Time seemed to slow down as Jeremiah tried to process what he was staring at.

The armour Rickardson was wearing was elaborate and high quality, but familiar- the same type of machinery that Bill had wrapped around his arm. It encased Lee’s entire body, extending his limbs and protecting the squishy middle in a mechanical carapace. Metal arched into a helmet around Lee’s head, covering his cheeks, nose and forehead so that only his eyes and filed-down teeth were visible. For a moment, there was silence besides the echo of Lee’s impact throughout the room.

Then time ratcheted into high speed as Jeremiah’s sympathetic nervous system dumped its entire reserves of adrenaline into his body. Making use of the momentum of the platform, he leapt onto the railing and then launched himself skywards.

Hopefully Old Mac’s upgrades would give Bill the upper hand, as Jeremiah knew that he and Gliridae stood no chance if they came within punching distance of that thing. Instead, he spread his wings and banked hard left, grinning at the rush in spite of himself. No matter what else was happening, there was always a joy to the movement. He pulled into a sharp climb and reached a decent height above the platform before drawing his guns and surveying the room.

As he had gone upwards, Gliridae had gone down. The tiny musician threw himself off the platform with all the dexterity of a gymnast; as he somersaulted, he pulled out one of the devices that he’d bought at the mechanics threw it away from himself.

It detonated in mid-air with a sharp whine, putting out vast billows of thick white smoke. The lower level was quickly filled, and Gliridae and the man on the ladder were lost from view. The two men on the distant platform began firing in the direction Gliridae had been, and Jeremiah took aim while they were distracted.

“Fucking stop, I’m down here too!” yelled a voice from the smoke. Whether it was truly the other Props member or Gliridae, Jeremiah didn’t know, but as the two hesitated Jeremiah shot one cleanly in the hand. The man dropped his gun, clutching the injured appendage close to him and cursing, while the other swivelled and began firing upwards instead.

“Jeremiah,” Bill roared, “they’re fucking Props! Do more than just disarm!” There was blood streaming from the enormous man’s nose, and small parts glittered where he’d ripped them from Lee’s suit. As he turned back, the mechatron brought in another blow, which Bill blocked with his mechanical arm; the screeching of metal rang through the warehouse, and then they fell apart again.

Before Jeremiah could fire on Lee, he was forced to barrel-roll to avoid the onslaught of bullets brought his way by the two Props who had followed them out the of the corridor. He wasn’t quite fast enough, however, and the searing burn of a bullet grazing his right arm had him swearing as he flew. Stabilising himself, he fired a rapid volley back, landing bullets in one man’s knee and right shoulder, and getting the other’s left arm. One dropped his gun and staggered back into the corridor, but the other continued to shoot. Jeremiah grimaced and shot again.

Red blossomed against the man’s shirt as he fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

Not wanting to watch someone bleed out, Jeremiah turned his attention back to the men on the second platform. He paused though when he spotted Gliridae, crouched under the platform and clearly speaking with the non-injured man. The injured one had pulled out a handgun and was using his good hand to take aim on the tiny musician, who was nimbly dodging each shot as he talked.

However, the smoke was beginning to clear, and Jeremiah could see a shape that must have been the final man- the one originally on the ladder- sneaking towards Gliridae. Jeremiah quickly fired three shots in his direction: he wasn’t sure what they hit, but they certainly landed, as the figure crumpled back out of sight.

That handled, Jeremiah focused on Lee, trying to line up a shot without risking hitting Bill. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice the movement above until another Prop member slammed into him, sending them both tumbling through the air. Jeremiah’s wings whined as he struggled to right himself, but the man was clung to his back and restricting his range of motion. From the screaming coming over his shoulder, though, there hadn’t been much of a plan, and so Jermiah was able to use the gang member’s panic to his advantage.

Twisting right shifted the weight of the assailant over enough that Jeremiah could extend his left wing, pulling them both into a hairpin turn that slid the man to the edge of his right wing, fingers scrabbling for grip against the smooth metal. Grimacing at the rapidly approaching ground, Jeremiah spun again, slamming the tip of the wing- and the gang member riding it- into one of the thick metal chains supporting the platforms. Below, Bill and Lee both let out a volley of swears in response to the sudden swinging of the platform; Jeremiah let out his own curses, as the force of the impact rang through his spinal column. All three, however, were drowned out by the yells of the man as he plummeted straight toward the concrete floor, followed by a sickening thud.

The small part of Jeremiah’s mind that fancied itself an objective bystander chose that moment to remind him just how much Old Mac had cost.

Banishing the though, Jeremiah pulled up from the dive and turned his attention back to Bill. The man was hunched over, his non-mechanical arm draping strangely, and his mechanical one hissing steam with every movement. In addition to the bloody nose, deep gouges were scored into his bald head where Lee had dragged the mechanical fingers, the skin crumpled like crepe paper and pouring blood. Bill didn’t look like he could last much longer.

