Chase had to bail after collecting only three of the mashed-up bullets. His attempt at securing the fourth — lodged about three metres above his head at the rear of the cavern — alerted the monsters in the next room, and that was the end of that. He couldn’t carry more monster parts, and he didn’t want to waste bullets. He snatched up the Echin legs and got out.
The Gate opened into a secluded alleyway. He checked the immediate vicinity for curious eyes, made sure his clothes were free of monster guts, then hiked toward the train station. The sun hadn’t hit Eight Town yet, and it wouldn’t for another two hours. The Town was hushed, except for some doofus revving his crackling engine a few blocks away.
As he walked, he enjoyed the serene blankness of the streets. Eight Town was known for its heritage brick buildings, which were about as common here as snobby coffee shops in One City. He could barely pass three houses without being ambushed by a plaque telling him how Mr and Mrs So-And-So built that particular abode in nineteen-something-or-rather. By the time he reached the station, he felt like a budding historian.
The journey home was normal-ish. No one asked him about his curious cargo (at 4 a.m. there’s not too many people around to ask), but when he stepped off at Three City a group of chattering Hunters stared at him, making no effort to hide their suspicion. If asked, he would’ve said he was part of a very private, very small guild that liked to clear their Gates in the wee hours of the morning. As for the Echin legs, he’d been given them as a bonus for a job well done.
Luckily, the vultures didn’t pry. Chase got home in one piece, his heart rate finally dropping once the front door was locked behind him.
Safe.
He paper-toweled the last drops of Echin juice from the hollow legs. One bumped on the bench, making a ringing sound like something between a xylophone and a glockenspiel. Almost like a lead pipe. He had no idea how it might work, but he wondered if he could get Herb to replace the lead core in the bullets with a carefully moulded fragment of Echin leg. The copper casing would phase straight through monsters — a piece of physics that many scientists had delved into but mostly come up with nothing conclusive — but the Echin-leg payload would do its duty. He thought a Dolothin leg might work, too. It did a decent job when he whacked the Berekhin, but the weight might affect the bullet’s trajectory…
Too sciencey, he decided. Know your limits and leave it to Herb, if he’s interested.
After poking the legs under his bed and securing the other bits and pieces in his growing collection of glass containers, Chase caught a couple hours of sleep before rising to his usual 7 a.m. alarm. He knew he’d be dragging his feet all day, and the bags under his eyes nearly flapped down to his chin, but there was still a sense of invigoration humming through him like an electrical charge.
I killed four monsters this morning. I could be a Hunter. A decent one, maybe C-Rank or higher.
He considered his next steps. His Hauling work would get in the way of things, but it was necessary while he worked out how he could make the transition. Would Majesty accept him as a Hunter? Could he even be considered a Hunter without having a Talent?
Pictures of himself in full combat gear flashed through his mind, night-vision goggles flipped over his eyes and a dirty-great-big sniper rifle slung over his back. He’d need something for close-range, too. Like the Luger but made within the last century. And automatic. That would be nice.
The daydreams stayed with him all the way to work. He wandered onto site — a much smaller Gate this time — in a kind of haze. The pink suit lady was gone, meaning he was back in the Supervising Hauler hotseat. He greeted Jenny, who was bordered by two hulking hunks of flesh that called themselves Agent Timothy and Agent Benjamin.
“Hey, Jenny. You alright?”
The assistant gave him a flat smile. “I’m okay. Glad you’re here.”
Glad you’re here? That was a more personal note than he expected. The higher-ups were normally just business, business, business.
“Why the paparazzi? I’m still Supervisor, right?”
“Sure are! Agents Timothy and Benjamin are just here to help,” she claimed. Chase thought he detected a subtle eye-roll. “They’ll stay out of your way unless they see something wrong.”
He grimaced. He’d have to be careful about gathering Talent-residue in front of these guys, as well as the rest of the agents. They stood like stone pillars at other key areas, no doubt also tagging along with the Hunters earlier that morning. Majesty was under scrutiny, that much was plain to see. He briefly wondered if Nebula had escaped unscathed — one could argue that she was at fault for the whole debacle. The GRA wasn’t in the habit of pissing off S-Ranks — especially those on track to be Ultras — but there was little chance of keeping the whole thing out of the public eye.
Not my monkeys, not my circus, Chase thought. He had his own corn to shuck, acres and acres of the stuff if everything went the way he hoped. Not that things ever did, but that’s life.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
His residue-collecting efforts were significantly hampered by the agent’s presence, but he learnt one valuable piece of information: it was the B-Rank Hunter named Pearl who shot the sticks of mana Herb had turned into paste. She was part of the security team for that day — a significantly beefed-up one compared to normal — and Chase saw her hovering a mana bolt above her palm. He guessed she could shape it to however she wanted.
Pearl. B-Rank. I’ll remember that.
He was glad she wasn’t an A or S-Rank. He had an inkling of a plan to pay her a stream of Credits in return for a steady supply of the main magical ingredient for his enhanced bullets. Nebula was more of a problem — he doubted the S-Rank needed any kind of financial help, yet Herb used a whole chunk of her gems in the recipe. Then again, if she was indeed booted from Majesty, she might be looking for something useful to distract herself with…
Chase had some thinking to do.
