Author's Note: Hey, guys! Welcome to my third fanfiction, RDNC (Radiance). Out of all of my current and potential fanfiction endeavors, this is easily one of my favorites. Now that Volume Four of RWBY is over, I figured now would be the perfect time to start up my own project. I'm really excited about this fic, and I hope you all enjoy it. Still, before we dive into this thing, I would like to take a moment to make some things clear about the alternate universe this story is set in.
First, RDNC does take place in Remnant. This Remnant isn't much different from the Remnant of the original series. The names and most of the properties of the kingdoms, continents, and academies are unchanged as a result. I did this to ensure that nobody, including myself, gets confused about where the story is taking place. For the most part, this story will be set in Vale, and will focus on students from Beacon Academy. I have the power to add locations, as well as change certain details about certain locations within each continent, but I will keep as close to the canon as possible when it comes to setting.
That said, when it comes to the characters, I will keep as far away from the canon as possible, especially where the central characters are concerned. RDNC may take place in Remnant, but it takes place in an alternate universe where every character and character role from the original series is replaced and taken up by an OC. Don't know what that means? Allow me to clarify.
Basically, every character in RWBY has an OC counterpart in RDNC. I'm not just shoving Team RDNC into Team RWBY's role in the canon series, nor am I just adding another team to the canon universe's roster. I am literally replacing every single character in RWBY with an OC, that OC doing the job or playing the part of the RWBY character they are replacing.
For example, instead of Professor Ozpin as the headmaster of Beacon, this story will have an OC that serves as the headmistress of Beacon. Every teacher at Beacon will have an OC replacement in this story, each one playing a different teacher role. Team RDNC itself is the counterpart for Team RWBY, and for that reason, this fic will focus on Team RDNC and their escapades. I will add characters as I need to, and some won't have any parallels, but most of them will.
This doesn't mean that the characters or events in the RDNC universe will perfectly mirror the characters or events in the RWBY universe, however. Far from it. It's just that some characters resemble their counterparts more than others, which is mostly due to the fact that RDNC follows a storyline that is similar to RWBY's storyline. Heck, the character counterparts for the members of Team CFVY are an homage to one of the canon universe's teams, which is something I did on purpose. There's also the fact that, while Weiss and her sister Winter don't exist in the RDNC universe, the Schnee family and Schnee Dust Company do. There's a specific reason for this, but I don't want to give anything away.
In short, consider this my version of the RWBY universe, with characters of my creation going through a story that runs somewhat parallel to the story of the RWBY universe. An AU fic with OCs.
Whew! Glad that's over. I know this is a lot to chew on, but don't worry, everything will become clear as the story moves forward. Just like the anime, there will be four introductory prologues, and a volume for each arc of the story. I'll be sure to tell you when we're moving to the next volume, though.
That said, please enjoy this first introductory chapter of RDNC!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own RWBY, but I do own (or at least assisted with the creation of) all of the characters in this fanfiction.
Prologue I:
R Trailer
It was a cold, cloudless night in Vale, the shattered moon and scattered stars dominating the dark fabric of the sky unopposed. As the majority of the kingdom's citizens prepared to turn in for the night, one particular individual made his way through the shadowy alleys of the southeast side of the city, the icy winds forcing his black coat to billow out behind him as he walked. Stepping over half-frozen puddles of rain water and dodging glances from the less than reputable folks he passed along the way, the young man made his way down a twisting set of stone stairs and out into an abandoned plaza.
Directly adjacent to the plaza was a narrow two lane street that separated the low-end slums from the clubs and casinos that claimed to have their roots in the downtown district. Walking past a dry well in the center of the plaza, he took a moment to ensure no cars were coming before he crossed the street, his eyes focused on the building directly in front of him.
It was a more modern building, with high horizontal windows and a silver façade. Two men in suits, fedoras and sunglasses stood at the entrance, one blonde and clean-shaven and the other dark-haired with a full beard. The very saturated yellow light radiating from the neon sign above the door gave the men an almost ethereal glow, the brightness almost blinding in the dark of the night. It was enough to make their sunglasses seem less like a fashion statement and more like a work necessity. The young man paused to look up at the sign.
The Sundance Club. His eyes hadn't failed him. He was in the right place.
The young man took a moment to compose himself, ensuring that his wild brown hair was still spiked and that he felt as slick as he believed he looked before making his way toward the two burly bouncers waiting for him at the door.
"Evening, gentlemen!" he said as he approached, careful to keep a air of nonchalance about himself as the well-dressed sentries stared him down. "What's happenin'?"
The two men exchanged confused looks before turning their attention back to the young man that stood before them. They gave him a quick once over, taking note of his spiky brown hair and the electric green highlights running through it, the long black coat he was wearing, and the fact that his left eye was not the same color as his right. Never did they notice the device on his back, nor did they get the impression that he was armed.
"Nothing much," the bearded guard standing to the right of the door replied, giving the boy a shrug as he did so. "You got an ID?"
The young man smiled. "Sure, sure, let me see here..." he trailed off as he began his search. He fished through the pockets of his slacks, checked the pockets on the inside of his coat, and patted himself down thoroughly. "Shit," he said after a while. Obviously unsuccessful, he turned back to the doormen and gave them his best attempt at an innocent look. "Would you believe me if I told you I left it in my other pants?"
The men merely folded their arms in response, both giving him glares that would shake a lesser man to his core. "Get out of here, kid," the other guard said flatly, "Before we put a hole in your leg and make you limp home."
A devilish smile crept across the newcomer's face as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be, huh?"
The bearded bouncer barely had time to blink before he felt the toe of the young man's boot collide with his jaw, sending him sprawling into his partner. As the two tried their best to get their feet beneath them, the stranger was already on top of them. Dashing forward and leaping into the air with a yell, he delivered a flying side kick to the bearded man's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and sending him and his fellow doorman tumbling backward. The two landed in a heap little more than ten meters away, their fedoras lost to the shadows. The bearded guard rolled over his partner and slid a few more meters before finally coming to a stop.
Dazed, the bearded one remained flat on the ground, still trying to regain his scattered wit. The other, however, jumped right back to his feet and assumed a basic fighting stance. The young man stayed where he was, apparently not concerned enough to take a stance of his own. This prompted the blonde man to attack first.
