Syracuse, New York, Shuttle-port E67
Syracuse wasn’t usually called “busy”. If any faeries showed up, it was usually to watch the Mud Man sport of basketball. It was simple, hidden from human eyes in the treeline of Burnet Park. The few guards that were posted here were lethargic and unskilled. One of the newer guards was at least vaguely suspicious of the pale elf walking into the terminal. He was taller than most elves, at least three foot two inches.
The elf approached the Customs and Immigration line casually, as if he was on a midnight walk. His deep, reddish-brown hair poked out beneath an ebony, elf-sized fedora. His ivory flesh was hidden by a high-collared coat. “Nice night out,” he greeted.
The newer guard, who just so happened to be running the line, nodded. “It’s very nice,” he replied, his suspicion unveiling in his voice.
“So, how’s the family?” the elf asked.
The guard frowned. “There… okay,” he answered, slightly creeped out by the question.
The elf smiled. Iridescent green eyes glinted beneath the dark shadows of his hat and collar.
The guard raised an eyebrow. “Please remove your hat and look into the retina scanner,” the guard ordered.
The elf continued smiling. “Gladly,” was his response. He removed his fedora dramatically. His mahogany hair was slicked forward into vicious spikes. The hair flowed back into a thin braid that disappeared into his coat. The elf bent slightly and stared into the the retina scanner.
The guard watched his computer screen intently. After a few seconds, a identification file popped up on the plasma screen.
The gnome guard paled. On it was the smiling mugshot of the criminal Loarkuen Quaynehteh, better known as the Pale Elf. The gnome reached for his buzz baton.
The elf, Loarkuen, frowned. “I see, it’s that file,” he stated, his voice trailing off.
“Fern,” he said, speaking into his communicator to his superiors. “Contact Police Plaza! Tell them there’s a dangerous criminal named-” He was cut off by the swift fist of the Pale Elf.
The elf dashed over the Customs gate towards the guards’ booth. He stormed in, quickly removing the threat of the guards before they could make a sound. Loarkuen pulled the smallest Mud Man production hand gun out of his coat and checked the clip, looking out to make sure that no one was coming.
The Pale Elf was just in the process of removing the buzz batons from the guards’ when he heard the doors to Chute E-67 open. He wheeled around to see a fully armed LEP Officer.
At first, Loarkuen was worried, but then he noticed the officer’s rank. He was only a corporal.
“D’arvit!” the corporal screamed. He fumbled with his Neutrino, attempting to apprehend the elf. Loarkuen smiled. This rookie was no challenge.
He darted forward with the speed of a cheetah, swatting the corporal with his newly acquired buzz baton.
The corporal fell back, nearly landing on his butt. The new LEP uniforms could withstand a shock from a baton. The Pale Elf stepped forward and jabbed the corporal in the abdomen.
Loarkuen followed by grabbing the officer by the shoulders, unlatching the shoulder locks that held the helmet in place. The helmet popped off, revealing the scared face of a fellow elf. The Pale Elf punched the corporal in his exposed face.
Like a sack of potatoes, he fell to the ground. Loarkuen, who preferred Loken, read the name tag on the elf’s shoulder. Corporal Grub Kelp. He wasn’t a very high rank, but if his informants were correct, the new LEP commander would do anything to rescue his little brother. He would work perfectly for his plan.
The elf smiled to himself. “Phase One, complete!” he announced to the room of unconscious people.