Malich stood frozen in the doorway, key in hand, as the sound of rustling and heavy footsteps filled his apartment. He remembered distinctly that he locked the door before he left. A surge of fear gripped him as he wondered who was inside. Perhaps someone from one of the gangs or the police officer who had followed him last night.
Slowly, he opened the door and peeked inside. He found two men rummaging through his belongings. One of them, a burly man, was shifting his furniture around looking for something, while the other was someone he recognized. Ralph, his landlord. He watched in horror as Ralph rifled through his design notes.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, trying to keep his voice steady. "What are you doing, Ralph?"
Ralph gave him a glance before returning to his task. "Looking for where you keep your money. But it seems you truly have nothing, so instead, I'm looking for what I can sell," he said with a sly grin.
"Fine, call them. They can escort you out themselves. You haven't paid rent in two months! You should be grateful I've let you stay here so long!" Ralph retorted, his patience wearing thin.
Malich's desperation grew. "I've apologized for that. I wasn't paid for my last job. I can get you the money as soon as I get paid for my next job," he pleaded.
"You've given that excuse for two months! Just because you didn't get paid doesn't mean you don't have to pay me!" Ralph countered, his tone firm and unsympathetic.
The big man heaved Malich's suitcase onto the kitchen table, and Malich snapped, "Don't touch that!"
"Why does it have a lock on it?" Ralph asked, eyeing the suitcase suspiciously.
"Because I don't want the contents to get stolen! That's what's going to get me paid!" Malich explained, his voice rising.
The big man cut the lock with a sharp flick of his knife, causing Malich to think, "You've got to be kidding me!" He opened the suitcase, revealing the intricate machine nestled inside.
"What is it?" Ralph demanded, his eyes narrowing.
"It's none of your business!" Malich spat, his frustration and anger boiling over.
"It is my business if it can be sold!" Ralph snapped, his greedy eyes fixed on the machine. Malich could see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating how much money he could make from it.
Malich approached the strange machine with a confident stride. He knew exactly what it was and how it worked. Ralph, on the other hand, didn't, and Malich would do whatever he could to keep it that way.
"You don’t even know what it is," Malich stated as he stepped up to the metal box. He pressed the button, and it began to emit a low whirring sound.
Ralph watched with expectation, his curiosity piqued. "What’s it supposed to do?" he asked, his eyes locked onto the device.
"It's supposed to create a small temporal field similar to the one the Grand Clock creates, but it's not working," Malich lied smoothly. "I’m planning to bring it to a friend of mine so he can look at it."
Ralph seemed skeptical, but before he could speak, Malich changed the subject. "I get that you’re mad about me not paying you. This machine will pay off my debt, but if you can't wait, how about I sell off some of my old tools? You don't know the value of these things anyway. There’s no way you'll sell them for their actual worth."
Ralph remained silent, his gaze fixed on the machine. After a moment of contemplation, he relented. "Fine, just get me the money for last month's rent today. You can pay me the rest that you owe after you sell this thing."
Malich breathed a sigh of relief. Not wanting to waste any more of the faerin’s life, he pressed the button on the machine again. Suddenly, the placement of the two men shifted, and Malich found himself a few seconds in the past. He repeated every line of dialogue he had said before perfectly, and once again, Ralph agreed to wait for his payment.
As Malich turned away to contemplate which tools he would sell, he noticed Ralph press the button on the machine. Panic set in as Malich realized the danger he was in.
Frantically, he lunged for the machine, hoping to turn it off before it was too late. However, to his surprise, nothing happened. He couldn't hear the gears inside the machine weren't turning.
"What?" Malich thought, his mind racing. He looked at Ralph, whose face was equally confused.
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Then it hit him. "This isn't the first time it happened. He must have pressed the button before, and I turned it off before. Now it's already off because it already happened."
Malich lowered his arm and turned toward Ralph, who still looked bewildered. "Are you okay?" Malich asked, his mind racing with possible outcomes.
"Huh, yeah," Ralph responded, still lost in thought.
"I’m going to get together my tools and take them to the flea market to sell. You look like you could use some rest. Why don't we call it quits here, and I’ll bring you the cash tomorrow?" Malich suggested, hoping to diffuse the situation.
Ralph paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Yeah, sure," he finally said, making his way to the door. The big man followed him, he didn't seem to care about anything that had just transpired.
As soon as his visitors had left, Malich collapsed onto the couch, his mind spinning with panic. "He knows! He knows everything. What the hell am I supposed to do now? If he tells the police… or worse, if he tries to blackmail me?" The weight of his situation pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket.
