by Katie Vack
"Yes," Sora chimed in nonchalantly, "you'll live right up until the point where he sends someone through your window in the middle of the night."
"I guess I'll be fine, then." He grinned despite himself. "I don't have any windows."
Thief chuckled. Seth gazed around blankly. The rest of the group just looked at him, caught between bemusement and disapproval. "Grayson," Karolus eventually said, "please just leave now. Be back here tomorrow morning in time for the briefing. Otherwise, I really don't want to have to deal with you right now."
"Okay." Grayson didn't bother arguing. He had a lot to think about, and if Karolus was letting him off the hook as easily as that then he wasn't going to complain. A new enemy, a group of people who knew his secret, a traitor in their midst, and an employer who was so blatantly hiding something very important. Nothing particularly extraordinary, then. He decided to go for a walk. He decided it would do him good.
Wrong Place, Wrong Time
He'd been wandering the forest for hours, and his feet were falling to pieces. Blood had soaked through the fresh bandages and was squelching around his boots every time he took a step. It hurt like hell, and he didn't appreciate having to do this, but then again it was just a fact of life- he walked when he needed some space, and if he was in no shape to do so then that was just too bad.
He needed to do something. Beat someone, or rob them, or go and break something important. He didn't know why exactly he was in such a mood, but he just had an extreme urge to go and do something risky and stupid. Some kind of release he supposed, although he wasn't exactly sure why he needed it. He wasn't going to argue with it though, because if nothing else it would be a bit of fun.
When he thought about it, there wasn't really much to be angry or upset about. Sora was mad at him for some reason, but that was nothing out of the normal. The Boss was angry too, but then the Boss was a prick, and he couldn't care less how that man felt anyway.
He supposed being injured this badly was an issue too, because it meant he couldn't do a lot of the things he'd have normally done to pass the time, but then that risk was just part of the job. Any good mercenary would have resigned themselves to the possibility when they took up the job.
Perhaps it was his group, then. He certainly hadn't expected them to find out about his secret, but then finding out wasn't an incredibly terrible event- it wasn't as though they were the first people to know about him. Maybe it was their reactions, then.
If they'd been horrified and disgusted, repulsed, then in a way that would have been better. He'd have hated them for it, he would have been hurt and angry, but hurt and angry he could deal with. The two had been following him his whole life, and he'd had a long time to get used to them. What he hadn't been prepared for was acceptance.
They'd accepted what he was as though it didn't matter. Sure, they'd been angry at him, but not because of his blood. They simply hadn't cared, and that hurt more than any discrimination could have done.
He was a monster. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't fun, but at least it was something. His whole life he had felt like an actor, playing out scenes from the stories of insular characters as he did his best to pretend he was normal. The one thing he'd clung to was the fact that he was a monster. However much he hated his parents for doing it to him, it was at least something. An identity. A persona. He might not know much about himself, but he knew he was a monster.
His teammates had laughed at that. They'd scorned his identity and told him he was no such thing- a vain attempt to falsely convince him that he could ever fit in. They'd thought they were helping him, but in doing so they had been stripping away his very core. If he wasn't a monster, he was nothing at all. And he could not be a nothing.
More than that, though, he just couldn't understand what they were to each other. He didn't do friendship. He didn't do family. But however much they argued, however much they fought, these five individuals were going around acting as though they would do just about anything for each other. They'd nearly sucked him into it, too, first with Thief, then with Sora, then with their precious acceptance. He'd nearly fallen for it.
He could not, would not, allow himself to become close to these people. The closer you came to a person, the weaker you became. That person became a weakness which could topple even the strongest of individuals. They could be used against you in any number of ways, and nothing you could do would change that. He would not allow it to happen to him. He wasn't going to lose one more person he was close to, and the only way he could achieve that would be to avoid drawing near any of them. They could play happy family if they wanted, but he would not be a part of it.
It was for the best, really. He tended to be a walking catalyst for trouble; never causing any direct harm but always bringing it upon others. They were safer away from him. Was that weakness, wanting to keep them safe? He shook his head. He couldn't tell. There wasn't much that he knew for certain, but what he did know was that he was strong, and growing stronger by the day. He could allow nothing else.
A slight reduction in the density of the forest marked his nearing destination. He still had no idea where the hospital was on a map, but he was pretty damn good when it came to woodland navigation. He'd been raised in one, after all, and after enough practice and experience you began to see the patterns. Little changes in the way the plants grew, or the paths the animals took, could give away all manner of otherwise unknowns. Lakes, streams, roads, waterfalls, predators, settlements, and more major changes in landscape; they were all there, written in the dirt, but so very few were able to read them. Sora, probably- maybe even better than him- but as for the others they wouldn't even come close.