He rushed forward and threw a powerful cross punch, but the strange boy was quick enough to redirect it with his hand, countering with an elbow strike that broke the man's nose. Still reeling from the pain, the bouncer felt something in his chest crack as the boy delivered a palm strike to his sternum, an attack that was quickly followed by an uppercut to his jaw. The young man kept the flow going, carrying his momentum into a round kick to the man's knee. The doorman heard something snap as his leg buckled, forcing him to brace himself on his other leg in order to catch himself. Unfortunately for him, that left him in the perfect position for the boy's next attack.
With a somewhat sinister grin on his face, the wild-haired young man launched into a brutally powerful back flip kick that sent the unfortunate bouncer flying. The young man watched as his victim, who could hardly tell what was up or down, flailed about wildly, his arms trying to find purchase in the blur that was the world around him. When the bouncer finally did land, it was flat on his back, the pavement cracking slightly as the blow knocked the wind out of him. It took all of his resolve to stay conscious, his head still spinning from the kick that had sent him airborne in the first place.
He blinked slowly, trying to clear his head without having to move too much. His sight still suffered, his vision reduced to a patchwork of blurry puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, his mind simply unable to comprehend shape or color or movement.
That is why he was completely surprised when he felt his chest begin to cave in on itself, realizing too late that the boy was crushing his ribs underfoot. His breath escaped him in a bloody, choking gasp, the pain doing well enough to bring the world around him into focus. Sure enough, the young man was there, standing above him, his form outlined by the harsh yellow light of the club's neon sign.
The bouncer tried to say something, anything, but the words never came. Too dazed to think of anything worthwhile to say, he merely opened and closed his mouth dumbly, unable to speak. Seeing this, the young man decided to finish him off, delivering a lightning-quick roundhouse kick to his jaw. The bouncer's vision instantly went black, his body going limp as he slipped into the blissful abyss of unconsciousness.
The other bouncer, who had only just recovered from the kick that had started the whole altercation, wearily got to his feet, wiping at his mouth with the back of his fist. He made to call for his partner, but the words died on his lips when he saw that the troublemaker from before was standing atop the unconscious form of his fellow employee.
The realization of what must have happened hit him like a semi truck, and as the boy turned to look at him, he suddenly felt his skin grow cold. Fear, pure and unadulterated, rushed through his body like a torrent of ice water. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped and hung open, the color visibly draining from his face.
Then he remembered what the boy had done, what he was doing, who he was standing on. The bruise on his cheek pulsed with pain, almost as if to confirm it. Fear quickly gave way to anger, the solution to his predicament becoming apparent almost immediately.
With a groggy snarl and a dangerous glare, he reached into his suit coat and withdrew a slick silver pistol, the yellow of the sign glinting wickedly off the metal of the gun. Not wasting any time thinking, he hastily took aim and pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out into the night. The sound almost made him jump, but he pressed on, malice and fear driving him to fire again and again and again. Sadly, his desperation proved to be his downfall. While he did manage to fire off a great number of shots, none of them came close to hitting their intended target.
The young man effortlessly dodged them, darting side to side as he rushed toward him. Seeing this, the doorman tried his best to focus, to make his last shot count. Before he could line it up, however, the young man made his move.
Twisting his body into a powerful jump round kick, he knocked the bouncer's gun out of his hand, sending it flying into the night. The unfortunate employee barely had time to register that his weapon was gone before he felt his legs being swept out from underneath him. He felt the uncanny sensation of flying before it was swiftly interrupted by an axe kick to his chest, the heel of the young man's boot splintering his sternum as he was forcefully slammed into the ground.
After that, there was the taste of blood in his mouth, the hazy shadow of the boy reaching into his suit coat and taking his access door key card, the hiss of the club's entryway door as it slid open and closed, then the sound of silence. He reached after the young man as an afterthought, trying desperately to regain control of the situation he suddenly found himself in, but soon found that he was grasping at a void of blackness. At nothing.
Just inside the front door, the young man grinned as he put the key card into his left coat pocket, taking a moment to dust himself off before heading down into the club proper.
As the door in front of him slid open, he was instantly drowned in high-tempo dance music, the booming bass of the speakers set up around the dance floor rattling his bones with each pulse of the beat. The dance floor was a confusing flurry of lights and sounds, the only veritable safe spots being the bar and the upper balconies. Even through the cushion of his earplugs, the reverb was almost powerful enough to force his brain out through his ears.
At least, that's what it felt like to him.
Looking around, he saw a great number of men dressed like the bouncers he had fought outside. All of them were armed, but none of them gave him a second glance. To them, he was just another patron. He took a moment to inspect the dance floor, but it didn't hold anything interesting save for the DJ, who for some reason was wearing a giant cartoon panda head. Shaking his head, he scanned the entirety of the inside of the club again, this time looking for one person in particular. He found her sitting at the bar, bracing her cheek on her fist as she talked absentmindedly with a peach-haired bartender.
She was short but slender, with pale skin and pixie cut blonde hair. She was wearing a rather revealing leather corset under a black fur coat with white lining and big brass buttons. A small black fedora sat atop her head, half tilted, while a small clutch that looked like it came from the same designer sat comfortably on her right hip.
Running his fingers through his hair to ensure it was still spiked, the young man started for the bar, making sure to keep an air of confidence about him. He couldn't help but grin, despite knowing what he was about to do. It was a death wish, the whole thing, but he didn't care.
The prelude to the main event was about to begin.
"Give me another one, Reese," Celina said wearily, shoving her empty glass toward him.
"Sure thing, boss," he said, filling it with another dose of clear alcohol before sliding it back to her. She downed it almost as fast as he had poured it, slamming it down onto the metal of the bar with a halfhearted sigh. "You doing alright?" he asked, a slight hint of concern in his tone. "You seem tired or somethin'."
Celina just shook her head. "I'm not tired. Just bored. Never thought this place could get boring, but..." she trailed off, her gaze wandering around the room as the lights in the walls painted the whole club a deep violet, the panels on the dance floor rapidly shooting beams of various colors up toward the ceiling as the tempo of the current song began to pick up.
Following her eye, Reese realized that it was just another one of those nights for her. Disillusionment was a side effect of running a business like hers, the only cure being a good nap and an unmediated intake of top shelf alcohol. At least, that was what he had gathered from watching her the past few years he had spent as her bartender.
"Another one?" he prodded cautiously, waving the bottle in his hand for emphasis.
"No, I think that'll do for tonight," Celina replied wearily as she stood up. "If you need me, I'll be in my office." She was about to turn and walk away, but something stopped her before she could.
"What, leaving so soon?" an unfamiliar voice said from behind her. "That's too bad. I was hoping I'd get the chance to have a chat with you."
