Chapter Summary:
A deal is struck.
Prez's week had been strange.
Monarch had been out doing…something…for the last day or so. He'd been even more reclusive than usual recently. He'd never really been a loud guy, but now he barely spoke to anyone, even to Mick and Dip—his closest friends, as far as she could tell.
The other two members of Hitman had also been quite busy lately. Dip was dealing with some family-related issue, apparently, and Comic seemed to be helping him with whatever it was.
This left Prez very, very bored. So in the absence of anything better to do, Prez had ended up continuing to visit Trigger pretty much daily. He clearly needed somebody that he could talk to, and so did she. It just kind of worked out, in a weird way.
Funnily enough, though, they didn't actually end up talking that much. Neither of them were huge fans of small talk, so sometimes they'd just sit there for hours, the silence saying whatever they didn't have to words for. Occasionally, said silence would be broken by laughter when Prez showed him something funny she'd found on Gründergram or NeuTok, but for the most part it was just them sitting together. It was…kind of nice, actually.
She hadn't actually told him about her plan to get him out of there yet—she'd kind of wanted it to be a surprise.
However, this "secret" plan had ceased to be secret to the rest of her coworkers rather quickly, which…was actually a good thing, in hindsight.
Everyone in Hitman Team already knew the general story of what had happened last week—she and Monarch had found a crashed jet in the wild, pulled out some weird albino dude clinging to life, et cetera, et cetera. And she hadn't exactly been trying very hard to hide what she was trying to do for Trigger, so it wasn't much of a surprise when Comic had accidentally found such ingenious searches as "reasonably priced prosthetics" in her browsing history and put two and two together. (In her defense, she'd had to start somewhere.)
She'd ended up spilling the beans almost immediately—some combination of stress and the sheer amount of money she'd need to get her hands on anything good enough to let Trigger fly again gave her loose lips that day.
Comic had sighed, noting that Prez was "way too nice for her own good," but she'd see if anyone else would be interested in pitching in.
Prez was only actually surprised when Kaiser of all people became interested in her little scheme.
"What did he look like?" Had been the first thing out of Kaiser's mouth as he approached her that day.
Prez had looked up in surprise. "What do you-?"
"The pilot you found. What. Did. He. Look. Like?" He'd demanded again, cutting her off before she could even finish the question. Prez wasn't sure she liked the gleam in her boss's eyes as she described him, or the way that he sat there for several minutes, pondering what she could only describe as "Kaiser things" from his half-coherent muttering.
Finally, he'd looked her dead in the eye. "Robin. The next time you go to visit him, take me with you."
…Ah, shit.
She'd just dragged Trigger into something weird, hadn't she?
Ŕ̷̛̜͉͖̈͜ẻ̷͚͎̺̲͊͑ç̸͖͈̰̈́̑̓a̸̡͂l̵̛̯͔͍̬̽ǐ̴͈̖͍̞ḅ̷̢̼̫͛̃́r̶͊ͅá̶̰̪̪̪t̷͚̻́͘̚i̶̛͚ö̷̬̮̊͠ṉ̷̡̇ ̸̨̖̼͔́̌̏͠t̶̲̋͛̂̊o̴̼̓̇ ̵̘̖̈́h̸̦̱̔̇ŏ̵̗͙̞̩s̷̬̈͠ť̷̤̩̈̈́͠'̵̧͖̇͜s̶̲̺͇͂̂̀͝ ̷̖̼͕͇͛̄s̴͍͂̓p̴͍̀̓̚ë̶̖c̸̗̹̀̕į̸̅f̵̛͎̪̞̍̌i̵̹͑̋͝c̷̠̭̅ͅa̵̼͖̺͋t̴̳̠͇́̈̽i̸̯̰͖͒o̸̝̬̐͒̒̕n̶̤͘s̷̝͒ ̷̳͑͌͋̋ạ̶͍̎t̶̨̞̓ ̴̳͗4̵̧̹̺͐5̸̛̻̭̼̈́̐̿͜%̷̡̜͍̄͝ ̶̦͚͇̖͊c̸͎̱̟̎͊ȏ̴̼̥͜m̵̡͈̾p̷̡̭̠̩̂͊̇̎l̵̤̄̽̈̅e̵̫̪̲̽t̴̩̫̅̓͝į̸͐͊͂o̵̗͐͠n̷͍̫͆̓͘.̷͙̘̎̑̿.̵̧̳̩̗͗̒͘͝.̶͚̝͖͗̅̄
Something in the room was buzzing, and Trigger couldn't figure out where the hell it was coming from.
