He walked the hallway without a sound. Every step he took made him realize what he was about to do.
The wind swished through out the huge casements—each hush whispered one thing in his ears.
Jebreel.
Ages passed by and he could only remember him in pieces.
His voice which echoes in his dreams. His smile which his eyes never saw.
His name.
"You are his shield, —"
Glitch!
The word hiccupped and lost in his tides of thoughts.
Why can't I remember anything?
Why?
Facade suddenly halted and grabbed his head— compressing his temples. It felt like somebody had hit his head with a metal bat but, he knew it was just an illusion of his mind.
Once the vibration stopped, he took a deep breath before continuing to the stairs—like the pain never happened.
It was always like that. Every time he questioned himself, his thoughts started malfunctioning and eventually leads to headaches.
As though, asking 'why' meant a great deal to process by his filled— yet sharp brain. And every time, he just ignores the existence of his pain.
"You are his shield, Facade." While mounting the stair case, he refabricated his thoughts—cancelling out the one that glitches.
That was the line he usually heard in his void dreams. He knew he had listened to it before— but can't remember who told him that.
It was a usual thing for Facade.
His memories were never his friend.
They never were.
Even now, when he was finally about to achieve what he longed for, he can't feel but confused.
Facade was about to ask himself again, 'why he was really here' but he had already reached the desired doorstep—hand rotating the doorknob.
"Oh, welcome, Facade."
"I've done what you asked for." Facade cut the formal conversation. Instead, he stood at attention, hands locked on the back and head stiffened straight.
"Then?" The man seated behind the clean desk asked.
"I want you to get Jebreel out of the way so we can deploy the operation," Facade demanded, his voice hoarse as always.
"Hmm..."
The masked man stood slowly and breathed in. While he observed Facade keenly, he toyed with a sharp knife—swinging it in circles around his gloved palms.
Even if the man's movement brought specks of danger and doubt to Facade, he remained calm.
He already had grown attuned to the sounds of sharp blades slicing through air—and flesh.
All he could do was to wait for his chance to slip away his cousin from their grasp.
"I smell eagerness here. Well, good at making an image or, should I say. 'Improving your image?" The man snorted—digging the dagger deep inside his table.
"Image is a fragile piece of reality. And every fragile thing is worthless to me."
"Aye...that's a dramatic line coming from you."
"You wish it's dramatic." Facade narrowed his eyes on Dan, giving an impression that he meant it.
"Yup, I know its not." Dan reached for the coat rack. A sudden concern covering his thoughts. "An advise Facade, don't offend Hood more then he could bear. If you really care for your life, that is."
"Oh, I don't." He responsed in seconds.
Facade never really wished for anything. What he had in his mind, was to find a way to end his misery after rescuing Jebreel.
He thought that saving his cousin was his destiny and after achieving that, there was no reason to continue the journey of his life.
Why? He didn't know either.
But, he knew one thing.
All the love and care and sacrifices won't return the same way as he gave to Jebreel.
Instead, Jebreel would hate him even more.
Like he had before and would—forever.
"Man, that's rude. Well...you would have my deepest grief if you die because of it. " He—unlike Facade—showed character of a sloppy man.
"I just needed to be sure of my cousin's safety. And, I'm not in a hurry. I just want the operation to begin. That's all." Facade again elaborated his reason to visit Dan's office, ignoring his mocking tone.
Why can't he just tell me? Ugh...Damn this huge mansion! It would be easier if it wasn't loaded with countless doors.
The house where he had spent years, was popular as 'Haunted Mansion' to common people. No one truly knew what lay inside—except those who live here.
Facade had passed many hallways, climbed many stairs— but had never seen something that complicated.
Mikael—after Hood— was the one who ruled over the vast estate, a place twice the size of a normal mansion.
Jebreel, along with many others, were enslaved somewhere inside—trapped by Mikael's manipulation.
Or so he thought.
People like Facade were kept obedient under the threat of harm to their loved ones.
Some had joined the twisted system for revenge—others, for amusement.
Facade had ended up here—in a house where even memories can't survive longer.
He always wanted to know why it ended up like that.
To him. To Jebreel. To their untold stories.
Years passed by, but the questions remain untouched.
He wished Abani had told him what he forgot. But Abani vanished like mist—warning him not to remember anything.
At any cost.
Why?
His questioning was unconscious. Although, he knew how to control his bursting thoughts to avoid headaches but—he couldn't get a hold of them tonight.
Again, a wave hit Facade's head and it was once again filled with vibration. But this time, he remain compressed.
It would be unusual for him to spoil his facade in the eyes of his senior.
"We've arranged everything. And yes, your cousin's been deployed from underground," Dan finally replied. His expression hidden behind his mask.
He was second only to Mikael, so he usually handled authorized task.
