“What the fuck? Absolutely not,” - Leo threw the pistol back at the floor, hard plastic frame clattering against the rusted metal, - “I am NOT using that. No fucking way.”
Lyssa blinked at him for a second, then launched a barrage of torn laughter. The bark-adjacent sound bounced through the door and back, splintered between sleeping steel wheels and punctured cisterns of the abandoned train yard, drowned in the low-hanging leaden afternoon sky.
“Boy I did not think you’d be into peacefully letting security turn you into a sieve. Trying to do you a fucking favor here. But whatever, have your perversions. However,” - she reached into her duffel bag again, still smiling, - “You’ll take this. Non-negotiable,” - three palm-sized, rubber-ribbed cylinders with buttons on one end, rolling towards him.
“What is this?” - he picked one up carefully, - “Don’t tell me it’s fucking grenades.”
“Disposable microwave jammers,” - Moss chirped from the witch’s shoulder, - “Should work up to 50-70 meters in line of sight.”
“Spot on, demon,” - riverchild snapped her fingers, - “Rip off that wide strip to expose the sticky tape. Ten minutes uptime. Outscreams drones and wizards good. Rubber decent at not keeping fingerprints, but I still recommend wearing gloves. Might fuck up unshielded electronics point blank, but that’s not relevant for you. I’ll also hear when it goes off.”
“Why?” - Sel frowned at her, still leaning back to the wall.
Another bark-chuckle.
“Mate I thought you were, like, smart? You want your buddy to be gunned down the second a drone sees him?”
“Not all drones are armed, bitch,” - Moss scoffed, bird-legs kneading Sel’s shoulder, - “Operators are animals like us, they won’t shoot if they don’t need to.”
Sel blinked, slanting their eyes towards the demon’s puppet.
“Oh whatever, you know what I meant,” - Moss crackle-sighed, bumping the witch’s temple with her plastic faux-wing.
Leo thought of Serge’s rummaged room.
“You know,” - he scratched his neck, rolling the weighty tube around in his palm, - “It could be a wiz.”
“Look, I just need it, okay? Tomorrow. Tell Serge you’re sick or that your sister needs you for something urgent. Please, it’s important to me.”
Niko kept staring at him from over the breakroom table with clear concern, fingers unthinkingly kneading the collar of his jacket.
“Idunno man, I can’t tell what it’s all for but it defo smells fishy, you know?”
Leo kept taking long breaths to avoid furthering the unpleasant side effects of agitation.
“I can pay. Whatever they’ll cut from your salary for skipping a day plus, like, four thousand eagle heads for the risk. Does that sound good?”
“No, no, dude, not like that,” - Boxer waved at him, a bit exaggeratedly, - “Fuck the cash, keep it, I won’t rat you out. But like… If you get caught and they track it down to me… I mean, I don’t know what you’re gonna do, could be nothing at all, but… I also have someone to take care of, you know? I can’t be going to jail, man.”
“I know. I don’t think it’s likely…” - from the judgemental look on Boxer’s face, it was clear an unlikely wasn’t enough. He took a moment, then continued - “Okay. How about this: if you are questioned, we went drinking together the day before, I spiked you something and you spent the entire night and morning shitting your guts out.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” - Lyssa grinned. The witch responded with a deep, heavy sigh. Moss just glared. Seemingly amused, the beast turned towards them, - “Now. I got some presents for the diver and the shark as well,” - she produced two tightly wrapped packages, something rectangular in bubble wrap and paper, - “This one is your mission supplies. A few encryption keys, a few voice profiles, and a handy list of Sleeping Sea tunnels the Moscow stacks Underside gonna be using for the next week.”
“And second one?” - Sel eyed the parcel as if expecting it to jump at them.
“Some extra. Mother is a generous woman, and I aspire to be as well.”
The three stared at her, with distrust and alarm. That seemed to once again amuse her greatly.
“What, think it’s a bomb or something? Unclench, it’s real good. Maria and Dragonfly went sleep-fishing and came back with one meaty fucking lump. We’ve got what we needed out of it, but you can ship it off for a nice stack still. Or set it free. Two joys to choose from. You’ll thank me,” - she pushed the packages towards the witch. With a groan, the witch squatted to scoop them into their bag.
“Come again?” - the overseer’s wide face snapped onto Leo, plastic of the mask glinting in pale scatter lights of Lower Crates. In the corner of his eye, Leo caught someone from his group turn back from the exit ladder, eyeing him with surprise.
“I can cover. For the first half of the shift.”
Serge scanned him head to toe with visible confusion, then proceeded to ruffle through something in his tablet with usual haste.
“Your health category is D for Dogshit.”
“Yeah.”
In the corner of his eye, Leo caught two from the newly assembling team whisper between themselves.
“I don’t need another corpse in here.”
“Won’t happen. Got the inhaler with me.”
A drone chittered overhead, lanky shadow folding across the repurposed containers.
“Sure, suit yourself,” - Serge waved, focusing on something else.