There weren't any fans in the room, or any other obvious source, and yet this horrible noise seemed to persist in the back of his head. No matter where he moved, it never seemed to change in volume, as if it was coming from inside his own head.
Occasionally the sound would waver into different tones, or fluctuate in such a way that it almost sounded like a quiet murmur—as if someone was trying to speak to him from very far away.
I̷̙̤̼̞̋ ̶̛̺̫̪̐̍d̶̦̙̅͗ǫ̶̬͓̂̃́n̵̺̖̭̿͊̈́'̷̑͆͑̈́͜ṭ̵̎̋̏͋ ̴͎̲̃̌ŭ̷͈̞̈́͑n̸͎͊̂̔d̶̢̤̗̉ḛ̴̀ṙ̶̛̙͚͂̕s̵̪̄͑t̵̹̎a̵͙̠͑̍̇͐n̸͔̘̹̏ͅḍ̵̮̰̱̆̇̍̄.̸̧͉̯͗.̷̞̲͊̀̓̔.̶̰̽́W̴̠̍h̶̤̿y̵̹̥͗̽̋̓ ̵̪̖̋͌͝i̵̮̼͓͉̊̀̒͂ś̴̻̝̿̌̚͜ͅ ̴̧͕̈́͂̐i̷͚͙̞̎̽ṫ̵͉͚̽ ̸̠́̇s̸̙̘͓̥̿̽̅o̸̗̿̐͑͝ ̷̠̗̣͓̌̈̽̕d̴͓̭̫͚̈́͌͝i̸̙̗̊͝f̸̜̹̼̿̊f̸̜̒ͅi̸̫͇͉͂c̸͚̋ũ̶͔l̴̩͖̚͝͠t̴̨͓̣̹̃ ̷̟̯̳͓̌t̷͉͙̹̒͛o̵̠̲̫̺͊̑̌͘ ̴̜͔͐̚ş̷̮̽̎͐͜p̵̜̟̺͝e̵̜͊͋͝͠ȁ̴̬̤̈́̂k̵̖̮̅͜ ̴̰̱͕͓͒́̀t̶͈̱͕̻̔́͠ơ̵̳̆͗̐͜ ̸̨͎͔͠y̴̢̝͋̅̄̇õ̶̢̘͝ù̴̮̣͔͗͗̃?̷̩̘̥̊͜ ̷̛͇̈͝I̷̡͍͎̋̈́'̵̲̅̅͝m̸̨̘̜̥͊̓̊ ̸̬̀͌r̶͉̒ĭ̴̲͙̝͕̌g̸͇͛̎͑͝h̸͙͓̙̲͊t̶͕̬̾ ̴̡̘̪͛͂̌h̷͓̃̈́e̵̢͔̻̋͐̒̋ṛ̴̀̊e̸̥̞͍̻̐.̴̮̮̼̃͆̆.̷͖͆̾̆.̴̧͇̗̂̋W̶̢̢̪͕̓h̴̗̫̼̅͊̋͐ý̸͙ ̵̥́č̷͎̃ą̸̨̨̛̺͛n̵͇̥̓̀'̸̘͌͌̌t̵͚́̇̉ ̶͍͍̲̾̔y̶̖̅̀̋͝ò̶̯͈͖͝u̵͎͗̽̈́̾ͅ ̸̹̪̤̃̎͗̄h̴̲̊͝e̸̙̯̐͊̂̇ä̷̮̹̼̣́̀̓͌r̸̭̩̋̈̋ ̴̧̘̳̮̅m̵͙͇͛ẻ̵̛̱̬̹͋?̶̘̄
He'd been assured that it was probably a temporary effect of the concussion he'd recieved during the fall, but he wasn't so sure…Maybe he was finally going crazy. It definitely felt like he was—he was pretty sure Prez's visits were the only thing keeping him from going completely off the deep end right now.
…Prez…
They'd definitely gotten off on the wrong foot when they had first met…well, actually, it was the second time they'd met, but he'd barely been conscious the first time, so he wasn't sure that counted. It had been a surprise, then, when she came back the day after they'd first spoken, with a gleam of something like determination in her eyes. Determination to do what, he wasn't sure, but determination nonetheless. And then she'd shown up the next day. And the next.
He'd mostly just tolerated her presence at first; she was a bit loud and belligerent, and occasionally she managed to make him feel even worse despite good intentions, but whether it was from curiosity or from the lack of anyone else he felt like he could talk to, she'd started to grow on him. At the very least, she never tried to force him to talk out loud like a lot of people who had tried to "help" him in the past so often did.