Especially, the one which includes captives.
"How can I believe you?" Facade asked, wondering if he could make Dan speak somehow.
"You're always like that. I knew you'd ask. Here." Dan swirled back to his desk and handed a paper to Facade. "It's signed by Mister Hood."
Facade professionally took it and began to scan. To his surprise, Dan was telling the truth.
"Well, everyone's pleased to meet you, Facade. You know, you're one of the most important spies in the Eigengrau society. Unlike others who hide what they do, you own it. That black veil on your face makes you untouchable. No one's ever seen your real face. My, my…so much to be a spy."
Emotional talks. It was one of his tricks to make Facade expose his true self. He didn't know how Dan always knew when he was feeling down.
Although, Facade was sure of Dan's nature.
He was a man of money—and secrets. Be it his or others.
"Are you done?" Facade almost rolled his eyes. Setting aside his intrusive thoughts, he wanted to argue Dan's behavior as his senior but...he wasn't worth the energy.
Not in either case.
"Oh man, still rude as ever." Dan sighed, patting slightly on Facade's shoulder before walking out of his own office.
Facade—who was almost stiffened from everywhere—turned around and headed his own way to the Great Hall.
Tonight was the grand feast of all six societies: Turquoise, Teal, Crimson, Lilac, Boysenberry, and Eigengrau. Each society had hundreds of members. The feast wasn't held just for one society—it was for all of them.
But it meant nothing to Facade. Only the operation surrounded his heavy mind.
Operation 450. It would involve all six societies. If it failed, he'd have to fall back to his eighteenth plan to rescue his cousin from the cage.
He walked for nearly half an hour before reaching the grand hall where everyone would mingle.
"Well, well," a voice hummed, blocking his path. "Isn't it Facade?"
These bastards are endless, Facade thought— almost annoyed.
Social interaction was the worst thing he could ever hope for.
"I suppose you're from the Boysenberry society. I've heard your people can turn others upside down with sweet words."
Before coming downstairs, Facade put up his cool act in action. It was his real form but the free day-off made his head fill with countless fragments of questions—leading him to a poor behavior output.
"So, you've heard of us? Good. I've always wanted to see that black mask of yours in person." The man grinned, gesturing at Facade's dove-grey hair. "You look like a Slender Man."
"Thanks for the compliment," Facade replied, resisting the urge to punch him.
"Man, that wasn't a compliment—it was an insult."
"I'll still take it as a compliment."
"As rude as they say. Well, nice to meet you, Facade."
"It's not nice meeting you, though," he muttered under his breath. Too quiet—the man already walked away and he regretted not saying it loud enough to reach his dumb ears.
The hall was lively and the dark night didn't impact the environment at all. The unseen light of the chandeliers shone and many masked men started taking their places around the scattered round tables.
Facade— not eager to settle on any of the chairs—decided to stand in a corner.
He was a man of strict morals and has his own rules. Seeing faces he couldn't punch always darkened his day. But tonight, he bore it—for the sake of the plan.
Operation 450 was all about stealing half the wealth of a targeted royal family. There was a secret underground route which Facade had discovered by accident.
He had been exposed as a spy in the enemy's lair. That's what officially happened.
But those enemies of Hood?
Facade considered them the real heroes.
The whole community he worked for was corrupt. Anyone who opposed it was— in his eyes—doing the right thing.
"Done staring at this cursed veil?" he snapped, annoyed at the lingering eyes from beside.
"Oh yeah. N-Nothing, really. Hope we meet again!" The unknown man quickly vanished in the crowd, only for another to appear—this time, from Teal.
Man…again?
"So this is Facade boss always talks about? He's not even in my age league. Mister Hood should be praising me instead. Look at this old man!" He laughed, inspecting Facade from top to bottom.
"Teal, huh? No wonder your words are rusty enough to make me itch," Facade retorted.
Another man nearby laughed.
A small group had already gathered around him, only to witness the same Facade they had heard about.
"True, Mister Facade. He didn't even feel ashamed!" one chimed in. Facade recognized the voice—it was Fiver from Turquoise. They'd worked together before in a supply mission and Facade had mentally dubbed him "Annoying as Hell."
He wanted to kick Fiver in the mouth.
"I've got better things to do. I'll deal with you later." The humiliated man from teal retreated when he felt the crowd was watching him—darting at both Facade and Fiver from the corner of his eyes before leaving in a hurry.
The man's sharp teal perfume stung the air. Even after he left, the scent clung to the hall.
Not only his, but the whole hall was filled with mixture of fragrances.
Facade had an idea why. Each society had its own unique culture, like different nations. Here, their 'cultures' were expressed through perfumes. Their identities—through scars.
And for scars, he had never seen one on others. But he knew everyone had it.
Because his scar, was his veil.