He raced to his locker, pretended to mess with the safety harness while he screwed open the tough case of his radio. The memory card seemed to vibrate in anticipation as he plugged it into the hidden slot, invisible spark of a golem crawling out through the contacts, seeping into the firmware. When the speaker let out a quiet short beep, he tore the card back out and snapped it in half.
Seated on the train car’s doorstep, the beast reached into the tangle of her sling bag, fished out a heavy grey lighter with floral pattern on it. Her face looked disturbingly thoughtful through the accreting haze.
“Why do you even need us down there? If you can just… Hitch a container in and out. You’d be much more effective alone,” - Leo sighed, stepping back and swatting away the first smoke cloud.
Sel raised their head from the drive they were studying, threw him a concerned glimpse, clutching Moss’ puppet closer than they did before. Leo chose to ignore it.
Lyssa took another puff, added her touch to the grey out the doorframe. Turned to him too, expression oddly tranquil.
“No idea! Mother’s a mystery. Easier for the head if you think of her like she’s a dragon. Just knows stuff.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Not to be disrespectful, but that’s a tall fucking order.”
The beast’s smile was somewhere between mocking and affectionate.
“Rookie words. You’ll learn though. I believe in you.”
“2159 ALL GOOD GIV DETACH ETA ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )”
“nrn itd look sus”
“2159 SOONER BETTER ( ；¬＿¬)”
Wind-whispers between pipelines. For the dozenth time in the last hour, Leo turned to the side rail where he could’ve sworn he saw a shift, only to be greeted with static gloom, a silent grid-grove of transformers below them. His partner grunted in frustration, feeling the movement through the safety rope.
“Are you fucking haunted?”
“Nah, sorry, watched a nasty scare lately. Oil pressure 750, temp 168.”
“What are you, ten? Damn, that’s kinda low. Any leaks?”
His head hurt. More than usual.
“All clean. Look some up yourself, these folks come up with some crazy shit.”
“No way it’s that bad. Does the bastard sound weird?”
He grabbed the wall braces again, pulled himself close to the messy patchwork wall of the sewage treatment tower. The engine’s access panel engulfed his head like a maw of a circus tiger as he pushed his ear to the inner housing.
“Yeah, actually,” - he leaned back out after a bit, - “I think something’s loose, sorta rhythmic thumping. And it vibrates more than it probably should.”
“That’s just great. Now we gotta call a giraffe.”
“I can do it if you want.”
“Suit yourself.”
He pulled out the radio.
“2204 LINK STILL GOOD BUT WEIRD ECHO IN TUNNEL IDKWHAT BETTER HURRY ૮ ⚆ﻌ⚆ა” - last message from Moss flickered, awkwardly overlaid on top of the usual interface.
“trying shutup” - he typed into the message box, then closed it without saving.
He called up the nearest depot.
“What?” - an unfamiliar annoyed voice, twisted by interference.
“Hey, this is group 17-M, we’re at the waste tower. One of the stir motors is complaining, can you send us a cart with a giraffe and a full spares kit?”
“Do you need a giraffe?”
“It’s like 20 meters off the ground, so yeah we do.”
A deep sigh on the other end.
“You’ll have to wait at least 15 minutes, all good giraffes are busy. Unless you want to try the Wonky Wanker.”
Leo looked down on his coworker.
“Do we want to try the Wonky Wanker? Whatever that means.”
Low-set grey eyes met him, trained apathy momentarily replaced with disbelief.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
He brought the microphone back to his mouth.
“I cite, ‘absolutely fucking not’. We’ll wait.”
There was a click, and the carrier faded into static.
“Lemme guess, they’re all out.”
“Yeah, said to wait quarter of an hour.”
The tiny monochrome LCD blinked again, text now crudely cutting holes in the menu.
“2207 ALERT LV SHITFUCKSHIT UNEXP FULL REROUTE T-113S CANT TRICK DRONES GO NOWNOWNOW (⚆ᗝ⚆)”
Movement in the distance. Nothing when his eyes focus. His heart sank. His mind slammed the gas pedal.
“…fore it comes, there’s 3 more left… Bro are you even listening?”
Leo took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. The quietest whistle at the bottom of his trachea. His brain was straining itself, flickering through a dozen excuses every second.
“Sorry I got…” - A click, - “I don’t feel so good.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He tensed the muscles of his neck, obstructing airflow a little more than usual for a subtle but noticeable effect as he spoke, surprised to ever be reusing his middle school tricks.
“No, my lungs… Are acting up.”
“You weren’t even moving?”
“Dude, seriously, it just happens for… Some fucking reason. I need to use… The inhaler.”
The worker hanging below him froze for a bit.
“Okay, then use it,” - Leo couldn’t see his face, but he definitely sounded more convinced.
“I can’t…” - A click, - “Do it… Here. Bad air.”
“Okay… Then what?”
He pretended to struggle against onsetting panic for a few seconds. It wasn’t hard because it was almost not a lie.
“Reservoir… They put air scrubber outs… next to them, to blow away the smog. Should be clean enough.”
“That’s kinda far away,” - the coworker’s voice now sounded concerned, - “You need help getting there?”
