CHAPTER TWO // You Seem a Little Confused…

TWO MONTHS ELAPSE

PRESENT DAY

BALTIMORE CITY, INNER HARBOR

SMITHFIELD BUILDING, APT. #413

Fall was eating a slice of bread.

He had intended that morning to prepare some form of sandwich; however, it was only right as he was about to leave that he realized he was out of bologna and cheese both. And so, periodically he reached down into his backpack, withdrawing a singular slice of white bread and gnawing absentmindedly upon it as, around him, the others talked and discussed.

"...so yeah, as you can imagine, completely fuckin' totaled it," a man was saying, his voice somehow both hushed and perfectly audible at once. "That's how I got this little scar here, too."

"And they didn't charge you at the scene?" a woman asked, incredulous.

"Hey, don't ask me. Obviously, I didn't have my license on me - if they'd asked to take a look, well..."

Physically, Fall had hardly changed from his days as a Predestitigator - if anything, his features had only deepened. His eyes were now even more sunken and heavy-lidded than before, and his hair was a tangled and disheveled mess as he leaned back in an uncomfortable metal folding chair, clad only in a pair of black jeans and a thick, weathered tan jacket. He had grown somewhat paler, too, and at all times he sat now with something of a weary hunch.

He was the kind of person whom one's eyes simply passed over.

"Lemme tell ya," the man continued. "That's the last time I ever do a heist for Schafer. Raul, though?" He clicked his tongue. "Guy's the real deal."

"Yeah?" the woman replied. "I've heard good things."

"And they're all true," the man declared. "Every heist I ever ran for the guy - smooth as a baby's ass. Clean, quiet, professional. Hell, these days I got half a mind to join his crew full-time."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. I mean, I know he got some vacancies 'need filling - what with Tortuga and Quark takin' a couple to the, ah, brain and chest. Respectively."

For the past two months, Fall had done nothing. 'Nothing' didn't just mean lazing around, watching television or playing video games. It meant nothing. The morning after his break from the Predestitigators, he had robbed a wealthy manor in upstate New York, then used the money to purchase an apartment in east-side Baltimore under an assumed alias.

After that? All he did was sit. Sit and think.

Some days he didn't even bother getting out of bed.

But now, he was here, in this cramped smoky apartment, sitting at a cheap plastic table with five others, chomping on a piece of bread and staring off at nothing at all as he listened without hearing to those around him.

Then, the door swung open, and all present fell abruptly silent. In, now, came a tan-skinned man, his pale-blue eyes scanning carefully over the room. They were intelligent, probing eyes - restless orbs that never ceased to gather and garner information.

He was of intermediate age - his hair raven-black but also streaked with grey, and his beard precisely shaped and trimmed. Unlike the majority of those present, he was somewhat formally dressed - sporting a tweed jacket and khaki pants over a green-and-white-patterned sweater.

He didn't look much like a career criminal to Fall. He looked more like a college professor - not that Fall had ever actually met one. But, as soon as the thought entered the former Predestitigator's head it flittered away, replaced once more by dull disinterest. The character and nature of the man before him were entirely irrelevant. This was just a job - just a way to make some money. Nothing more.

The tweed-jacketed man looked them over just a moment longer before kicking the door shut behind him. And only when the click of the lock was clearly audible did the man open his mouth to speak.

"Gentlemen," he said, by way of greeting. "Ladies." His words were sharp, precise, and delivered with the kind of smooth confidence that immediately put one at ease. One word from his mouth, and you would be certain - this was a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

"My name," the man said, clearing his throat, "is Raúl. It is not my government name, nor is it my Christian name. It is a name that my mother's mouth never once uttered; not once in her eighty-four years upon this Earth. Nevertheless, to all of you, it is my name. And that-" he pointed, "goes for each and every one of you. Look around, please. Take in the faces."

Fall sat there for a moment, staring down at the table - then, when it became clear that this was an actual instruction, he raised his head, looking out at the others with only the barest degree of interest.

There were the two who had been gossiping beside him - a hairless, muscular man with a barbed-wire tattoo around his neck and a pair of beady black eyes staring out from his skull, as well as a smaller woman with auburn hair tied back into a bun and a small scar across her lip. She too, bore tattoos - dozens of them all across her body, the most prominent being a winding, screaming serpent that twisted up thrice around her neck. Then, in the back, there were two more, both of whom had sat in similar silence - a short-haired girl in military fatigues and a lanky, dark-skinned man in a sleeveless denim jacket, his face partly obscured by a wild array of braided dreadlocks. And then, finally, there was one more in the corner - a man of median height, median age, and median build in a turtleneck sweater who met Fall's eyes the moment they fell upon him.