Celina whirled around to find a young man with spiky hair dressed in a black coat standing there, grinning at her with a knowing look in his eye.
"Do I know you?" she asked dismissively.
"No," the young man said, "But I know you."
Celina couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that remark. Information wasn't her game, and most of the Vale underworld knew that. The fact that somebody, a total stranger, might know about her and her dealings was bad to say the least. For all she knew, this guy could be an undercover cop, or an informant for one of her rivals. She didn't have many rivals left, and this kid wasn't like any cop she had ever seen, but she had a feeling that something was amiss anyway.
It was something in his eyes, she reasoned. Those sharp, unyielding, mismatched eyes.
He had given her the bait. All he could do now was hope she took it. He watched as she inspected him, as she considered the possible implications of what he had just told her. The peach-haired bartender watched warily, cleaning a glass at the same time so as not to seem suspicious to anyone who might be looking his way.
"Have a seat," Celina said finally, gesturing to the stool next to the one she had been sitting at before.
"Gladly." He took to his seat as she sat back down in hers, smiling all the while. "Can I get you something?" he asked, completely disregarding the evil eye she was giving him.
The prospect of another drink softened her expression slightly, but with that prospect came a question that was seldom asked inside the walls of her establishment. "Are you even old enough to drink?" she asked, her black-stained lips curling into a coy smile as she leaned into her fist and braced her arm on the bar.
"I wouldn't have been let in if I wasn't," he replied, returning her smile. "Then again, your security detail isn't exactly equipped to handle someone like me. You should do something about that."
Celina's expression instantly soured. "Cut the shit," she said harshly, sitting up straighter. "What do you want from me, huh? You know something I want to know?"
"Better," he said coolly, "I know something you don't want me to know."
Her eyes widened for a moment, but she shrugged off her surprise in the next moment, her eyes narrowing dangerously once again. She dismissed Reese with a wave of her hand, Reese shooting him a look that said 'don't try anything' before walking to the other side of the bar and helping a couple with their drinks. Celina's expression was as cold as the steel of the bar, but as she moved to question him, the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.
"Is that so?" She took a moment to laugh softly to herself, a high-pitched tinkle of glass that was partially muted by the club's music. "Perhaps tonight isn't going to be as boring as I originally thought." Her eyes darkened just as fast as they had lit up, her voice becoming sharp like a knife. "Who sent you?"
"No one," the young man said, still sporting a grin. "You don't have to worry about your...business partners."
Celina's lips quirked up in a sneer. Something in the way he had said those words didn't sit right with her. "What are you implying?" she asked, anger weaving its way into her tone in spite of herself.
"I'm not implying anything," he replied, his grin fading instantly, "I'm telling you, explicitly, exactly what I know. What you do afterward is entirely up to you, Celina Harvok."
Celina did her best not to show it, but at that moment, her mind suddenly became a frenzied mess of emotions.
Part of her was angry. Her identity was a well-kept secret that few people outside the Vale underworld knew. The fact that this kid knew her name meant that someone somewhere had let something slip, which was simply unacceptable. She couldn't imagine anyone under her had the audacity to give her up, but if they did, they were in for it.
Another part of her was suddenly terrified. If what he had said about not being under one of her rivals or associates was true, her fears about his being a cop weren't entirely unfounded. The whole situation felt like some kind of trap, and considering that she had lost count of how many laws she had broken over the course of her career, that didn't bode well for her, especially if he was a cop.
Then there was a part of her that was curious. How much did he really know? Why was he so interested in her and her club? What was this all about? She had the feeling that toying with him was flirting with disaster, but she couldn't help herself. Flirting with disaster was fun, in its own way. Even if it was risky, she still wanted to know more about this strange young man.
Her thoughts went wild for a moment, bouncing around in her brain until it almost hurt to think. She kept as straight a face as she could, but it was difficult even for her, which was saying something. Then instinct took over, a very stern voice in the back of her head commanding her to remain calm and keep breathing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and her frustrations were subdued and pushed back into the farthest corner of her mind. Calm washed over her body like a spring breeze, and all at once, she felt like herself again. A small grin tugged at the edges of her lips. In the end, she mused, it didn't matter who he was or what he wanted.
She wasn't going to let him get the best of her.
He watched as the muscles in her face twitched slightly, as her brow quivered, as she closed her eyes in an attempt to disguise her frustration. It wasn't hard for him to see what was going through her mind. Mentioning her name was equivalent to a death sentence in this, her base of operations. Even so, she wouldn't kill him right away.
She still had options. She was more than likely sorting through them at that very moment, trying to find some leverage or a way out, rationalizing everything to a point. Eventually, she relaxed, a small grin gracing her features once again. Her expression told him that she had come to a conclusion, but her eyes told him that he was one step closer to his untimely demise.
Still, by his mark, everything was going according to plan. Somehow.
"Alright, then," she said, her tone dripping with honey and poison, "Regale me."
Unfazed by this, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before he began. "Well, for starters, I know that you have a hand in the underground Dust trade that filters through Vale. Whatever you don't sell or ship out is kept here," he said, gesturing to the club with an all-encompassing wave of his arm. "For security purposes."
Celina didn't say anything in reply, silently asking him to dig himself deeper into the hole she saw fit to bury him in with her expression.
"I also know that you smuggle Faunus into Vale from Menagerie, where they're either sold into slavery or forced into indentured servitude under one of your many associates. You're not afraid to keep a few for yourself, either," he nodded to a young doe Faunus waitress as she carted an ice bucket of champagne over to the lounge adjacent to the bar. "They have no chance at living a normal life, no wages, no freedom. Only the promise that if they do their job diligently, they won't be killed and thrown into the bay."
That, it seemed, was the tipping point. He had done it; he had officially signed his own death warrant. However, it wasn't immediately apparent that he had done so.
Celina didn't respond in the way he might have expected her to. Instead of lashing out in anger, she simply gave him her best smile and said, "Well, now, that's quite an accusation. You're right, of course. Everything you've said is true. However, there is one thing you haven't taken into consideration. Or rather, two." At that, she slowly reached for the fringe of her corset, tugging at it seductively. Her meaning was clear, but he knew all too well what Celina was planning.
That's why he wasn't surprised at all when she reached in between her breasts with her left hand and withdrew the small black snub-nosed revolver she had hidden there.
She pointed the barrel at his head with a bloodthirsty smirk, but as she made to pull the trigger, he reacted. Bracing his foot on the base of the bar, he spun around on the seat of his stool and knocked the gun out of her hands with a swift back fist. Celina could only grasp the empty air where her revolver used to be as the weapon flew into the glassware behind the bar with a resounding smash.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity turned to look at them, their ears following the sound of the glass. Reese, who had been watching from his post behind the bar, stayed where he was, waves of anger and fear taking turns washing over his expression.
