The noon sun cast a bright streak of light through the singular window of Sunnyset Diner, bringing out the hidden dust in the air.
The two Shades sat facing Willard. The first was emotionless, but the second had annoyance written all over his face. The goons they hired from Harvest Station A6 had rushed their deadline, dressing up as scavengers and attacked the train Manolo was on. The results were…alarming. Even worse, they got a call from him. The companies that hire Shades would keep anything that might reveal their true identities highly confidential, so the two had been confused when they received a meeting message from Willard.
No doubt, uncertainty was creeping up inside them, and Willard knew they hated him for it. The first Shade stared at him through their thick, black lenses, but Willard made an effort to hide his emotions. His mouth was concealed behind his crossed hands, his expression placid, and his gaze......ah. The first Shade would have recognized that gaze. It was the gaze of a dead man. Not quite hollow yet; it was the look of someone who was completely disappointed with themselves.
“Gentlemen. I have brought you here to heed my proposal.” Willard’s voice was monotone. It wasn’t weak, nor were any words emphasized.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” The second Shade shot up from his seat and banged his fist down on the table. “YOU GOT BALLS, BOY, T-” He stopped himself as he saw the two raised fingers of the first Shade. Willard sat there, motionless, seemingly oblivious to his rage.
“State your proposal,” the first Shade said in the same monotone voice.
“You might want to record it.”
The first Shade nodded, and the second, although hesitant, brought out the sleek black cube from his suit. There was a beep, and the first Shade nodded again, intrigued. This was something he wouldn’t encounter often in his career.
“Before we begin, I wish to get this out of the way. I know what you had planned for me.”
The first Shade raised an eyebrow.
“I could swear upon my life that I knew nothing. Though, considering the direction of the current affairs, I assume neither of you would care.” Willard paused. He glanced up and stared at the first Shade. For a split second, even with his glasses on, the first Shade felt their gazes meet.
“Continue,” he said. Two can play the game. He had interrogated countless and tormented even more, having grown so cold and composed at situations like these he might as well be a block of ice. But...this scruffy kid before him was doing rather well for himself. Perhaps he would reconsider his offer after all. With proper training, young Manolo would undoubtedly make a good subordinate.
“There will be terrorists here in some time,” Willard said, looking straight at him, those slanted, hollow eyes betraying no emotion at all. “They will be looking for me.”
“The reason?”
“Unfinished business.”
The first Shade wanted to raise his eyebrows again, but held them in place. The ground trembled as another mobile factory bore its drills into the hard outer shell of the monolith shaft. The vibrations toppled a mug on the counter, and it shattered into several pieces across the floor. The restaurateur cursed, but quickly bowed and apologized to the Shades. Neither they nor Willard paid him any attention, so, after hastily mopping up the mess, he disappeared behind the door at the end of the diner.
“I can tell you exactly when they will arrive,” Willard said, breaking the silence. “And where.”
“And in return?”
“My family go off, unharmed.”
“Denied,” the first Shade said in an evenly pitched voice that sounded surprisingly gleeful despite its flatness. Oh, what a joy it is, playing with people, giving them time to form their hopeful plans only to break them effortlessly. Plus, the idiot in front of him just revealed there will indeed be terrorists.
“Might I ask why?” Willard gulped. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. Nonetheless, he continued to stare the Shade straight in the eyes.
“I don’t like how you’re speaking to me.” The first Shade leaned back, hands behind his head.
“Is that...so.” Willard looked down.
The first Shade, feeling triumphant, waved his hand at the second, who shot out a hand to retrieve the Recordoc on the table.
“Wait,” Willard said just before the second Shade’s hand reached the device. He looked up again, and this time his gaze was clear. The light had returned into his eyes and was ignited into a roaring fire.
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“I have a second proposition.”
“Oh?”
“You will let my family go. And in return...” He spread his palms to the both of them. “I’ll not publicly disclose your identities.”
“You speak of empty threats,” the first Shade chuckled.
Willard said nothing whilst he stayed staring at him, face as still as a sculpture. The first Shade tensed his right fist secretly under the table. Something didn’t feel right. The first Shade was sure he didn’t know their identities. He couldn’t have accessed the hidden databases under Chryseis Tower. He couldn’t.
He stared at Willard, who now seemed gleefully sure of himself, like a child who already knew the right answer intentionally asking their parent what they thought it was. The longer the two stared at each other, the itchier the first Shade’s scar became. This boy before him...his sister was a terrorist...After all, she could’ve....he silently cursed for not taking the mandatory precautions.
