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The three companions strode down the crowded sidewalk, no one giving them a second glance. Silastrix was not used to being around so many humans, even if she was born on that very plane. There were no elves. There were no dwarves. There weren't any planar beings, half-orcs, feyfolk, undead, or even dragons. Just humans. It made her miss the other planes, so rich in other forms of intelligent life. The humdrum world of humans just made her homesick. She thought as she walked beside her two friends, but where was home? She shook her head as though she were trying to free her mind of the thought. Home was where people missed her. And she doubted anyone missed her in Malindor, besides maybe...
"Get out of the way! OUT OF THE WAY!" A strong male voice snapped her back into reality. A Caucasian man darted past, pushing through the crowd and nearly tackling Smythe in his attempt to flee. A woman was crying, "he took my purse!" She seemed to be nearly in hysterics as the man made his escape.
Farrow scowled. "So thieves are no less petty in this plane, either!"
Silastrix and Smythe looked the other way and shuffled around a bit.
"We need to pursue him and retrieve that woman's belongings," Farrow stated.
They cleared their throats and tried to look anywhere except for at Farrow. His gaze turned stern. "You're not just going to let him get away, are you?"
"I'm sorry, but it's a thing us bandits have. We try not to steal from other thieves," said Smythe. "Sorry."
If looks could kill, both ex-thieves would've been murdered violently. "I had thought you'd given up your criminal ways. And if you two won't help me, I will apprehend him myself," he said slowly, each word emphasized in forced patience.
Silastrix knew that Farrow was in no shape to take him on by himself with that nightmare eating him alive, so she quickly nodded. "I'll help." And for good measure, she gave Smythe a sharp elbow in the side.
"Ow! Okay, okay! I'll help too," he admitted finally, rubbing his side sorely.
The purse-snatcher ran down the street as though the hounds of hell were biting at his heels. He made a sharp turn and ducked into an alleyway devoid of people and pressed himself against the wall, breathing heavily. His fingers were still twitching with nervousness as he tore open her bag and viewed its contents, and he was so occupied that he did not see a man stride toward him slowly and deliberately. "I believe that belongs to someone else," Farrow said in a menacing tone. The thief paused, startled that he'd gotten caught. But he wasn't about to just hand his prize over. Instead, his hand reached inside of his pocket for his switchblade...
Farrow smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, or a friendly smile. It was a smile of a person who knew that another was going to get what was coming to them. From opposite ends of the alley, Silastrix and Smythe emerged and circled around him. The odds were uneven. And something about the 6'1 man chilled him to the bone in a way he couldn't understand. But instead of making him back down, fear made him reach for his blade and flip it open. "St-stand back," he stuttered, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.
"Just return what you took and you'll be fine," Silastrix told him. If she needed to, she would extend her claws, and his throat would be open and bleeding in seconds...
Smythe seemed to have the same idea. It seemed the guy wasn't about to give up without a fight, even if his hands were shaking. He seemed to ready himself to use his fire abilities.
Farrow, however, did not seem the least bit intimidated. He narrowed his navy-blue eyes and the shadow rose up from near his feet, hissing softly in anticipation. To the shadow, the man cowering in front of him was nothing more than food. It stared down at him with eyes like burning coals.
The air stank of urine as a wet area increased in the man's trousers. This thing looming over him was unnatural. He immediately dropped the woman's purse and ran from the alleyway, tripping and scrambling back up to his feet. Something told them all that he left his dignity behind with her purse. Satisfied, the shadow sank back to Farrow and he breathed a sigh of relief. Time to give the woman's purse back.

---

The woman was exceedingly grateful, and squeezed all of them in turn (though slightly longer on Farrow, much to his discomfiture). She even offered to pay them for their troubles. Smythe politely refused so he wouldn't piss Farrow off. Besides, he had enough money to throw around.
Silastrix, Smythe, and Farrow then caught a taxi cab to Long Island to see if they could catch a boat to Africa. While it would take slightly longer, they could keep their weapons and armor. That is, Smythe pointed out, if they found the right boat to catch.
"What do you mean?" Silastrix asked, tilting her head in curiosity. Farrow also looked inquiringly at the erstwhile skeleton.
