When Graham got to the address Silas had given him, he couldn't help but grimace. He'd expected a quiet warehouse on the city's docks. He was kicking himself now for the delusional thought process of thinking Silas would do anything quietly. Instead, he found himself outside a bar, sitting at the furthest point of a pier nearly three hundred feet long. 'Starry sips' as nestled at this furthest point, its exterior covered in art. Not the graffiti he'd thought it had been at first, but very intentional wavy-looking art that depicted a nighttime sky. He grimaced as he ducked inside. Tucking his sidearm deep into his waistband and pulling his shirt over it as he did.
At first glance, he already disliked the place, at least for this job. The interior and exterior were covered in that same wavy art that he now recognized as an homage to Van Gogh's 'Starry Night.' It would be beautiful if his synthetic eyes didn't allow him to see the equally synthetic hands at play in creating the art. It had that smoothed-over, unoffensive feel that all Replicant made art seemed to. Such were the drawbacks of possessing augmented eyes. He'd found that art was rarely made better for being so closely inspected and understood. It wasn't like people, or maybe it was exactly like people.
Speaking of people. If the Bar was strange to his sensibilities, then the people were even strangers. He recognized the subculture now. Twenty years ago, there had been an explosion of cultural obsession with the ancient artist, specifically his 'Starry Night,' which resulted in a strange meeting between nudists and artists, explaining why this bar's interior seemed to be a small-scale body paint convention. Each person inside was naked or near naked. Covering their body in artistic landscapes instead of clothes, mostly of dark blues and swirling stars, but there were other references to Gogh's works as well. 'Nightsketchers,' they were called. If his memory served him. that or 'Starries.'
He plastered a strained smile and shifted his sidearm deeper, leaving a bulge in his front which would stand out far less here than a firearm would as he ducked in and looked for his contact. The excessive nudity and too-perfect modified bodies made from harvested Replicant parts made him uncomfortable. He was old enough to remember what this subculture had started as, then it had been a place for those dissatisfied with how the government and megacorps ran things, young people rebelling as they often did. But it had been smoothed over time, like a Replicant's art. It had been a counter-culture movement, low budget but highly impassion.
Well, it looks like those younger rebels had grown into wealthy adults. The augmentations on display were impressive. They had an inhuman youth to them that using Replicator parts gave you.
He plastered a strained smile as he ducked in, looking for his contact. The excessive nudity and too-perfect modified bodies made from harvested Replicator parts made him uncomfortable. But he had to half wonder if that was perhaps his own intimidated ego as he spied the... caliber of the denizens; even if it wasn't natural, it still made for an extreme viewing experience.
He wished he had his coat. He felt like covering himself up. Feeling underdressed in his filthy t-shirt and jeans. But he hadn't exactly had time to stop for a coat. Perhaps he was too old for scenes like this- or maybe his ego was more fragile than he wanted to admit. Regardless, Graham decided to let go of his concerns. He had bigger issues to deal with.
He scanned the bar for his contact, then winced as he recognized them. Seraphim. Graham wished Silas was around to throw the man off the pier.
Graham hated to see them- not due to any distaste for them. He quite liked them, actually; they were personable and surprisingly grounded. But whenever they were around, something interesting happened. Graham hated being within a mile of anything interesting.
Seraphim was Silas's right hand. Though why they worked with the information broker was lost on Graham- Whenever he asked them, they said it was because Silas was 'fun.' Seraphim was a premiere mercenary in the city, so premiere as to be a minor celebrity. They were a proper Samurai- or perhaps Ronin was more fitting. They'd done everything, even fought supers and come out the other side if you believed the rumors. He thought about that as if they were the main character in a videogame who'd long since finished the main questline and was now doing side quests.
He swallowed grimly and walked up to the mercenary like they were his executioner. It would be fine, he was sure. He doubted even Seraphim could easily top 'teleporting crystal that follows you around.'
Seraphim was halfway in the bar's theme, but the nudity was lost on them. Any signs of whatever their sex had been had long since been stripped away, replaced with smooth flesh hiding enough military augments to make them the one-person army they were; they almost looked like a prewar doll or some strange, living, censored image. You couldn't guess what their sex had been from either their face or the shape of their body. They'd had too much work down for the mystery they turned themselves into to be unmade by even a thorough visual inspection.
