ERode — Roleplayer Guild

He had stared a long while at the number before dialling it.

The Commissioner was one thing, but the Lion was another. Compared to Clash, who was basically about as corrupt and unhinged as any other gangster out there, Leon MacAoidh had a reputation that wholly lived up to the beastly form that he possessed: savage and ruthless, yet possessing an unbending pride in upholding his own principles. And if Asterion’s neurotic control over Nickel was terrifying, what the Burberry Enforcement Bureau did was just as bad, if not worse. There was a lot to be said, in the end.

But a phone call was just a phone call. And while it would be great if this didn’t fall through, a temporary alliance with Leon in order to take down the Thorned Roses would just mean that he would share a border with Leon if their cooperation was successful. It wasn’t too great.

The Devil you knew though.

The line was picked up.

“Mr. MacAoidh.” Whatever feelings he had about this, Matthias did not let it show in his tone, inflecting the smooth confidence of a preacher upon the podium. “I believe that, as of late, you have been at odds with the Thorned Roses. I too, see their flock as a uniquely destructive type within Nocturnia, a foreign force sowing discord and chaos within the shadows. If I were to tell you what I know, would you be willing to act upon it, in a capacity that would…perhaps be a step past regular protocol?”

Leon was immediately on the defensive, the voice was unfamiliar to him, and frankly the idea of his little spite match with the Thorned Roses becoming increasingly public knowledge was making him wary. Still, it was an assignment from the Commissioner. And while he now had a bit of a lead to work with thanks to the Canary, he now needed time and an angle with which to work that lead. 

“I seem to be a very popular officer for information brokers this week. The last man at least introduced himself before leading with promises of closing what may or may not be an active case,” Leon said, his voice neutral, but with a slight edge that indicated he was in no mood to waste time.

“You speak much more eloquently than most though, so I’ll entertain this call. What is it that Nocturnia PD can do for you Mr…,” Leon asked, doubting he was going to be given the man’s real name but even an alias might bring up some information on the Nocturnia PD network.

“Matthias FitzClarence. I believe the Commissioner is familiar with me.”

Leon punched the name into the computer at his desk. Unlike the Canary, there was quite a file on the FitzClarences… and the Order. So far it was just suspected criminal activity, suspicious disappearances, and this Matthias having one hell of an unusual Gyft manifestation.

“You would be correct, Mister FitzClarence, though no more so than any of our other fair citizens,” Leon said, a half-truth considering Matthias was on the Commissioner’s hit list. Still, Matthias wasn’t his target. Yet.

“Alright then, let’s hear what you have to say… and what it’s going to cost me,” Leon offered, leaning back in his chair.

A more measured response than what he received from the Commissioner. This too, had its advantages and drawbacks, but for the time being, Matthias was happy enough that he wouldn’t have to lower the volume of the call to account for any angry lion noises. He heard the squeaking of a chair through the speaker.

“Before I begin, I’d like to know…the Order was the one that sent shipments of a new drug found in Pauper Town to the Commissioner. What did she tell you about it?”

“Exactly nothing. The Commissioner doesn’t answer to me, I answer to her,” Leon said carefully. Was this more of that sugarcrush stuff? How widespread was this thing and why would the Order be sending things to the Commissioner? Just playing nice with local authorities? He shook his head slightly, ignoring the unanswerable questions for now.

There was little harm in poking around a bit and showing what he knew about this new drug. He brought up one of his personal files on which he had taken down notes of the information the Canary had given him. “That new drug wouldn’t happen to be sugarcrush would it? Never heard of it before last week,” Leon said, seeing if he could lead Matthias into revealing anything new.

“Because it didn’t exist until last week.” The prophet shrugged. “My congregation came across it while attending charitable activities in Pauper Town, along with a receipt implicating the Thorned Roses as the supplier. Sent the word out after, and it turns out that more of these drugs have been found to be shipped to local pushers in…”

Matthias paused briefly, trying to recount the specifics of the lie he had told Adel. After all, if you speak it enough times, it’d become true, right?

“...Heavy Crossguard, Corlet, Smoke Risers, and Penny Stakes. It’s based off of cocaine, but with a Gyft-related component too, perhaps providing a temporary boost.” Lies within truths within lies. “Regardless of what it does, however, I’ve no interest in some fresh-faced gangster trying to push their experiments in the same districts that I’ve been trying to get rehab centers started in.”

He tapped a finger against the armrest.

“So, Mr. MacAoidh, I have plans on pushing northwards into White Pine, to free the faithful there from the chains of their criminal oppressors. The Thorned Roses were originally a gang set between White Pine and Laterdale; it would be useful if the police were to set a temporary blockade in the connection between Gold Rim and Jeweled Bank. And if you could coordinate a raid of the Roses’s newest acquisition in Heavy Crossguard, I believe our combined efforts would be able to halve their territory in a single move. Naturally, any evidence implicating Vincent that my people uncover in White Pine will be sent directly to you.”

Leon considered the plan. Heavy Crossguard was on his target list for following up on Vincenzo. He had his own evidence that pointed to a warehouse in that district where the Roses had transported their operations before the raid on the bar. There was a problem though, he had higher priorities on his list that were taking up the majority of his attention and his resources.

“How soon were you thinking of pulling this little stunt? Your plan sounds reasonable enough, at worst the Thorned Roses lose two districts in one go and Vincenzo feels pressure from two different sides. But what you’re proposing takes time, funding, and personnel,” Leon asked.

“I can begin almost immediately,” was Matthias’s own response. “The longer we wait, the higher the chance of the situation developing in a way that makes this plan no longer feasible. How long do you need?”

“A day or two at the most. Enough time to get the red tape cleared out of the way, get my officers and gear prepped and in position, and of course get my investigators ready to look into Crossguard,” Leon said, freely admitting that engaging in an operation like this took time when it was routed through the official channels, “part of that will also be getting permission to operate a special task force for the blockade. I have no reason to expect the Commissioner to turn me down, but rules are rules.”

“You also understand that officially, on my end, this will be a pure Nocturnia PD operation. We are not acting on behalf of the Order nor will we recognize any kind of supporting role or anything that could be construed as favoritism of your Order over any other parties. As far as any official story is written, this is just an unhappy little coincidence for the Thorned Roses,” Leon explained. 

“You also understand that I am putting my efforts behind the paperwork to turn sugarcrush into a Class 1 narcotic. This means it will be destroyed after it’s role as evidence in any ongoing cases is ended. From what I have heard, this drug needs to be purged from the streets before bodies start dropping on every corner,” Leon said, his tone harsh enough to indicate a bit of a warning should the Order begin stepping into use or production of the drug themselves. If the Order really wanted the stuff gone as much as he did, no problem. Otherwise, it just meant they would be added to the target list.