Nearly all of them, upon looking at Fall, had quickly displayed open disinterest - or even disdain at his weak frame and sleepy countenance. But the man in the turtleneck, though - through a thin pair of spectacles he looked Fall dead in the eyes, and understanding passed between them at once.

They were killers, the both of them.

Profound discomfort washed over Fall. Slowly, he turned away, unwilling to hold the man's gaze any longer.

"Get a good look," Raúl was saying. "See those faces? In a moment, every one of those faces is going to give you a name. That face and that name, together, will be all that you ever know about the person behind them. They are all you need to know. When you're working on one of my operations, you have no past, you understand me? Nothing whatsoever. Your life started approximately five minutes ago - that is to say, the moment you walked in this door."

Slowly, there came an assortment of nods from those around the room. Fall, however, just leaned back and folded his arms. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be at home, in bed - in a place where nobody could see him...

"If you're here," Raúl declared, "you're here for one reason only: to work. If you're not here to work, if you don't like doing what I tell you when I tell you to do it," he jerked his thumb back, "there's the door."

Silence.

"Good," Raúl nodded. "There's a reason I prefer working with professionals. Things go a lot smoother, a lot quicker. Now then, all of you - go around, introduce yourselves. State your names and nothing else."

"I'm Petra," the tattooed woman began, holding up a hand. "Nice to meetcha."

"Surge," the hulking man beside her said, inclining his head. "I ain't here to fuck around, so the same better go for you."

"Just your names, please," Raúl interjected with a frown.

"I'm Tachyon," the woman in fatigues said coldly.

"Breakneck," the man in the denim jacket said, holding up two fingers.

Fall's eyes fell upon the murderer in the turtleneck.

"Good morning, everyone," the murderer said, leaning forwards. His voice was as deep and smooth as the ocean itself. "You may call me Pharaoh."

And now, all eyes were on Fall.

"Uh..." he trailed off. "August."

At that, Pharaoh gave him a small, knowing nod - but Tachyon's brow furrowed.

"You sure you're in the right place?" she asked, an accusation plain in her words. "You look a little lost."

"That's enough," Raúl interjected.

"What? Are you stupid?" Fall muttered, meeting her gaze without an ounce of hesitation. What was going on? Why was this woman accosting him? He had hardly been paying attention. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you look about a hundred pounds soaking wet."

"Uh huh," Fall nodded, his disinterest palpable. "I could kill you from all the way over here, by the way."

"Yeah?" Tachyon asked, raising her eyebrows. "I'd like to see you-"

"I said enough," Raúl snapped - and there was a certain edge to his words that immediately made all present clamp their mouth quite firmly shut, even though he had hardly raised his voice. "Tachyon, I wouldn't have brought him here if he didn't have something valuable to bring to the table. August," he turned, now, to the disheveled former Predestitigator, "don't you ever threaten one of my people again. You two understand me?"

"Got it," Tachyon nodded briskly.

"Yes sir..." Fall yawned with a half-hearted, two-fingered salute.

"Good," Raúl said, after a moment. "Good. Now, as I said: your pasts, your futures, your presumptions. When you're working on one of my jobs, all that gets left behind. The only thing you need to think about," he leaned forward now, steepling his fingers, and all six faces were reflected in his earthy-brown eyes, "is what it is we're about to go and do."

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That night, Fall was lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling. He was studying the cracks, the patterns, the shapes formed by the aging plaster. Pareidolia, it was called - seeing meaningful shapes in random, ambiguous patterns.

Moonlight was pouring through the open window, as well as a gentle breeze that sent the curtains swaying back and forth and back and forth as the clock ticked and tocked and outside engines were racing and horns were honking and people were talking or shouting or laughing and all of it was making Fall feel almost at peace.

It was like a warm blanket, the overstimulation, wrapping tight around him and allowing the incessant noise in his head to be lost, at least for a moment, in the storm of sensation.

This was how he spent most of his nights, punctuated infrequently by an hour or two of restless sleep. His head was still too full of thoughts - an entire lifetime of memories that had been spilled out into his mind. The floodgates had been opened, and everything had been let loose.