He wasn't sure he could trust her, but it was nice to have someone around who just…understood, and didn't judge him for it. Even his strange "family" of convicts and outcasts had only really been able to do that after knowing him for years.
The staff had seemingly given up on getting him to talk to them out loud, but now that he'd gathered his wits a bit more he was trying to get the message across in other ways. He'd at least been able to answer yes-or-no questions, and fill out the papers they'd given him (he thanked whatever powers there were for making him left-handed), but even now, when he was actually trying to cooperate, his tongue betrayed him.
He…didn't know why he was struggling to speak so much, actually. Sure, he'd been terrified of doctors as a kid, but that was decades ago (and admittedly, he'd been terrified of everyone as a kid, so that didn't really narrow things down.) He hadn't had this much trouble speaking in at least twenty years. Why was he suddenly backsliding like this? There had to be a reason, something that had caused his anxiety to suddenly spike like this, but even when he tried his hardest to remember the last few weeks, he couldn't remember anything about what had happened.
The buzzing certainly wasn't helping, either. It seemed to grow louder whenever he tried to really focus on anything, forcing his train of thought back into the mess it currently was. Occasionally, he'd try to power through it anyways, only for it to hum louder and louder until it made him feel ill just from listening to it.
.̵̩̈́͂͝.̷̹̍͊.̵̠̄̈́͠I̴͖̎̌'̷͇͈̇m̶͔̙̺̑͗̋ ̵̧͓̍͒s̸̡͖̃ͅo̷̹͎͋͆͑ŗ̵͗̽r̶̲͛̑͝y̵͊̊ͅ.̶̙̤͓̓ ̵͇̲̬͒Ḯ̷̛͚̿'̵͉̦̓̒͂m̷̱͉͔̊̅ ̴̜̗͂̔̃t̴͖͎̐̃r̵̩̬͂͛y̷̢̘̭̌̍̅i̵͕͝ņ̵̳̺͂́ǧ̷̫̝͉ ̷̢͑͘t̸̺̀ȏ̷͔͠ ̴̙̦̐͑͘f̷͍͚̚ĩ̸̺̊͝x̴̞̦̺̄̓̅ ̴̻̹͗̌ț̴͇̃͗͝ḧ̶̹́͗͠ë̸́͗͆ͅ ̷͖̥̤̂̾͝i̵͉̱̚ń̶͎͕͉ṫ̷̕̚ͅȅ̸̩̜͖͛̔ŗ̴̛̻͊f̷͍̟̰͂ȅ̶̫̥̓r̸͔̠̹͑͆e̵̥͑̈́ͅn̷̰̼̰̾͠c̶͖̮̽͛ĕ̴̞̺͊,̴̘̥̆ ̸͇́̈́b̷͚̰̒̈́u̸̪͌͆̿t̴̹̬̎͆͗.̶͓͌̇͒.̴̨͙̓.̵̧̘̯̀͝
He winced slightly as the infuriating noise picked up in volume again. So help me Dust Mother, when I figure out where that noise is coming from—
This train of thought was interrupted by footsteps from outside.
Shit.
