Two days passed. Elias managed his properties with his usual meticulousness, but his mind was a maelstrom of calculations and burgeoning ambition. The +0.05% from Mickey was a constant, subtle reminder of the System's potential for incremental growth. He awaited Mickey's first 'report' with a mixture of clinical curiosity and grim pragmatism. If the Goblin-empowered thief absconded, it was a 5-point energy loss and a lesson learned. If he delivered… well, that opened new avenues.
The summons came on the third night. Not a polite knock, but a series of furtive scratches at his back alley service door, a sound like rats in the wainscoting. Elias, anticipating such clandestine approaches, was prepared. He opened it to find Mickey O'Halloran, looking more weasel-like than ever. His clothes were grimier, his eyes bright with a disturbing mixture of triumph and nervous energy. He clutched a lumpy sack.
"Mr. Thorne," Mickey hissed, slipping inside like an eel through a crack. The air around him smelled of damp wool, cheap gin, and something vaguely metallic. "Got… got somethin' for ya."
He upended the sack onto Elias's sturdy kitchen table. Out tumbled a collection of items: a tarnished silver locket, three pocket watches (two gold-plated, one seemingly solid silver), a handful of loose change, a pearl-handled letter opener, and a surprisingly well-made fountain pen.
"From a posh house up on Sherbrooke Street," Mickey whispered, his gaze darting to the stolen goods with obvious pride. "Easy as takin' candy, Mr. Thorne. Went in through a pantry window they thought was too small. Heh. Not for me, not anymore." He tapped his ribs, indicating his slightly compressed frame. "Slipped past the sleepin' dog like I was smoke."
Elias examined the haul coolly, his enhanced senses picking up the faint scent of expensive perfume on the locket, the lingering warmth on one of the watches. He didn't touch them immediately.
"This is your… acquisition?"
Mickey nodded eagerly. "Just a taste, sir. Like you said. This stuff here… I reckon it's worth a fair bit. Maybe… maybe fifty, sixty dollars if fenced right?"
The System interface, visible only to Elias, pulsed.
[Goblin Unit (Michael O'Halloran) Activity Logged: Successful Resource Acquisition.]
[Material Value Assessment (Estimated Street): $72.50 CAD]
[10% Tithe Due to Host Unit: $7.25 CAD]
[Option: Collect Tithe as Material Goods or System Energy Equivalent (0.725 EP)?]
System Energy Equivalent? That was new. The System was adapting, offering flexibility. A fraction of an energy point was more valuable than seven dollars in the long run, given the slow replenishment rate.
"Good work, Mickey," Elias said, his voice neutral. "Leave the fountain pen and the silver watch. That will suffice as my ten percent." He chose tangible items this time; he wanted Mickey to understand the directness of the transaction. In the future, he'd explore the energy conversion.
Mickey's face fell slightly at losing two of the better pieces, but he quickly masked it. "Right you are, Mr. Thorne. Fair's fair." He separated the items. "This… this power, sir. It's… it's somethin' else. I seen things. Heard things. Knew where to look, like it was whisperin' to me." His eyes gleamed. "There's a jeweler on St. Laurent… heard he keeps his real good stuff in a floor safe, not the window display…"
"Patience, Mickey," Elias cautioned, holding up a hand. "Don't get overconfident. You are faster, yes, more… aware. But you are not invincible. A shotgun blast will still ruin your day." He needed Mickey ambitious, not reckless. "Focus on smaller, consistent gains. Learn your limits. And report any complications to me immediately."
"Right, Mr. Thorne. Complications. Got it." Mickey backed towards the door. "I'll… I'll be in touch. With more… fruits of my labor." He was gone as quickly and silently as he'd arrived.
Elias looked at the pen and watch. Minimal risk, minimal energy expenditure, and a tangible, if small, return. More importantly, Mickey was still under his thumb, eager to continue. The Goblin empowerment was proving its utility for low-level asset acquisition and petty intel. The crucial insight, however, was the offer of energy point conversion. That suggested resources Mickey gathered could directly fuel future empowerments if converted efficiently. This System was deeper than he'd imagined.