“Completely understandable. So long there’s less lunatics on Nocturnia, I will be pleased with that. Send me a message ahead of time on when you’ll begin the raid.” The Lodestar folded his hands over his lap. “If there’s nothing else, I wish you success in your preparations, Mr. MacAoidh.”
With Merryland under the Order’s protection and the Order’s own personnel almost completely unharmed during the expulsion of the Del Guarde, it had been easy to flood the district with followers in the aftermath of the riots. The clean-up and revitalization of the area was done at a blistering pace, fueled by the sheer amount of followers the Lodestar had at his disposable. Fires were put out, injuries were bandaged up, and temporary shelters were put up in place. The records left by the police were looked through; those who were unjustly imprisoned were released. It seemed like, at least, that due to being imposter officers that were entirely unrelated to Nocturnia PD, none had actually been sent to Nocturnia Prison.

It also meant, of course, that it didn’t take long at all for Nep Wach to be located. One of the members had notified the Lodestar in private when that name had been spotted amongst the last entries recorded by the administrative staff of Merryland’s police department, and Matthias was quick to arrive with his temporary attendant, carried down the stairs to reach the underground holding cells. The place had been mostly emptied out by now, leaving a relatively quiet atmosphere that was broken largely only by the squeaking of Matthias’s wheels as he pushed himself to the last few meters before stopping before the bars.

“Elijah, attend to the door.”

The dark-haired man bowed slightly, then strode back up the stairs, his own steps silent. Matthias waited for the distant click of a door opening and closing to sound, then turned to face the man on the other side of the cell.

“I am Matthias FitzClarence. And you are Nep Wach.” There was no need for pretense. He preferred his conversations direct and to the point, after a day of pontifications and sermons. “Do you know an Antonio Litwin?”

Nep’s head shot up out of his hands. Antonio. First his hideaway was tossed over by the army posing as police. Then cultists overran the streets before he could call Rada to get away. Now he’d been scooped up and tossed into a cell and the distinctive head of the Order was asking him about Antonio. The name reminded him it could always be worse and things might just be yet. Nep responded with a slow nod, trying to stay calm, trying to keep his Gyft contained. Fearful eyes eventually reached Matthias as he pressed himself against the wall, anxiety effectively cutting to the point. “Yeah, I know the bastard. What do you want?”

A slow blink. At least, that was what Matthias did in his mind. His head simply continued to ‘swap’ back and forth, tendrils of smoke mixing and merging, then separating once more, even in the windless environment of the underground cell.

“I’m in the process of finding out why he’d want you enough to force a gift upon me. That’s gift with an ‘i’, not a ‘y’.” The prophet folded his hands over his lap. “I suppose this isn’t the case of an adopted son running away from his foster dad?”

Nep tensed into the wall at the mention of Antonio bestowing a Gyft upon Matthias, feeling a rush of panic that threatened to flood the room. The clarification that it was in fact not an actual Gyft brought it down but Matthias surely felt that spike in his mind. The last thing he needed to be right now was a threat. Blinking the emotion away he did his best to collect his thoughts as thoroughly as he could. “It’s not. Well, in a way I guess someone could see it that way.” He paused, trying to swallow something down his dry throat. “He doesn’t give you a choice in that sense.”

He tried to contain himself, but a nervous break found itself to the surface with a chuckle. “He wants me, doesn’t he? Gave you the job?” The emotional energy began to fill the room again, self control waning, threatening to enter the minds of those around.

It passed over Matthias like a wave, those amplified emotions. A rush, a sensation. But humans were not diluted by water, and foreign emotions did not displace the Lodestar’s unrooted mind. All that remained, once the waves lulled, before the waves crashed once more, was a singular thought.

Antonio hadn’t told him that it would be a full-on abduction. A landmark of Nocturnia, the owner of perhaps a true sanctuary in this city of blood, and it appeared that once more, men have fallen short of their reputation. What, was he like that crazy CEO beyond the walls, a modern-day vampire who injected the blood of the young in order to prevent himself from aging? Or was it the case where Nep was an actual danger, a monster that ought to be caged and safeguarded within the untouchable domain of Antonio’s bar?

“Yes,” was Matthias’s reply. “Though I’ve not met him, his reputation has been a fine one. I have, in part, looked up to him and his establishment, enough so that I was willing to help him out for free. But he insists on sending his own to assist me in this endeavor. So, while they are pre-occupied at the moment, I would like to hear why you fear him, Mr. Wach.”

Nep stood suddenly. “You took men?” He moved to the bars speaking quickly. “Don’t drink what they give you, don’t let anyone drink what they have.” Nep’s eyes darted around looking for any sign someone might be listening. Leaning closer to Matthias he brought his voice as low as could still be heard. “I thought the same. I worked with him, before the Eel. Everything we did I thought we were helping people, but it wasn’t until he showed me what-.” Nep stopped, closed his eyes, forcing images out of his mind.

His eyes fell to the ground, a shaky breath trying to find a way to speak without breaking. “Do you believe in god?” Nep’s emotions began to run, the air thick with existential dread.

Like rain against his skin. Beads breaking apart as they danced against his clothes and flesh. So it was perhaps thanks to Nep that what occurred in Merryland went so well. That shifted the scales somewhat. It shifted things some more, that there was reason behind the old man’s insistence. And then there was the Eel.

Akula’s Crew.

Matthias’s reply was clear. Even in the absence of the faithful, he had to believe in himself.

“The Order of Enlightenment believes in Reason.” A hand reached up, palming the vapors that made up the essence of his spirit. “Take in this piece of me, Mr. Wach. Give me reason to believe you.”

Nep’s eyes began to shiver. “You speak like he does.” He began to slide down the bars. “That’s how you do it isn't it? How you have people follow?” He found himself on the ground, curling up, his hands crawling around his head still pressed to the bars. “You don’t even let us die, just leave us to decay with the promise of becoming something more.” The atmosphere crashed. Waves of primal fear building. The eyes of a broken man shivering.

Echoing down the stairs was the sound of distant boots thundering. Akula boots. There wasn’t much time left now.

“I don’t let people die because I don’t want my people to die.”

Perhaps he hated having to put on an act. Perhaps he disliked being their figurehead and their messiah. Perhaps he walked on eggshells and slept on a bed of nails (except, as emphasized before, he could not sleep). He had his obsessions, of course. His own thoughts were separate enough from his feelings that he could see that his desire for control, for conversion, ultimately laid in the fact that so long as he sat on top, there was no one who could overtly use him.