“Aye! What’s going on?” the second Shade spat, pulling the first Shade out of his rumination. He smiled. It was a light smile that someone who admitted defeat might’ve used to show how little they cared for the results.
“Very well.” The first Shade took his glasses off, revealing a frighteningly deep scar that ran 3 inches across his left eye all the way to his ear, made only uglier now that the shadow from the blinds had covered it. The flesh around the scar had been cauterized, forming tight lumps around it. Willard wondered how it had found its way onto his face. It was probably the result of some kind of hooked, slashing weapon, as similar scars appeared on Marime beasts dragged home by the natives after a successful hunt.
“Wha-? Art-” the second Shade exclaimed, but stopped himself again as the first Shade held up his hand.
“Tell us where they will be,” he said calmly.
Willard gulped. He didn’t know why the first Shade did that, but deep down he knew he had just landed himself into an unsalvageable mess. But at least that was better than dying. Dying sooner than he had prepared himself for, that is.
“Two will be on the southeast cliff ridge. They’ll be guarding a transport vehicle, that’s all I know. A...Chubster, if you will.” He recalled what Mia had told him on their ride back home. He observed the second Shade, noting how his temples twitched ever so slightly as he tagged the locations on the mental Datlas.
“Two more would be on the roof of my house. That’s on-”
“We know,” the second Shade said half-heartedly, motioning Willard to continue. Willard stared at him. Then, slowly, nearly unwillingly, returned his gaze to the first Shade.
“One would be over at the firework mortars.” He paused, and looked at the two. They didn’t look like they wanted any explanations, so he went on.
“One would be in the main gates of Tak’Makahn.”
“Tak’Makahn?” the second Shade muttered to himself.
“The native’s village.” Willard frowned. The second Shade raised both eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks whilst slightly shaking his head, like an unwilling parent having to put up with a poorly crafted story by their child.
“Are there more?” the first Shade said.
“...That leaves Mia.” He sounded so weak the words passed off as a whisper. “She’ll be with me.”
“For the entire day?”
“No, we’ll meet up right as the festival starts.”
“Do you know where she’d be before that?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll need to subdue her yourself.” A tint of amusements crossed the first Shade’s placid face.
“Huh?”
“Do you know where the Cervical Atlas Vertebrae is?” The second Shade grinned.
“Are you...no. I’m not doing it.” Willard said firmly. He knew full well a well-placed strike to the underside of the brain stem would render nearly anything unconscious. But he had only practiced with the elongated necks of Lunepod offspring, never with humans. The risk of applying too much force and accidentally killing them was too large. Was this what the Shades intended? For him to accidentally kill her? The second Shade definitely looked disappointed after hearing it.
“Well, in that case you’ll just have to use this.” The first Shade pulled out a standardized iron cuff. It was one of those old, round contraptions Willard sometimes saw on television; it was not electrically modified and was purely mechanic, and it made a low “click’ as the bracers slid into place.
Mother might be interested in something like this. Willard wondered why that thought suddenly came to him.
“Your sister will not interfere with our work,” the first Shade said. “Make certain of it, or the agreement is terminated.”
“So we have a deal, then?”
“You’ve asked that question already.”
Willard chewed his lower lip. The first Shade reminded him of a Sorissian Bullfrog. Though, it wasn’t exactly his face nor his build that looked the part. No, it was the impression. Calm, slow, unmoving, yet terribly dangerous, ready to strangle you with its poison upon a moment’s notice. You wouldn’t even know you’ve been stunned until it’s too late. His face looked not much older than Willard’s, but his pupils told of something much, much stranger lurking behind his eyes. In that sense, he was like Mia.
Willard stood and dusted his roughened blue overcoat. Then he shuffled out of the bench, and bowed his head to the two.
“We’re done here, then.”
“I suppose so,” the first Shade mused halfheartedly, tapping the neon straw in his cup.
Willard strode out of the diner, not looking back once. Outside, the cool Sorissian breeze caressed his cheeks, freezing the sweat on his nape. He turned the corner of the diner until he reached the windowless back wall. From there on he walked until he crossed the first row of black Alpaco tree stumps. Eyes forward, he missed the three figures spying on him behind the diner dumpster.
Willard looked up at the gray sky, not knowing whether it was clear or densely packed with clouds. He decided on the latter. He looked down at the shriveled stump, then at the brown vamp of his boot.
He threw up.