Jeremiah fired once, twice, three times at Lee, and each time the bullet pinged off. He hesitated, not wanting to fire again in case one of the bullets ricocheted into his friend. Glancing back at Gliridae, he saw the other two men take off running before the tiny musician climbed onto the platform, seemingly unscathed. On the ground below, the fog had cleared enough to reveal two motionless figures- Jeremiah’s stomach somersaulted, and he turned away.

The man he’d shot in the chest was gone- probably dragged to safety by his friend. With urgent medical attention he’d probably survive.

Probably.

Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, Jeremiah flew closer to try and spot a weak point in Lee’s armour. For all the beatings Bill had taken, Rickardson looked nearly untouched, with nothing more than a small dent or two in the machinery of the exoskeleton. From the safety of the control pad, the man grinned manically. Close up, Jeremiah was able to hear what they were saying.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, Billy Boy,” said Lee, grabbing Bill’s arms and starting to force him back. “You always thought you were untouchable. Well guess what: I’m bigger than you now; I’m stronger than you now; and I’m going to kill you now.”

Unable to listen to any more, Jeremiah flew down and grabbed one of Lee’s arms, trying to yank him back from Bill. With a roar of rage, the mechatron turned, flinging Jeremiah into the railings on the opposite side of the platform. While his wings absorbed most of the impact, it still knocked the air out of him, and hurt like hell to boot. Lying there, the only thing he could think was ouch.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The distraction gave Bill an opening, though, and he leapt forward, grabbing the same arm that Jeremiah had gone for. There was a scream of metal, and then Bill grinned triumphantly as he held up the amputated limb. Lee just laughed, however, and then the exoskeleton shifted, changing moving from bipedal to some kind of three legged, mechanical monster before tackling Bill to the ground.

The two began to roll, trading half strength punches and kicks, neither able to stabilise enough to go with full force. Both were swearing profusely as they went, a litany of words and insults that could have made a sailor blush. Jeremiah pulled himself to his feet, ribs screaming, and spotted his guns a few metres away.

If he could get close enough to Lee…

Lee and Bill bumped against the far railing, and then suddenly Lee was on top, Bill pinned beneath him, drawing his arm back to deliver a devastating blow. Jeremiah snatched the gun and fired. It ricocheted. Running forward on the platform, he fired again. That ricocheted too. Lee smiled.

“This is going to be-“

“Hey, dumbass!”

Lee looked up to find Gliridae dangling from the other side of the rails, jacket and bowler hat back in place, barely a foot away from the mechatron. The tiny musician grinned as Lee hesitated. Then quick as lightning, Gliridae snatched the manilla envelope from where Bill had been holding it to his chest and waved it in Lee’s face.

“Come and get it.”

That said, he dropped from the railings and sprinted towards the exit, one hand clutching the folder as the other held the bowler hat in place.

Rickardson hesitated a split second, fear and desire warring on his face. Then with a yell he leapt off Bill and took off after Gliridae. As he went he snatched a shotgun from a fallen Prop, taking aim as he ran. The movement made his shot lousy, and Gliridae’s giggles echoed as the smaller man vanished into a corridor.

“We gotta run,” said Jeremiah, darting forward and helping Bill to his feet. His enormous friend nodded, and they began after Lee and Gliridae. A sudden yelp from the latter gave them a final burst of resolve, and coming up behind Bill shoved Lee forward with all his weight. The mechatron fell face first, skidding a solid five metres before reaching a groaning halt. Jeremiah scooped up the shotgun and they continued running.

Outside it was the dead of night, and the Props guards were gone- where, Jeremiah didn’t care, so long as they weren’t here to bother him. Emerging through the gate, they were re-joined by Gliridae, who had been hiding on the street waiting for them.

“That bastard shot me in the ass,” managed the tiny musician, between gasps for breath. In spite of himself, Jeremiah laughed.

They ran as far as they could manage, before finding a clean-enough alley and collapsing, groaning and wheezing. As soon as they stopped, Gliridae tucked the manilla envelope into his saxophone case, swearing at the discovery of two more bullets lodged in the instruments metal. The other two couldn’t help but smile at this, though the smiles soon dropped as they fought to catch their breath.

Once his heartrate stabilised, Jeremiah dug out his medical supplies and began to patch up Bill as best as he could; in the end, he could only clean the wound and stem the bleeding. He’d need proper facilities to manage anything more. Gliridae produced the sanationis tablets he’d pilfered from the Silvers, offering water from his hip flask to help the enormous man wash them down.

