Chapter 41 - Surrounded

"Heh, ain't that somethin' fellas? Playin' sweethearts while the world's burnin' itself to cinders."

A man that seemed like he was about to walk past them suddenly halted, pushed his hat up with the tip of his umbrella, and spoke with a wide grin.

"Alright, spill it, which one of you's keen to toss over their shiny baubles first? Or perhaps the lady might offer something a bit more...enticing?"

"Hahhahahh"

"Hahhhahhahhahh"

"Fresh meat on the block, boss. You got eagle eyes, catchin' 'em from a mile away."

"Heh, ain't no protection for them outsiders, boss. Today, we're gonna eat good."

Laughter echoed around them as a few more individuals garbed in dark overalls walked out of the alleyway.

Windows of the buildings around him quickly clamped shut and people retreated into their houses. The bystanders made a run for it—some stormed into alleyways, while others backed away and looked on in interest.

"What do you guys think you're doing!?"

Miss Cera brandished her gun without hesitation, pointing it in the general direction of the boss. A man of average build, his face marred with deep lines and hollowed cheeks. He wore a tattered oil-stained tailcoat that harmonized with his top hat, its rim frayed and color faded.

"Hey, boss. We ought to be afraid, okay? Little missy has a gun, and so does the boy toy."

"Hahhhahah"

"Hahhahahh"

Vern held himself back, discretely shelving the notepad into his coat. Few men had already surrounded both of them, and acting rashly in such situations was never to one's benefit. It would be one thing if he had seen them coming and had some plan. But right now, he knew nothing about them, and reacting violently would be too risky.

From the voices, he surmised that there should be about five people around him, including the 'boss' that was in the front. However, this wasn't looking too good. Since they were mocking their firearms, it was obvious that they came prepared for it and had some sort of countermeasure.

It seems like people in Starfall Heights have more gall or better measures to contend against firearms. But damn, was it too late to figure that out. If he had an inkling of the situation being like that in this district, he wouldn't have been so immersed in the conversation. He had become too lax since everyone actively avoided them in previous districts.

It wasn't the first time he had found himself in a perilous situation out of nowhere, but damn did his heart not want to keep pace—ramping up its beating with great intensity. But this was okay. The men seemed to want to shake them down instead of outright killing them. Maybe it was their twisted method of asserting dominance.

Shaping up a plan in his mind, he first said in a low voice, "Miss Cera, please calm down." But when he turned his gaze to her, he noticed her outstretched arms shaking intensely.

This was bad. She was already panicking this hard. If these people noticed it, they would only make the coming conversation even more unbearable. These men usually had a knack for detecting fear in their victims.

"Oy, looky here, the missus got her blaster aimed. Should I start shaking in me boots, eh? Keep yer cool, ya blasted wench. I'm keepin' it civil for now. Y'don't wanna see me ruffled."

CLACK

CLICK

The moment he said that, sounds of guns cocking filled the space around them. Then someone from behind chortled, "You can always try your luck, you know. Try out if these guns won't riddle you with holes before you get one shot out."

"Hahhahaa"

Peals of laughter echoed all around him as the other men seemed to enjoy the situation.

Still, this didn't make sense. Was the boss really not afraid of being shot? Even if his underlings unloaded a volley of shots after that, what would be the point?

But that's when he saw the abnormality as the boss flung his arm. In the right hand of the greasy man was what looked like a short bronze umbrella. An umbrella which quickly opened up its canopy and the man held it over himself as if to catch some shade from the sun.

But Vern wasn't fooled so easily. That thing had two tops, hundreds of gears clearly visible underneath the canopy. He didn't have to think too hard before a few possibilities crossed his mind.

He wasn't sure, but it was possible that, when fully opened, the upper layer of the two-layered canopy would rotate. Generally, such a design would be nothing more than a flashy contraption used to amuse kids.

But obviously, he wouldn't be using an umbrella to wow us at such a time.

Just as he was thinking about it, the man took the umbrella and pointed it at Vern, the canopy of the contraption covering most of his body as if to shield him.

But then Vern's pupil constricted, and his hair stood on end when he saw the peak of that canopy. It was a muzzle aimed at him directly. This umbrella was actually a gun!

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However, he bit his tongue, and stood his ground, not making any rash movements. Pulling a trigger took less than a fraction of a second. He wasn't foolish enough to think himself faster than fingers. But he quickly needed to confirm his plan of action. It still wasn't clear what these men wanted from them.

"Listen up, you two. This turf? It belongs to Bishop Garmen. Can't just waltz in 'ere all high 'n mighty without payin' the price. As the bishop's loyal man, it's me job to ensure everyone pays their fair share. So, you ready to cough up, or do we have to have ourselves a little...amusement?"

Great. This wasn't going to turn bloody before he had a chance. There was time to set things up. Fighting with guns might not be his forte, but a little use of his brain and tongue wasn't a challenge. He had to properly assess his surroundings and make a proper plan.

Vern let his revolver swivel downwards in his fingers in a gesture of surrender. Raising his arms, he spoke sheepishly, "My sincerest apologies, esteemed sir. Working under the banner of someone as renowned as Bishop Garmen, I can only imagine your stature. We seem to have blundered into a place where we don't quite belong. We mean no disruption to the bishop's peace, quite the contrary, we want to ensure we're on the right side of things?"

Then with a fawning voice, he continued, "I must admit, your strong presence and the respect you command is truly admirable. As newcomers, we could surely benefit from your wisdom. Would you be so kind as to clarify what you'd like from us?"

Miss Cera looked at him with puzzlement, her aim completely off-kilter. He seemed to hear her whisper under her breath, "Vern, what are you doing?"