When Celina looked to him with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with surprise, he merely shrugged and said, "Sorry." With a wink, he pushed away from the bar with both feet and slid away on his stool, coming to a dead stop between the bar and the set of steps that led down to the dance floor. He couldn't help but grin.
It was finally time for the main event.
Celina blinked. What had just happened? One moment, she had the boy dead to rights. The next, he was gone, leaving her to cradle her now empty hand in frustration. She looked to Reese for help, hoping for something encouraging like a wink or a smile. What she got was a concerned look and a gesture that told her to look behind her. Wincing slightly from the pain in her hand, she turned and looked.
She watched as two of her enforcers rushed in to subdue him, one wielding a katana and the other a jitte. The boy, meanwhile, just sat there, seemingly unaware of their presence. When the man with the katana reached him, however, he sprang into action. Bringing his knees to his chest, he vaulted up onto the seat of his stool before leaping high into the air, dodging the man's opening horizontal swipe. Surprised, the man looked up just in time to see the bottom of the young man's boot before it collided with his face.
Celina watched in disbelief as the boy used her employee as a living springboard, forcing the poor man headlong into the floor as he leaped over toward the jitte wielder. Stunned momentarily by what had just happened, the other enforcer was only barely able to dodge the boy's flying side kick. The boy twisted his body into a winding hook kick aimed at the man's head upon landing. Managing to duck back in time to avoid the kick, the sentry quickly moved to stab the boy in the back with his jitte. It looked as though the troublemaker would finally be silenced.
However, just before the blade tip connected, the young man swiftly turned and redirected the blade with the palm of his hand. As the enforcer stumbled forward with the force of his own thrust, the young man countered by introducing the man's face to his elbow. Forcefully. Fortunately, the man's aura kicked in, saving him from a broken nose. It didn't do much to dull the pain, however.
The realization of this registered in the boy's face for a moment, but only for a moment. The enforcer made to counterattack with a horizontal slash, but the boy simply stepped back to avoid it. A diagonal slash from the other side came shortly afterward, but he dodged that as well. The next slash was diagonal as well, its direction the reverse of its predecessor. The young man smiled as he spun out of the blade's path. Fed up, the jitte man finally resorted to an overhead strike, as if to cut the boy in half from top to bottom.
Reacting with acute swiftness, the boy caught the blade of the jitte in his hands before it could touch a hair on his head.
Celina's jaw dropped in shock. Never in her entire life had she seen someone do something like that, and she had seen a lot of crazy things in her time. But it was paltry compared to what came next. Celina could only watch with wide eyes as the young man snapped her enforcer's jitte blade in two with his bare hands, could only stare as the broken steel clattered to the ground, useless.
Stunned, the jitte man stared at what was now half a jitte, prompting the boy to finish him off. Knocking the sentry's arm aside with a sharp back fist, the boy delivered three swift hammer punches to the man's chest before knocking him out cold with a palm strike to the jaw. The unconscious enforcer crumpled to the ground, his aura depleted. In the moments that followed, Celina realized that her mouth was still hanging open and quickly closed it. This fight was far from over, and the lower half of her face was starting to go numb.
The young man was grinning, obviously satisfied with his work. He looked back to the man with the katana, who, having recovered from the young man's opening strike, stood with his blade at the ready, eager to avenge his comrade. Seeing the intensity in the man's face, the boy slid into a wide, open-handed stance. This prompted the enforcer to charge in, his katana raised high above his head. Unfortunately, this left him vulnerable to the boy's next attack.
Noticing that the bar stool he had started this bout on was still standing, the young man decided to use it to his advantage. With one swift movement, he kicked the chair at the katana man. The enforcer's expression went from intense and bloodthirsty to pained and regretful as the seat of the stool hit him square in the testicles, the little aura he had fading in an instant, unable to protect him from the pain.
Celina drove her palm into her forehead in frustration. What did she pay these people for?
The enforcer, meanwhile, found himself unable to move. Seeing an opportunity to deliver a finishing blow, the young man rushed forward and drop kicked the enforcer with all his might, cracking his ribs and sending him flying backward. The young man realized immediately afterward that the kick had completely cancelled his forward momentum. Luckily, his bar stool was there to catch him.
He fell down onto it in a comfortable sitting position, making it appear as though he had simply walked up and sat down on it rather than use it as a landing pad after a high-speed, high-impact aerial combat maneuver. If Celina didn't know any better, she would say he was relaxed. But he wasn't. He was lying in wait, tempting more of her goons to come after him.
It wasn't long before someone new stepped up to the plate. Seeing the aftermath of the rather short fight started by his fellow employees, another of Celina's enforcers decided to take action. He quickly reached for his weapon, the revolver he had tucked into his pants. By the time he got it out and made to aim, the boy was already moving, rushing toward him, holding the stool out at arm's length.
When he had closed the distance between him and the sentry by about half, the boy threw the stool forward so that it slid along the floor. It came to a stop just in time for him to jump over it, landing him within grappling distance of the gunman before he could bring his hand cannon up to bear. Surprised at the fact that his target was suddenly way too close for comfort, the enforcer adjusted his aim and tried to pull the trigger, but found that he couldn't. Looking down, he realized what the problem was.
The boy had his thumb wedged behind the trigger of the revolver, preventing it from being pulled back.
Instinct kicked in of its own accord, forcing the gunman to try and pull the trigger again anyway. Several times, actually. It didn't budge. Smiling, the young man waved the index finger of his free hand at the enforcer, clicking his tongue as if he were scolding a child. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he curled that same hand into a fist and slammed it into the side of his opponent's revolver, popping the cylinder right out of the gun.
The enforcer could only watch in abject horror as his weapon was effectively made useless, as his bullets spilled out onto the floor. When he turned to look at his assailant, he was greeted by the young man's elbow, which struck him across the face before driving itself into his forehead. He suddenly found himself seeing stars, his grip slackening enough to allow his revolver to fall and join its cylinder on the ground.
A moment later, he felt his abdomen cave in as the boy punched him in the gut, which was quickly followed by the sensation of flying as the boy uppercut him hard enough in the jaw to send him into the air, which was then replaced with a sharp pain in his back as he hit the floor.