Then, his concentration was broken by a noisy growl from his stomach - and so, reluctantly, Fall got up, shuffling over to the kitchen and opening his fridge. What greeted him was harsh white light and a complete, total absence of food.

So, instead, Fall slumped into his chair, sighing and rubbing at his temples. And hanging across from him, staring him down, was a cheap black-and-white suit.

His 'uniform'.

Fall stared intently at the garment. Was he really doing this? A heist? He was no criminal, and he didn't particularly want for money. He didn't particularly want for anything, really.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

But that wasn't true, was it?

Fall was a tool - something constructed to fulfill a purpose. That had made sense. He was a Predestitigator, so he killed Espers. That, again, made sense. But now, he had been discarded. Tossed away. Nothing and nobody in the entire world had any use for him - but he didn't know how to do anything else, damnit! He didn't have hobbies or friends. He had never seen a movie, nor had he ever read a book. Food all tasted the same to him. Music disinterested him. He provided no value to himself or to the world at large.

But now, this man, Raúl - this was someone who had a use for him. This was someone who needed such a powerful tool.

And so, at 2:34 AM, five hours before the appointed time, Fall got up and got dressed.

He tossed his clothes aside - the moonlight illuminating, for a moment, the myriad scars cris-crossing his pale and scrawny back, some surgical and some a product of savage beatings - and then made his way over to the waiting suit, feeling the fabric of the tie between his fingers.

It felt cheap and flimsy.

It would do.

First came the shirt, thrown over his shoulders and buttoned from bottom to top. Then, the slacks, pulled up and fastened with an old leather belt. Then, the collar was popped up and the tie was tied. The collar went down. The cufflinks were buttoned and adjusted. Finally, Fall reached over - pulled the jacket free - and threw it over his shoulders, straightening it and turning to view his reflection in the mirror.

He looked sloppy. The shirt was wrinkled and poorly tucked in, and the tie was tied only loosely - already, it was beginning to hang low from around his neck. His hair was a mess. His eyes were ringed with dark - and his right eye continued to stare at all times quite rigidly to the side.

Fall looked a moment longer - then, with a shrug, he slumped back into his chair once more. It was good enough for him.

And then, for the next several hours, Fall waited in silence - his eyes closed, but his mind wide awake all the same.

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It was a brisk winter morning at Union Station - one of those bleak, colorless sorts of days. The sun was only barely rising as, already, the wind was whipping biting and painful against the faces of what scattered few now populated the station.

The door creaked open - and Fall stepped inside, glancing surreptitiously around before starting towards the tracks. He wore over his face a pair of cheap oval-rimmed sunglasses that he had hastily purchased from a nearby gas station. His lazy eye made him stand out too much - made him identifiable as the person he once was. His silver hair was bad enough, after all.

He knew full well that he should probably have been wearing a hat as well - but hats always made his head itch, and so he went without as he made his way through the station now, eyes searching closely for a familiar face.

Stranger, stranger, stranger...and then, there he was, standing alone with a small paperback book in hand, reading intently with one hand poised upon his chin. Pharaoh. The killer.

Fall hesitated. Swallowed. This was the one person he didn't want to see, and he certainly didn't want to be alone with. The commonality between them - he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. He didn't want to confront even a hint of the world from which he had come.

Nevertheless, it was a moot point. Pharaoh's eyes flicked up at once, as though he could somehow feel Fall's gaze upon him. He beckoned the other to approach with a warm smile and a small, surreptitious gesture, and Fall knew at once that there was no choice in the matter.

And so, he approached, moving to stand beside the older man. They made for quite a mismatched pair - Fall in his cheap, disheveled suit, and Pharaoh in a finely tailed three-piece garment complete with a suede vest and a checkered pocket square. And they stood, side by side, for some moments before Pharaoh finally spoke.

"Good morning, August," he said warmly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really," Fall replied, staring blankly ahead.

"I noticed," Pharaoh said - sparing the younger man a sidelong glance. "You look exhausted. And quite malnourished, too. Are you taking good care of yourself?"

"I-"

"Our bodies are tools," Pharaoh admonished, tucking the book into his coat-pocket. "They must be carefully and diligently maintained, lest they fail us when the need truly arises."

"Uh huh," Fall grunted.

"Apologies," Pharaoh chuckled, smiling lightly. "I don't mean to overstep my bounds. The others will tell you with great enthusiasm of my unfortunate tendency to 'nag', as they say, those closest to me. Their words, mind you, not mine."

