“What?” I said, standing. “How the hell am I supposed to get you your Cat Stones if you get me killed!?”

Hannity shrugged,

“I’m taking a big gamble with you, here, I’m going to make as much money off you as I can on the very possible chance you fail. There’s a reward for information on one Sam Bless. It didn’t say they had to capture you successfully, just that I gave them info on your location. Consider this part of your payment. It’s a good thing you’ve got three Cat Stones and a Ghost knife, isn’t it?”

I reached for the Ghost Knife but Hannity grabbed my hand in one of his enormous mitts.

“Wait one second, he’s got to at least see you.”

I snarled and shifted my partially artificial bones until the taser that had been hidden there pressed closer to my artificial and, by design, highly conductive skin. I let loose a brief shock of electricity and Hannity seized up, allowing me to pull away with the case. My back hit the wall, I took the knife out of its case, and latched the bottle of Cat Stones to my belt.

The big man stumbled into the counter, one of his hands smashing a bottle when he put his weight on it, slicing it, but he didn’t seem to care. He grunted as he adjusted himself, picking a shard of glass out of his palm, and stood up to his full height. His head was brushing the ceiling now.

“Wow. You really are some kind of secret agent, aren’t you? Like in an action movie!” He grinned, though this time the smile held the edge of a sneer.

Suddenly the door swung wide and a figure clad in the armor of the Caligonian special forces stepped into the bar, rifle drawn. He or she or they were wearing the standard grey and blue plated segments all over their body, looking like some sort of metallic bug. The helmet on their head with it’s thin visor and blank features made them look impersonal and inhuman. Which is exactly what the bastards in charge wanted their dogs to look like.

I had sort of been expecting some sort of declaration of why they were here for me, or a list of charges or something, but apparently they weren’t particularly talkative because they just shot me in the head. Two shots. A double tap, to make sure I was dead.

For a second I felt a horrible explosive pain and I knew for a certainty that the bullets had both punched through the bridge of my nose and into the lower half of my brain.

But then there was a feeling akin to reality turning off and then on again. I was ‘turned off’ by the bullets, but some invisible hand turned me right back on again, like rebooting a computer. One of the Cat Stones in my bottle evaporated into curling white vapor, as if it had been nothing more than smoke in the first place. My face was undamaged. The bullets were gone.

“What a waste.” I heard Hannity tsk.

I focused on my Ghost Knife and willed it to work, as the Special Forces Agent straightened in surprise. At the same time I threw myself at and over the bars counter. But instead of hitting it and sliding onto Hannity’s side, I passed straight through it. Straight through it, and then straight through the floor.

I plunged into the water below the docks. The shock was such that I tried to resurface immediately, but my head bumped against wood. I struggled to control myself. I’d been through worse, hadn’t I? This wasn’t the first Special Forces soldier I’d had to deal with, was it?

No. But the others hadn’t seen me coming, and usually didn’t see me going when I left, either. This was the first one that had shot at me! Not just shot at, they had shot me. The pain I’d felt was ghostly and the memory of it was fading, but my heart was still racing.

I was running out of air and I couldn’t see where I was going, so I tried to imagine the layout of the bar and the direction I had fallen. Could I make it under the Pier? I would be safer there, hidden.

I was good at spatial thought, but I didn’t know if I’d gotten turned around in the water. But there was nothing to do but go.

I breaststroked through the water, my movements becoming more and more frantic as my oxygen depleted. The water stung my eyes, but I had to keep them open so I could figure out where I was and make sure I didn’t kill myself by running into a deadend with nowhere to surface.

Eventually the light changed, and while that probably meant I wasn’t under the pier it at least meant there was light above me. I rocketed to the surface and inhaled the loveliest breath of air that I’d ever had. I had been right. This wasn’t under the pier, I was in open water, by the platforms and bridges that connected the piers. I clambered up on top of one of them, surprising a band of Red and White Bandana’d folk, one of whom, I noticed, was perched on a nearby buoy, their sharp Avien face hidden behind the red and white cloth, wings tucked on their sides.

“Who the hell---?”

“I don’t have time for you.” I hissed, brandishing the Ghost Knife. But I must not have been terribly intimidating because the Harpy cackled, a sound little pebbles hitting pavement one by one, and hopped, bird-like, from the buoy to the platform with its fellows, who drew assorted clubs knives and in one case a gun, from where they’d stowed them.

