A long time ago, in a rusted wreck floating through a poison sky, Asmodeus Fix glanced at the young boy beside him.
In order to get a proper view, the boy was sitting cross-legged atop a metal crate, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he stared at the unfortunate behind the glass of the interrogation room. His silver hair had grown long over the last few months -- his mother had long since given up on taming it, apparently -- and so only the slightest glimmer of his electric-blue eyes could be seen through the near-white curtain.
Fix crossed his arms as he too looked at the man in the interrogation room. He was being circled by one of Fix's subordinates, a Scurrant with shark-like teeth, as he babbled desperately -- throwing out as many secrets as possible in an effort to keep himself alive.
The boy was intensely focused on each syllable, his hands balled so tight that Fix was surprised he didn't cut himself on his own fingernails. Even though no sound from inside the room could be heard in this adjoining chamber, the boy's mouth moved along soundlessly, mimicking the treacherous words of the man being questioned.
The traitor's deluge of speech was cut short by a sharp slap -- and in the intermission that provided, Asmodeus Fix glanced down again at little Dragan Hadrien.
"Well?" he grunted.
For a second, Hadrien looked like he wasn't going to answer at all. Then, quiet words left his lips: "He's lying."
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Present Day…
Asmodeus Fix slowly opened his eyes, wincing as the old collection of injuries made themselves known.
The ache in his shoulder blade, the twinge of his ribs, the insistent spiking pain from the knuckles on his hands… a status report letting him know that he was both alive and, as ever, in poor condition. There were some new additions, too, a tender stinging pain just above his ear that he wasn't yet familiar with. Clearly he'd been beaten a little before they'd thrown him in here.
He glanced down at his hands. They were bound with thick steel manacles -- and from the fact that he couldn't seem to bring out his Aether, it was a safe bet that they were lined with Neverwire. Sloppy work: Neverwire was expensive stuff, not to be wasted on the likes of him. Fix would have recommended they drug him into a stupor instead, to save on resources.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his circumstances became clear. He was in a cage -- originally used to keep some kind of animal, judging from the size, but it would hold a human being just as well. He was still in his business attire, if a little scuffed and dirty -- he couldn't have been out too long, then. The last thing he really remembered was…
His eyes widened, just fractionally. The last thing he remembered was Jacques' death. His employer, his rung on the ladder, had perished choking on what was left of his own tongue. Then, he'd been taken in for the murder.
As his chronic and familiar pains settled at a manageable level, Fix forced himself off the ground and into a sitting position. The room was dark, the only source of light being a sliver peeking from under a far-off door, but he was sure they wouldn't have left him here without a guard of some sort.
It was fruitless, but he'd say his piece. "I'm innocent," he called out. "This wasn't my doing. I promise you that."
There was no reply, save for the slightest snort of amusement, almost imperceptible.
Fix turned his head to look in the direction of the noise. "Let me speak with Carla Oliphant," he persisted. "I imagine she's leading the investigation. Allow me to plead my innocence to her."
"What?" sneered a familiar voice. "Put you face-to-face with another member of the Oliphant Clan? You've got one already, we're not about to let you take out a second."
Fix clicked his tongue. If that voice was who he thought it was, he already knew he wouldn't be getting any sympathy.
The speaker shifted slightly, just enough for part of their face to come into the light, and that was enough to confirm Fix's suspicions. The one they'd assigned to guard him was Moss Halevat, another one of Jacques' subordinates. A long time ago, the two of them had clashed over the second-in-command position. He was willing to bet Moss still held a grudge over that.
Moss stepped forward again, looking down at him through the bars. He adjusted the white tie of his white suit with one hand, while the second tapped mockingly against the metal. Fix had no doubt that Moss was ready to shoot him with his golden revolver if he so much as made a quick move.
"They locked you in the dark as well, then," Fix chuckled with mirth he didn't feel. "How humiliating for you."
With a thunderous clang, Moss' fist struck the metal bar. "Laugh it up, asshole," he growled. "Some of us can afford the upgrade." His black cybernetic eyes blinked rapidly.
"All the same," Fix repeated steadily. "I am innocent. I did not do this."
"Whatever," Moss stepped back. "Like I care either way. Apparently, that brat you brought here is trying to prove you innocent too. Wonder how long he'll last."
All pain and caution were forgotten. In an instant -- quicker than a single breath -- Asmodeus Fix was not only on his feet, he was right at the bars, glaring through at his rival. Moss stumbled backwards in surprise, grasping for his revolver.