While the dazed enforcer made his best effort to stand back up, the young man silently walked over to his trusty bar stool and picked it up by the seat. Upon getting to his feet, the enforcer shook his head in order to clear his vision. The first thing he saw was his assailant walking toward him, dragging that stool behind him with a gleam in his mismatched eyes. It wasn't a good sign. Not wanting to see what the boy was planning to do to him with that stool, the enforcer decided to act. Rushing forward, he threw a heavy-handed cross punch intended to take the boy's head off.
Only after throwing the punch did he realize that doing so was a grave mistake.
The moment before the enforcer's fist would have collided with his face, the young man dodged back and brought his bar stool up to bear, expertly guiding the man's arm through the gaps in the legs of the chair before twisting it with all his might. A gut-wrenching scream escaped the enforcer's lips as the bones in his arm were shattered with a sickening sound, as the young man forcefully pinned his now-mangled appendage behind his back and brought him to his knees.
Celina gasped in shock and flinched as if it had been her who had had her arm broken. She found herself unable to look away as the young man grabbed the topmost leg of the stool with his right hand, turned toward the bar, and threw the enforcer bodily overhead.
Reese shouted in surprise and ducked down behind the bar as the unfortunate enforcer slammed into the back wall with enough force to bring down the shelving and shatter the bottles of alcohol meticulously arranged on it. Celina turned away and shielded her eyes, wincing as some of the broken glass bounced off of her body.
When she looked back to see what the young man was doing, she only barely caught sight of him as he took off toward the dance floor, vaulted off a low wall and leaped into the air, twirling with the grace of a gymnast before landing in the smallest of open spaces in the center of the veritable sea of people facing the DJ. The music came to a stop almost immediately as everyone in the crowd slowly began to stop dancing and take a look at who or what had just landed on the dance floor.
He looked at the people surrounding him. While the Sundance Club's patrons were undoubtedly less than reputable, he didn't plan on injuring anyone who didn't directly work under Celina. Still, he had to dispatch them somehow. With practiced swiftness, he stood up to his full height, unbuttoned his coat, flared it out so that he could reach for the pistols holstered on his back, and drew them both, holding the right-hand pistol high above his head.
The crowd around him moved back slightly but kept their eyes on the gun, too scared to break their gaze or run. Everyone held their breath, no one moved a muscle. Several seconds dragged by before he finally decided to make his intentions clear to everyone within earshot.
"Alright," he said with a grin, "Who wants to dance?" With that, he pulled the trigger.
The people surrounding him ducked in response to the sound before running for the exit like a flock of frightened animals. He brought his gun arm back down by his side. It was obvious now that he had everyone's attention, most notably the Sundance goons positioned on the balconies above him, who were already drawing automatic weapons and preparing to gun him down.
Knowing he had to dispose of them first, he began the process of systematically shooting them up. It was almost too easy, considering they all stood relatively still. He twisted and twirled and aimed and shot in every direction, utilizing his impeccable aim and superior spatial awareness to land every shot.
Before long, there was no one left in the club that had a height advantage. All that was left to do now was take down the veritable army of goons surrounding the dance floor. With plenty of Dust left in his pistols' magazines, he knew it wouldn't be too difficult.
He shifted into a combat stance, pointing his pistols at the closest enforcers as the lot of them drew automatic weapons, handguns, and martial weapons of every sort. Before he could let loose, however, a familiar voice made itself heard from behind the ranks of goons that stood closest to the bar.
"Hold it!" Celina's voice cut through the din of the music, which was still playing despite there being no patrons left to listen to it. As she approached, her enforcers stepped aside to give her a clear view of the dance floor and the one person on it. She started to say something to him, but her words were lost in the booming bass of the song that was currently playing. Realizing this, she motioned for him to wait a moment before turning to the panda head-wearing DJ and shouting at the top of her lungs, "Shut off the gods-damned music!"
Realizing his error, the DJ quickly hit the power switch on his setup, bringing the song to an abrupt end.
"Finally," Celina said as she brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Now then, I'm going to give you a chance to get out of this alive." She shot him a dangerous look. "Give up, or you'll join those who've caused me grief at the bottom of the bay."
Normally, a threat such as this would put him on edge. In this case however, it was more of a joke than a threat. He was forced to stifle a laugh, grinning back at Celina with all the confidence in Remnant. "Sorry," he said after a while. "Not happening, lady."
"Oh, it'll happen," Celina sneered. "Just you wait. Whiskey! Tango! Kill this prick!"
Upon hearing their names, two individuals made their way through the circle of goons and onto the dance floor, or, more accurately, the battle arena.
The first was a young woman who looked to be a tad bit older than himself, with mocha skin and long red-orange hair. She was dressed like a dancer, with baggy orange pants and a lacy red shirt with golden trim. Red and orange ribbons trailed from her neck, wrists, ankles, and the pin keeping her hair in a ponytail. Most notably, she wore a pair of bracelets and a pair of anklets that he could see were charged with Fire Dust. Her crystal blue eyes eyed him warily, but her grin made it very clear that she was here to kick someone's ass, namely his.
Trailing behind her was a young man wearing a dark brown trench coat, black boots, brown cargo pants, three black belts, and a cement gray button-up shirt underneath a caramel-colored vest. His spiky, messy hair was gunmetal gray, but it was clear from the tone of his skin and the color of his eyes that he was related to the dancer girl, possibly a fraternal twin sibling given that they were the same height and had similar body frames. In his right hand he carried a massive revolver, and all three of his belts were lined with several large bullets, each of them tipped with a fine silver point.
He couldn't deny that these two spelled trouble. As it stood, they were the only people under Celina's employ that stood a chance of taking him down. The hand cannon the young man was carrying was well-crafted; he could tell just from looking at it that it had the potential to match his own firearms, which was a scary thought. The Fire Dust ringlets the girl was wearing also couldn't be ignored unless he wanted to get blasted to bits, which he obviously didn't. He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He couldn't afford to lose now, not after all the progress he had made. It was time to get serious.
"Alright," he said, "Who's Whiskey and who's Tango?" he said, pointing in their general directions with his fingers. This elicited a face-palm from Celina, which made his day.
The girl dressed in orange began to saunter toward the center of the dance floor while her partner calmly took his place at the far edge, close to the DJ's spin table. "I'm Tango," she said with a smirk. "That there's my twin brother, Whiskey." Whiskey simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. Tango rolled her eyes. "He doesn't talk much, so just ignore him. I'll be the one entertaining you tonight."
Celina tapped her foot impatiently, her annoyance displayed clearly in her expression. Despite the change of atmosphere in the room, the young man seemed strangely amused, like he had wanted this to happen. Celina didn't want to think about what that meant, but as long as he wound up dead in the end, she really didn't care all that much.