Not changing his expression one bit, he simply ignored her. Five men had their eyes glued on them, and he didn't have the time to explain anything or even give her a signal. They were all looking at him with rapt attention, any misstep would cause them to raise their guards.

"Hahhhahah. You see this, boss? The boy toy actually understands the gravity of his mistake."

Flashing an obsequious smile at the one who spoke he glanced back and took this chance to survey the surroundings. There were two on his three and four o'clock, slowly moving closer, a carbine and a pipe in their hand. Then there was the one at his six o'clock, the closest one, holding a double barrel. While the fifth was around his nine o'clock in the direction of Miss Cera holding a simple revolver.

Alright, I got this.

Complexity

A sharp glint appeared in his eyes as the world around him began turning into shades of gray. Integrity was easier than Complexity, yes. But he believed that integrity came with it's own set of repercussions that he didn't want to test right now. He knew what complexity entailed, and he was going to stick to it.

Also, it was harder to think of specific flaws of such complex machines in terms of integrity except maybe cracking the barrels, which may or may not work.

Chuckling, the boss rubbed his bearded chin with his other hand, lowering the umbrella a little bit, "Heh, look at 'cha, ain't you a sharpshooter in the head."

His eyes scanned Vern and Cera, sizing them up. "Now, since you've gotten the lay of the land, let's make things easy. Drop those fancy toys you're holdin', and you might get a chance. For the lassie, if she knows 'ow to keep a man entertained, there might be a spot for her among us. But for you, lad, we ain't got room for pretty faces unless they've got somethin' worth our while. Just knowin' to blabber honeyed words ain't gonna cut it. So, whatcha—?"

But then Miss Cera interrupted, "This is enough! I work for Helena Von Arden. If you think you can get away with this, think twice. And do you really believe I won't shoot you? Your men might pepper me with bullets right after, but you won't survive to see any of that—"

The boss abruptly shifted the tip of his umbrella towards Miss Cera, and before Vern could react. No!

BANG

"SHUT UP!"

Smoke rose from the cobblestone next to Miss Cera's feet as she stood there unharmed, the color from her face drained completely.

Vern internally heaved a sigh of relief and increased the pace of perceiving and internalizing the flaws of weapons around him. Miss Cera didn't know about his plans, and if he didn't to something quick, she would really try something foolish.

And he couldn't exactly blame her. From the flow of the conversation, these men were scums, and she would be the one to bear the brunt of their depravity. Top that with Vern's obsequious response and neglect of her opinion, she was obviously distrusting him. He could maybe try to hold her back with some choice words, but he didn't want to.

These men deserved it. So it was time to focus.

He had seen each and every one of these guns at some point in his life except the umbrella that the boss held. He should be able to figure out some kind of flaw in each and every one of them.

Given that the boss was fearless in front of Miss Cera's blaster, it was possible that his umbrella was not just a gun. If he had to guess, the canopy could rotate at a breakneck pace, somehow defending the holder by grinding the bullet away.

But other than that, he didn't have a clue how the projectile mechanism of the thing worked. Still, he might just be able to find a flaw in his defense. Churning up multiple ideas about defects and flaws in all these weapons, he quickly began assigning complexities to the different sections of weapons that surrounded him.

Amidst his rapid thoughts, the boss continued his rant, "Push me one more bloody time, and your head'll be meetin' my next round. You're only standing 'cause of that pretty mug, got it? As for this Helena lass, I couldn't give a damn. She's got beef, she can take it up with the Bishop. But don't think you can cross me, bitch!"

Even now, Miss Cera's arms were shaking, but a determined expression quickly overtook her face as her aim stilled. She was about to do something. Vern ramped up his pace and ignored the boss completely.

The double barrel had two synchronized hammers, if one could be delayed even a little, it could imbalance the discharge and damage the gun itself. Not the most surefire flaw, but other ideas that he ran through didn't lead to the emergence of that notion of instability in his mind.

Then for the carbine, it was easier because they have rifled barrels. Messing with the spiral grooves within even a little bit would send the bullet way off the mark. No matter how the shooter corrected its course, it'd be hard to predict and error correct without an aligner.

Revolver was even more straightforward. They rely on the rotating cylinder to align the next bullet in the gun. If he honed in on the rotating mechanism, it would jam the cylinder.

Again, he didn't know about the barrel of the umbrella, but blocking the rotation itself by shifting the balance of Complexity of some of the gears towards crudeness should be simple.

"DROP THE GUN! OR FUCKIN DIE!"

"Lady, I suggest you drop that gun like your boy toy to the side. I would rather not have to undress a corpse, you know."

"Hahhahhah"

"Hahhahahh"

This seemed to flip a switch in Miss Cera, and her chest heaved with every breath. Her knuckles turned white from the force of her grip on the vapor blaster.

Even Vern's expression faltered at this comment, and an icy glint crossed his eyes. He couldn't care less about being called boy toy or whatever—their opinion of him was their personal purview and not his business. But the insinuations they were making were going a little too far.

It was about balance. Even if it was with an ulterior motive, he had tried to be polite with them. He understood that 'might is right' when there's no one to enforce the law, but that didn't mean one had to revert to the baseness of barbarians. Power imbalance always existed in the society, but that doesn't mean it had to manifest this nastily.

There were probably other solutions to this situation, but first they provoked both of them one-sidedly, and now they were crossing the line. These people were pushing it too far, and they deserved whatever was coming to them. Pretense of humanity be damned.

Any inhibitions he had regarding harming these people were thrown out of the window as he closed his eyes and felt all four notions that emerged in his mind.

It was time to tip the balance of control back in his favor.