A mask. It's not a decoration, it's not a veneer to hide behind; it's a juxtaposition of concealment and expression. Donning a mask removes the superficial barrier we wear on our faces daily. It allows us to look deeper, beyond the visage, and to the heart of mankind. A mask allows us to express our thoughts more clearly empowering us with the confidence to act as we see fit. People will shy away from these shields of identity feeling fear and apprehension. There's an underlying sense of discomfort when they stand face-to-face with the man in the mask. But in it I find beauty. We all wear masks with every action we take, and every word we speak; it's all regulated by preconceived social standards and over-saturated etiquette. What terrifies people is not the fear of a masked individual committing a crime but the fact that they are meeting the reality for the first time. The inner person is suppressed by everyday life acting in accordance with wanting to be loved and needing to follow the belief of normalcy in turn trapping yourself in a cage.
When creating a mask for someone you are creating a representation of their true self, the purest form of humanity. A personality untainted by the judgments of others. The process must be respected with utmost reverence, and as an artist, one must build a deep bond with their client to get inside their mind. The contours, the material, the right shade of colors, and the intricate details that add spice to their characteristics; are all equally important as the last. I am an artist, and my clients' faces are but a canvas I paint a mask upon.
The artist dipped his clamp into the furnace carefully removing a burning orange mask due to the heat. Moving it down into the cauldron of water a billow of steam wafted into the air. Once it cooled down he lifted the grey fox mask and placed it on the metal counter. Suddenly a buzzer sounded catching the artist's attention. Turning around to face the front counter he looked right to see the door swing open. "You are back, and you've brought a new customer?"
Leo entered the red-walled room on the top floor of an apartment building. The inside was shaped like an intersection, and in the top left corner of the center was a wall acting as a partition where the counter with the artist was. Behind him was his smithing station and above them on the wall were an assortment of masks, many in the image of animals or dramatic theater expressions. The floors were dark oak planks, and the carpets were crimson with gold trim and black detailing inlaid along the center reminiscent of an arch pattern. Leo walked to the counter and rapped his white-gloved knuckle on the top looking at the artist who wore a faceless mask with a cross through it like a sketch tutorial. "Good afternoon, Michelangelo. I found another on the outskirts of South Borough, think you can cook something up?"
The faceless masked man sized the young man up humming to himself. "Indeed I could but first I must get to know him. Tell me about yourself."
Pariah glanced at Leo who gave an affirmative nod. "My name is-"
"No! No names!" Michelangelo waved his hand in Pariah's face dramatically. "Michaelangelo is a fake name, as is Leon Morgan. Typically we go by a name fitting to our masks. It's a whole identity that represents our true selves. Tell me everything else about you."
He looked at Leo's mask unable to discern what it could represent. Perhaps the dichotomy of light and dark natures inside of all of us? He shook it off giving the artist his undivided attention. "I have no memory of my past. I come from-"
Leo coughed, "He comes from South Borough, born and raised. He doesn't remember anything else."
The artist sized the two up tapping the counter impatiently, "I see. Well, then I have nothing to go off." But then his face lit up. "Although, nothing to go off is something in itself. I already have a few ideas! This will take some time. Perhaps a week. My schedule is quite full at the moment."
Leo explained, "Many a time sinners damage their mask in combat with the perfected and even each other. The only one who has seen all our faces is the artist. The sinners have a rebel code, a tacit understanding that no one is to attack or harass the artist. You will even see plenty of sinners hanging around the building exchanging information, signing contracts for partnership, or an exchange of goods and services. It's all validated by Michelangelo."
Pariah gave a nod of understanding. Meanwhile, Michelangelo cleared his throat. "I must get back to work, check back next week for your mask. Feel free to help yourself to some refreshments in the dining room then go pick out a weapon from the blacksmith in the basement. Often sinners develop unique combat styles over time and get weapons independent from one another."
The young man bowed respectfully. "I understand. Thank you for your hospitality." Together with Leo leading the way the two walked down the various lanes of the room's intersection. "Do people tend to their injuries and sleep here after a dangerous encounter?"
He nodded, "Indeed. Sometimes the two who nearly killed each other will be bunk buddies."
