Chapter 7: West Fjord

Unlike his colleague who, at that very moment, was taking the high road, October traveled the lower one, silently clearing a path through the streets of western Brooklyn. He had also been walking without rest for hours, delving into increasingly shadier areas of the district, until only the rare soul passed him by. This suited him quite fine; he preferred examining people from afar than mingling in their midst.

The neighborhood he was currently traversing was the picture of poverty, with dirty roads and cramped apartments with coats of peeling paint. At least he could move freely; in the same area of Sector-1, the neighborhood was encased in Quarantine Amber.

The Witness turned the corner and longed the brick buildings to his side as he progressed down the hill. The Proxies had determined the location of the only North Woods Group outpost in Brooklyn, centered somewhere in the outskirts of the neighborhood, which he was now proceeded towards, following the red dot on his MultiCell. On a street corner, he saw the fences that enclosed the large scrapyard, his final destination. With the aid of his specs, he zoomed in on the two-story building, where a large billboard bearing the words "Westford Scrap Ltd" was affixed to the building's frontal face.

He sheathed his binoculars and crossed the threshold of the gate. The yard was a maze of old and derelict cars, piled up into great rusted mountains that towered high. October weaved through the dirt valleys they bored, observing the warehouse from a distance. There were a couple of men keeping watch near the entrance, glowing hot white in the thermal lens of the suited man's specs. They spoke in raucous voices, trying to convince the other of the proper way in which to catch bass.

One of the men was showing off his preferred reeling method to his friend when a shot was fired. He looked over, only to see that his comrade had been knocked back by some sort of blast. He immediately drew his own weapon, a sleek Mini-Uzi, which he brandied back and forth across the yard, searching for the source of danger. He didn't have to look for long. The guard fell to the ground, the last thing he ever saw before dying being a suited man sporting a fedora and briefcase.

It was strange to eliminate a human himself. Usually, the Witnesses had the Hands tend to such matters, assassins under their employ who would take out targets when necessary. The suspension of the Non-Interference Protocol gave October the authority to do so himself, which was probably for the best, seeing as these NWG agents were a possible threat to the Beacon. Even so, looking down upon the lifeless bodies, he had a certain uncomfortable sensation he could not name.

The Witness did not linger long. He entered the door, seeing what awaited him on the other side. It was dark, and the light that was filtered through the grimy windows highlighted the swirling dust that clung to the air. A layer of filth covered every surface of the room. The walls were cracked in some places, and rubble scattered the dainty floors. For all intents and purposes, the whole place appeared to be abandoned. But October knew that wasn't the case. Pistol at his side, he ventured forth into the obscure halls of the building.

The first floor was empty, for the most part; he encountered a few men here and there, all of whom were dealt a swift and fatal blow, never knowing what hit them. He deduced the rest were on the second floor. One of them spotted October as he climbed up a stairwell; he was subdued before he could speak. As for his associate who came to investigate the source of the commotion, he managed to evade the bright burst of energy as it flew past his head and busting a sizable hole in the wall behind him.

October chased the fleeing man as he stumbled down the corridor, spraying the Witness with bullets when he wasn't dodging energy blasts. Still, the suited man pressed on, brushing the bullets out of his way as one would do with pestering flies, foreseeing their trajectory and moving his hand accordingly. The NWG operative was quite a nimble individual, vanishing around the next turn just as October would fire, leaving a scorched ring where his body should have been. The man stumbled into a large room, the heart of the NWG outpost.

"There's one of them... in the building...He's coming..." he panted, before being propelled forward by a bright blast, the Witness standing at the door right behind him.

The group of men in the room were shocked, frozen in place. It was only when October picked off another operative when they came to their senses and took cover behind overturned tables and large machinery. They were all firing in October's direction, but he was too fast for them, taking cover behind some crates as he fired back. The men were confused by their target's erratic movements; first he was in front of them, then to their left, then again behind them. The ability to move at a faster temporal rate was valuable asset on the battlefield; the Witness held a significant advantage despite being outnumbered by almost a dozen opponents.

"I'm going to get the Suppressor!" shouted one. "Cover me!"

October saw one of the men break away from the main group, running towards the back of the building. He was going to pursue him, but his path was barred by a storm of metal bullets and energy pulses; one bullet caressed his left cheekbone. He immediately caught himself and focused on the group of assailants, reproaching his momentary lapse in focus.

He hid behind a pillar, momentarily evading the onslaught. When the coast was clear, he marched forward, altering his temporal flow rate to move at great speeds. As he sped up, his subjective perception of time slowed down, things slowing to a crawl. Now that they were moving in slow-motion, they were much easier to pick off, and October was able to stand and shoot at them one by one.

He turned to the fourth assailant, where he noticed the man from before, standing some distance behind; he was in the process of activating the device, holding it forward like a remote, his thumb inching toward the button.

October decided to fire at him instead. He shifted his aim and readied to fire. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing came out.

It also occurred to him that subjective time had resumed its regular flow.

Seeing as the men were now aware of the Witness, they directed their attention to him, forcing October to take cover behind an industrial perforator. He almost stumbled over, much to his surprise; his head was light, and his body felt strange, weak. He poked his head out to fire at the enemy, but once more, the Pulse Pistol was not responding. More alarming was that the humans no longer had temporal precursors, and October found himself incapable of altering his temporal rate or even shifting through the RLTB.

Was the device suppressing his abilities? How could they possibly have devised such technology?

The remaining NWG agents continued to fire, with the device-wielding man barking orders.

"Don't shoot to kill! I want him alive!"

At that, they switched tactics, fanning out to try and surround their target. With his weapon now ineffective, October sheathed it, ran for the nearest fallen foe – or stumbled awkwardly, rather, for his limbs felt like lead – and took the deceased's firearm, shooting left and right with terrible accuracy as he stumbled back, trying to distance himself.

The others ducked and fired the periodic shot to keep the Witness on his toes as they formed a canvas down the area. The suited man was beginning to feel a bit nauseated and disoriented. Was this what it was to be a human, bereft of all the capabilities inherent to a Witness? Buried beneath his preoccupations, there was a passing thought that it was unpleasant to be so limited.

He saw something entering his field of vision. October swung his arm to shoot at him, but the man caught it, and October managed to fire two rounds toward the ceiling before he could no longer endure the twisting of his wrist. Unarmed, the Witness attempted to drive his free arm into his attacker's abdomen, but the man got in close and delivered a knee to October's gut, knocking the wind from him. The NWG agent then dealt the suited man a roaring uppercut, knocking off his fedora and sending him stumbling into the arms of another agent, who caught him and locked his arms, holding the Witness in place.

October jerked in vain, unable to set himself free. The rest of the NWG crew stood by as his attacker bashed his head with three successive hooks, upon which the Witness was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. The side of his face was on fire. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he was incapable of tasting it. And his vision was blurry, masked by a clear liquid seeping from atrophied lachrymal ducts.

John Mosley, Suppressor in hand, stopped before the defeated Witness, eyeing his impossible technology with a triumphant smirk. October struggled to speak, having trouble controlling his breathing.

"What...what have you done... to me?"

On Mosley's flicking of the wrist, two his subordinates raised October to his feet, holding him upright, which the Witness was only barely able to do. Mosley approached, using the Suppressor's tip to raise October's chin, staring at the sweating, hairless being with the drowsy expression.

"Nothing permanent, I promise," he answered. "Though if you're finding this uncomfortable, I'm afraid it only gets worse from here."

Mosley took a step back before delivering a vicious blow to the brow, sending his head snapping to the side, disorienting the suited man to the point where he didn't even see the second fist coming.

As the world succumbed to darkness, October knew no more.