But while he would never get a good night’s rest in this Herculean quest of his, Matthias had never entertained the other possibility, of tossing away all this to the wind, of sending the faithful to die or be imprisoned, of dismantling the Order from neck down. For in their absence, who would run the schools and rehab centers? Who would teach the illiterate and care for the orphans? Who would bring money into places that had none? Who would offer redemption to the penitent, in a city where forgiveness was otherwise obtained by a bullet through the head?

Matthias looked down upon the broken man.

He had seen enough.

“Cowardice is a human thing. It has its place. But if all you want to do is curl up and fall over, then know that you are leaving your fate solely in others hands.” The hand he had offered closed, the vapours disintegrating into the air. His other hand tightened around the armrest briefly, then relaxed. “It’s a blessing alone to be conscious.”

A blessing to be conscious.

That broke through the fog.

This wasn’t the same. Nep found his breathing calming. The words he’d been led by before were always of inevitability, doing what had to be done because there was nothing else to possibly do. But Matthias stood before him and though he spoke few words they were of hope and self determination.

Nep’s eyes looked up to see the vapours flicker away. He’d been tested, and failed. He’d been tested before and failed then as well. Maybe if he’d been braver, more resolute, he’d have achieved more like those few he still cared for. If he stood and fought, then he might’ve even created a future that would be safe for him, for them, everyone.

But looking up to Matthias, Nep could tell he saw him for what he was. A plaything of fate, destined to be blown by the forces that be, but it wasn’t too late.

Pulling out a hidden book and a nub of a pencil he scratched quickly at its contents, thrusting it away as the Akula’s approached. The monotone speech of the leading man driving another wave of fear from Nep that the group seemed unresponsive to. The leader spoke to Matthias first, voice flat. “Are you injured?” Looking to Nep he spoke again. “Would you like us to take him to the Barman?”

Matthias looked back at the leader, trying his best for the deadpan stare. Alas, it was a pointless effort; there was only the suggestion of an eye within the swirl of smoke. He did not deem it meaningful to give an answer though, and instead said, “It’s your job, after all. But please, allow me to accompany you.”

His tone sounded out the smile that he faked, even when he could not express it.

“Though I’ve heard stories about it, I’ve never had a chance to visit the legendary Jolly Jalopy myself. This would be a good opportunity.”

The leader nodded, breaking off Matthias only to collect Nep. As they passed Nep dropped the notebook onto Matthias’s lap without the notice of the Akula men. With one of the men moving behind Matthias to push him along, the man seemed to pay no mind to anything outside his immediate objective to escort the Lodestar. The journey to the Jolly Jalopy began.

Quickly flicking through, what begins as a neat record of a teenager finding themself involved in Nocturnia’s underworld through Antonio slowly degrades into the scribblings of a madman somehow at the behest of his own criminal empire before the entries suddenly stop. On the front page are the names Rada Hanak, Akir Bondar and Khor Kosović, the first two with numbers beside and the last a long list of numbers crossed out.

Beside the names are hastily written notes. Rada - “Let her guide you to those to stop him.” Akir - “Discuss the waters. Stop the spread.” Khor - “Get them out of his grasp.”
Antonio smirked. “In a way, this is a place of business my friend. No need to apologize there.” He leant down with elbows on the table, a finger waving in front of Erza’s face. “You know you certainly have some fine art going on there. Going on a guess, Midnight Man, Dark aces yes? If I had a face like yours I’d have the whole district coming in for drinks.” Almost on cue he raised a bottle to the bar and began to pour. “Thirsty? Don’t worry, you bring business so it’s on the house, the Matthias kind of business.” Antonio put the bottle away. “What would you like of an old man regarding our false prophet?”

Ezra's eye crinkled. ”Apologies, but I don't drink or eat in public. It has a habit of breaking the facade, if you catch my drift.”

He leaned in a little, his voice low, as if he was confiding in a secret with Antonio. ”I'm aware of a certain… transaction that's occurred between you and him. I wanted to capitalize on that. Where and when our lovely FitzClarence is planning to strike next, and with what firepower, or gyftpower.”

Antonio laughed. “You’re quite informed my friend, makes me wonder if you already know the answer to what you're asking.” Antonio let the chuckle roll off. “We had a conversation recently, indeed. I must admit the man isn’t what I expected, but my deal was more of a test regardless.” Antonio now leaned onto the bar to meet Erza at eye level. “As for that kind of information, I might have something through the whispers of those involved in that deal. I’d be inclined to share that information with those I consider a friend.” A vile smile grew on Antonio’s face. “And there’s something your renowned skill set could achieve to be a very good friend to me.”

Ezra leaned in a little closer. ”I'm not normally one to take jobs, but I understand we are two people walking down the same road. So I'll bite. And I'll tell you if it's something I can do for you.”

Antonio tilted his head and blinked to suggest an appreciation that Erza would at least humour him. “The Eel. Glorious leader of the Akula’s. They’re an animal, a dangerous one at that. One who enjoys the thrill of riding the knife’s edge, taunting death for the fun of it, but deep down it’s not just the rush of almost losing their own life they enjoy, but in taking it as well. They might never admit it, or even show it, but they’re a killer, a slaughterer, a bomb of violence waiting to explode.”

Antonio whispered now. “I want you to prepare this threat for detonation so it might be removed in a controllable fashion. Before you ask we cannot just kill The Eel, the Akula’s would just view them as a martyr and become a loose force within the city. We must show the Akula’s The Eel is not what they idolise. That they have been lied to.”

Antonio let the air hang before repeating what he asked. “Break The Eel. Show us all who they really are. Agree to this, and I’ll share what information I have on Matthias and provide you an opportunity to become acquainted with The Eel on your own terms.”

Ezra stared for a long moment, before his face cracked where his mouth would be, revealing a glowing white, jagged maw held open, hungrily. As he spoke, the mouth didn't move.

”You're a man who can judge a book fairly well.”

There was a small ping from his phone. Ezra’s mouth fell shut, disappearing into inky blackness once again. He checked it, a half-chuckle escaping him.

”Well, then let me throw something else on the table.”

His gaze flicked back to Antonio, adjusting his suit sleeves before lacing his hands on the counter. ”I've come to own two districts in Nocturnia. Now, I can break The Eel for you, that I would relish. However, what would you say to me allowing you passage through Pennystakes, and us attacking Lougham together? I would give you Lougham afterward, as a sign of good faith between us. And, if we continue like this, we could discuss dividing up the southern districts between us evenly.

“We would be a force to be reckoned with, Mr. Litwin.”