This shocked Pariah slightly. "Interesting. How do they honor the house rules over their conflicting emotions?"
"Michelangelo is no joke. He is the only person talented enough to create unique masks and combat gear. With the perfected running the city resources are becoming harder and harder to come across. Let alone have people you can trust with the skillset required. I recommend trying to build connections, especially starting out. Be kind and willing to help... but don't be naive or they will walk all over you and you'll wind up dead in a ditch somewhere."
He showed Pariah the room down from across the entrance, a resting room filled with beds and four worn sofas in one corner with a round coffee table in the middle. The room across from the artist was a door to a large terrace filled with plants, a small stream from a fountain, a couple of training dummies as well as a small cobblestone ring for sparing. Behind the partition of the artist was a hall. At the end was the dining room, halfway down to the left was a door to a common era for conversation with a tall oriel window at the left and right sides. Across from the common era was a staircase that went down a flight then turned right sharply, and then again hugging the wall to the floor leading to a foyer. "Oh, and one last thing. Whenever you agree to go on a mission or partner up with a fellow sinner sign a contract overseen by a witness. This ensures they can't kill you once outside the safe house."
Pariah looked over the staircase keeping his right hand on the railing. "What if they kill me anyway? There is no royal guard or police force keeping sinners at bay. All it would take is one person to tip off the perfected of this location."
"That's true. However, not even the Butcher would be so crazy as to help the perfected annihilate the only rational people left in the city and potentially the world. As for violating the contract: any who do so will be put on a hit list board with a paid reward by the artist himself. Keep an eye out for these they are the most popular missions to take on."
"Why?" He questioned solemnly unshaken by the chaotic yet collected nature of the sinners.
"Any who complete the assassination get to keep the personal belongings of the target except for their mask. That must be returned to Michelangelo as proof of kill. He also would hate for his art to be used for any other purpose or owned by another. Now, let's go get you a weapon and some combat attire. I would hate to see you ruin such a nice coat and vest. Plus those shoes aren't meant for quick movement." Leo looked down wincing at the thought of an accident due to the shoes.
...
Pariah entered the basement behind his mentor and zoned out through the introduction, he replied in a lackadaisical manner. The blacksmith wore no intricate mask made by the artist but a simple welding mask instead, fitting his identity. "Whaddya want, kid?" The bulky, rounded man leaned on his glass counter with a stained white muscle shirt. The young man looked at the assortment of blades of various lengths on display in the cabinet. Then he took a look at the wall. "Nothing sharp."
This shocked Leo and the blacksmith but neither refuted the young man. The blacksmith recoiled slowly and turned. "Wait here a moment." Walking into the back approximately ten seconds of silence passed before he returned carrying a black box. Placing it on the counter he flipped the front-facing locks and pulled the top back revealing the box's contents. "I made these a couple of years ago. Steel batons coated black. They attach to make a staff in case you need some range. The head also comes with a myriad of attachments such as spearheads, hooks, axe blades, and other auxiliary modifications. All swap in a snap with magnets. It's a special invention but none of the sinners seemed interested since the age of electricity is becoming more prominent and steam has started to die out."
Pariah gave a nod without much thought. "I'll take it."
The blacksmith's eyes lit up behind the welding mask. Clearing his throat to mask his glee he pushed the box forward to the counter's edge. "Excellent! Wait here as I fetch your garments. Judging by your size..." The blacksmith rushed off to the back room conversing with himself. Leo and Pariah gave each other a cursory glance at the blacksmith's eccentricity. Rushing from the back room with a suit bag buttoned up he came around the counter handing it to Pariah directly. Taking it into his arms the weight of the combat gear shocked him. The blacksmith gave rapid nods and pointed behind him with his thumb to a dimly lit door in the dark corner of the basement. "Go change! I want to see how it fits. This is a new outfit I was working on. Something light yet a bit of heft styled in gothic fashion. Everyone wants to look cool on the job, these are dystopian times after all."