"The right boat to catch would certainly not be a cruise ship," he said. "We need a boat with a crew that doesn't ask too many questions. The less people know about who we are and what we're doing, the better."
"And such a boat would be...?"
"A smugglers' boat."
Farrow sighed and rubbed his neck. "A smugglers' boat. Isn't that great."
"Oh, come on, Farrow," Smythe chided. "This is the safest way to get to Africa, as well as the quickest."
"Safest? I think not. Who knows what those men would have us do so we could get transport to Africa."
"Something simple. I know a couple guys, you know, because old habits never die." Smythe winked. "And smugglers could always use a couple guards. Not only will we get transport to Africa, but we'll also get paid for keeping them and the cargo safe."
Farrow looked unchanged. "I don't like this at all. But if it is to be so, then I'll instead consider it a blessing that we have such an opportunity."
"Why so serious?" Smythe asked with a grin, sounding eerily like the Joker from Batman.
The taxi drove on and on through the streets, past slums, alleys, and apartments, past stores and skyscrapers and walking pedestrians. Eventually, Farrow fell asleep, and Smythe occupied himself with playing online poker on his laptop. Silastrix just looked out of her side of the window and immersed herself within her thoughts. Thinking of Mortal Coil's mask certainly stirred old memories she had.
She remembered the first time meeting her old guild master, his enigmatic mask and his golden eyes, his hooded cloak and the confident purr in his voice. She did not like him as much as she liked Amyranth, the guild master before Coil took over. He was just too... shifty. Too strange and ambitious. Most people would expect that in a guild master of thieves, but he was such in a way that unnerved her. His penetrating gaze and his swift, gliding movements made her liken him to a phantom. A monster born from the depths of a depraved mind.
Silastrix recalled how he attempted to mutate her and Smythe, as well as her old companion Kyto Kinne, the b*****d son of King Elgar Kinne. Mortal Coil had also lured Armageddon Snow to his side, a vicious bandit in the guild and one of the only females besides Silastrix. Armageddon was turned part-cyborg by his hand, her arms replaced with a mechanical ones, one arm ending with a blaster cannon and the other ending with clawed, robotic digits. All through her body, she had wires and mechanical bits. Her back was equipped with mechanical wings that enabled her flight, and her left eye was replaced with a robotic scope eye that glowed with a bizarre red light. Such things were unnatural. But what chilled her the most was the fact that Coil removed Armageddon's heart and replaced it with an engine-like device powered a by a glowing, purple crystal. When the crystal was removed from her chest, she would die, and she would be brought back to life if it were placed back inside of her.
It all summed up to the fact that Mortal Coil was a madman. He tampered with nature and twisted it to fit his cruel intentions. He modified a zombie disease and made his own breed of undead, zombies with projectile vomit that stripped away their victims and unnatural speed when it sensed prey. They tore most of her old guild members apart like mindless beasts.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop thinking about him. It won't do you any good. Coil is dead now, and all that's left of him is a helpless soul trapped in a mask. Though she had trouble convincing herself that Coil would be anything resembling helpless. And as for his mask, well... they'll soon find it. They had to.
The taxi driver turned the radio on, and a song she found familiar played through the speakers. (Ms. Jesus by Tori Amos) Silastrix turned her attention to the outside world, the so-called reality on Oerth. The humans walked through the streets of their familiar cities, each day not knowing of outside planes that contained danger, skeletons, dragons, forgotten deities, and untold adventures. They lived through every day in mundane monotony, but they were safe. And she was going to find the mask, and Farrow was going to release the nightmare back to its home plane. Just to keep this plane safe. They would do what it would take, and all three of them would make sure of it.
Meanwhile... she yawned. Farrow's mouth twitched into a frown as he slept, leaning on his window side. She observed him napping, and thought that a nap would be wise for her too, at least while she could catch some sleep. The lyrics of the song playing through the radio oddly brought her comfort, and lulled her to a state of mind that could bring her some rest. Minutes later, she was breathing evenly, in peaceful sleep mode. She did not notice that she was leaning on Smythe's shoulder, and neither did she notice when Smythe removed his trench coat and draped it over her as a makeshift blanket.