She just had to hope that Tango didn't take half as long with the introductions and theatrics as she normally did, which, given the circumstances, was unlikely. Celina just growled silently to herself. What was it with these kids and witty banter, anyway? How did it not register that it would be more efficient to just let the bullets do the talking? Why couldn't Tango be more like Whiskey and get with the damn program?
She stared down with narrowed eyes at the young man who had caused her so much trouble from her perch at the edge of the dance floor. Like a vulture, she waited eagerly for the kill, her smirk spelling death.
"I like your style," the spiky-haired punk said to Tango, "But I doubt your brother's as much of a wallflower as you make him out to be. Not with a piece like that, anyway." He motioned toward Whiskey's revolver.
Tango just smirked. "Damn straight. We make one badass team together. Doesn't mean he enjoys doing this. Me? I love this job, especially when someone like you comes along. So," she teased with a wink, "You ready to dance?"
"Ooh, I like that." The young man turned to Celina. "I like her. Where'd you find her?"
Celina said nothing.
"Jeez. Silent treatment already?" the young man asked with mocking disappointment. "I've barely gotten started."
"You can talk the talk all you want," Tango said as her ringlets beginning to hum and glow, "But when it comes down to it, the guys you fought are chumps compared to us." She slid into a wide stance, her arms parallel with the floor. Her brother readied himself as well, the barrel of his revolver pointed at the young man and his left hand hovering over the hammer.
Celina crossed her arms, her expression grim. While she was excited at the prospect of seeing her newest adversary fall, she wasn't about to get cocky. Whiskey and Tango were undoubtedly her best shot at taking him down, but she had to prepare for the worst. She nodded to the DJ, who gave her a thumbs-up in return. She looked back to the young man as he got into a fighting stance.
"Cue the music," she muttered as she lit up a cigarette.
Meanwhile, above ground, an individual wearing a dark-colored hooded jacket happened to stumble upon two well-dressed men lying on the pavement. They immediately looked around with their head on a swivel, searching the shadows for anything that could be a potential assailant. Nothing stood out.
They took note of the big yellow neon sign above the door of the building closest to men's unconscious forms, double-checked the surrounding area for threats, then checked the men's pockets to see if anything had been stolen. Finding that their wallets were still on them, they left, leaving the moon and stars to watch over the poor men once again.
He grunted with effort as he bent over backwards to avoid getting hit by another of Tango's sweeping hook kicks, her anklet painting his visage bright orange as it rushed by overhead. Then he heard the click of Whiskey's revolver's hammer being pulled, and instinctively rolled to the side. The bullet whizzed past his left ear, but he knew he wasn't safe. Not only was Tango rushing back in for her next attack, but the specially-crafted revolver bullet that he had just dodged was about to ricochet right back at him, which, at its current angle, would force him to move forward and right into Tango's effective range.
It was a perfect setup. Whiskey controlled his movements and created openings with his ricochets and superb knowledge of angles while Tango took advantage of those openings to land her devastating capoeira-style strikes, amplifying them with the Fire Dust housed in her ringlets. They had both surprised him once already, each time causing some serious damage, but now that he had figured out their game plan, he could turn the tables on them.
Knowing that the bullet coming for him was trying to make him move forward, he dodged backward, jumping into a back handspring that got him away from Tango and just barely managed to help him dodge the bullet. He did an extra handspring to gain some distance before laying down a barrage of bullets intended to keep Tango at a distance. She used her break-dancing skills to dodge his shots, but it kept her stationary long enough to give him time to make his next move.
He quickly turned and went after Whiskey, as his good aim and place in the back line was the glue that held their strategy together, but that all-too-familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back reminded him why taking him out of the picture would prove to be difficult. That didn't stop him from trying. Whiskey fired off three shots in rapid succession, two aimed for either leg, and one aimed at his head.
Seeing this, he ducked and pulled his legs into a slide, forcing Whiskey to dodge roll away in order to gain some distance. Rolling out of his slide, he quickly got to his feet and went into a full-tilt sprint to close the gap between him and Whiskey, simultaneously keeping Tango at bay with a few well-placed shots.
Before he could get close enough, however, Whiskey managed to reload and fan his revolver's hammer, sending all six bullets screaming toward him. The grouping was perfect; tight enough to ensure fatal wounding, but loose enough to make dodging all but impossible, even if he tried to jump over them. Of course, he knew that he could dodge them if he tried hard enough. With the grace of a gun-slinging acrobat, he leapt into the air and twisted his body into a spiral. One bullet grazed his cheek, one grazed his shoulder, and the rest punched good-sized holes in his coat, but he emerged relatively unscathed.
With a strained grunt of effort, he gritted his teeth and brought his right pistol up to bear despite being parallel to the ground and upside-down in mid-air, firing one perfectly-aimed shot at Whiskey's throat. Whiskey managed to jerk his body to the side in time to avoid what would have been a severe blow to his aura, but the bullet still managed to strike his shoulder, forcing him to jerk back and to the side.
That turned out to be all the opening he needed.
He landed deftly on his feet and took off running, knowing Whiskey wouldn't be fast enough to reload all six bullets in time to fire them off. As he ran, he activated his pistols' second forms, their slides shifting back and locking into place, revealing hidden secondary slides designed to protect the guns' barrels.
They were now much more than simple firearms; they were now ballistic tonfas, martial weapons with all the functionality of a pair of pistols. He inverted his grip on his weapons and pushed on, smiling despite himself. Whiskey did manage to put one bullet into the cylinder and ready himself in the time it took for him to get there, but it turned out to be too little too late.
Jumping and spinning in mid-air, he smashed the front end of his right-hand tonfa into Whiskey's jaw before pulling the trigger with his pinkie, causing Whiskey's head to snap violently to the right. Upon landing, he fired two rounds into the back of Whiskey's knees, forcing his legs out from underneath him. Before Whiskey could hit the ground, he stopped and jabbed his right pistol barrel into Whiskey's back.
The ensuing shot was powerful enough to stand Whiskey back up and force him forward into a stumble. Whiskey managed to pull himself into a dive roll, but when he got to his feet and turned around, he was staring down the barrel of a ballistic tonfa.
The young man pulled the trigger, but Whiskey managed to smack his gun away with his own revolver. So began the game of who could line up a kill shot and pull their trigger first. Tango tried her best to move closer, but the damn brat delayed her by intermittently firing off shots aimed at her feet. Every time she thought she was closing the gap, he forced her back. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head. Tango gritted her teeth and pressed on, not wanting to look helpless in front of her boss.