The next morning, Thomas arrived for his informal daily check-in. Elias had given him vague instructions to 'observe' his surroundings more keenly and report anything unusual around the properties. The Scotsman's transformation was still startling. He wore new, sturdier clothes Elias had provided funds for – simple work trousers and a thick flannel shirt that still strained slightly across his broadened shoulders. The primal edge to his presence had softened, replaced by a quiet, contained power. He moved with a newfound grace, a lethal economy of motion that belied his bulk.
"Mornin', Mr. Thorne." Thomas's voice was still deeper, raspier. He set down a small crate of potatoes Elias had asked him to fetch from the market earlier. A task for two strong men previously, now handled with ease by one.
"Thomas. Anything to report from your walkabout?"
"The usual grumbles about the rent, sir. Young Jean-Guy in number seven had a bit too much tipple last night, serenadin' the alley cats again. Nothing a firm word didn't settle." Thomas paused. "But I did notice somethin' down by the old warehouses on Rue des Sœurs Grises. Couple o' lads I ain't seen before. Looked like dock toughs, maybe Scarelli's boys, sizing up your storage unit there. Moved on when they saw me lookin'." His gaze was like chipped ice. "They won't be back. Not if they value their kneecaps."
Elias nodded slowly. Luigi "Lou" Scarelli. A rising figure in Montreal's underbelly, known for extortion and strong-arm tactics. Scarelli was precisely the kind of threat that Elias's newfound power could neutralize, or even co-opt, eventually.
"Thank you, Thomas. Your… enhanced observation is proving valuable." He saw Thomas glance at his own hands, still marveling at their strength. The Barbarian was an excellent bodyguard and deterrent. He represented stability and control.
"This power, Mr. Thorne," Thomas said quietly, after a moment. "It feels… clean. Honest. Like good steel. Not like whatever that little rat O'Halloran's got scurrying about in him, I'd wager."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "You're aware of Mickey's… change?"
Thomas snorted, a sound like gravel shifting. "A blind man could smell the greed rollin' off him from a block away, and he moves like a spooked cockroach. Whatever you gave him, sir, it ain't the same honest strength you gave me."
Elias didn't confirm or deny. "Different tools for different tasks, Thomas."
The Scotsman just grunted, accepting the pronouncement. "As you say, sir. Just keep that one on a short leash. Some dogs bite the hand that feeds if they think there's a bigger scrap elsewhere."
Sage advice. Thomas's loyalty was a bedrock, his grounded perspective invaluable.
Later that day, Elias was walking through the Marché Bonsecours district, ostensibly checking on a property whose storefront needed paint. His true purpose was observation. He needed more than just strength and stealth. He needed precision, information, perhaps ranged capability. The Archer unit. Superhuman accuracy, enhanced eyesight, instinctive projectile mastery.
His gaze swept the bustling marketplace – vendors hawking their wares, shoppers haggling, delivery boys rushing past. He was looking for potential. Someone young, perhaps, with sharp eyes, steady hands. Maybe someone already familiar with aiming, like a hunter down on his luck, or a former military marksman.
His eyes settled on a young woman, no older than eighteen, sketching passersby on a cheap pad of paper with a charcoal stick. She sat on an overturned crate near a fruit stall, her concentration absolute. Her clothes were patched but clean, her dark hair pulled back simply. What caught Elias's attention was the intensity of her focus, the way her eyes, a striking hazel, darted, absorbed, then translated motion to paper with swift, precise strokes. She wasn't just doodling; she was capturing likenesses with remarkable speed and accuracy. There was an innate keenness to her observation.
She looked up, catching his eye, and for a moment her focus sharpened on him. No fear, just a quick, appraising glance, before she returned to her sketch.
Elias felt a subtle nudge from the System.
[Potential Candidate Detected: Subject possesses high baseline aptitude for Archer-type abilities (Visual Acuity, Fine Motor Control, Spatial Reasoning).]
[Name (Known Publicly): Anya Petrova. Status: Recent immigrant, unemployed artist.]
[Preliminary Loyalty Assessment: Neutral (0%). Standard Empowerment Protocol Applicable.]
Anya Petrova. The name was Russian. Montreal had its share of immigrants fleeing turmoil elsewhere. Unemployed. Talented. Perhaps desperate.
A perfect candidate for the Archer's gifts.
Elias allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. The pieces were beginning to arrange themselves on the board.