He didn't want any of the staff to see him in pain right now. There would be more sidelong glances, more pitying looks, more fucking questions…
F̸͉̜̠̑o̶̢̫͇̕o̶̗̾t̶̠̒̉̋͜s̶͉̩͕͌t̵̙͑̒͒ȇ̴͍̟̯̈́p̵̛͔̩ͅs̸̪̪̪͠ ̶̳̺̰̇̓â̵̬̟̕r̷͚͓̩̈́̐̈e̶̹̽ ̴̦̬́͘͝ͅa̴͍̙͗̈́ř̶ͅr̵͖̊͝ḧ̵̯̘̤́y̶̥͕̆̉̕t̸͔̘̣̎̒h̸̩̍̄͘ḿ̸̟̥̈́͝ï̷͕̦c̷̳̝̞̊̇͒.̶͚͘ ̵͖̮̦͐́M̶͇̱̭͗͊͌u̵̗̇͆l̶̺̺͓̂̀t̵̥̅i̵̱͍̱͌p̴̙̙̥̍l̵͓̎e̸̿̉͜ ̵̛͕̼͗̒e̷̗͆̅͝n̷̪̉͝t̴̞͉̬̀i̷̮̋̀t̵͖̰̉̈́͆ͅî̴̫̗͐e̷̡̦̋͆s̷̢͈͂̇ ̷̭̂̍ȃ̴̭̬͇̚p̸̱͔̟͛̊p̸̧̭͂̄r̴͔̲̐̉ó̶̱a̷̟̭̖̒c̵̛̤̣͉̒̌ḩ̴̟̰̈i̴̢̧̠͐̑͆ń̴̥̘̥ḡ̸͈̝͌.̴̨͈̐̓̈́.̷̗̭͗̕͠.̵̛̪͔͗g̶̻͒͘ͅǐ̴̼̼͐v̸͔̥̲̄͛̚e̸͖̳̩͐n̷̖̊ ̸̛͙̿ḥ̶̝̾̏̕ͅo̷̩̐s̴̡͓̈̀̿t̵̙̰̂'̸̭̊̕ş̸͠ ̵̃̽ͅc̷̠̦̆̇͛͜ù̸͉̫͜ṟ̴́̀͆͜ŕ̷̞̰̼e̵̻̦̲̾n̵͎̂̂͝t̴̠̯̣͊͗ ̷͕̦͇̍̾c̸̠͓̄̋͋ỏ̶̦́ñ̶̢d̸͉̤̎̒̋ị̵̹̰̍̊̏ẗ̴̡̹̮́͊̀i̶͈̭̐̐̇o̶̡̝͇̔̓ň̶̹̈́̓,̷̡̜̿͐̂͜ ̴͙̮̭̐s̷̮̒h̷̺̑̂o̸̩͕̘̓ư̴̱̋l̷̩̜̠̓̀͘d̷̰͈̗̀͂ ̵̺̈́͘t̴̜͎̐̾ḩ̴͉̒͘e̸̮̼̊ ̵͚̕e̵͔̟̎̿n̷͍̄̋t̶̻̖̕ǐ̴͓̾̌t̸̲̮̀͗̀i̵̠̭̔̀e̶̛͉͌s̸̻͇̍̔̏ ̶̛̙̻̘͛͠i̴͔͘͝͠n̶͚͍̊̂ ̵̝̣̬̄q̸̨̦̀̃̕ṳ̷͐̌̈e̵̹̽̎ś̶͚͝t̵̳͎͆i̸̛̺̞͔͂͝ǫ̷̠̈n̷̮͝ ̷̳͆b̵͔͈̈́̾e̵͕̭̮͑̅ ̴͖͝h̵̛̩͇͉͑̊ŏ̸̘́s̵̭̏̃̇t̸͕̓i̸͆̓̕ͅl̷̻̺̈́ĕ̶̡͇̰̃͛,̵͍͑̌̈́ ̷̡̱̆̂͘ơ̷̧͇̩͌͝ū̵͈r̴̛͚͂̉ ̵̨̱̣͐č̷͙͒̚ḧ̵̰̜͙́͝a̷͓̰̹̅n̸̡̳̒͘c̶̛̲̥̃͊ę̷͚̋͆̍ͅs̷̪̀̑ ̸͙̕o̷͎̎ḟ̵͎͗ ̶̫̙͑s̶̙͊̈́u̶̙̽̎͘ṙ̶̯̗̱v̵̙̏̈́̅ḭ̴̩͓͂v̵̡͈̳͗̌͝ā̴̰̖̝l̷̬̾ ̶͕͙͚̑̾̂w̸̧̘̪̔̆o̸͈̊̇̾u̶̧͓͛̉͠ľ̸͎̂͜d̶̡̹̈̄͘ ̸̻̀͗͜b̸̫͗ȩ̷͎̩̉̿͛ ̸̪͆̔l̶̞͕̫̇̋́è̸̞̂̌s̴̬̑͆͘s̵̗̏̈́ ̴͔̜̹̅t̸̑ͅh̶͍̣̻͗ḁ̵̧̞̓͌̾ǹ̷̤̠̳̽̑ ̷̖̝͇̑̀̈o̴͎͘͝n̷̮̤̬̽͠ë̶͇ ̷̭͇̈́͋p̸̞̤̩͊̔̏ĕ̴̠r̴͕̓͜c̷̟͒e̷̱͂̐͠n̷̡͇̖͐̅͝t̶͈͚̜́̈͝.̷͚̣̈́̅
He breathed a sign of relief when he saw exactly who was poking her head through the door.
"Yo." Prez waved awkwardly at him. He waved back, a little confused.
This was…odd. Most of the time Prez was content to kind of just barge into the room with barely any pleasantries. This actually worked just fine for him, as he'd never been the biggest fan of idle talk, let alone tiptoeing around subjects.