"I wouldn't," Fix said quietly. "If you kill me now, it'll look like the person who hired me paid you to shut me up. You'd be the next one in this cage."
Moss' grip froze on the handle of his gun, and he grit his teeth in obvious frustration. "If you think I'm letting you out of there," he hissed. "You've got another thing coming."
"No," Fix shook his head. "I don't expect you to. I'm not stupid. But you just told me a certain person -- a person I swore I'd protect -- is now in danger. I dislike that. You're going to tell me every single thing that has happened since I lost consciousness. Or I kill myself right here, and make it look like you did it. I'm certainly capable of that."
Moss' face twitched -- torn between a desire to see Fix die and the drive to save his own skin -- before it finally relented and slackened. His grip reluctantly slipped off his gun and flopped in the air.
"Fine," he growled. "Fine, you fucker."
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"Gotta say," Ruth said, leaning against a wall surely more expensive than the ship they'd come in on. "I kinda wish you'd asked us before saying we'd solve this mystery or whatever."
Dragan sighed, running his face over his hands. Skipper had disappeared somewhere to check if he could spot any 'suspicious activity', so he, Ruth and Bruno were loitering in one of the venue's countless hallways.
A fogged-over window looked out onto a neon landscape. The lights of flying cars passed back and forth from the building chaotically -- with what had just happened, the Oliphant Clan was floundering to get a handle on the situation. The leaders were staying here for the moment, but countless subordinates and henchmen were being dispatched on a staggering number of tasks.
Dragan blinked wearily as he looked out over the Cradle. He'd been out. Why couldn't he have just left things alone?
"I had to say something," he muttered, to both himself and Ruth. "They would have killed him for sure. An eye for an eye is the way these people work -- even more so when it's an important eye."
Bruno glanced up from his script -- he'd been looking at it for quite a while. "Like I said before, though, I thought you hated the guy."
"I do."
Ruth frowned. "So why not just let him get fucked?"
"It's…" Dragan waved a vague hand like a flipper. "It's not that simple."
The verbal tag-team continued, Bruno speaking up again. "It really is. We could be on the Slipstream #2 --"
"Slipstream #3, Bruno," Serena interrupted.
"We could be on the Slipstream #3 and out of here in, like, an hour if we rushed. We're only here doing this because you want to be here, doing this."
Dragan sighed, rubbing his thumbs against his temples as he pressed his head against the cool glass of the window. They were right, of course. What he was doing here was irrational in the extreme -- it wasn't even a matter of acting on emotion, since Dragan's feelings for Fix should have led him to leave the bastard to his fate.
An excuse that didn't ring true came to his lips. "It's like Fix said -- I owe a debt. I don't like owing people. I do this, I pay it off, and I never have to see him again."
Bruno frowned, but he didn't say anything more -- his eyes just slipped back to the script in his hands.
"What is it?" Dragan eagerly changed the subject, nodding to the device.
"Security camera footage from this place," Bruno murmured as he intently watched the screen. "Trying to see if I can spot anyone suspicious moving around before the murder."
Dragan furrowed his brow. "I'm surprised they gave you access to that."
The slightest smirk tugged at Bruno's lip. "They didn't," he said, with more than a hint of pride. "I just hacked the system."
Ruth stepped over, squeezing in to look at the screen too as if it were a particularly interesting videograph. "You can do that?" she asked.
"There's a lot of stuff I can do."
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
And yet I'm the one who gets asked to hack the system every two seconds. Typical.
"Well?" Dragan asked. "Is there anything?"
Bruno shook his head -- but slowly, uncertainly. "Not sure. There's something weird, but I don't know if I'd call it suspicious."
"Better than nothing," Dragan said. "Out with it."
"All the Oliphant leaders have been staying here since the murder," Bruno explained, his finger tapping against the screen. "They wanna show they're not intimidated, I guess, or they're mourning their sibling. All the people heading out are subordinates following orders."
"Okay," Ruth nodded. "What about it?"
Bruno stuck up a single finger. "Except," he continued. "For one Oliphant, who left the building via a back entrance about eight minutes ago."
He flipped the script around so that Dragan could get a better look at it. On it, paused, was an image of a young man with tanned skin glancing over his shoulder as he stepped through an open door.
"He was in the meeting," Dragan murmured. "Someone called him Rico, I think. What are you thinking?"
Bruno tucked the script back into his pocket. "I'm thinking we don't have anything in terms of clues -- so the best thing we can do is tail whoever looks most suspicious. You guys in?"
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Rico sighed, smoke drifting from his stick of Bubble as he walked through the network of alleyways and side streets that surrounded the Oliphant headquarters.