Gliridae’s sole injury was easier to tend to, and his oscillation between outrage and horror at being shot were at least enough to put Bill in better spirits. As for Jeremiah himself, he sterilised his arm, but fortunately the wound wasn’t deep and didn’t require anything more than that. Jeremiah also took a tablet, but Gliridae refused, pulling the face again; the ex-Silver made a note to ask him about that later

They lay there for a long while, overcome by exhaustion. Bill’s breathing slowed as he slipped into an uneasy sleep, while Jeremiah and Gliridae leaned up against the brick wall and just tried to process what had happened. As the dawn crept across the sky, inky black to lilacs and pinks to dull pastel blue, Jeremiah realised how long he’d been awake. 11am the previous day felt like a lifetime ago…

Eventually, as the clouds snuck in to obscure the midmorning sun, Bill re-awoke and slowly pulled himself upright. Jeremiah passed him the water flask and he took a long drink. They sat there for a while longer, until Gliridae broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

Both Bill and Jeremiah turned to him in confusion. The tiny man had his knees drawn to his chest, gaze far beyond the alley in which they were sat.

“There was no talking our way out of that situation. We tried to run but… there was no choice but to fight. There was no other option.” He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the brick. “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier. I didn’t know where you were coming from.”

Bill sighed, a rumbling deep within his chest, then reached out with his good arm and gently placed his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you said what you said.” Gliridae looked up, confusion evident. “It gets to be so normal…I needed someone to call me out. To remind me that it’s not.” Bill retracted the arm, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I cross lines; I forget my own strength; I’m… glad you weren’t afraid to stand up to me. I’m sorry that I reacted how I did.”

Gliridae gave a faint smile, which then broadened, a small giggle forcing its way out. Despite himself, Bill smiled too, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. Jeremiah snorted; he was sure it wouldn’t be the last of their bickering, but hopefully it was the end of their fundamental differences.

Climbing to their feet, the three of them began the weary trek back to Silver headquarters. Every muscle in Jeremiah ached, and he couldn’t wait until they passed Avery Ward the file, collected their fee and were done with the matter. Forget the excitement: right now, a quiet life as a medic sounded fantastic.

“Aw, hell,” muttered Bill. Out of fog emerged Julie Matthes and two cronies, hands deep in their pockets, stances nonchalant. Jeremiah’s heart dropped, and he forced himself not to look towards Gliridae or the saxophone case.

“Word on the street is you found Viola,” began Julie Matthes, voice light. “How is she?” Jeremiah thought of the bloody nose they’d left her with, and he caught Bill’s wince.

“As well as she can be, given her circumstances,” the ex-Silver replied. “But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re here to talk about.” He was too tired to be playing games. Julie Matthes smiled.

“Word on the street is also that you had a run in with the Props.”

“Word sure does travel fast,” growled Bill. Her smile widened.

“Only if you know the right people. It doesn’t look like it went too well for you. I guess for all your big talk, you really are two wash outs and a nobody.”

“The Props didn’t do this to us,” said Gliridae, stepping forward. “The Silvers did. I’m sure with all yehr contacts you know that Wellington disappeared and took our commission with him? Though- maybe yeh didn’t need to be told as that was yehr doing.”

Julie Matthes’ smile twisted to a scowl, but Gliridae wasn’t finished.

“The Silvers offered us double to retrieve the file from the Props, but reneged as soon we got it back to them. Doesn’t matter that we did everything they asked, doesn’t matter that we never so much as peeked: they got their file and they tried to get us sent to Lockup. We barely made it away, so yeah, we’re pretty roughed up.”

“You gave them the file?” she repeated in disbelief. “After all this? You just… handed it over?”

“Yes ma’am,” replied the man carrying the file.

“You absolute idiots.” Julie Matthes made a twisting motion with her hands, as though imagining wringing their necks. “How? How, after everything…. You still have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

The three of them sheepishly shook their heads and she put her face in her hands. Even the men with her raised their eyebrows, incredulous.

“Fine.” She lifted her head again. “Fine. The Silvers double crossed you, so you don’t owe them shit now. Want to get back? The boys and I are planning a little… mayhem tonight.” The smile returned: she was clearly excited. “Meet us at Cantankerous at eleven and I can explain the whole thing. Participation in mischief not required… though, once you know I imagine you’ll probably want to join.”

“We’ll consider it,” said Jeremiah flatly, moving to step around her. She stepped in front of him, held his gaze for a long moment, then let him pass.

“You really ought to know,” she called after them. “All three of you really ought to know.”

“What is with these gangs and not leaving us the fuck alone,” muttered Gliridae. Bill gave a humourless chuckle.

“Now you know how I feel.”

“Being menaces is literally their business model,” grouched Jeremiah. “Now come on, let’s get the file to Inspector Ward. I want to be done with this whole mess.”