Antonio nodded, so nonchalantly as if this was an inevitability he was previously preparing for. “My boy, I would like nothing more. We will flood westward as a wave."

Antonio raised an open hand onto the bar. “The only question is when. I can provide you with a near immediate opportunity to break The Eel, I will convince them to take Elysium Heights. That will tie down Akula resources entirely and leave The Eel open to a guaranteed ambush, on top of that I’ll be able to further ramp up the Akula’s with more of a population to… recruit from, as well.”

Antonio placed his other hand open on the bar. “Or we flood westward first, ensuring the element of surprise. Pinning down The Eel afterward would be more challenging however. Either way, all I ask is that you wait for me to receive an esteemed guest. I'm very sure you’d like to meet him too.” Antonio’s grin split across his face. “The commander of the forces we’re about to march against. Surely you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to meet the Lodestar in the flesh?”

Antonio’s fingers curled into a ball. “In fact, why don’t we give Vincenzo Accardo a ring? I can see this being very much in their interest as well, they might even come down for our little party with Matthias.” Antonio rolled his head with a chuckle. “Besides, the more people we have to beat the piñata, the more exciting when it bursts, no?”

Antonio scratched his chin, eye’s wandering. “In fact, Flint enjoys the odd bit of claret too.”

His hand slapped back down to the bar. “What do you say Mr Nightmare, a little celebration before our inevitable victory?” Antonio’s other hand raised up holding a phone, fingers tapping in anticipation for Erza’s response.

Ezra's eye upturned in response. ”Vincent will certainly come, especially if you mention I'm here. And yes, Flint as well. Though he is a bit of a dangerous snake, that one.”

He leaned forward a bit. ”There's one more I can think of. The Doctor. Bit of a powerful gyft, that one, and runs his own organization. Perhaps he ought to be here as well. So we can truly get our celebration on.”

Antonio clapped and pointed at Erza. “Look at you adding to the guest list! And I was worried you didn’t know how to have a good time.” Antonio clicked his fingers. “Let me give dear Vincent a warm invitation. I’ll alert Flint to our plans when he decides to get into contact. If you wouldn’t mind, fire a message to that good doctor of yours. Hopefully they all make it in time.” Antonio practically shone. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been this excited.”

Looking through the empty glass Flint could see wisps of light dancing on the wall beyond it. Lowering the glass he looked back to find it wasn’t a trick of the light. The wisps began to slowly coalesce next to him into something. Looking to the floor below he could see the chests of the people cheering and fighting glowing, the light fading and absent in those combatants who hadn’t fared as well. He could see the glow beyond the walls of the room, his men keeping the area secure, and one or two that had tendrils shooting down into the earth.

Following the roots from those men he found his eyes resting on a pillar of light blooming into a glowing tree, whispering such sweet promises that became all the more realised the more he stared, whispers broken by Antonio’s ethereal voice from the wisps now abstractly forming a man. Antonio’s voice floated through Flint’s mind. ”Intriguing, isn’t?”

Flint's eyes took in the interconnectedness of everything. How he could see through the walls the ethereal lights of his men who had drank. The tree was interesting, though. It was a shame his black heart wanted nothing but bloodshed, though. Bloodshed he'd work with his own hands.

His gaze flicked to the Antonio-like shape. ”Indeed…” He thought, before he gazed curiously.

”You said you had influence beyond the Wall. Show me.”

The wisps danced past Flint and behind him. Looking back there were glows in the vast distance, roots stretching beyond the wall, some falling over the curvature of the Earth. Antonio’s voice cut back in. “Follow the threads and you shall see. There have been many individuals interested in the anomaly this city presents across this world. Most eventually establish some form of contact with Nocturnia, some of them with me. A portion enjoy a local gift for their service, others embrace my Gyft for a taste of what that might be.” The wisps turned back to Flint. “And there is no shortage of those seeking power or knowledge. The roots grow every day, curling around the planet, ensuring our future forevermore.”

The wisp danced down toward the roots. “Simply ask whose eyes you wish to see through, and I’ll guide you to see their sight, hear their thoughts, become a part of them.”

As the wisps moved to guide Flint the tree in the distance began to whisper something correrent now. Something of a time before the violence, of family.

The whispers caressed Flint. And, unbidden, memories of his beloved wife, when their daughter was a newborn, shared in their arms, enwrapped around him. The bittersweetness, ah, she looked so healthy, staring at him with those eyes.

He could feel her arms wrapping around him, could smell her perfume, the warmth and lightness of her touch, the-

”SHUT UUUP!”
 Flint choked out, throwing his glass. The eruption of glass against concrete did little to ease his nerves. Little faces from below looked up briefly in confusion before the fighting continued.

Heaving heavily, Flint had his hands on his knees, teeth gritted.

”...Show me… a militant from the outside.” He thought, swallowing hard, his face darker than black.

As if on command the moment Flint blinked he was outside the city. Watching the wall. A bored sigh from a man beside, moaning that nothing cool ever happened on deployment. Another blink, a chef serving food from a canteen, offering alcohol from within the city to anyone receiving a meal. Once more, a man checking over his bag, speaking to a quartermaster about equipment to enter the city, passing the name Hawkeye as if to persuade the quartermaster to do as he was told. All the while their thoughts shot through his mind as if they were his own, too quickly to catalogue in the moment.

Flint found himself looking through his own eyes again. Antonio’s voice returned. “That’s just a glimpse. You’ll be able to follow the roots yourself as you better associate with the NooSea.” The wisps danced across the visage of the tree. “Just know not to approach the core. It sees you now, it will hunger for you, and it will try to lure you. The further you journey toward it, the greater its pull will become. It is not your time to embrace its promises.” An ethereal chuckling filled the air for a moment. “Though I must say, I don’t think I need to worry for a man with an iron will such as yourself.”

The wisps began to fade, the network of glowing roots falling away, Antonio’s voice becoming distant. “Use this Gyft of NooSight to walk the eternal ocean of thought, drink when you need to see the world as it really is, for who people really are. All you need is to find or create their connection to the core. You may speak to me here whenever you might require guidance. Any last questions at this moment?”

Flint's breath had slowed, staring earnestly as he saw one of the militants had, in fact, been put under the influence. 

”...No fuckin' way…” He murmured under his breath.

Before his gaze was drawn to the wisps fading away. He nodded to the advice, pointedly avoiding looking at the tree. ”No questions for now, you've proved to be… enlightening.” He said, his mind already racing with possibilities.

The wisps left. Final words resonating before completely dissipating. “Oh, also. Come to the Jolly Jalopy as soon as you can. I have my own show of blood for you to enjoy.”