I considered using the Ghost Knife again, but I didn’t quite understand how to use it yet, and I was afraid it would just drop me back into the water. But I was saved from the consideration when there was a sharp ‘Pop’ followed by a faint ‘thump’ as a bullet sank into the wood of the platform we stood on, right at my feet, causing it to rock ever so slightly. Up on the pier, the Special Forces Agent was lining up for another shot. They were good, to fire from so far away. I didn’t want to take another chance to see how good.

“Get out of my way!” I said, pushing past a woman with hands that were more scar than skin. The bandana folk let me go, and on the second ‘Pop’ dove for cover, some of them into the water, others scrambling down the platform and onto a bridge with me. The Harpy shot up into the air and then stopped to watch, flying in a circle around us like a buzzard, when it realized that their attacker wasn’t interested in shooting them.

There was nothing for it. I didn’t want people to see that I could do this, but I also didn’t want to be shot. I flexed, and a moment later I was invisible. The woman with the scarred hands, who was running the same direction as I was let out a surprised curse and, despite herself, reached out to touch me as we ran.

“Stop it!” I said, as she grabbed my shoulder. She let go and nearly fell as another series of ‘pops’ sounded and splashed into the water nearby.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Then the pops stopped. There was a pause, and then a moment later instead of the faint ‘pop’ing sounds there was a sound like a lawn mower. What seemed like angry hornets buzzed past my head and I felt one of them sting me in the arm. I turned, stupidly, to see what the Special Forces Agent was doing even though I already knew, but was distracted by my running companion. I watched in surprise, the hornets humming around us still, as blood fountained from the scar handed woman’s neck and shoulder and she collapsed, sliding sideways off the bridge and into the water. I tried reaching out to her, but the hand that was stung didn’t want to respond, so I just kept running.

What had I done? My mind was bubbling with thought that was threatening to become just static and white noise. No. I had to think. Don’t give into fear, Sam. Run and think. Thinking will save your life.

What had I done that made Caligon risk civilian casualties in a foreign country in order to kill me? I honestly didn’t know. Sure, I could see the Caligonian government wanting me captured or possibly executed. But even if they knew everything I’d done for The Sacred Trust, they still shouldn’t have come after me this hard.

I made it to the stairs that lead up to the next Pier over. The bullets had stopped flying, and I could see that the Special Forces Agent was already a quarter of the way across the floating bridges and platforms, chasing me.

The stairs slowed me down, which was frustrating. I wasn’t out of shape, but whoever this agent was, was in peak physical condition. They were gaining on me quickly. Worse, My skin had been ruptured, and ruptured badly. The bullet had lodged itself in the flesh of my forearm, and it must have come in at an oblique angle because there was no neat little hole there, but an elongated gash. My whole right side was shimmering, my invisibility field was compromised. I turned it off. A running man might be noticeable, but half a running man? That would be an easy trail to follow. Everyone would be able to point me out.

The Pier over was still at the base of pillar H, but on it’s western side, closer to the sun, and so more densely populated, if not exactly nice.

The crowd, humans, mostly, though I saw a larger number of Water Folk here than I’d seen in other places, let me through at first, though I could tell I caused a ripple.

“Was that a bullet wound?” I heard someone mutter as I ran past, up the main thoroughfare, away from the base of the pillar.

“Fuck that, he’s swinging a knife around!”

Maybe that’s what I wanted. There had to be some law enforcement organization, didn't there? A dead citizen should put the Special Agent in pretty bad standing with whoever was in charge. Maybe.

Suddenly someone grabbed my shoulder. My legs tried to keep running, but the rest of me couldn’t keep going and whoever it was had a grip like rebar, so my legs leapt out from under me and a moment later I was on my back looking up at the grinning face of Elma.

“Heyo, Sam! Whatcha running for?” The grin slipped off her face as she took me in. “Ah shit, you’ve been shot.” She said, like I’d stepped in a puddle and gotten my socks wet, and not like I was literally bleeding all over the pier. “You get in a run in with those Bellyacher guys? They’re bad news.”

“Let me the fuck go!” I snarled. “They’re coming after me right now.”

“Really?” She said, yanking me to my feet. “What’d you do?”

I started running further down the Pier, but Elma yanked me into an alley way with her.

“I need to get back to the ship!” I hissed, struggling against her grip. She wasn’t that big. How could she be so strong?

“Nah.” She said, “This is better. How many are there?”

“One.”