He was pretty sure if he looked up androgyny, he'd find at least three images of them.
They were covered in paint depicting fields of yellow wheat from the waist down and a light blue sky from the waist up; their right pectoral was painted with a yellow sun. They were stripped of their clothing like the other bar denizens, excluding a long, heavy armored duster now spread wide.
Based on the occasional stink eye, the bar's denizens didn't love that decision. But they got just as many admiring looks for their norm-breaking body art instead of the star-covered blues and whites of those around them. He could see the cunning in their form, standing out just enough to be seen but blending in just enough not to be obstructive. He wondered what they were using the distraction to hide.
"Seraphim." He greeted them as he approached. It wasn't like he hoped to blend in with the clientele. The mercenary had spotted him before he'd spotted them. And if they were getting the occasional stink eye from the bar's denizens, he was getting full glares.
"Graham." They responded in a voice that strode a careful line between masculine and feminine.
"Just you and me?" Graham hedged.
Seraphim responded with a shake of their head and gestured with their chin to a quartet of figures in the bar. Where Seraphim stood out, they blended in. Perhaps their military-grade augmentations would have outed them if Seraphim hadn't stood out too extremely. But the body paint they wore camouflaged them with the rest of the more mundane clientele. That, alongside Seraphim's louder presence, had left them unnoticed even by him.
"Adding you to chat."
Graham grunted and quickly found a corner of his vision filled with a chatlog.
Seraphim: Say hello, children.
Cipher: This the new guy Silas sent? Ancient, isn't he?
Graham mentally clocked the most likely source of that message as the tall and lanky kid at the far end of the bar. It was a style of modding meant for brawlers- their bodies were modified with something called 'spring muscle' that gave them terrifying, whip-like punches while still leaving them visually non-threatening to the layman.
ThePancake: Aren't you that Replicant detective?
That message seemed to have originated from a heavy-set man near the door. He had a pair of augmented arms and massive things and looked at the picture of a traditional brawler. His ears were cauliflowered, and his nose looked broken and then set wrong. After Graham and Seraphim, he likely stood out the most. But he was chatting with another man by the door and was seemingly using the civilian to dim his presence out.
Graham doubted he was recognized on-site, but it was nice to pretend that the heavyset man hadn't taken a picture of him and searched for a match online as soon as he entered.
Graham: I tend to take jobs relating to Replicants, my specialty. It wasn't, but his real specialty wasn't polite to bring up in the company. And tracking down Replicants was what he was known for.
F4t3: Do we need a detective on this job?
Seraphim: Couldn't hurt; Silas works in mysterious ways. Besides, Graham and I go back; he's good.
F4t3: Okay, preacher, sure.
Graham could sniff at the vague tension rising from Seraphim's subordinates like a bad funk and figured he'd nip the most likely cause in the bud. I'm being paid with a favor; I won't be cutting into whatever you're getting paid.
That had the expected effect of visibly relaxing Seraphim's subordinates.
ThePancake: Well, shit, free labor for us then.
Graham: Yeah, I'm practically a charity. Does anyone know why we're doing this job in a fetish bar?
F4t3: What, are you a prude?
Graham resisted the urge to snap back a 'yes'; it seemed like at least one of them took offense. He picked her out as a skinny woman. She was covered in two different styles of brush strokes as if two artists had worked on her. Likely herself and then a friend to get to the places she couldn't reach, she'd been passionate enough about the body paint to apply as much of it herself as possible.
Graham: Nope, I just can't help but feel under and overdressed all at once, making me shy. Might have dressed for the place had I known where Silas was sending me.
He half meant it, too; wearing regular street clothes made him stand out as much here as Seraphim did. And the glares from the patrons made him want to curl inward. At a point, looking too normal in certain places made you stand out. He'd have at least tried for some face paint.
F4t3: If you mean that, old man. Then c'mere, I'll paint you up.
Her posture was challenging, but Graham thought about it, looking down at his white t-shirt and jeans- both dirty, mind you. A little casual nudity might be an upgrade- at least from the waist up.