The phone buzzed. An unknown number. Strange. Before being able to question who the caller was, a voice immediately proceeded on the other end. “My name is Antonio, and I’d like to invite you to the Jolly Jalopy by extension of Erza of the Dark Ace’s and the soon to be my own Akula’s. Our entertainment will be provided by the one and only Lodestar as we discuss the imminent fate of a certain Order. Would you be interested in our little conference of sorts?”

Vincent was in his main office in the Arakasa Tower, spinning his chair to glance out the rain-soaked windows as he pressed his phone to his ear.

”I'd be a crazy man if I didn't at least know who you were, vecchio. (Old man.” Vincent's humored and easy tone was unmistakable on the other end of the line.

”But if Ezra's there, with the Lodestar, no less, well… I'd be crazy not to be there. I imagine this is starting fairly quickly? Just for you, I'll clear my schedule.”

Antonio placed a hand on his chest. “Vincenzo Accardo you flatter me sir. We’ll hold back the festivities until your arrival.” The phone clicked shut. Now it was time to prepare.
It wasn't long until Vincent walked through the doors of the Jolly Jalopy, dressed in an all black suit with gold cufflinks and tie pin. He gave Ezra a nod before glancing at Antonio.

”I'm pleased to see the festivities haven't started without me. And I'm flattered you thought to invite me.” He said, before taking a seat at Antonio's bar beside Ezra.

”I hope my unruly counterpart has been well-behaved?” Vincent said to Antonio, gesturing to Ezra.

Antonio bowed slightly. “He’s been a pleasure.” He chuckled. “If anything he’s the best thing that’s walked into this bar in a long time, an artist without doubt. I can only hope that he’ll grace this modest bar with some of his works.” Antonio pointed to the door. “That’s if the good doctor doesn’t outshine him. I’ve heard of some of his work, I can only hope to witness it.”

While the three men were talking, the door slowly opened as the Doctor stepped through the doors; he wore a large black trench-coat that went almost down to his shoes, donned in his usual plague doctor mask.

In tow, a young female followed after him, looking around skittishly as she stayed behind her father quietly.
”My apologies if we were late.” The Doctor said calmly, looking to Ezra for a moment before glancing back towards his daughter. ”I hope you do not mind that I brought my apprentice; Mia.”

Ezra stood, moving to shake the Doctor's hand. ”Elliot, I'm pleased you could join us. Please, come meet your fellow conquesters.”

He gave a nod to Mia before wrapping an arm around the Doctor, drawing him closer to the bar. ”We were just talking about you. Not sure if you've met him in person, but we have the leader of White Pine and a few other districts here, Vincent Accardo.”

Vincent stood, adjusting his suit slightly before offering his hand to the Doctor to shake. ”I see you're already acquainted with Mr. Blackheart's antics. Pleasure~.”

Ezra merely rolled his one eye, before directing the Doctor to Antonio. ”And our pleasant host, the good Mr. Litwin. I feel you two will get along nicely.”

It was then the door chimed open again, and in walked Flint, that dark look to his face and a smirk alight on his aloof face.

So many targets, all in one room… He thought to himself, before he took a few steps in.

”Gentlemen…” he greeted, adjusting his sharp red tie a little. 

Ezra twisted in his seat, glancing over. ”My, my, the leader of the revolution. I thought you had a dislike for mafia leaders, Flint.”

Antonio gazed into Flint, his thoughts bleeding into Flint’s mind. ’Now is not the time to take the shot. Work with them. Gain their trust. Once you have taken everything you can and have them splayed on the table, that’s when you plunge the knife. Patience. With patience, you will have everything you seek.’

Flint paused, digesting Antonio's thoughts, before merely rolling his eyes at Ezra, taking his seat at the bar. ”Even I can see I'll get more done with the right connections. Besides, who doesn't want to try putting a smoke head on a pike?”

It had taken some time to arrange his visit alongside Nep. A fresh suit and a vehicle that could carry a wheelchair was the bare minimum for such a visit, after all, and Matthias had to convince a couple of his more overprotective followers to let him go as well. The Brewery District wasn’t enemy territory, but it wasn’t necessarily friendly territory either. One would simply have to trust in the good intentions of Antonio!

Of course, the Lodestar arrived at the Jolly Jalopy alongside Antonio’s gunmen and Nep Wach, his own people remaining in a separate vehicle for the time being. As the door swung open and the bar revealed itself to be far ‘busier’ than he imagined, Matthias blinked mentally. Then, he also mentally pinched himself, hoping that the impossible had happened and that he was dreaming. He had expected something like Antonio being a piece of shit, because of course you couldn’t actually live in Nocturnia for over a century and remain a decent person, but what the fuck was this?

What the actual fuck was Vincent doing here? And was that the goddamn Midnight Man? Matthias thought he was an urban legend! Ugh, and holy shit, of course there were whackjobs like bird-face lurking around here as well.

But the Lodestar, his face unphased due to his face not actually really existing, only paused for a moment, before continuing to wheel himself into the Jolly Jalopy.

“One had not imagined you to be so popular, Mr. Litwin, to have drawn such big names to your establishment,” Matthias intoned. “If I had known that this was a proper occasion, I’d have brought a more appropriate gift, but alas, I’ll ask that you settle for this.” Reaching for a bag hanging from the side of his chair, he pulled out its contents: a vinyl record of Amir Laghmani’s 1978 performance at the Boston Symphony Hall.

“I’ve no longer access to any of the base pleasures that humans enjoy, but music is still something enjoyable to experience.”

Anontio picked up the vinyl record, inspecting front and back. He wouldn’t let Matthias see it but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat impressed. The man opened the door to what was possibly the largest concentration of evil in one room Nocturnia had seen in a long time and rather than turn around screaming Matthias just entered as casually as anything. Maybe Matthias was everything he could’ve hoped for and more. Maybe he would reveal himself to be the gravest threat he’d face yet. This meeting would decide that.

Antonio put aside the record. “We’ll be sure to have that playing at some point. Quite an antiquity. Brings me back to simpler times…” Antonio leant both palms onto the table. “I’ll get straight to the point. You're a truly pious man Matthias, that's not something I expected. You live by your rules of order, reason and logic to guide those who follow. This is not something forced upon you though. You could’ve simply dissolved the faith and lived rather comfortably, not having to worry about any of this. But here you are.”

Antonio bent down onto his elbows so he was at eye level with Matthias, a hand resting on his own atop the bar, his voice gentle. “What I want to know is why. Humour an old man.”

The room grew still and quiet, Ezra and Vincent watching Matthias with barely hidden predatory hunger.  Flint's grin widened. There was a collective holding the breath, waiting for Matthias’ response.

