In the southern outskirts of Meteor City, deep in a forested stretch of forgotten road, a rusty van idled beneath the broken canopy.
*SFX* Whrrrm.
The sliding door creaked open, grinding on old bearings. A heavy-set man in a black coat stepped out and immediately spat into the dirt.
*SFX* Pah!
He pulled off his black mask and lit a cigarette with a flick of his calloused thumb.
"Just ten more, right boss?"
Leaning against a dry, rotted tree trunk, he exhaled a plume of smoke, his crimson eyes dull with apathy.
From the driver's seat, a young man in a pristine suit glanced back. His face was pale, clean-shaven, almost elegant, if you ignored the faint red glow in his irises.
"Carl, I know you hate this place. But bear with it a little longer. Once we're done here, we can disappear for good." The man said.
"You've said that before," Carl muttered. He flicked ash onto the forest floor, his voice lined with boredom and bitterness. "Still waiting."
He said nothing about the way his stomach twisted doing this kind of work. The idea of facing children back home with this amount of dirty blood on his hands left him sick.
But the people in the tribe needed money to eat.
'I had no choice, right?' He would ask himself in fear.
The fear he felt wasn't related to his job, but the fear that would come after.
But only Carl understood that part.
**********
Back on the northern end of Meteor City, the old church's stained glass splashed color across the worn oak floors. Noon sunlight caught dust in the air, casting dancing motes over the mismatched furniture.
Inside, laughter echoed faintly through the halls.
Behind the screening room, a small group had gathered.
Chrollo leaned against a faded velvet chair, flipping idly through a poetry book with brittle pages. His brow lifted as Uvogin raised a loud objection.
"A brigade usually means more than a thousand people!" Chrollo said calmly, glancing up. "So says the dictionary."
Uvogin scoffed, his broad chest shaking with laughter.
"A thousand? I can crush a hundred by myself. Easy. We don't need numbers. Just strength."
He ruffled Machi's hair with a dusty palm, smirking.
"Hey—don't touch my hair! I won't grow taller!" Machi yelped, swatting his hand away and stamping her foot onto his sandal. It barely made him flinch.
Uvogin roared with laughter as he stared at the flustered Machi.
Loki leaned nearby, arms crossed in his red coat, and his mask on.
"Miss Machi, you're quite charming at your current height. I assure you that no change is needed."
Machi shot him a glare that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Pakunoda's voice chimed in as she repeated the name slowly: "I think Phantom Troupe is good Uvogin..."
She nodded, the words resonating.
"Phantom reflects how we are ghosts to everyone in the outside world. Nobody will know us when we were born here in Meteor City. Troupe reflects how we act together as a group. I think it suits us."
She glanced toward Chrollo and Loki with a small smile.
"It's a good name... I don't know how Loki and Chrollo came up with it."
Nearby, Nobunaga lazily closed his script, a straw of grass hanging from his mouth.
This morning, Chrollo came to Loki and discussed forming a group to help ensure everybody's safety. Hearing their conversation, everyone chimed in with their names for the group.
In the corner, Feitan raised his eyes from a tattered torture manual, his thin fingers tracing a line of dried grime.
"Tch. Call it what you want. Doesn't matter to me."
His words came out cold, dry as rusted steel.
Loki glanced at the ending conversation and decided to train his burst step on a run. He waved everyone goodbye and quickly headed out before starting to practice.
Not long after Loki left, Sarasa gently tugged on Sheila's sleeve. The two slipped away, quietly closing the wooden door behind them.
"Let's go find a new movie now! Loki is gone, so he won't stop us," Sarasa whispered, her excitement barely contained.
Sheila looked hesitant. "Are you sure? We're supposed to go with someone."
"Come on. I remember Chrollo said that the last tape came from the South District, dump number seven!"
Sarasa grinned, her sandals pattering softly across the floor as she navigated the warped boards with practiced ease.
"Everyone will be so happy if we find another one secretly. Right, Sheila?"
Sheila gave in with a sigh and a small smile. Together, they slipped through the back door into the cloudy daylight.
Above them, the sky had begun to darken. Thick clouds rolled over Meteor City.
************
Hours passed.
Far outside the city walls, in the shadow of rusted mountains of trash, two girls scavenged with hopeful eyes.
"Movie, movie~"
"Where are you~?"
They sang a little song, made of stray street rhymes, cobbled into a random tune only they knew.
The rain hadn't started yet.
But in the distance, lightning crawled across the clouds, purple and silent.
Nearby, a group of men in black huddled near a rusted barrel. Their eyes were cold, their posture too casual.
One of them adjusted their coat and turned to Carl.
"Carl, we've almost finished the boss's order. Ten kids should be enough, right?"
Carl didn't look at him and continued to gaze into the distance.
"Yeah... That's enough."
He stared out past the trees, eyes narrowing slightly as he put out his cigarette.
Two small silhouettes moved in the distance, small and unaware of their surroundings.
He said nothing, but his eyes had narrowed.
"Are those two over there the last ones?"
"Yeah, they should be," Carl replied, his voice low. "Make sure that our camera is charged and our tools are ready. I don't want to do this more than we have to."
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as a raindrop hit the bridge of his nose. It stung slightly, which caused him to smile faintly.
And above, the sky cracked open with thunder.
**************
Back at the church, no one had noticed the missing girls.
That is, until Loki arrived back and glanced toward the back hall and frowned.
"Where are Sarasa and Sheila?" he asked aloud, scanning the room.
Chrollo glanced up from his book. "Weren't they just here?"
Loki's expression darkened. He walked quickly to the back exit and pushed the door open.
The wind met him first. Then the cold sting of rain.
His mind raced—memories flashing forward. Blood. A bag. A message. A video.
"No… not now. Not like this."
He turned back toward the group, his voice cutting sharply through the chatter.
"Sarasa and Sheila left the church, and I think they went looking for a tape."
The room fell silent for a moment as everyone realized the issue.
Pakunoda stood up quickly. "We have to find them! Now!"
Uvogin's face was stone. "Which direction?"
"South district. Chrollo said the last tape came from dump number seven," Loki replied quickly as he was already heading for the door.
As if on cue, the rain began to fall harder, soaking the dirt and cobblestones outside.
Loki didn't stop to speak again, though.
He just ran faster because he remembered what came next.