Graham: Alright, I'm keeping the pants, though. I don't have anything beneath them you young people want to see.
'F4t3' seemed surprised by that but brighten as he approached. Yes, his thought had been right. She either was a full member or had recently taken a liking to this subculture. Don't bet on that old man- some old people are here too.
He strode over to the woman, carefully keeping his eyes chin height or higher as he stripped off his shirt and sat across from her. Thankfully he wasn't the only one being worked on. A few other customers were getting their paint touched up, and he could practically feel the discomfort leave those directly around him as he sat to be worked on. He immediately felt the roll of 'invader' that the crowd had been pressing on him leave him.
'ThePancake' finally answered his question. Silas has a penchant for unconventional settings. But I'd bet he just wanted a nice quiet transfer, the only drama being awkwardness. Can't exactly hide a weapon like this, can we? You're probably the best armed of us, Detective- short of Seraphim.
So, 'ThePancake' had clocked his sidearm, huh? Graham projected an amused snort. I see your arms, Pancake. I'd bet on yours over mine.
Pancake: Aw shucks, you'll make me blush.
Seraphim: Speaking of blushing, Graham. You look more naked than anyone in here. What happened to your coat?
Graham: It's part of my tragic backstory now. I Lost it.
'F4t3' chuckled beside him as Seraphim sent another message. The hat too? I weep for the death of a detective's fashion sense. I got a spare coat if you want it, 10,000 credits.
Graham smirked at Seraphim's message. He quickly replied. I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass. I'll manage without it.
Seraphim: Suit yourself. Just don't freeze to death.
'F4t3' punctuated her boss's statement by dabbing his chest with the wet paint, and Graham winced from the wet and cold.
Graham: We'll say that's half why I'm keeping the pants. Too Cold.
F4t3: What's the other reason?
Graham: Too cold.
He got a chuckle from his painter for that and used the window to try to get information. So, let's cut to the chase. What are the strings on this job? Silas sent me in blind.
Seraphim laughed aloud, catching those around them off guard. He does that, doesn't he? Graham was annoyed to find that sounded almost fond of it. Our delivery boy should be along in an hour or so; for now, get comfortable. I'm his touchstone- I suppose you are too, now. Fate's a good artist, but she won't get you matched up with the crowd in just an hour. So you'll do the meet and greet with me. Cipher, Fate, Pancake, and Kopeck are our backups. Say hi, but focus on doing your Sherlock shit when our boy enters- we're calling him Tinker. He supposedly made the gun functional.
Graham mentally listed the names and found he hadn't placed whoever had the last. Got it. Any better specifics on the target?
Kopeck: Hello. Suspect that target is Macrus Techstride, great-grandson of the super. No mettle. Low tempering. Un-microwaved.
Graham finally placed fourth. Another woman, the oldest of the group but modded to look young. Her dated slang betrayed her true age- or perhaps she liked to play the role of someone older than she was. 'No mettle' meant no powers, 'Low tempering' meant he had few augmentations, and 'Un-microwaved' meant he wasn't a mutant- something Graham would have guessed given the last name.
Graham: Techstride- the real family or someone who stole the name? Can't imagine any of their kin would be unmodded. Afterall, the first Techstride had been a Super genius, with emphasis on Super, and had developed the modern world of augmentations and Replicants as Graham knew it.
Kopeck: Real. But Distant.
Graham hid a disbelieving look. Nothing to gain from calling Kopeck out before he knew if she was right. Besides, who knew what the descendants of supers really got up to? Maybe they knew something about the augmentations everyone else didn't; it wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. He turned to Seraphim while 'Fate' worked on his cheek.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Graham: Silas said it was a vibration rifle, that track with you?
Seraphim smirked and rolled their eyes. He didn't elaborate on what it was, but I figured it was that or plasma. He's been on a gun-collecting spree lately.
F4t3: Thor saves us from that guy's desire for drama. Graham nodded his head in frustrated agreement. For a man who sold information for a living, he certainly loved leaving the people working for him fumbling blind.
Seraphim: We couldn't afford five people- six now, on a job if he didn't get his drama. That's half of what he's paying for.