He knew nothing.

But that was for the better.

“I cannot live in comfort,” Matthias responded. “I cannot shut my eyes, cannot plug my ears, and cannot delude myself to the nature of life. In Nocturnia, the heavens will not cry, so it is up to children to wash away their parents’ spilled blood with their tears.”

Smoke rose up, a thin tendril reaching up to the ceiling. Like smouldering kindling, an ember breathing its first.

“Vultures and hyenas descend under the guise of saints, pledging aid while seeking only their own aid, while this cauldron of vice pledges to make cannibals of humankind. The most fortunate delude themselves that their skyscrapers were not built upon carrion. The least fortunate crack open their own bones to suck out the marrow, all so they could breathe in the sickening air of this rotted city.” His words were visceral, grating like a saw against the walls of this den of bastards. “I cannot rest, until I make a utopia out of Nocturnia. One that shines so bright that those who locked us here would beg to be let past these walls.”

It was a truth. One of many he held.

And now, the Lodestar, He who led the Wayward to Alexandria, leaned in, the figment of a young ancient’s gaze fading.

“Now, could you humour me, Mr. Litwin?” A pause. He was not so insensitive as to not know the position he was placing himself in. “This is the Brewery District. What did you do to Akula’s Crew?”

Antonio smiled, bringing his hand up to wipe away a tear that was never there. “My dear Matthias. You are truly an inspiration to this city. Such nobility within these corrupt walls!” Antonio raised his hands attempting to get a reaction from those within the room. He went on. “Such nobility deserves to be rewarded, in such a way that brings you to your goal.”

Antonio lowered his voice, scanning Matthias’s face for any indication of emotion. “What if I told you we could escape death. If I could guide you to your promised land.” A drink pushed across the table. “As for what I’ve done to the Akula’s, or at least those who have been graced to see reality, drink. Drink and you’ll find the answer to your question and your crusade.”

Matthias looked at Antonio. Raised the glass. Then moved it straight through his intangible head. Once, twice, thrice. And set it back down upon the counter.

“As you can see,” he spoke, “drinking is not a possibility for one without a head. Answer with words, please.”

Antonio smirked. “You’ll find the glass empty now. It’s taken to you on its own.”

The world began to change, a viscous black creeping in at the edge of Matthias’s sight. “Words cannot describe this. Witness.”

The world was dark, an empty void. True nothingness. Matthias still sat but there was a sensation of weightlessness. Then immediately from the darkness a tendril. Whipping forward with lethal intent, but nothing. It passed through him as if it was the void itself. It returned, flailing, curling, licking at his soul, trying to find purchase enough to drag him down but just thrashed about in frustration, passing through as if he was nothing but smoke.

A growl, a pulse. Following the tendril found something else. A concentration of light, beautiful whispers of life. The growl commanded attention downward and there it gestated. Knots of black roots shivering and pulling as fish hooks catching balls of light, dragging them down from the illuminated mass before disappearing into its own darkness. The lights illuminated the thing as they approached, the hundreds of eyes, the thousands of teeth. An insatiable hunger, gorging itself on the city and all that would come to it.

The room returned. Antonio rested with eyes still soundly settled on Matthias. “Do you see now?” He spoke as if Matthias had seen the illusion he intended and not the reality that was. “We can end all the suffering by escaping it entirely. We can escape death, your people can escape death. We need only take our final evolutionary step.”

Antonio lowered his voice further so that only Matthias might hear him clearly. “What say you of salvation, prophet?” To Matthias' side Nep stood under the clutch of one of the Akula’s, eyes wide in horror as to what the drink might have done to him, unknowing of Matthias’s resistance to such.

Matthias could not close his eyes.

Oh, but how he wished he could.

Calculations sprung in his head, a risk analysis that he had no solution for. There were far more enemies than he had bargained for, a whole gallery of bastards drawn in by the weighty darkness that laid within the bottom of the glass. What the hell were the military thinking, playing at little games like cutesy air drops of gatling guns, when they ought to be carpet bombing the shit outta the Jolly Jalopy right this fucking instant? Just hammer explosives into this hellhole until whatever fucking insanity laid within was turned to ash.

Honestly, maybe he should retire. Just hand the Order over to Celina or something; he’d trust her over Lenore or Kashima. Invest in something safe like bitcoin and then chill with Adel at Silverside as a consultant or something.

Maybe.

But he would never be able to watch a movie in peace, never be able to read a book comfortably, knowing that there was something out there that could snatch it all away.

“I see a million lives, reduced to nothing but memories.” A breath. “Celina, please.”

And then, Antonio would feel something that perhaps he had never felt before. The presence of another being sinking into him. A parasite. An infection. A virus with a mind of its own, encroaching upon his form as a tumor did its host. A human infestation, sinking into this inviolable domain of his!

A mouth opened up on the side of a wall, and from the other side, laid the frosty gaze of a wayward child that had returned to her hometown’s embrace.

Snow stepped through, rolling her neck a little as she studied the room, before her eyes settled on Antonio. no need for introduction, after all, as she focused her energies on him.

(Proof 1, Proof 2 Snow: 18 Antonio: 3)

Her Gyft reached inward, finding not a mind but a realm filled by a creature unaware of her presence. Navigating past the entry point she found Antonio’s connection to the menace below. The old man wouldn’t know what hit him.

Connection severed, Anontio’s body jerked before crumpling to the floor. Nep stood in awe at the sight, his puppeteer and tormentor dispatched seemingly effortlessly. He felt fear but controlled it through the inspiration of the sight before him. Nep looked to Matthias hoping to catch his eye, staring intently as if to suggest he could provide an exit when required. The Akula’s blinked, the leader reporting far too casually to Matthias. “Orders?”

Ezra's eye narrowed, feeling the shift of power almost immediately. In the next instant, Snow and the Akula's would see a very different scene - Vincent vocally harassing Matthias with certained coined phrases like ‘carbone’ and ‘divoratore di cenere’. Snow and the Akula’s would be deaf and dumb to reality until they figured out they were in a Yume.

That's when Ezra's eye traced over Mathias, sitting pretty in his wheelchair. There was no ‘mind’ to manipulate and entrap in a Yume, unfortunately. So instead, Ezra murmured to Vincent, nodding to Snow vaguely. Then he murmured to the Doctor.

Vincent smirked, sliding off his seat, strolling over to Matthias, and tipping him back. Matthias would fall with a certain whump that would hopefully knock the air out of his lungs for a few seconds, if he even had those. This was done so Matthias wouldn't get any smart ideas like trying to free the Akulas or Snow with his smoke.