Frantic, he shuffled over to his closet and fell to his knees, his fingers clawing at the carpet. It peeled away easily to reveal a smooth wood floor. With a sense of urgency, he pressed down on one of the wooden panels, and the other half pushed upward. He pulled it out, and from there he could open up the rest of the floor.
A hidden compartment was revealed, packed with metal cylinders and boxes of varying sizes. They were all explosive devices of different designs.
As he pondered his next move, the thought of killing Ralph crossed his mind. Could he, do it? The idea of murder left him uneasy. He had never taken a life before, and the thought of it made him queasy. Yet, with the bomb in his hand, he knew that he had the means to get rid of the problem permanently.
He stuffed the cylindrical bomb into his pocket, closed the compartment, and replaced the carpet. Malich knew that he had to act fast and decided to leave his room through the window rather than the door. He dashed down the fire escape, his mind racing with thoughts of how to take care of Ralph.
When he arrived outside Ralph's room, he peered through the window, his grip tightening on the explosive device. The bomb was incredibly powerful, and he knew that it would ensure Ralph's demise. But as he stood there, his breath quickening with fear, he began to doubt his plan.
Through the window, he saw Ralph sitting on his couch, reading a magazine. A wave of anger and frustration washed over him. It was Malich's magazine, the one he had purchased just last night.
"He probably took it from my room," Malich thought bitterly as he watched Ralph flip through the pages, completely unaware of the danger that loomed just outside his door. But as saw Ralph's confused face he stifled a laugh, and his nerves began to calm. He wondered if Ralph had just picked up the magazine not knowing what it was or if his mind couldn't focus on it and instead continued to think back to what had happened after he pressed the button. Malich feared the second, but he found the first idea to be quite funny that perhaps he took the magazine without thinking and was now dumbfounded about why bronze automatons were wearing lingerie.
"I need to think this through. If I kill Ralph, I won't have to worry about him sharing what he knows with the police or anyone else, and he won't be able to use what he learned against me. But if I blow up his apartment, the police will surely come. Will they be able to trace the explosives back to me? Unless they search through every apartment, they won't be able to pin it on me. It could get messy, but I could probably weather the storm."
Malich's mind raced as he began to plan what he would need to do once Ralph was gone and the police started their investigation. "But if I don't kill him, there won't be any incriminating evidence. I just need to clean my apartment of anything suspicious in case they come knocking. Killing Ralph would cause more problems than it would solve." With a deep breath, Malich tucked the bomb back into his pocket and turned to leave, the weight of his situation heavy on his mind.
“Is this the right thing to do?” Malich thought as he walked slowly up the fire escape. He knew it was the right thing to do morally speaking but was this the best thing to do for himself. If he didn't have to be the one to throw the bomb, would he be willing to let Ralph die?
As he entered his apartment, Malich collapsed onto the couch, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.
One solution came to mind above the others, an unfortunate one but would nearly guarantee no further problems. He needed to leave. It might have not been the best idea, but it made sense in his head.
With a heavy heart, Malich began to pack his bags with everything important. He carefully selected the bombs, papers, gadgets, and devices that he couldn't leave behind for the police to find, stuffing them into his bags. As he worked, he realized just how much he owned and how much he would have to leave behind - it was overwhelming.
Malich knew that he wouldn't be able to take everything with him. He had to leave behind the things that held no value, but he also needed to make tough decisions about what to leave behind that did hold value. He looked at the piles of papers and designs, many of which were created by his father. He felt a pang of sadness as he realized he would have to leave some of them behind.
He began rifling through them and separated them from whether they would be considered illegal or not when he was finally done, he had a stack of about thirty different designs that if seen would get him thrown in a cell and a separate stack for several hundred that would get him thrown in a padded room for their stupidity.
He took the second stack and carefully stuffed them into the now-empty hidden compartment, feeling a sense of relief as he did so. He could have burned them, but he couldn't bring himself to destroy something that had sentimental value, even if it held no real value.
He took the more dangerous papers and stuffed them in his bag.
Maybe he was being too hasty, but he feared that what if he didn't leave immediately and things got worse.
His fingers trembled as he buttoned up his bags, taking one last look around the apartment. He couldn't believe he was actually leaving everything behind. He had worked so hard to get here and now he was leaving it behind. What was the point of all of his work? He felt sick, angry even. But carrying that emotion along with his suitcase, a large duffle bag and a backpack he left the apartment.