F4t3: Touché
Cipher: Yeah, Silas is always playing some long game. We're just chess pieces to him. But hey, as long as he pays well, I'm not complaining.
Personally, Graham would have preferred less drama from their information broker. This was getting ridiculous. It was the one thing to throw Graham into the deep end of this little backroom deal blind, but Seraphim hadn't even known what they were picking up.
Graham: Fair enough. I've dealt with Silas before, and he's always been a man of secrets. As long as we're all on the same page and get the job done, that's what matters.
The group chat continued as Seraphim's minions chatted, mostly complaining about Silas. Graham distanced himself from it. Tuning in occasionally when they called for his attention or speaking allowed when Fate wanted it.
Eventually, it was close to the time of the meeting, and he excused himself from Fate, not quite blending in but not standing out nearly as much. Finally, their contact entered the bar. He stood out like a sore thumb against the press of bodies of the bar, as badly as Graham and Seraphim had.
Oh, he'd put in some effort. His body was coated in blue paint and covered with specks of white. But where the customers of the bar and Seraphims associates looked like living canvases, all carefully worked on by human or Replicant hands. He looked like someone had poured a bucket of blue paint on him. He was also, thankfully, halfway dressed still. He had a case he was carrying at his side, smeared in the same blue paint he was.
Graham noted that the young man's pants had once been the lower half of a nicely tailored suit but was now torn at the knees at dirty. His face was covered in about two weeks of hair growth. He was, in a word, disheveled. He was also hunched low, eyeing the denizens of the bar nervously. He picked Seraphim out and began heading towards them as Graham closed in on the bar and leaned himself to the left of the mercenary. 'Tinker' looked between the two nervously. "Are you... them?"
Graham sent a message off quickly, categorizing his first impression. Painted himself with a bucket; looks like he's been on the run. Previously of higher station. Expect impulsive action. Hands are shaking too, nervous or drugged.
Seraphim puffed their chest out and gave him a smirk. "Yeah, 'Tinker.' We're them. You got it?"
'Tinker' nodded nervously, his eyes darting around the bar. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. You're the ones Silas sent to retrieve the weapon, right?" His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.
Seraphim gave him a wide smile, their tone becoming more soothing. "That's right. We're here to handle the transfer smoothly. Just give us the weapon, and we'll take care of the rest."
Graham didn't like how disheveled the arms dealer looked and typed as much, telling Seraphim's subordinates to be alert. He opened a new line and called Magenta, texting her to get her on a different line and sending an image of the man. Why not? It paid to be paranoid.
Graham: Any chance you recognize this guy? Can you place him?
"Fuck, Graham." She spoke as he allowed he access to his augs audio receiving. "That's Doc Ridge's assistant."
Graham's brows went skyward, and he glanced back toward Seraphim and the young arms dealer. He gave a murmured 'fuck' as he saw the rifle.
He'd seen a vibration rifle in person before- in fact, he'd seen this specific one before. He recognized the notches its first user had carved into its barrel- a famous soldier from centuries ago he forgot the name of presently. This was indeed the one in the Museum of Warfare, as he'd discussed with Silas. That wasn't what made him curse, however. Rather, he noted something odd where the magazine for the weapons ammunition should be loaded.
A small, glowing crystal was embedded in the gun.
Graham: Tinker's a super. He sent the message before he had a chance to think of it. The puzzle pieces fell too easily.
Seraphim was still mid-smile as they looked over the weapon, barely reacting to his alert.
Seraphim: You're sure?
He'd already outed the young super- if they were one and not just working for one. Did he want Silas to have this information? No. But he did need information from this 'Tinker.' He also didn't want them all to die because the arms dealer got twitchy and fired his snack-sized superweapon.. At least now he knew what the crystal he had was used for. It was ammunition. Perhaps it supercharged the Vibration?
Graham: No. He might work for one, but I'm pretty sure that gun could be used to level this pier. Get it away from him quickly, and keep away from the trigger.
Seraphim looked over the gun as 'Tinker' eyed them with concern when they'd stopped speaking. They then turned to him and beamed a too-bright smile. "Sorry, just making sure everything was on the up and up; you know how it is, I'm sure." Graham could swear they could hear their voice turning more feminine as if trying to put the man at ease.