Then, he pressed a panic button stowed in his pocket. As Thorned Roses men kicked open the door, pistols drawn and encircling the room, he turned his own attention to Snow.

And his red eyes flared.

(Proof 1, Proof 2 Vincent: 9, Snow: 3)

Snow's eyes went wide as she was overcome with pink tendrils of aether, as Vincent quite literally went to town on her mind. He scrubbed her mind of her recent conversion to the Order, and even her time within the Walls. Instead, he expanded the horror elements of her childhood. The experiments, the gladiator rituals, the smell of disinfectant and blood. How she would be beaten if she cried, so she eventually learned how to mentally scream while appeared like a potato on the outside. Sad, really. By the time Vincent would be done, she would be redused to a crying, sniveling and broken child that would need some intense therapy to recover.

A few Thorned Roses scoured the back and sides of the Jolly Jallopy's outer walls, intent on finding Celine. One or two began scaling the fire escape to the roof.

The Doctor had been watching everything carefully, he wasn’t entirely sure why he came; he wasn’t much of a torturer like the men in his company. He instinctively moved a hand to keep Mia behind him as everything started to go down, the shadows on the floor around him ebbed in case he needed to lash out.

Mia watched the other man collapse onto the ground, instinctively moving to grab her fathers side.
”Dad…” She whispered, the Doctor shook his head as he was backing her up into a nearby door.
”Stay quiet, little one.” He whispered to her, his voice much softer than he would use for anyone else.
”This feels like it’s not going to help us towards our god.” Mia added, the Doctor nodded in agreement.

The masked man admitted to himself, they might have gotten in too deep with this. Think. He said to himself mentally.
Something in his mind told him the floor wasn’t safe, a hint in the back of his mind that there was about to be chaos, but not the kind that would work for Ezra.
”Stay close.” He spoke to his daughter as he looked to his co-conspirators and moved his energy down to the ground.

There was bubbling around the feet of almost everyone that was on the Doctors side; bar a few grunts that were elsewhere currently.
Okay, focus. He thought to himself before he raised the shadows under everyone up, trying to pull them up off the ground; which would only work if they stayed still.

As Matthias hit the floor, as Snow did what she was meant to do and then fell over in the depths of another’s psychic attack, as gunmen flooded the Jolly Jalopy and as the plague doctor moved to apply his own Gyft in this melee, the Lodestar let out a sigh, reached out with his arms, and brought his hands together.

A clap sounded through the room.

The building rumbled for a moment, an unnatural infection seeming to pulse through the Jolly Jalopy as if it possessed a heart. As if a monster had possessed its walls, promising a horrific metamorphosis that would wipe away all memory of its previously charming nature.
The building itself seemed to quiver with the intrusion, as if it were sick with a fever. There was something wrong, something where it shouldn’t be inside of it. The building responded, hunting within itself. Thousands of hungry eyes searching for what might cause such a thing to a part of itself.

(Proof 1, Proof 2 Building: 18, Celina: 2)

Then, to perhaps everyone’s (but especially Matthias’s) surprise, a young woman in a nun’s habit was catapulted out from the walls instead, landing right on top of Matthias.

Fuck.

A switch flipped. Celina and Frostfare were out-of-commission, and Nep was in a dream. Thorned Roses goons were heading in, and Vincent was standing right behind him, probably smirking like a guy who liked to bully disabled people.

“Well alright, asshole.”

And just like that, Matthias sat up, grabbed Vincent by the balls, and pulled his descendants straight into the fucking grave.
Luckily, Vincent was high in the air with the Doctor's shadows, giving him a precious half second extra to react. A gun flashed, bullet aimed at Matthias’ hand.

The Doctor kept his focus on his shadows as he watched everything happen, he watched as the building literally spat someone out, admittedly he felt like he shouldn’t be surprised. Nocturnia was fucked up in every way, and he was part of it; trying to bring back a God lost to time.

The Doctor moved quickly, using what energy he had left to send a tendril towards Matthias, attempting to coil him in place. He didn’t know if everyone was still trying to literally kill each other, but he wanted a moment of calmness for once.
”EVERYONE JUST FUCKING RELAX FOR A SECOND!” He yelled as he lowered everyone to the ground now that the sense of chaos seemed to disappear from the back of his mind.

”Jesus fucking Christ.” He hissed angrily; it seemed like a small trail of smoke echoed from his mask.
”Dad!” Mia spoke before she moved to dart in front of him, moving to shift his mask from his face - much to the annoyance of her father.

Those able to see around Mia, could see that the right half of Elliots face was severely scared. It looked like he had a deep burn against his face, and his almost ash grey hair showed his age. His amber eyes stared at his daughter before he gave a small, shaky sigh; more smoke coming from his mouth.
”Now’s not the time to do this, my gem.” He said to her, wincing as he coughed a bit; the shadows around him - and the tendril that reached for Matthias - shaked with each cough.

“Yeah.”

The bullet had blown clean through his hand, but after Phade’s treatment, Matthias was surprised at how little it hurt. Still made him want to curl up in a fetal position and plot violent, brutal, extended deaths for everyone in this room though.

But emotions were emotions, and even his own were distant. He stood up instead, in a room full of pillars of shadow, watching his Amorpheus restore the senses of the three gunmen and Nep. Whether they could grasp the situation was beside the point. The plague doctor’s shadow curled around him too; he was thankful for something to hold up his own weight, when his own legs still protested against the unfair burdens.

“At this point, it would be ironic that a stray bullet in a heated gunfight is what puts an end to the best and worst of Nocturnia.” The Lodestar was in control of himself once more. Even as torpid blood oozed from his hand, his expression was unreadable amidst the hazy impressions. “How about we call it a day, gentlemen, and leave our disagreements to be settled at another time?”

Ezra's head turned, his Yume dispersed. A sigh of disapproval. Vincent immediately narrowed his eyes as Ezra, ”Always so damn impatient, Blackheart.”

Before Vincent gestured to his men, and they backed up a bit, providing Matthias a cleared path to the door. Snow was on her hands and knees near the wall, shaking and unseeing. She'd need a little help getting out.

Vincent merely smiled. ”Well this has certainly been enlightening. Dare I say fun as well. Do take care of yourself on your way home, Mr. FitzClarence. I have a feeling we may be seeing more of each other than either of us would like to admit, very soon.

Flint, meanwhile, had gone over to the unconscious Antonio, shifting the man so he lay on his side, keeping his airways cleared. Flint's face appeared… fairly angry, though he was trying to keep it contained.

"I'm the only prophet here, Mr. Accardo. Next we meet, it'll be either in a crematorium or a prison cell."