This time, he'd been heading towards what was supposedly a large city. Probably Median, he decided. It was certainly pretty large, large enough that it had to some kind of hub, and he'd be extremely surprised if his group had been moved all the way to another one. The nearest was hundreds of miles away.
The forest cleared further, the minor shrubs and bushes fading away to irrelevance until there was nothing here but the trees around him. There were no animals here but the insects and the tunnelers, and it had evidently been cleaned out at some point. This forest had been cut away to make it less of an 'eyesore', and that he didn't like. It was too cold, too clinical; too ruthless. They had torn this landscape apart with no thought of the countless plants and animals which had spent their lives creating it, caring only about their all important appearances. Personally, he couldn't care less about the creatures, but whoever had cleared this out had created this bastardised half-land in the process.
Cities were interesting. They were little mazes in and of themselves, presenting all kinds of opportunities and attractions. Forests too had their own special attractions, something which was overlooked by those who did not know how to find them. This place, though, was the worst of both. The trees grew neatly, pristinely, in exact rows and columns, and there was nothing underfoot but the straggly grass and dirt. Not a forest, but not anything more either. It was a joke.
The walls of the city came into sight through the grid, and he made for them. The walls, too, were a joke; set up to keep out the creatures of the night, in a city filled to the brim with demons, devils, murderers and mercenaries. They needn't have bothered.
He reached the great walls of the city, hugging them as he made his way around in the hopes of finding some kind of entrance. They were thick and they were tall, built out of great blocks of stone, but that strength too was an illusion. They wouldn't stand a hope in hell against a Slayer tank, or a missile, or really any individual beyond rank six. A placebo, he decided, to convince them that they were safe. What were a few million more fools in a universe like this?
A set of gates rose up before him and he walked unmolested in through them, joining up with a minor road in the process. The two individuals guarding it were lumin, but that was just another act. In reality they'd just be puppets of the Alliance, and their posting would be to create th
e image of a free and self-governed Luminacht. Still, that didn't really bother him. The politicians and aristocrats would always be liars, but as long as they didn't turn their attention to him he was okay with it.
He wasn't really sure what he wanted here. He'd set off without a definite goal or destination, and by the time he'd figured out the direction he'd been subconsciously taking he'd been halfway here. It was lucky he'd brought the stolen aetherial coin purses with him, because he didn't want to risk stealing anything right now- he just wasn't in a condition to escape should something somehow go wrong.
Food, he decided, although he wasn't really hungry yet. First he'd have a wander, see if there were any useful tools he could find, and then he would get something to eat. It hadn't escaped his notice that his broken teeth had been miraculously repaired, and he was starting to get hungry already.
Eventually, after a while of searching, he found his way onto a street that sold weapons. Row upon row of firearms, blades, and more exotic pieces flooded the road in shops and market stalls on either side. He couldn't help but wonder whether it was safe to keep them like that, considering how crowded the streets were here and how easily you could be shouldered into something and accidentally skewered.
It was tempting, very tempting. He was an unarmed martial artist so he could never bring himself to pick up a sword or axe, and knives would only ever be tools to him, but firearms were another matter entirely. He'd always been interested in the idea of a rifle or a handgun, in being able to fight his enemies from a distance at which he didn't have to endanger himself, but in the end it was just a pipe dream. Guns were mindless killers. They could not be moderated in the middle of a battle; they simply acquired a target and slaughtered them. He wasn't a killer, and even if he just bought one to use for target practice he would still be putting himself and others at risk.
No firearms, then. A shame, because they were another thing that seemed like they'd be a lot of fun. He was about to walk onwards, when he found himself looking face to face with some kind of interesting crossbow. It appeared to fire grapnels rather than hunting bolts, which was what had caught his eye in the first place: it wasn't a weapon, but it was indeed something which might come in extraordinarily handy in his profession. After all, he could only throw a grappling hook so far.
He sidled over to the shop, picking the crossbow up and cradling it in his hands. It was extremely solid and seemed very robust, but it was surprisingly light too. Slightly smaller than the crossbows he'd seen people using in the past, but still greater than a single handed one. It was, despite its sturdiness, sleek and streamlined, a midnight black wood with silver metal inlay and mechanisms. There was a reel of thin cable locked onto the side, and a neat looking scope fixed on top.
It looked cool. It looked fun. It fit well into his hands too, or rather his one hand, since his fingers were still broken. All in all, he decided that those were some very good reasons to acquire it. Normally he'd just have picked it up and run, but unfortunately he didn't have that luxury right now.
He sidled over to the shopkeeper, a bullish man built like a brick, and Grayson found he couldn't tell whether he was fat or muscled. Probably both. "How much for the crossbow?"
The man looked up from whatever he was tinkering with, some kind of intricate mechanism- Grayson wouldn't have expected him to have the precision required to work on that kind of thing, but then people could always find a way to surprise you.
"That one?" He stood up, walking over to Grayson. "You've got a good eye; this is one of my finest works."