Celina sipped her drink carefully before taking another hit of her smoke. The fight was fairly even. Despite the overwhelming odds, the boy was managing to hold his own against her best fighters. He almost looked like he was enjoying himself. This did not sit well with her. While she couldn't imagine him winning the fight, she had to admit that her newest problem was making defeat look like a possibility in her head.
She had half a mind to step in herself, but she doubted that would make much of a difference. She gripped her glass until it felt like it would shatter in her hands, her cigarette becoming ash in her throat as it burned away.
Come on, you fuck, she thought. Just give up and make my life easier...
After failing for what felt like the millionth time to line up and execute a proper kill shot on Whiskey, he decided to make their gunfight into a brawl. Quickly retracting his right-hand ballistic tonfa, he stepped forward and delivered a lightning-fast elbow to Whiskey's jaw, following it up with an underhand point-blank shot to the chest with his left ballistic tonfa.
This forced Whiskey to stumble back, lining him up perfectly for his next attack, a swift side kick to the face. Taking the full force of the blow, Whiskey rolled backward and onto his feet before jumping into a back handspring. Upon landing, Whiskey pulled the hammer of his revolver with his thumb and made to fire, aiming for his heart. Seeing this, he brought his right tonfa up to bear, his barrel perfectly aligned with Whiskey's.
Tango, seeing all of this, rushed forward to try and catch him by surprise, but what happened next stopped her dead in her tracks.
He and Whiskey fired a single shot at the exact same time, their bullets striking each other in mid-air. His glanced off and put a new hole in the club ceiling while Whiskey's ricocheted off the floor and into a rather expensive-looking light fixture on the clear other side of the club.
Celina almost dropped her glass the instant she realized what had just happened, but managed to keep her composure. Tango blinked but quickly realized that she needed to get back into the fight, taking off running. Of course, he saw this and stopped her short with another well-aimed shot before running after her brother, silently relishing in the fact that his guns had yet to run out of the highly-compacted Dust they used as ammunition.
As he ran, he fired off several rounds at both twins with astonishing accuracy. Whiskey ducked away in time to avoid eating a bullet and being hole-punched by several more, but Tango was tripped up by the shots he fired at her feet. That was when he noticed Whiskey preparing to reload his revolver.
Of course, he had an idea how to prevent Whiskey from doing that. Just as the gray-haired gunslinger released his cylinder to start loading in bullets, he stepped to the side and fired a bullet aimed directly at the cylinder. With a resounding ring, the bullet struck the cylinder and forced it back into its original position before Whiskey could even pull a bullet off of his belt.
It was clear in Whiskey's expression that he now knew what he was trying to do, and why it was going to be a problem. That didn't stop Whiskey from fighting back, however. After dodging a flying roundhouse kick, an axe kick, and a hook kick thrown in rapid succession, Whiskey swept his legs out from underneath him before rolling away to gain distance.
He quickly got to his feet, but he was knocked down just as quickly by Tango, who had finally managed to get within striking range. The ensuing blast was enough to send him sprawling. He tried to line up a shot on Whiskey to prevent him from reloading, but was forced to pull back to avoid one of Tango's deadly kicks.
He soon realized that he wouldn't be able to hit Whiskey's gun anyway, as the gunslinger had discovered a simple solution to his problem: reloading the weapon behind his back.
This was enough to convince him that focusing his attention on Tango was the only move he had left. If he played this right, he could force Whiskey to come to him, which would be more practical than simply chasing after the gunslinger. He flipped his left-hand tonfa in his hand, his pinkie on the trigger and the slide parallel with his arm.
Tango hit him with everything she had. She opened with a hook kick and quickly flowed into a flurry of sweeps and high kicks that were too difficult to block. He managed to dodge out of the way, but he knew he didn't have long before Whiskey started picking him apart with that revolver of his.
Finally, an opening appeared. When Tango swung with a chop aimed at his neck, he blocked it with the slide of his left tonfa, stopping her momentum completely. Her eyes widened as he locked her arm in place, and she screamed in pain as he proceeded to dislocate her elbow by pushing her forearm and elbow in opposite directions.
He quickly spun around behind Tango to avoid one of Whiskey's bullets, pinning Tango's arm behind her back as he did and eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from her. Flipping his left hand tonfa around the right way, he shot Tango in the back of either knee before ducking down. She fell down onto the waiting barrels of his tonfas with a surprised gasp.
Then, with a grunt of effort, he lifted her entire body above his head and unloaded several point-blank shots into her back.
Tango screamed in pain as her aura was assaulted by what felt like thousands of hot pokers being driven into her body. Her limbs went slack the moment he stopped firing, prompting him to toss her through the air like a rag doll. Her body hit the dance floor with a dull thump. She lay there, unmoving.
Whiskey watched all of this transpire with unblinking, unwavering eyes. The moment his twin was out of harm's way, Whiskey rapidly unleashed all six of his bullets, each one aimed in a different direction.
He had to raise an eyebrow at Whiskey's marksmanship. The placement of each shot was remarkable; all six bullets ricocheted off of at least two different surfaces, and they all would have hit him at the exact same time from six different angles...had he not managed to roll back and out of the way. He quickly retaliated with a few shots aimed at Whiskey's feet, then charged after the gunslinger, hastily running and jumping over Tango's seemingly unconscious form. To his eternal surprise, he felt something grab his leg mid-jump. He quickly realized that Tango was not out for the count quite yet.
"Gotcha!" she shouted.
"Oh, shit," he muttered under his breath.
Whiskey almost immediately rushed toward him, loading in bullets as he ran. Seeing this, he quickly convinced Tango to loosen her grip on his ankle by shooting her square in the face. But he wasn't fast enough. Whiskey fired a shot at his knee, forcing him to pull his knee up to avoid it and lose his balance. With a grunt, Whiskey brought his revolver up to bear, aiming for a head shot. He managed to smack the gun aside with one of his tonfas at the last split-second, but Whiskey quickly whirled around and delivered an elbow strike faster than he could block.
While the blow wasn't enough to knock him over, it did make him flinch. This kept him off-balance and gave Whiskey enough time to center himself and fire a bullet right into his gut. His aura managed to keep the shot from punching a hole in his body, but it hurt enough to elicit a veritable roar of pain out of him as he stumbled back toward Tango.