How had things gotten so fucked so quickly? He'd walked into that place looking forward to getting the meeting over with so he could head back home, and he'd walked out with one less relative. Objectively, he knew that walking out like this was an idiotic thing to do, but he couldn't help it. That building was like a giant cage -- he needed something to call himself down.
He took another puff of the Bubble stick, the cocktail of chemicals easing his nerves and making it feel like his skull was made of cotton. His parents had always been adamant that members of the Oliphant Clan shouldn't use what they sell, but Rico just couldn't help it. If he tried just to withstand all the stress and chaos of this family, he was sure his head would've burst long ago.
As he passed a homeless man, slumped over in the corner of the alleyway, he fished a fifty-stator bill out of his pocket and put it in the man's empty cup.
"Thank yer kindly…" the man muttered with a nod of gratitude, but Rico was already moving on.
Except.
His next step stopped, foot pausing in a puddle of god-knows-what. He was being followed: he could sense it like something crawling over his back.
The first thing you learned as an Oliphant was that there would always be people who wanted you dead. The second thing you learned was how to tell where your enemies were.
A pulse of visceral red Aether, writhing around itself, burst out from his body -- the ping finding four others in the immediate vicinity with Aether as well. He was outnumbered, then.
No point in dragging this out.
"Come to take me out too?" he called out into the darkness, his voice bouncing off the walls. "I'm not so easy to kill."
There was silence for a moment, and then -- with the scrape of metal -- a figure dropped onto the ground a few meters away.
It was a woman with orange hair, clad in some kind of bizarre armour. Strips of metal like the ribs of a skeleton hugged her body tight, while a red-eyed mask covered her face. At the end of the gauntlets on her hands, claws glinted dangerously, tasting the air as the woman flexed her fingers.
She looked strong. Rico narrowed his eyes. "Where are the rest of you?" he growled. "I know you're not alone."
"Right behind you," a voice whispered in his ear -- and at the same time, he felt the mouth of a pistol press against his back. "Don't move."
His breath caught in his throat. He'd been focusing on this woman before him, but -- with how tense he was -- he was absolutely sure he would have noticed someone walking up behind him. There was a trick to this.
"That was really easy," came a third voice, another girl stepping out of the darkness of the alleyway. She was wearing grey urban camouflage, her blonde hair cut short around her head. "Are you sure he's the big bad guy?"
Rico narrowed his eyes. From what they were saying, was this…?
"You think I'm behind this?!" he cried. "Hell no!"
The masked girl cocked her head, hair flopping around as she did so. "Why'd you run, then?" Her voice was made tinny and metallic by the acoustics of the mask, like she was speaking through steam.
"I…" the words died in his throat. "I'm innocent. I had nothing to do with this."
"Think I'm just gonna take your word for it?" the voice of the person behind him -- a male voice -- said, unamused.
Rico gulped. "It's the truth."
"What made you leave in such a hurry?"
For a second, Rico considered dodging the question again -- but screw it, his pride wasn't worth getting himself shot in the back. "I was taking a hit of Bubble," he muttered, eyes downcast. "I didn't want anyone to see me."
The person behind him didn't say anything at first, but Rico was sure the gun pressed firmer against his back for just a second or so.
"Can I see it?" the boy behind him asked.
Rico took the Bubble stick out of his pocket, careful not to make any sudden moves, and lifted it into the air. The second he did so, it was snatched out of his hand and thrown against a nearby wall, shattering into pieces. Remnants of pale Bubble smoke drifted up into the air.
Drip. Drip.
The moment dragged on, the pistol pressing into his back with such force that it felt like it would burst right through the flesh.
"What do you think, Dragan? He full of it?" the blonde girl called out -- only now she was deepening her voice, making it gruff. Trying to sound tough, maybe?
Drip. Drip.
The person behind him -- Dragan, obviously -- was considering things. The barrel of the gun shifted slightly, and for a second Rico was sure his captor was about to fire. Then the pressure on his back disappeared, and he heard the comforting sound of the weapon sliding back into its holster.
"He's telling the truth," Dragan sighed, almost disappointed.
Rico took a hurried step back, whirling around in an effort to keep all three of his assailants within his view. This Dragan was clearly a Cogitant -- the electric-blue eyes gave it away -- and that paired with his silver hair made him eerie in the darkness, like some kind of ghost coming for him. He couldn't forget about the armoured girl and her friend, either. He was surrounded by unknown variables.
Even with his ability, he wasn't certain he'd be able to take on so many opponents at once -- especially if they were adept at protecting their bodies with Aether.