"Right..." Fall muttered, still staring straight ahead. And then, before he could think twice and clamp his mouth shut, he blurted out:

"Hey, have you ever killed someone before?"

The older man blinked, surprised, then let out a lighthearted chuckle once again.

"Well now, that's quite the conversation starter!" he quipped. "Honestly, I'll have to keep that one in my back pocket for any particularly dry social gatherings. What an audacious thing to ask!" Then, Pharaoh's head tilted, and Fall saw it - saw the change in his eyes, even as the rest of his body and face remained exactly the same. Saw them focus, become alert, as though he were staring through the sight of a rifle and zeroing in on his prey.

"We aren't supposed to discuss our pasts," Pharaoh chided, his voice as smooth and friendly as always.

Fall's heart was pounding, suddenly. Rarely ever in his entire life had he felt any sort of physical fear but this man...

"You're right," Fall said quickly, glancing back at the door to see Breakneck and Petra entering, the former still clad in a denim jacket while the latter wore a dark-blue blazer and trousers. "Forget I said anything."

"Yeah, I've killed plenty," Pharaoh whispered - and Fall froze on the spot. "You have, too, haven't you?"

"I..." Fall trailed off, his mouth so dry he could hardly speak.

"Pharaoh!" Petra interrupted, barging forward and extending a hand.

"Petra, dear, it's good to see you!" Pharaoh grinned, shaking her hand enthusiastically - his eyes now gentle and dull once more.

"Hey, man," a deep voice came - and Fall turned to see Breakneck at his side, a cigarette dangling loosely from between his teeth. "August, right?"

"Uh...yeah..." Fall muttered, still rattled by Pharaoh's words.

"Good to meet you, man," Breakneck nodded, staring out at the tracks with Fall as Pharaoh and Petra spoke excitedly behind them.

Fall waited for the other man to continue - but he remained silent, as so the two of them stood for several minutes in surprisingly comfortable silence.

"Hey," Fall asked, finally. Breakneck glanced over but did not reply. "So, uh...the other guy, Pharaoh. You work with him before?"

"Oh yeah," Breakneck nodded, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Me, him, and Tach've been running with the man Raúl for a couple years now."

"And he..." Fall whispered, glancing back over his shoulder, "what's he like?"

"What's he like?" Breakneck repeated. He shook his head. "Guy's a fuckin' maniac, that's what he's like."

"He-"

"Best guy I ever worked with, though," Breakneck continued. "Real as they come."

"Yeah...?"

"How 'bout you, Aug?" Breakneck asked, taking another drag. "You solid?"

At that, Fall frowned. Furrowed his brow. And finally he looked up at Breakneck with a hint of annoyance playing across his face.

"Of course I'm solid," he scoffed. How was this criminal asking him, a former government agent, if he was solid? Of course he was solid! He was more solid than nine of this asshole put together! None of them had any idea just how vastly overqualified he was for this kind of work, did they?

"Cool, cool," Breakneck nodded. Then, after a moment: "So what are you carrying?"

"What?" Fall asked, cocking his head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean like a forty-five, a thirty-eight, glock, revolver, what?"

"You mean guns?" Fall asked, to which Breakneck gestured sharply for the other man to lower his voice. "Trust me, I'll be fine."

Now, it was Breakneck's eyes that narrowed.

"Are you dumb?" he blurted. "You think you're just gonna walk in there and use your powers all over the damn place? You want fuckin' cops and Predestitigators on our asses?"

Fall blinked. He hadn't thought of that. Hadn't even considered it for a second.

"I don't..." he trailed off.

"Aren't you supposed to be muscle?" Breakneck pressed. "How're you gonna do that without a gun to wave around in people's faces? What, are you just gonna wave your hands or something?"

"That's not..."

"Listen, bruh," Breakneck sighed, shaking his head and flicking his cigarette out onto the tracks. "I get it, alright? You're some kinda heavy hitter. But this shit ain't a fuckin' warzone, motherfucker, this is a heist. The goal is not to be seen and not to be heard, you feel me? Should be like we were never there at all, man."

Perhaps Fall was not as overqualified as he had previously thought.

"My bad," he muttered, looking away. "Do you have a...?"