“Just one?” She laughed,

“They’ve got a gun.”

“Doesn’t mean much in a closed space like this.”

“Doesn’t mean much on a crowded pier, either.” I said, pressing against the wall behind a stack of what looked to be a stack of crab cages, trying to make myself as small and flat as possible. “And I can keep moving instead of being trapped in this alley with you!”

“If they’ve got a gun they might hit somebody chasing you. Those Bellyachers aren’t known for their accuracy, and if you’ve pissed em off enough that they’ve followed you to this side of the Pillar then they might not care about taking a few pot shots at you, despite the random folks around.”

We almost didn’t notice as the Lawperson, now revealed to be a Lawman, rounded the corner. They’d somehow taken off their armor and stowed their gun. I’d almost thought them another passerby, but the way they walked was too purposeful, their eyes wide and searching, too searching for some passersby. I noticed, too, his heavy backpack which was the exact right dimensions that it could have been hiding one of the Caligonion Special Forces quick deployment bags. Something that would have let him put on and take of his armor automatically, in seconds.

I noticed him before he noticed me, fortunately, what with my meager cover.

I pushed the cages with all my might, but they were too heavy for me to move on my own. The Lawman noticed the movement and the noise and suddenly a pistol was in his hands. But then Elma smashed her shoulder into the cages, throwing her weight behind mine, and the pile went careening on top of the Lawman. I turned to run, but Elma leapt forward.

“No! Don’t!”

There was a ‘BANG’ and I turned, cursing. Elma was still struggling with the man on the ground, so she obviously wasn’t dead, which meant I had to go back and help her. I cursed again. As strong as Elma was, this was a special forces operative. He wasn’t going to be a push over. I arrived at Elma’s back just as the Lawman slammed his head into Elma’s nose. I heard something crunch as Elma reeled backwards with a stunned grunt. I angled my Ghost Knife down at his chest, but he caught my hand, his grip exactly as strong as I thought it was, which was a lot stronger than I had hoped it would be.

His other started to pull up his gun to shoot me from point blank. I cursed Elma in my head for getting me killed, when she grabbed a fallen crab cage and smashed it on the Lawmans hand, the rusty, salt crusted metal wires cut unpleasant slices of flesh from him and tangled the gun in it and I was, fortunately, not shot multiple times in the chest. But he was stronger than me still, a lot stronger. It was all I could do to stop him from tearing the knife out of my hand. I put all of my weight on it, pushing down at him.

Elma grabbed his other hand and began laying into the Lawman with her fists. I felt each blow strike the Lawman like a stone, grappled with him like I was. And then suddenly his grip released and I practically fell forwards, my knife slipping in between his collarbone and neck as with one last strike Elma must have knocked him unconscious.

“Ah fuck!” I said, rolling off of him, leaving my dagger in him.

“Sam! What the fuck!” Elma shouted staring wide eyed at the Lawman who was now gurgling on the wood of the pier.

“I-I didn’t mean to do that!”

“You were swinging a knife around, what the hell do you mean you didn’t mean to do it!”

“It’s a weapon! He was trying to shoot me! Should I take it out?”

“I don’t fucking know! Call a doctor!”

We were saved from making a decision when the Lawman stopped moving. The Ghost Knife was big and I’d stuck it right in between his collar bone and kneck, at an angle that would definitely have done a lot of damage to his throat and all the bits that kept him breathing.

“You fucking killed him.” Elma said,

“Like you’re one to talk!” I snapped back. This wasn’t the first time I’d killed someone but it wasn’t like I made a habit out of it. I could literally count on one hand the amount of people I’d killed. It didn’t take many fingers.

There was no one on the pier outside of the alley. That didn’t mean no one had seen us, it just meant that they’d probably run when they’d heard the gun shot, or when they saw me drive a knife into a man's chest.

“We’ve got to go.”

“You fucking killed that guy! What the hell did you go and do that for?”

“And you’ve fucking eaten people!” I said, “You can hang around here but I’m getting the hell out of here before some sort of police force shows up.”

Elma glowered at me. Her nose was broken and blood, bright red blood, shone against her blue-green skin.

“Look.” I said, softening. She’d saved my life, as much as I hated to admit it. It was entirely possible I’d be the one dead on the pier if not for her. “I’ll explain later. But we need to go.”

Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, her green eyes narrowed, but then she shook her head, as if brushing off flies.

“Fine. Come on. Follow me. I know a place we can hang low.”