And with the slow, controlled steps of someone who couldn't actually walk at full speed, Matthias lead a procession of the confused and unconscious out of the Jolly Jalopy.

Elijah waited for him beside the car, having not moved a step even as gangsters stalked the outside. He had not moved, even as Frostfare and Celina stalked out, even as the sounds that escaped the Jolly Jalopy could not have boded well for his prophet.

"Did the meeting go well, Lodestar?" His smouldering gaze did not even glance towards the hole in Matthias's hand.

"Do you need to ask?" He learned somethings and traded other things. But in the end, he had made it out alive. So what was there to do, except... "Call Wes."

"As you wish."
The Lodestar had not been joking when he said Glyde would have to give up his hands. They were not allowed to move forward without that deed done, so Glyde passed the blade over to Darian, who did the dirty deed of hacking off Glyde's hands. Sylvia prepared and applied the cauterize, burning the wounds close so he didn't bleed out. And Glyde, convulsing from the shock of it all, honestly didn't remember much after that.

No one knows when sedation takes them, but that's what Glyde had to assume was what happened when he awoke on an operating table. The shock of seeing a man with a gun for a head was one thing, but when he looked down, he noticed something else.

His hands… well, they had been replaced by metal prosthetics, a gun on every finger. 

So there he was, in the basement of what he assumed was the Order's base, firing at targets in the shooting range. His aim was near perfect, strikingly almost better than with his natural hands. 

As he loaded another mag into the back of his hand, he glanced at the gun man. ”...I imagine I ought to be grateful. Figured I'd spend the rest of my life with stumps as some kinda punishment.

“What's your name, anyway?”

“Wes.” A teeny, halting wheeze of a voice escaped from the lower jaw of the gun-headed man, as if manufactured from pipes and pumps than lungs and a vocal cord. It was at a pitch completely at odds with the otherwise massive man, who stood at an even seven feet with a body that seemed to push even the limits of the heavy trenchcoat he wore. “Lodestar cold. Not cruel.”

The surgery had been a cruel thing. A secondary amputation made to slice away the cauterized and necrotized flesh in order to access still-living vessels that were teased out and exposed in order to connect with cold steels and wiring, of the sorts that did not exist outside of Nocturnia. Even as steel replaced his hands, Glyde could still feel through them, a strange tactile sensation where ‘touch’ was present, yet one degree removed from ‘intimate’. And there was no removing the sense of weight in his new hands, how a persistent ache spread through his shoulders and neck even if his hands just hung loosely at his sides, nor the strange, alienating feeling of his fingers and wrists collapsing in on itself whenever he fired a bullet from them, sparing him the recoil.

“Test 12.” The inhuman doctor set a case upon the table that boxes of other ammunition laid, unlocking it to reveal grenades. “Break wrist. Insert. Test Gyft.”

Glyde stared at the doctor for a moment, he gave it a try. With a simple flick of the wrist, it did indeed break (Man, it was a strange sensation having your entire hand hanging off to the side by a simple latch). He placed a grenade inside, watching it click into place almost too snugly, before his wrist snaped shut again.

Aiming his palm at one of the targets, and electrical haze overtook his hand. The electricity hit its apex, and the grenade  launched, smacking into the target and exploding into an electrical explosion. Glyde had to shield his eyes, the light was so blinding. And the aftershock of the electricity caused his hair to raise on end.

”Whoa…”

Glyde stared as the smoking target sign, before glancing back over at Wes. ”So what can I expect, working under Matthias? And uh. Where's my crew?”

“Charity. Cooking. Construction. Childcare.”

The gun-headed man scribbled something on a notepad comically dwarfed by his hands.

“Others working. Merryland. Pauper Town.” He closed the case, pulling it off the table. Eyeless as he was, the cyborg still stared at the destruction left by the plasma grenade, the rasping of pipes indicating a deep breath in. The thick stench of ozone, fragments of concrete dust, and the echoing thunder of the blast, sounding even now through the cavernous space.

“Test 13. Dry fire.”

Glyde took a bit of comfort in Wes's direct enough answers. So his crew were safe. Not locked up in a culty dungeon or offered as human sacrifices. That was good.

He pulled out the mag and aimed at the target. Hollow clicks went off as he attempted to fire. Felt a little funny, but he didn't complain. 

Glyde had to admit, ”Don't know how good I'd be at childcare. But I can adapt. Never thought I'd have steel hands, yet here we are.”

“Life is strange.”

Did Wes ever grow up, thinking he’d have a gun for a head? Those questions weren’t asked, nor would they have been answered.

“Sergeant. Boot camp? Should be. Good.” The man shifted slightly, then stepped closer to Glyde, raising one hand up. Up close, it was huge, easily large enough to wrap around a man’s head, like a baseball mitt made of metal. “Test 14. Striking.”

Glyde couldn't help his slight smirk. This was certainly familiar. He readied himself in a boxers stance, bouncing on his toes a little. In this position, he could more easily feel the new weight of his hands, but he tried to ignore it, think through it, and adjust himself to compensate. One of his fists reached out, lightly bumping Wes’ massive hand, testing the distance. Then, he pumped the gas, sending forward a punch with all his force behind it, right into the center of the mitt. It was followed up by jabs alternating between either of his fists, the rhythm putting some type of serene focus on his face.

Glyde would, if he were not entirely lost in the boxer’s rhythm, notice the same inwards-sliding occur upon impact, preventing the metal mass that was now his hands from crushing against the still-fragile flesh and bones that constituted his wrists and arms.

“Ok.” Wes stopped, his hand swinging down. His notepad returned, notes made as he scribbled with a dexterity that didn’t match his inhuman hands. “Non-standard. Boxing. Hobby?”

Glyde smirked a little. ”When I was a kid, yeah. Was pretty crazy about it. Before I joined the army, at least. Had a lot less time for it, but some things just kind of stuck.”

"Things do that."

The man stowed his notes away, then clenched his fist.

"Test 15. Dura-"

He froze, statue-like, his barrel-face affixed to something distant, as the faintest of radio static emanated from his mouth. For two minutes and fifty-nine seconds, he stood there. On the three minute mark, his mouth closed and he turned.

"There is. An Alliance." His voice was still teeny, still wheezing, still like air pushed through pipes and pumps. But now, there was another quality mixed in. A human one, amidst the mechanical facsimile. "A monster."

Equal parts fear and loathing. Memories seeping through, of the Vessel and the Mechanical Society, of machines made of pure color and the contamination of the human mind. Of plumes of smoke, blooming like mushrooms to blot out the sun.

"It's A War, Soldier!"
ERode Member

A Spiny Ant

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