Seraphim then produced a flash drive. "You're credits are in here. The gun?" Seraphim offered the flash drive out to 'Tinker' who quickly pressed his suitcase toward the mercenary and snatched the flash drive away. Graham sighed in relief.
"I wish I knew what this gun did, but such is the curse of being the delivery person, right?" Seraphim continued their voice a soft-toned purr.
Expectantly, Marcus flushed and smiled. "It's better than the real thing, you see. Invented it myself. It taps into a whole new style of energy. The whole city will run on it once I get the money I need together. The whole world will run on it by the end of the decade, maybe sooner!"
Seraphim played along, though, nodding with an encouraging smile. "That's impressive, Tinker. A game-changer, huh?"
Tinker nodded eagerly, clearly caught up in his own enthusiasm. "Absolutely! This is just the beginning. The potential of this technology is mind-boggling. It'll revolutionize everything."
Graham decided to probe further. "So, how does it work exactly? And what's the purpose of that crystal embedded in the gun?"
Tinker's excitement faltered momentarily, and he glanced nervously at the crystal before returning to Graham. "Ah, well, the crystal is a vital component. It stores and amplifies the energy needed for the vibration effect. As for how it works, well, it's a bit complicated to explain in layman's terms."
Graham raised an eyebrow. He didn't have to feign interest. "Try me."
Tinker hesitated, clearly unsure of how much to reveal. After a moment, he sighed and leaned in closer. "Alright, but this is highly classified information. The gun utilizes a unique form of energy resonance. It creates vibrations at a specific frequency that can disrupt molecular structures. In simple terms, it can shatter objects on a microscopic level."
Graham nodded, playing along. "Impressive. And you've tested this technology?"
Tinker's face fell slightly, his voice lowering. "I've conducted some experiments, yes. But I haven't had the chance to demonstrate its capabilities fully. That's why I need the funds. I want to conduct proper trials and refine the technology."
Graham's suspicion grew. "And how did you come up with this idea? It seems quite advanced."
Tinker shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I've had... some help. Let's say I stumbled upon some research and made some breakthroughs."
Seraphim smiled a host's smile. But sent a message into the chat. Smell like a super to me- one of the crazier ones. Took after his ancestor, maybe? Some super genius? Can't shake the feeling he's lying, though. Brace, just in case.
Graham watched her subordinates flex in preparation and then slowly relax as Seraphim continued to chat with 'Tinker.' Graham was already mentally preparing how he intended to follow the super when he left the bar when the door suddenly exploded inward, followed immediately by a spinning grenade.
Graham instinctively slammed his power-armored boots hard into the ground, kicking himself backward and rolling himself over and behind the bar, giving a shut-off command to his augments to turn his eyes off. That did nothing to save his ears; however, as it exploded in a loud keening, it sent his ears into a ringing hell.
Stun grenade, loud noise, and likely a bright flash he'd saved himself from. Whoever did this wasn't ready to send a live grenade into a crowded civilian bar. Graham pulled the pistol from his pants and stood, keeping the weapon buried beneath the bar out of sight of the invaders.
Shi enforcers stormed in, heavily modified third-generation supers. So augmented you wouldn't be able to tell them from a Replicator. Graham quickly sent a message to Seraphim and their associates. Shi! Don't enga-
Seraphim blew a hole the size of their fist through the lead most enforcer's chest, their arm opening in on itself and sheathing backward to reveal the barrel of a hidden gun. He hardly had time to follow it before another two enforcers fell, one taken in the neck and the third in the head.
The fourth turned their rifle on Seraphim while his three comrades died but had the rifle torn from his hands by 'Pancake,' sitting by the door. The heavyset man punched the enforcer's head, which cracked his visor but didn't have the force behind it to kill him. 'ThePancake' was still reeling from the flashbang as he sent another punch that the enforcer grabbed while drawing a combat knife and slamming it into the underside of Pancake's jaw. Seraphim's man dropped, and the enforcer shouted into his coms as he took in the body paint covering Pancake's and Seraphim's bodies and made the worst conclusion he could possibly make.
He shouted into his comms, now leaking sound with his helmet damaged. "Civilians are combatants; anyone in body paint gets put down."