Tango, who had managed to get to her feet and snap her right elbow back into place during his scuffle with Whiskey, was more than prepared to pick up where her brother left off. With a grunt, she stopped his momentum by crossing her arms and forcing them into his back. Her bracelets hummed to life, and with a vindictive grin, she fired off a blast of Fire Dust that sent him back toward Whiskey, who was aiming to finish him with a well-placed head shot.
Everything suddenly slowed to a crawl. He could feel Tango's Fire Dust biting into his aura, into his back, into his spine. He could see Whiskey's stone cold expression as he pulled back the hammer of his revolver with his thumb, as he pointed the barrel directly at his forehead. Every part of his body that Tango and Whiskey had bashed, blasted, and burned pulsed with pain all at once. Memories of their movements and actions moved through his mind in a flash of picture and sound. Then came the sound of Whiskey's revolver firing. A second passed for everyone else.
And in that second, he decided that enough was enough.
With a roar of conviction, he dug his toes into the tiles of the dance floor to stop himself, leapt into the air, twisted to avoid Whiskey's bullet, lined up a head shot on both Tango and Whiskey with either of his pistols while upside-down in mid-air, and pulled his triggers.
Both shots hit home, sending Tango sprawling onto her back and forcing Whiskey to stumble backward. By the time his feet touched the ground, Whiskey was already lining up his next shot, Tango already on her feet and ready to charge back in. Neither of these things happened, however. He didn't let them.
Upon landing, he unleashed a flurry of rounds at both of them, spinning like a very deadly human top. Every last one of his bullets hit their mark, knocking Whiskey's revolver out of his hand, shattering Tango's ringlets, and ultimately bringing the pair to their knees.
With one last twirl, he knelt down with his arms crossed, his guns pointed at the forehead of either twin, then fired. A sound akin to breaking glass rang out through the club as both Tango and Whiskey's auras shattered. They both slumped down onto the unforgiving dance floor, unconscious.
Smoke spilled from the barrels of his ballistic tonfas as he stood up, their top slides shifting back into place with a resounding ring. They once again resembled a pair of handguns. He wordlessly let their clips slip out and clatter to the ground, as they were, at long last, depleted. Lowering the guns to his sides, he nudged the large side pockets on his pants open to reveal several spare clips. With the press of a button, two fresh clips were lifted out of their respective pockets and into the waiting mouth of the pistols' magazines using magnets.
That done, he breathed a long sigh of relief, slipped the pistols into the double sling holster strapped to his lower back, and turned to Celina with a glint in his now matching emerald green eyes.
"Who's next?" he asked dangerously.
Celina's glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the steps she was standing on. What little remained of her cigarette followed floated down soon after, falling from her open mouth as she stared at the scene before her in stunned silence. It was hard not to question the reality of her situation, but her baser instincts took control, prompting her to make her next move in spite of that reality.
"Kill him," she ordered her men, her voice hoarse and quiet. When they hesitated, she prompted them with a loud command of, "Go!" and pointed at their target, the boy who had single-handedly done away with her two best fighters. Her men, who easily numbered in the hundreds, rushed the dance floor to carry out what now seemed to be an impossible demand.
And indeed it was.
She watched as her nemesis reached over his shoulder, pulled a strange device off of his back that she hadn't even realized was there, and proceeded to beat every last one of her henchmen to a bloody pulp with it. From what she could tell, it was a metal staff, but as the brawl went on, it became clear that there was far more to the weapon than met the eye.
It was definitely a gun, as she saw several of her men get blasted backward when he pointed either end of the staff in their direction, each time hearing what she knew was a gunshot. What exactly it was or how it worked was a mystery to her, but judging from how far her henchmen flew, it was as dangerous as its wielder was capable.
At first, he only fired one or two shots at a time, mostly to keep her men away from him. But when they pushed in as a group, he started twirling it like a baton and firing a shot off every other second. He spun it this way and that, creating a spinning wheel of steel that he could use to incapacitate everyone around him. At one point, he crouched down, balanced the staff on his back, spun it like a top, and let loose a barrage of bullets. The result was a veritable whirlwind of destruction that sent the twenty or so men that had encircled him flying overhead.
One of those unfortunate souls almost fell and hit Celina, but she managed to step aside just before that happened. The man hit the floor so hard that he couldn't find the strength to get back up. With a start, Celina realized that she was looking at Reese, her bartender. Thankfully, he was unconscious as opposed to dead, but by the looks of him, the difference was only slight.
It only took the boy minutes to cut down all of her remaining forces. In that time, he fired off so many shots that Celina began to think the ringing in her ears would never stop. Three of his spent clips joined her employees' unconscious forms on the dance floor, along with their various weapons.
The DJ, who was at that point her last hope, was shot down before he could even get the chance to pull out the massive minigun hidden under the floor of his stage. With a satisfied chuckle, the boy folded up his staff and placed it on his back.
And just like that, the fight was over. There was officially no one left in the Sundance Club who could stop the strange young man, and as he turned to Celina, she thought she might faint. She held her ground, however, biting her lip and clenching her fists in frustration and fear as he approached.
To her surprise, he didn't say anything or move to hit her. Instead, he simply held out a gloved hand. A flat black computer chip rested in his palm, almost invisible against the black of his glove. Celina looked up into his eyes, and was stunned to see that his eyes were once again mismatched. One brown and one green, just as they had been when she had first met him.
She thought back to when both of his eyes had been green, which hadn't been that long ago, and couldn't help but wonder what it could all mean. His eyes were serious, and when he nodded toward the chip, she only hesitated for a moment before taking it from him.
With that done, he shot her a grin and said, "Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Harvok," then walked right past her on his way to the club's exit.
She watched him walk through the double automatic sliding doors to make sure he was gone before taking a closer look at the chip. It looked like a chip that would fit into her scroll's data slot. Upon pulling her scroll out of her pocket and comparing the size of the chip and the size of the slot, she discovered that she was right. Of course, she couldn't begin to imagine what was on the chip, or what it meant for her or her business.
One thing was for sure: whoever that young man was, he was no cop. That, and that she needed a drink.
No, several drinks.
Author's Note: I must apologize for how long this prologue is, especially because it is just a prologue. Hopefully, the blood, sweat and tears I put into this is evident in the writing, because it took a damn long time to finalize. I also really wanted to showcase what this character is capable of. Don't worry, I can promise you that the next prologue won't be nearly as long as this one. If it were, I don't know what I'd do. But it won't be, which is good for you and me. It's also going to break new ground, as I'm planning on adopting a very different writing style. All in all, I think it'll be a breath of fresh air.
Here's to the next chapter!