Grayson smiled inwardly. So this was the game they'd be playing. Well at least it would be a bit of fun, however overdone and elementary. First the man would make it out to be the greatest thing in this shard and convince him that he really had to buy it. Then he'd quote a ridiculous price in the hopes that his customer would fall for it. After that, the haggling would begin. It was a formula Grayson knew well, not least because he'd used it himself on more than one occasion.
"All the furniture," the weapons dealer went on, "is ebonwood. It came from a Silvan harvest, so you know it's strong enough to take just about any abuse you put it through. It's nice and light, beautifully smooth, and looks different enough to set you apart from the rest." He plucked the crossbow from Grayson's arms and gestured to the metalwork. "All of this is made of a high-strength Vanis alloy, and on top of that it's impervious to rust. Couple that with the ebonwood's immunity to any kind of rot, and if you take the scope off, this thing is completely waterproof.
"The runes along the stock are purely aesthetic I'm afraid, but they do add very nicely to the look. The scope is a four to nine by forty, with blue, red, and green illumination and adjustable focus. It's detachable too, so if you want to mount something different like a red dot, holographic, or target finder you can do that too. Twenty millimetre picatinny, so it will work for any standardised sights.
"Now," he went on without pause, obviously re-enacting a well-established routine, "it has a five hundred pound draw weight, which is a hell of a lot. What that means is that even firing these relatively heavy grapnels, you'll have a reliable range of a few hundred metres. It's crank operated to account for the power, which means you won't have much of a fire rate- but then this isn't a weapon for a firefight anyway. The cable itself can reliably support eight hundred kilos, but under extreme circumstances you can probably add another hundred or two. It has an electromagnetic system for reeling in which will be more than enough to lift a couple of people. The grapnels are designed to be fired past the target and then reeled, but I also sell armour piercing ones with spring mounted arms, and those can be fired directly into most targets.
"This is easily the most advanced weapon of its kind you'll find just about anywhere in this city, but," he added with false remorse, "I'm afraid this excellence doesn't come cheaply."
The dealer had definitely done himself proud in the first phase. Grayson had barely followed any of that, knowing as little as he did about the subject area, but what he did know was that he wanted it very much. Of course, he could not allow that to show or the price would go up. "How much then?"
"Six thousand standard."
It was all Grayson could do to keep his jaw from dropping. He'd seen Gatling guns and antimatter cannons going for less than that. This man must think he was stupid. "I can't afford that, no way. What about three thousand?"
"Three thousand? Three thousand!?" He did an admirable job of acting irate. "Are you trying to rob me? How am I supposed to make a living practically handing my goods away? I tell you what," he made to be considering intensely, "you seem like a pretty smart kid. You've got an eye for quality. I respect that. So I tell you what, just because I like you, I can drop it to five and a half."
"Five and a half is a joke; there's no way it's worth that much." Grayson didn't really have a clue, but he'd decided to take a gamble and hope for the best. "I'll give you three point five."
"That's ridiculous. This is a one of a kind piece, you won't find any other like it. It's not some cheap throwaway crossbow, boy. This is a real piece of artwork. Five thousand. If you can't pay, get out."
"I'll give you four for it. How long has it been sitting outside your store? I can pay you now, in cash, or you can wait a few months for someone else to give you credit and the UA to take their share."
The man raised an eyebrow. "That's a hell of a lot to be carrying in cash. Okay then, if that's the case I'll give you four point eight."
"Four point three."
"Four and seven fifty."
"Four point four, and I'll buy some armour piercers to go with it."
"Four seven hundred with the ammunition."
"Four four fifty."
"Four six fifty."
"Four four fifty."
"You've already said that."
"Because I won't go any higher. Give it to me, with the piercers, for four four five, or I walk."
The man sighed. "You've ruined me, boy. Okay, then,
here's my final offer. Four point five, and you make up another hundred."
Grayson thought about it for a moment. "Throw in a sling."
"Done."
"Cool. I'll take that with it." He pointed towards a ring displayed behind the counter, a plain steel ring from which a razor blade, advertising itself as diamond edged, protruded slightly.
"You want that and the crossbow?" The shopkeeper looked suitably surprised. "What are you, some kind of assassin?"
"Nah," Grayson shrugged it off, "just a humble opportunist." He pulled out the stolen coin purses, counting out four thousand and five hundred standard.
"Two hundred standard pieces." The man raised an eyebrow. "Those are some pretty valuable coins you're carrying around with you? Do I need to worry about anybody asking questions?"
"That won't be an issue. These were donations from some friends."
"Good friends are worth their weight in gold."
"Yeah. Or at least, the weight of their coin purses."
The pair chuckled at that, and then the shopkeeper handed him the ring and bow, complete with a sling and a dozen spare hooks. "Get out of here then- unless you plan on robbing me any further?"