**************
Detective Kim Seo-ah stood outside the GRA branch office in Four City. There was a haggard No Smoking sign on the rendered brick building, but no one questioned her when she pulled out a cigarette and lit up. It was her twelfth for the day, far surpassing her usual two.
That’s what happens when you get transferred for some bullshit, she thought. You develop a smoking addiction. Like a real cop.
She laughed. Since coming to her new post from the Cities Investigation Unit, she’d never felt further from such a thing. Here in Four City, there were no late-night calls from her workaholic Sergeant, no high-octane cases with tight deadlines, no situations where she could prove how much better she was than all the other fresh recruits. The most interesting case she’d had in this new Snoozeville was when an old lady’s cat had to be rescued from drainpipes and trees on multiple occasions — it turned out the decaying hag was abusing the poor tabby, and it was just trying to escape. It wasn’t even GRA work, but Seo-ah got the case. She still had her fingers in a few pies back at the CIU, and it wasn’t like there was anything else to do.
When her cigarette was half done, she dropped it on the ground and stamped it out. She wasn’t out here to smoke; she was just bored. There’s only so much time one can spend staring at the blank wall of one’s cubicle. And she might just shoot the intern — sweet mother of Mary, the intern — if he came around the office one more time and asked for something to do. She wanted to tell him to sit down, shut up, and stare at a wall like everyone else.
After a few minutes of people-watching, she went back inside the building. It was a nice office; someone must’ve fought hard (or lied through their teeth) to convince the people with the cheque books that it was necessary. There were two banks of six elevators that transported employees from the lavish foyer — beautiful chandeliers and artworks, smiling receptionists and lonely coffee lounges abundant — to the seven or eight floors above. The staff kitchens always smelled of coffee, testament to the two baristas stationed on each floor and the fact that your first one each day was free. The intern had curried much favour by offering to forgo his coffee so that someone else could have a second freebie. The cubicles could have done with a facelift, but not because they were ugly or old — they just didn’t match the grandeur of everything else.
Seo-ah got back to her desk and sat down, tapping her fingernails against the top of her empty coffee cup. Tacka-tacka-tack. Tacka-tacka-tack. Oh-how-I’m-enjoying-this-oh-so-much.
The roll of a chair disrupted the quiet office, followed by a man’s voice. “Kim Seo-ah?”
“Hi-ya. What’s up?” It was her ‘partner’, Hal. “And for the love of God, just call me Kim. I’ve told everyone multiple times.”
Hal looked down at the carpet. He was technically her senior, but their relationship was more often the other way around. “Sorry. I looked up a bunch of stuff on Korean honorifics. Honestly, I think it just confused me more. I’ll stick with Kim.”
“Good. Watcha got?”
“Probably nothing.” He dropped a manilla folder on her desk as though they were in a spy movie and doing so would explain everything. “There’s not much, but it’s something to do. The guys at Eight Town handed it off to us cause they think it’ll be a jurisdiction-hopper.”
Seo-ah frowned. “Jurisdiction-hopper? That’s usually One City kinda work.”
“City and Town jurisdiction, not Nation,” Hal answered.
“Ah. So really the Eight Town guys are just lazy.”
“Pretty much.”
She flipped open the folder and looked at the small collection of files. Two were reports, and then a few photos of some dead monsters. “What’s the deal? I assume you’ve read the reports?”
Hal nodded and rolled closer, tapping the top photo. “Guild in Eight Town called Scotch-A-Day went to do their Raid this morning and discovered someone had hopped in before them. The Guild Master — goes by the name of Ray — says four monsters right at the beginning of the Dungeon had been killed and harvested, but that’s it.”
Seo-ah shrugged. “Interesting, I guess. But worth investigating? I dunno. Looks like it could’ve been an A or B-Rank dropping in to let off some steam. Is this all?”
Hal smiled and dug into his jacket pocket. “Lazy as they may be, the Eight Town boys dropped by in person to deliver something extra. Ray told them one of the guild members found it just barely sticking out from the wall of the Dungeon.”
He fumbled the thing out of his pocket, then presented it to Seo-ah. It was a bullet, either 9mm or .45ACP by the looks of it. She’d seen her fair share during homicide cases, but most of the ones she saw were stained red after being pried from a warm (or cold) body. This one glowed blue, like a tiny mana-battery was concealed inside it.
“That’s…odd. Do they think someone used this to kill the monsters?”
Hal shook his head. “No conclusions just yet. Thought you’d want to drop down there yourself — they went ahead and killed the boss, so we’ve only got until midnight to look around.”
Seo-ah sighed. “Troglodytes. Are they aware they just interfered with a police investigation?”
“GRA investigation. Don’t forget you’re not Police anymore. Makes that handgun on your belt a lot less useful.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” she spat. “And regarding the idiots who shut down the Gate?”
Hal raised his hands in defeat. “I mean, the guild is called Scotch-A-Day, Kim. Something tells me it’s more like Scotch-All-Day.”
Seo-ah closed the folder, tucked it under her arm, then pushed away from her cubicle. She put on her windbreaker, sighing at the yellow letters on the back reading GRA rather than CIU.
“Alright, Hal. Let’s go check this thing out.”