Pariah gave a slow nod unsure what to think. Approaching the back door he entered a dim flickering storage room filled with materials for blacksmithing. Hanging up the suit bag on a rack he began to undress layer by layer until only his button-up remained. Folding the red vest with golden thistle embroidery, and the black double-breasted coat with red lining, he slid on the bulletproof vest followed by a dark leather fashionable vest with gold buttons. He swapped out his trousers for a heavy combat pair matching the gothic aesthetic. Putting the dress shoes on the top rack he slid on each heavy boot one at a time tying them tightly. Lastly, he threw on the leather trenchcoat styled like a hunter from an eldritch tale long since past. Letting it hang open he placed all his folded articles of clothing in the button-up bag along with the dress shoes. Snapping it shut, he opened the door closing it behind him whilst carrying the back in one hand.
Approaching the counter he heard the blacksmith whistle. "Not bad kiddo, not bad. I outdid myself. That style suits you. Hand your stuff to me and I will hang onto it for you. I oversee the storage lockers to ensure safety. It is prohibited to steal inside the safe house but we can't watch everyone so closely to ensure the rules are followed all the time." Holding his hands out waiting, Pariah stared at the blacksmith before giving Leo a succinct look in search of confirmation.
Upon handing the bag over, Pariah reached into the box fastening a belt around his waist and subsequently attaching the modifications of the steel bars committing their placements to memory. Finally sliding the steel bars in their two halves on the left side of his belt. The blacksmith then handed him a knife with a coil wrapped around the hilt pressing to the base of the blade. On the left side of the handle were two brass rings for the index and middle finger. "This here is the Dragon's Fire knife. When you raise your index finger it creates an electric charge sparking the blade which will paralyze enemies, while the middle finger will spread a few drops of oil and cause a similar spark igniting the blade with fire." Pariah taking the knife slid it on the right side of his belt. Next, the blacksmith slapped black leather gloves on the glass counter which had rigid iron woven into the knuckles. "This here is to pack a punch. Sinners are clothed in resistant, padded gear with metal masks and helmets. Ya need an extra knock in your punch to get through to them."
Pariah thanked the man and slid the gloves on opening and closing his hand repeatedly getting a feel for the snug fit. Returning to the upper floor where the artist was, Leo and the young man walked by the partition. Looking to his left his eyes swept by before snapping back to a box on the counter. Leo noticing looked over. "What is it?"
In silence, Pariah approached and looked inside. The artist walking over with a second box placed it on the countertop with a thud and a huff. "Like what you see? That old thing?" He smirked with a chuckle thrilled with a chance to talk about his work once again. "That was an old mask I made a couple of years ago. It came to me in a vision, a sweet reverie in the night. It was a twisted nightmare about a figure who looked just like that mask, and he dressed in heavy gothic attire like you. The night terror never eluded to details about the figure. Not its motives or its past. Whenever anyone saw it judgment followed. Of course, I make masks based on people's true selves but I can't help but make personal art sometimes."
Pariah listened attentively while staring at the mask. "May I?"
Michelangelo paused furrowing his brow behind the faceless white mask. "You want to wear it instead of waiting for your custom mask? No sinner has ever done so." He thought about it for a moment, feeling a fire ignite in his chest. "Fantastique! As I have no clues to the motives or history of the fear-inducing figure from my dreams I have no details about you! Go ahead. The mask is yours."
Pariah gave a terse nod with a thank you and reached inside pulling out the mask that rested on top. Unlike the others this was not made of metal, and it was a full headpiece like Leo's. Pulling the black leather mask over his head the mouth had stitching mimicking a twisted smile. The eye sockets were gutted horridly moving up the corners of its temples to a degree but an ebony mesh was woven through making it appear like a soulless abyss when gazing into the sockets. The back was jagged and seemingly ripped in places allowing the odd lock of Pariah's hair to be visible under direct light. The left ear was torn off halfway up making it sharp and jagged keeping it erect in a diagonal outward fashion while the right was cut out in places as if clawed by a bear, but remained long hanging down down from the weight.
The artist clasped his hands together and took in a deep breath. "That's it! Become who you were meant to be, who you always have been. Meet your inner self, the personification of wisdom, fortune, magic, and death. A symbolization believed to be the ancient messengers of the gods... The Black Rabbit.