"A gun?" Breakneck scoffed. "Yeah man, I gotcha. Don't sweat it. Just don't be parading around either, like you're all that or whatever. We're all on the same page here. Now shape up," he snapped his fingers, and Fall looked up to see Raúl entering with Surge and Tachyon flanking him on either side, "bossman's here."

And so, the seven of them met in the center of the station.

"Good morning, everyone," Raúl said - still wearing his tweed jacket. Surge and Tachyon, too, were now outfitted in three-piece suits. "Right on time - I like that. Shows dedication, you see. Shows you take this job maybe half as seriously as I do."

"I don't think that's even possible," Petra quipped, to which there were a few scattered chuckles.

"I'll take a quarter, then," Raúl retorted, after a moment. "Everyone know where we're going and what we're doing?"

All nodded.

"Excellent," Raúl declared - just as, behind him, a silver train came to a squealing halt. "Train departs in five. Let's move."

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NEWARK, NEW JERSEY

1:47 PM: An ambulance pulls up to a street corner, one block away from McCulloch Community Bank. Sitting in the driver seat is Breakneck, clad in an EMT's uniform and idly smoking a cigarette. Beside him is Raúl, his fingers drumming in constant rhythm across the dashboard.

1:49 PM: The doors swing open and Fall, Pharaoh, Surge, Tachyon, and Petra emerge. All don sunglasses. Tachyon slings a backpack over her shoulder.

1:52 PM: While Pharaoh, Tachyon, and Fall make their way to the bank's front entrance, Surge and Petra cut through multiple apartment backyards to arrive at a back-alley that runs alongside the bank. Both search for thirty-seven seconds until Petra spots and indicates a breaker box.

1:53 PM: Pharaoh, Tachyon, and Fall wait idly on the sidewalk before the doors. On the other side of the bank, Surge places the palm of his hand against the breaker box. His fingers splinter apart into hundreds of thin, writhing 'wires' that plunge into the surface of the box. His eyes roll back in his head.

PETRA: You find it?

SURGE: Hang on, gimme a sec...yeah, okay, got it. Alarms, cameras. Countdown starts...now. Two minutes.

PETRA: On it.

Petra places two fingers against a tattoo of a hunched, glaring raven on the back of her left hand. The tattoo appears to pulse and glow - and then, she hunches over, reaching and gagging until, somehow, a jet-black raven with four bleach-white eyes emerges from her mouth. Her eyes go fully black and she strides away, quietly counting down from one hundred and twenty all the while. The raven, meanwhile, takes up a perch high above Surge's head, its eyes scanning actively across the horizon.

1:55 PM: Petra meets the others outside the door, then counts down from twenty-one to zero. At zero, all four move to enter the bank.

2:04: All separate and mingle idly for several minutes before making their way, one-by-one, to the bathrooms.

2:05: All don balaclavas and draw their weapons. Each of them double-checks their ammunition. Fall handles his weapon - a black-bodied glock-19 loaned from Breakneck - uneasily. He has never held a gun before. Simultaneously, a police car rolls past the front of the bank, and the raven and Petra both stare with intent for several moments until the vehicle passes.

2:07: All exit the bathrooms simultaneously, whereupon Pharaoh shoots the nearest security guard once in the knee. Before panic can ensue, Petra shouts:

PETRA: Nobody move! Nobody move a god-damned muscle or I swear I'll put one in your fuckin' skull!

At once, all inside freeze. The bank's patrons hunker down as Fall, Tachyon, and Pharaoh approach the other guards at gunpoint, stripping them of their weapons and forcing them to their knees. Pharaoh notices a secretary discreetly keying a silent alarm - but ignores her, knowing that Surge has already de-activated the alarms. He sees no reason to make their sabotage clear to the hostages.

2:08: Pharaoh and Tachyon make their way to the backroom while Petra and Fall keep the hostages in check.

PETRA: Alright, everybody, listen up! This is gonna be nothing more than a brief, memorable visit. We are gonna come in, do what we gotta do, and get out, you understand me? We are not violent people - but we can be violent, if pressed to. So just sit and keep your heads down, all of you, and in just a couple minutes we'll be out of your hair.

2:10: Pharaoh and Tachyon stand outside a heavy, foot-thick steel door protected by a massive lock. Tachyon is kneeling, examining the door-seam as Pharaoh gently lowers a bloodied, unconscious guard to the ground.

TACHYON: Four minutes.

Tachyon reaches into her bag, pulling out both a circular saw and a battery pack.