Seraphim sent a round into his cracked helmet that tore his head off just as he finished speaking, and then almost in reply to their arm rifle, the world exploded into gunfire.
Graham ducked behind the bar as what must have been dozens of men outside emptied their weapons into the building. Graham was sure he would have been able to hear the screaming if not for the ringing in his ears. A ringing that worsened as the gunfire suffocated the sounds of anything else.
Graham felt a spike of pain in his side as he lay on the ground- not a bullet; any of the firearms Shi enforces carried would have just killed him outright if they hit, rather the storm of bullets tearing through the structure and its occupants were turning in the bar in a land of shrapnel as pieces of bar rained around Graham.
Finally, the firing let up, and despite the flash of pain, Graham put his head back up above the now-decimated bar.
The Dead, dying, and those few quick enough to duck dotted the floor. Starry Sip's elegant blue paint was covered in red and meaty chunks. He scanned his allies and saw Pancake stumbling to his feet- somehow, the knife still resting on his chin hadn't killed him. To his right, behind the bar with him, was Fate. He didn't spot Cipher but guessed he was either dead or buried under bodies near where he'd been sitting, given that part of the bar seemed to have been chewed into splinters. Kopeck was similarly missing.
Seraphim was striding towards the door, somehow unharmed by the wave of lead. Given their reputation, he couldn't see how they'd survived but should have expected it.
"Magenta." He spoke allowed. "Get the Shi- tell them I'm in Starry Sips investigating their case. I'll consider it a favor owed paid." He couldn't hear him speak, nor did he hear her response. He hoped she'd heard him; his brain was too unfocused and frazzled to communicate to his present employers.
Another enforcer entered, snapping a shot at Seraphim he ducked to the side and returned fire. Two more enforcers rushed in after them. Graham fell back behind the bar, fumbling. He didn't know where his gun was anymore; he'd lost track of it after the showing of bullets. He felt lightheaded and confused like a car had hit him.
He turned his head to either side of himself, looking for his sidearm, and there opposite where Fate was, he saw Tinker, his face flush. A pulsing energy covered the young man's body, and in his hands was... fuck.
Before Graham could beg him not to, Tinker stood, leveled the vibration rifle to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. And suddenly the world was a kaleidoscope color and howling wings.
---
Korvax woke from sleep, feeling a twisting sensation in his stomach as a mana storm kick up nearby.
Another one, barely days after the last one, and in nearly the same spot as the first. He charged out of bed, grabbed his sword, and ran up to the main deck. He looked up at the little floating islands surrounding Hallow.
There he saw, like an aurora borealis, the mana storm form, a wave of colors stretching over an island only a couple hundred miles from the last one; this storm was smaller than the first. But entirely impossible despite that.
And yet it happened. Distantly, in the storm, Korvax thought he could hear a sound like muskets firing.
---
Graham's vision blurred as the vibration rifle discharged, creating a shockwave of energy rippled through the air. The force was powerful enough to knock Graham off his feet and send him crashing into the debris behind the bar. The kaleidoscope of colors and the deafening sound overwhelmed his senses, intensifying the ringing in his ears.
As Graham struggled to regain his composure, he stood, scanning the front of the bar and finding it... gone. Everything past the bar for nearly two hundred feet- nearly the entire pier- was gone.
He mentally noted where Seraphim, famed bounty hunter, mercenary, and practically a legend in this city, had just been turned to dust. Both them and what must have been dozens of highly trained Shi enforcers. Not to mention dozens of civilians and Seraphim's three subordinates not behind the bar.
Summoning his strength, Graham pushed himself up from the floor and quickly scanned the area. He saw Fate emerging from cover, her mouth open in slack-jawed disbelief.
Graham's focus shifted to Tinker, who stood with the rifle still in hand, seemingly stunned by the power of his own creation. Graham knew immediately then and there that Tinker, Marcus Techstride, had not destroyed the Shi factory. He was too surprised, too bewildered by the damage his modified and restored vibration rifle had done. He'd never tested the thing.
Graham limped over to him, feeling the pain from his side wound intensify with each step. A glance down revealed it to be a length of the bar's wood. He steadfastly ignored it for now. Instead, he reached out to grab Tinker's arm, trying to steady him.
