There have been two problems haunting the City as long as it has existed. One is obvious, evident in each soldier who doesn’t make it home from the River, and each child with all too haunted eyes. The other is only seen by those who wish to see it, those who fight the plague that Dust brought to our home, and those that suffer from it.”
Dracus West, Third of His Name, undated
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqLdIPOhyms
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Chloe stood up, dusting off her jacket. Couldn’t be letting Dust set, that’d be a bad look for business.
The additional help of spreading blood all over the black leather helped too. She’d always liked the look of red on black.
She could see the thoughts of the two thugs in front of her racing, could see the math running in their heads.
Who gets blood over genuine leather?
Who has the will and ability to take out an entire building worth of outcity Bruisers?
Who does that with a smile on their face the entire god damn time?
Chloe fucking Gallard, that’s who.
And Chloe was just getting started tonight, danger and daggers flashing as she ran towards the two surviving thugs.
They didn’t make it half the five feet remaining to the door.
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“It’s done” Chloe told her boss
“Good” Jackson replied emptily. His mind was clearly elsewhere. At no point in time had he doubted her ability to do so, he simply needed to update the board in his mind. The Guard wouldn’t ignore what had been done tonight. One person, even just one group, controlling the Dust trade wouldn’t be accepted.
Jackson was on a timer now, but that was alright.
He’d always done his best work with the clock running low.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Darkness gathered as he clenched his fist, and the room went black.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Oy5faeeS0U
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Jain did not understand the City dwellers. How did they feel safe, stuck within these towering stone walls? How did they adapt their vision to the night with all this glowing rock? How did they do anything with all of their constant bickering? Jain did not like this place, not at all.
It would not stop him from completing his mission. The Seer had detected hostility towards the tribe within these walls. She had been alarmingly straightforward with him when she had explained it. A woman in this City needed the City united for her plans, and was going to use the tribe, his tribe, to do it. That none of them would survive such usage wasn’t important to her. Lives always feel cheap to those willing to spend them. Then she had explained why such expense and clarity was being used on him, of all members of the tribe.
This was his Trek. He would complete it and return home a hero, or he would not return at all.
Jain loved his home, and held it in his mind as he turned into shadow. He did not share these strange people’s fear of the dark. They had the luxury of choice, of being able to fear something so omnipresent.
Jain did not.
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Harmon did not belong here. He knew that deep in his bones. He knew it with each twitch, with each nervous glance. He felt it with each stare that he swore would pierce the illusion protecting him. With each violent CLANK that the package he was carrying gave off.
But he was not caught. The kids around him, and that is what Harmon saw them as, surrounded him, but did not question. The Institute could put whatever propaganda they wanted out. The fate of nearly a hundred thousand souls relied upon this place. Upon these children. Too much of its fate, in fact. His presence alone was evidence enough. He would not have got nearly as far into any real military installation so easily.
So no, Harmon did not feel bad as he set the pressure gauge beneath the hospital bed of the child above him. Or as he walked out, straight back to the drop site.
He did, however, feel a short spark of sympathy for his wife. She would not pay for what he had done, goddess willing. Or even if what was promised to him was true. It was good to ensure action from above and below, so to speak. None of this musing made Harmon excited for her prospects, however.
It also didn’t stop Harmon from using the blade left behind to slit his forearms open. Or from humming the Chant of Light as his world turned black. It didn’t stop the satisfied smile from breaching the face of a priest across the street.
After all, there was still work to be done, and the goddess wouldn’t do it all herself.
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Meanwhile, two troubled young adults recovered from what was perhaps an unwise duel.
So let’s get back to that, yeah?