PHARAOH: Anything you need, dear.

2:12: Fall notices, in the corner of his eye, a guard shifting towards the alarm. Although it has been silenced, he has been specifically instructed to violently quell any open dissent or potential 'heroes'.

Fall: Hey. Don't move.

He levels the gun with eerie calm at the man's forehead. The guard gulps, swallows - and his eyes flick to the alarm once more.

Fall: I'll kill you right here. Don't do it.

Petra: Don't look at him, damnit! Heads down, I said heads down! You - sit the fuck down, now! And you, over there! I will blow your fucking brains out if you don't take a god-damned fucking seat on that floor!

2:16: The vault door swings open. From inside her backpack, Tachyon unfurls a significantly larger duffel back. Both her and Pharaoh quickly scoop as much cash as possible into the bag.

2:18: Raúl's fingers are drumming even faster against the dashboard.

BREAKNECK: You good, boss?

RAÚL: [Pause] I'm fine.

After several seconds, Raúl presses his finger to his earpiece.

RAÚL: Surveillance check, over.

PETRA: [Over earpiece] All clear. Bird doesn't see a thing, over.

RAÚL: [Pause] Copy.

2:19: Tachyon and Pharaoh emerge from the vault, the former with the duffel bag slung over her back. Petra and Fall begin to move back towards the doors, weapons leveled.

2:20: Tachyon and Pharaoh leave while Petra and Fall remain, shouting threats and warnings at the hostages. Tachyon and Pharaoh arrive at the ambulance and enter from the back.

BREAKNECK: How'd it go?

TACHYON: Couldn't have been smoother.

2:21: Petra and Fall exit, tucking their weapons into their coats as they do so. Elsewhere, Petra's bird flies down and lands on a garbage can beside Surge.

SURGE: Got it.

Surge steps back, releasing the breaker box from his grasp. At once, multiple silent alarms sound. Behind him, the raven takes flight, moving to return to its master.

2:22: Petra and Fall are crossing the street. The raven is approaching from behind them.

PETRA: What'd I tell ya? Simple as that.

FALL: Yeah. Simple.

Then, suddenly, Fall holds up a hand. Both he and Petra freeze.

PETRA: What? What's up?

Fall does not speak. His eyes are darting around the street.

FALL: Something's wrong.

PETRA: What?

FALL: Everything's too still.

Then, Petra's raven catches a glimpse of light from an eleventh-story window above. Though she cannot see it clearly, she knows from experience that the light is glinting off the barrel of a rifle.

PETRA: Move!

2:23: The doors of multiple unmarked trucks burst open to reveal dozens of police officers outfitted in riot gear, rifles and pistols in hand. Several police cars emerge from various nearby alleys. Fall and Petra take of running at once, and there are bullets whizzing past their heads as they are forced into a nearby alley overgrown with weeds and vines.

2:24: Raúl hears the gunshots and sits straight up.

PETRA: [Over earpiece] We're made, damnit! It's a set-up!

Raúl's head snaps to Breakneck. He does not speak, and does not need to. Without hesitation Breakneck stomps on the gas, and the tires squeal as the ambulance shoots forward.

2:25: Fall and Petra stumble into a parking lot packed with old, rusting cars. The police are giving dogged chase, though most of them have split off to pursue the ambulance.

PETRA: Don't use your ability! If you do, we'll be in even deeper shit than we are now!

The two make it halfway across when, above, a speck passes by. Then, it shoots down, slamming into the asphalt with tremendous force. Fall lightens his body and leaps back, while Petra rolls for cover behind a half-destroyed Chevrolet.

2:26: The smoke clears, and a dark-skinned, bald-headed man wearing a police vest that reads WARNING: POLICE SANCTIONED ESPER strides forward, his eyes obscured by a pair of silver aviators. The air appears to ripple and shimmer as, before him, Fall stands casual and unbothered.

ESPER: Both of you on your knees, now. Don't make me ask twice.

PETRA: August, wait-

FALL: I really don't feel like doing this right now. [Cracks neck]

ESPER: I said get down, now!

2:27: Petra places two fingers on her left-hand tattoo. She hunches over, and black bile drips from her mouth as she begins to retch. Beside her, Fall reaches up and snaps his fingers.

FALL: Down.

JANUARY NINTH, YEAR 2028

2:27 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME

‘NEWARK INCIDENT’ BEGINS