“No, I can delay it if I… Walk slow enough,” - From the tilted head below him, he could read a tint of disbelief, - “It’s gonna be 20 minutes like…” - A click, - “I’m not a bitch, okay? I can deal with it on my own.”
Success. Suspicion falling.
“Yeah, whatever, fine,” - the worker groaned, unlocking his carabiner, beginning descent, - “But if you’re not back in 20 I’m coming to get you. They’re gonna fine the shit out of me if you get hurt in my pair.”
“Thanks dude…” - a cough for good measure.
As he stumbled, deliberately slow, into the jungle of sewage pipes, he heard a drone’s buzz for the first time in hours. When he was sure he was out of sight, he ran.
“There you are. Don’t move, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” - a deep, cold voice bellowing over the hum.
Leo froze, fingers clenching the half-opened thermos.
“Put it down.”
Quiet clang of metal on concrete. A trickle of yellowish liquid escaping the tube, crawling towards the water reservoir.
“Hands. Up. Around.”
His knees, resisting command, shaky in a manner foreboding. A stiffness, a distant pain in his lungs rearing up for real.
A tall, twisted figure, ill-fitting grey uniform mocking the concept of camouflage itself. Rifle-caliber handgun a toy between six long fingers. Blank mask distorted into a parody of a smile, skin wrinkling around the ports and antenna mounts across the wizard’s bald head.
“A-ha, I saw you. Knew you were retarded filth. Wonder where you got that jammer, strong shit. Who sent you?”
His tongue numb, heartbeat almost drowning out the booming voice, syllable-beads scattering across the floor.
A sudden explosion of light, a blink-long sun burning itself into his retinas. A sound so vast he felt it in his bones. A ripple of pain in his left ear, a trickle of blood, disgusting texture of torn cartilage under his fingers.
“Next one will be in your knee. Who sent you?” - the confident satisfaction in the wizard’s voice was impossible not to read, even through tears and a mounting asthma attack.
“SHIT! Fuck! It’s… It was Salthome! Salthome!” - his panicked yell trailing into a cough.
“Go-o-od. Can’t believe they fell so low. You’re one sad excuse of a faggot. Now, who exactly in…”
Two worlds, a moment apart.
The wizard standing, relaxed, nonchalant twitch of a palm directing the barrel towards Leo’s forehead.
A blink-long sun. A sound in his bones.
The wizard broken, tumbling sideways, pain and confusion half-rendered on his face. A sideways fountain of viscous crimson erupting from his stomach. Another shot of the hand cannon triggered by a spasm of fingers. A wave of air centimeters away from his face. Concrete biting his palms and knees as his body throws itself on the ground, not waiting for a command.
His vision narrowing. Inhales coming with great effort, a nasty whizzing in his chest. The respirator like a choking muzzle.
Ringing in his ears subsiding. The wizard, groaning in pain, crawling on his elbows away from something, slipping on his own viscera, towards his dropped gun, with terrifying speed for someone who just lost a section of their spine.
A figure in the gloom, approaching steady, steps oddly light for boots that thick. A gas mask’s dark visor. A rifle so large it felt almost comical held by a single person. A chained waterfall of black hair.
He did not crawl fast enough.
A kick in the exposed ribcage, a deep shriek of pain that shouldn’t have ever come out of any mouth.
“BAIT?! WHO THE FUCK… ARE YOU?” - even now, snapped in half and crushed, machine-man was still smoldering with rage, fingers clawing for the missing knife, eyes scanning the attacker with unbounded hatred.
The beast silent. Leo couldn’t see her face, but could see her smile as she pulled something small and delicate out of a plate carrier pocket. A simple steel chain pendant, a blue jellyfish embedded in faux-amber.
“Familiar?” - her voice rustled under the humming of air pumps around them.
Fear in the wizard’s eyes. Something Leo never thought was possible. Something he wished he couldn’t understand.
“Oh, God. Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I admit it. Please, kill me. Please, just kill me. PLEASE-”
A swing of the giant rifle, back to shoulder. Two more moment-suns. Two shoulderbones turned into mush. A celebration’s beginning.
The tunnel of his vision collapsing. Sound fading. Color withering. Not fast enough.
He plead his lungs to burn faster. He plead his eyes to lose focus. Not fast enough.
So he gave up.
“How?” - he asked silently, exhausted, - “How could he deserve this?”
Her raspy victorious scream, tangled with guttural croaking below, gave no answer. Her black harness, glinting with dark rivulets, gave no answer. Her fingers, tearing in half the freshly-taken heart over her head, gave no answer.
Finally, his eyes could not see them. But he still could.
Footsteps. Closer. He had no capacity to fear anymore. He was ready. He was willing.
“Shit, do I gotta finish your job for you?” - an echo in the swirling fog of oxygen starvation.
A pressure somewhere on his distant skin. A clanging of metal. A splash of water. A ruffle of fabric. Release on his face, mask taken off.
A light, warm plastic tube between his lips. A sizzle. A prickling in his mouth. A chain easing slowly somewhere deep in his chest.
Gloved fingers staining his hair with something sticky as she controlled his sideways slump. Absurdly gentle. Quiet syllables from the mouth of a maniac.
He wasn’t there to feel the ground.