"Tinker, we need to go. It's not safe here," Graham shouted, his voice strained.
Tinker blinked, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. He seemed to snap out of his daze, realizing the gravity of the situation. Without a word, he nodded and followed Graham as they approached the nearest exit- the gaping hole where the pier had been, now ending in a sheer cut directly falling into the ocean.
They'd have to swim. Graham noted tiredly, and he called out to Fate. "We need to go!"
Fate looked at him owlishly and spoke as if she couldn't believe what she was saying, pointing at the expanse of nothing left behind by the weapon. "But... Seraphim... how do we leave?"
Graham responded by shoving Tinker into the water, who yelped as he fell. Graham called Fate. "Hurry!" Then jumped off into the water below.
Graham hit the water with a splash, feeling the cold shock envelop his body. He quickly resurfaced, gasping for air as he scanned the area for Fate. She hesitated momentarily, her eyes filled with disbelief and grief, but she mustered the strength to jump into the water.
As Fate emerged from the water, Graham waved her over and paddled after Tinker. Together, the three swam away from the destroyed pier, chaos and devastation. Graham's mind raced, trying to devise a plan to regroup and figure out what had just happened.
Once they reached a safe distance, Graham directed Fate to a nearby dock where they could catch their breath and regroup. They pulled themselves out of the water, dripping wet and shivering from the cold. He saw Tinker beginning to slink away.
Graham called out to Tinker, his voice filled with urgency, "Tinker, wait! We need to stick together. We don't know what's happening and can't afford to be separated."
Tinker hesitated for a moment, his face pale and his hands trembling. He looked torn between fear and the desire to escape the chaos they had just witnessed. "I don't know you! Why should I stick around?"
Graham fumbled for an answer, patting himself down for the crystal in his back pocket. He didn't find it there, but as he looked for it, he felt a weight settle in his hand. He raised the crystal high like a cross. "I have questions for you! I bet you have some for me, right?"
Tinker's eyes went wide. "You too?"
"I don't know, but maybe." Graham turned back to Fate. "We need to find shelter and assess the situation. Either Silas set us up, or someone else did."
She looked at Marcus. "He killed Seraphim." Her voice wasn't just angry; it was rocked in disbelief. Her voice had an intrinsic 'how is that even possible'.
He sent her a message and the now much-depopulated chat group. And if you want to do anything about that, you'll help me keep track of him. Keep a poker face. Aloud he instead spoke with a shake of his head. "No, he didn't; Seraphim was dead the moment they shot an enforcer in the head; the Shi would have hunted them down for the insult."
He watched Fate's eyes take in the message, then slowly nodded. Their face grew stony. The rock you have- are you involved with him? He could detect their suspicion in the text.
Graham turned and began walking to Tinker, aka Marcus, as he responded. No, but I think someone involved with him blew up a Shi factory yesterday. He then asked Marcus, "Do you have a place to lay low?"
Marcus stared at Graham, his eyes filled with confusion and uncertainty. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Y-yes, I have a small workshop nearby. It's not much, but it should be safe for now."
Graham's face tightened, his mind racing with possibilities. He needed answers, and Marcus seemed to be the key to unraveling the truth behind the recent events. "Good. We'll go there and lay low for a while. We must figure out what's happening and who's behind all this."
Still visibly shaken by the destruction they had witnessed, Fate nodded in agreement. "We can't trust anyone at the moment. We need to be cautious and stay under the radar."
"How do I know neither of you was involved?" Marcus questioned.
"Because we nearly died beside you. We're the only people in the city you can trust right now." Graham said.
That didn't seem quite to satisfy the suspected super, but he didn't make any other protests. Together, the three made their way through the dimly lit streets, carefully avoiding any signs of authority or potential threats. Marcus opened the door as they reached the workshop, revealing a cluttered but functional space filled with various tools, machinery, and unfinished projects.
Graham closed the door behind them and scanned the surroundings, ensuring they were alone. "Alright, Marcus, start talking. What do you know about all of this? Who's behind the attack on the Shi factory? And why are they targeting you?"
Marcus answered, and Graham found himself reeling from the unbelievable.