moment to decide what else he could carry, if it came to fight or flight.

Grasping his half-empty pack of menthols, he paused, staring at what was underneath. A business card: Tatsuki Ando. Ando Family Imports.

He hesitated, then slid both into his front right pocket.

Gabe zipped the bag shut and locked it away beneath his uniform jacket. He stared at the locker door for a moment longer, weighing how much it would matter if he never saw it again. Money could come and go; his creature comforts were replaceable. His life wasn’t.

Behind him, benches scraped. Someone cleared their throat. The agents murmured quietly to one another, and then they called the first name.

Gabe sat on the bench with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them.

Minutes passed; or seconds. Time stretched thin and strange.

Another name was called. Another person rose, footsteps crossing the tile, and then didn’t come back.

In a desperate bid for control, Gabe counted his remaining options. The exits were in plain sight of the agents, rendered useless. He had his pocket knife, but it was a short blade, and against armed agents, who could call for backup.

He’d seen stories like this on the news before; how the Charon Safety Commission handled “other” incidents with precision. If they could bring down feral werewolves and rogue mages, then someone like Gabe wouldn’t slow them down at all.

His phone warmed against his thigh. As quietly as he could, he drew it out and unlocked the screen, his thumb hovering over the text message inbox. He opened it, and pulled out Tatsuki’s business card too.

Shaking, he typed in Tatsuki’s number, and paused before continuing. He didn’t know Tatsuki at all, but if what he said was true, he could offer protection. If Tatsuki was trustworthy, anyway.

His words from yesterday echoed in his head.

“I just think people like us… we should help each other out.”

The cursor blinked.

If he reached out now, there would be no undoing it. He’d be admitting what he was; what he denied for years. Either way, he was cornered. His day had come; at least he could decide if he was outed willingly or by force.

He began to type, grasping for what to say. He wondered if it would be too little, too late.

“Gabriel Grey?”

The sound of his name snapped through him, making him jolt. Nearly choking on his spit, he scrambled to lock the screen and pocket the phone.

“This way, please,” the agent said.

For a moment, his body refused to respond. Then he rose, legs carrying him forward before his mind could catch up. He crossed the kitchen floor under the agents’ eyes and stopped short at the counter, avoiding eye contact. He willed his glamour to stay intact through the stress, with every fiber of his being.

The man with the laptop smiled faintly. “ID, please.”

Gabe reached into his right pocket for his battered wallet, rummaging and stalling. He felt his pocket knife tucked in the waistband of his pants, and tried to bottle up his panic.

“You from the city, Mr. Grey?”

Probing questions disguised as small talk. Gabe shook his head, replying bluntly. “No. I’m not.”

The reply was calculated. The fewer details, the better.

Just then, something caught his eye from across the kitchen. Behind the agent, through a narrow window, Gabe saw the upper edge of a box truck creak to a halt in the alley. The driver cut the engine and slammed the door, making the body of the truck jostle.

The agent cleared his throat, gaze sharpened. “Is there a problem?”

Before he could answer, the back kitchen door slammed open. A set of heavy footsteps stormed up the hallway. “Hey!” a man shouted impatiently, “Been waiting to unload this delivery, where the hell’s your staff?”

Every head turned to Tatsuki Ando appearing in the doorway, cigarette tucked behind his ear. He scowled, like he owned the place.

The woman with the clipboard frowned. “Sir, this area is currently restricted—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tatsu waved a hand, dismissing her. “I’m just here to drop off some crates. Same time every day; boss should know this. I’m on a tight schedule, you know.”

As the agents glanced at each other, Tatsu’s pale eyes flicked to Gabe, quick and assessing. They met for a heartbeat.

Then Tatsu jerked his chin toward the door. “You,” he said to Gabe. “Help me unload.”

The agents hesitated, eying their clipboard, and the long list of names still waiting.

“Fine. Go,” the woman said briskly, rolling her eyes. It was the first time her professional facade faltered. “But make it quick.”

Gabe didn’t think. He moved.

The cold air hit him like a slap as he stepped into the alley, where the truck was parked crookedly. Tatsu was already walking ahead calmly, keys in hand.

“Get in,” he said under his breath, not looking back.

Gabe did.

The truck doors closed. The engine revved. The truck eased forward, tires crunching over salt and snow.

Gabriel fastened his seatbelt, glancing at Tatsu in the driver’s seat. He was cool and collected, and even took the time to adjust the volume on his radio as he pulled away. Nervously, Gabe leaned over, watching the back kitchen door as it shrank away in the side mirror. No one came after them; yet.

Then, he got a glimpse of himself, his eyes burning a brilliant, gleaming gold. Cramming his eyes shut, he rubbed them furiously, then ruffled his hands through his mop of blonde hair, feeling for bumps on his head. There were none. 

The words spilled from his mouth, panic bubbling to the surface. “Shouldn’t we go faster?”

Tatsu scoffed, cocking his pierced eyebrow. “You wanna get caught? That’s how you get caught.”

The man glanced at Gabriel, cracking a grin at his bewildered expression. “What? You’re my employee, and we just finished our morning deliveries. Right?”

The truck rumbled down the alley, pausing at the mouth onto the street. He smacked on his right blinker, the incessant clicking punctuating every second. Tatsu snapped his fingers in Gabe’s face.

“Hey. Catatonic. You still with me?”

“Yeah—yeah.” Gabe stammered, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Got it.”

“Good. Trainable,” he uttered, smirking to himself, “I like that.” He retrieved the cigarette behind his ear, and held it out to him. “Here. Christ. You're stressing me out.” 

Traffic cleared, and he turned right onto the main road. Then, they were gone.