Best to let things lie. He let his hands fall limply down to his sides.
"Who are you people?" he asked, eyes still wary. "My uncle's body is still warm and you're here stalking me through alleyways."
Dragan kept his eyes fixed on Rico's hands as he circled him, rejoining his comrades. "We've been hired by Carla Oliphant to investigate the murder," he said simply. "You seemed suspicious, so we checked you out."
Rico snorted. "Well, you're doing a great job of it. What's your next strategy? Picking names out of a hat?"
"If we have to," growled the masked girl.
Rico wasn't sure if that was actually meant to be a comeback or not, so he elected to ignore it. "Anyway," he said, waving a hand as he turned away. "If you're done harassing me, then --"
Something was wrong.
Every cell in his body was suddenly aware of it all at once -- and a moment later, his brain caught up. His Aether ping had caught four other Aether-users in the vicinity. There were only three enemies before him.
Where was the fourth?
The homeless man, who'd vanished into the shadows of the buildings, lunged at Rico with a dagger glimmering with furious white Aether. At the same time, the masked girl rushed forward in a blur of movement and crimson Aether, pulling Rico out of the way of the blow. As he fell down to the ground, Rico heard the grimy, bearded man click his tongue:
"My bounty," the man slurred, eyes concealed by his beanie. "Get yer own."
He lunged forward again -- this time down towards Rico's position on the ground -- but now Rico was ready for him. Before the shining weapon could make contact, Rico reached out and grabbed the man by the ankle, seizing him tight. With all the Aether he was putting into his weapon, it was only natural he'd be lowering his defenses a bit.
Grisly red Aether ran along the back of Rico's hand.
Tiny Garden.
The effect was immediate. With a gasp of shock and pain, the bearded man ceased his attack, the weapon slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground. The masked girl, standing over Rico, readied her claws to prepare for a new attack -- but the fight was already over.
As the assassin stepped back, clutching his throat, his body went through a gruesome transformation. Patches of his skin began to open up, revealing spots of dark red blood and muscle that grew wider and wider, like yawning mouths -- bones soon forcing themselves out through the weakened flesh. His mouth, already open, stretched even further as his jaw collapsed in on itself, his organs spilling freely from the new orifice. His eyes, too, rolled out of their sockets, hanging from nerves like pendulums until those too deteriorated into mush. They were like rotten tomatoes as they struck the floor.
Crack. Crack.
His legs snapped under his weight like matchsticks, and as he finally splattered onto the floor he was more liquid than solid. He looked like a black plastic bag with meat inside.
Every time, Rico had to resist the urge to vomit when he saw Tiny Garden at work.
"Y," the masked girl breathed above him, clearly going through the same battle. "You fucked him."
Rico wasn't sure why, but he found himself numbly explaining. "You know what skin flora is?" he said quietly. "It's the bacteria that covers a human body. My power lets me alter that bacteria however I want. I just… I gave them a taste for flesh, so this is what happens."
The Cogitant called Dragan held a hand up to his mouth as he surveyed the scene, his face pale. "Who was that?" he asked. "Some kind of hitman?"
He took a tentative step towards the puddle of human, clearly deciding whether or not to search it for clues, but in the end restraint won out and he stayed where he was. The blonde girl, on the other hand, simply strode forward and plucked something out of the mass, wiping blood and liver off of it with her sleeve.
"This might answer that," she said grimly, pulling her hand away from what was now clearly a script. Text crawled across its surface.
THE HUNTER GAME - RULES
A pleasant evening to you all. Some may receive this missive earlier than others, based on individual agreement, but I hope you all look upon it in good health.
First, allow me to introduce myself. I am a fellow with more money than he requires, and I desire to return that money to the criminal community. As such, I have decided to organise the Hunter Game -- a battle of skill and wits that will surely make our beloved Cradle into the murder capital of the Supremacy.
The rules are simple. You will receive the following payment for eliminating the following targets:
Oliphant family member - 100,000 Stator.
Oliphant direct subordinate - 50,000 Stator.
Oliphant bodyguard/hired gun - 10,000 Stator.
Any other Oliphant employee - 5,000 Stator.
Anyone may participate. Any means are acceptable. The only limit on winnings is how many targets you can eliminate.
Happy hunting.
As Rico finished reading the text, he heard the sounds of several buzzes in unison -- scripts receiving messages. Slowly, his hand shaky, Rico lifted up his wrist-bound script to see what he'd just received. The others in the alley did the same with their own devices.
The exact same message. They'd sent it to everyone.
"Oh, fuck," said Dragan.