She was definitely up to something.
She sighed. "…Dammit, I can't hide anything from you, can I?"
Alright, time for the direct approach.
"Just spit it out," he suggested. He then did a double take when she actually spit out a piece of gum into the nearest trash can. That…hadn't been what he'd meant, but okay…?
"Hey, I thought it was pretty funny." She huffed in mock indignance.
…Okay, so it was time for a more direct approach. "You're tiptoeing around the conversation."
"I'll have you know I'm standing flat on my feet right now, thank you very much."
He groaned. "Is this my punishment for something?" Noticing her smirk, he cut her off before she could make another horribly lame pun with a flat "no."
Prez sighed. "Okay, fine, I brought a plus-one this time. Can I let him in, or are you gonna try to bite me if I do?"
That…depended on several factors, but he was about eighty-five percent sure he wouldn't have to.
"…Wait, that was a joke. You'd actually try to bite me?"
He didn't really have many other means of attack at the moment, so yes. Biting people was absolutely on the table right now.
"…You know, sometimes I'm not sure I want to know what goes through your head…ugh, whatever. Come on in, boss."
Trigger blinked. Boss?
The "boss" in question walked in before he could question this further. He was of average height, with short crew-cut black hair and a well-kept beard.
He'd always kind of wanted a beard like that, but some genetic quirk had decided to make his fashion choices for him and given him leucism. Because of this, he'd always ended up looking like some kind of wizard whenever he tried to grow one…which was kind of funny when he was still a part of Mage Squadron, but became increasingly depressing the older he got.
Damn it, Trigger, stop thinking about the facial hair! He chided himself when he noticed Prez trying not to laugh.
"Good afternoon," the man greeted him. Trigger took note of his accent. It was pretty slight, to the point where he might not have noticed it at all were it not one that he was quite familiar with—Belkan, without a doubt.
He wasn't sure whether to consider that a good thing or a bad thing. Belkan antics had caused him a fair bit of trouble in the past—the man who'd designed the twin drones Hugin and Munin had been one, after all. On the other hand, though, Tabloid was Belkan by blood and he'd bailed Trigger out of more bad situations than he could count. And Tabloid wouldn't even be the only one who'd helped him out before, either…on second thought, he'd actually had more positive experiences with people from the maligned country than negative ones. Maybe the stereotype didn't really hold up anymore.
Belkan or not, though, at least he wasn't giving him one of those pitying looks. This guy was clearly all business.
"…Hmm…you'll do."
What did that mean? He looked over at Prez, who just shrugged, apparently equally confused.
The man coughed slightly. "Sorry. It seems like I've gotten ahead of myself. The name's Arnold Frenken, though depending on what decisions you make today, you might be calling me Kaiser fairly soon instead. Robin here is under my employ—that's how I first learned about your existence, and your…predicament."
P̸̰̀̋̋ͅṟ̵̏̈̃̾ḛ̶̗͗͑d̴̫̏͋́i̷̬͚̤̽ç̶̛̙̑̓͋t̴̜̜̉͒̿i̴̫̐̔̾̕ò̵̲͉̤̫͝n̶͓͔̑:̷̭͊̌ ̷̭͒̎̌t̴̢̖̘̯̾̆h̴̞̟̖͂̐̌͝ͅi̴͚̲̱̍s̶̪͇̬̣̈̽ ̸̖͊ē̶̬͉̜͕̇̓͝n̴̝̻̖̩͂t̷͍̰͇̐̐ì̸͕̖͓̐̈͠t̷̨͌́y̷̟͖͋͝ ̴̢͓̦̃̃́̆w̷͔̣̠͎̓̄͌ä̷͎̜̊ṅ̵͉̩̮̻̈́t̴̨̻̟̾̍͘͝s̷̨̳̙̆ ̴͙̬̹͖̑s̵͈͍̬̎͝ò̷̠͗m̴̥̞͎͌̍e̸̫͓̋t̶̙͎̞̐́͜ḥ̸̯̉͂ȉ̴̡̦͎̗n̸̺͓̹̙̈̄̍ǵ̷͔̙͂͝ ̸̣͕̽̃͂f̸̛̣̞̞͗͂̚ȓ̴̥͈̀͘ọ̷͌m̸̪̦̊̕ ̷̼̪̋̀̊́͜ý̸͈̣̹̚ơ̶͖̙u̵͚̞̲͐͝.̷̼̣̊̓ ̴̲̲̮̝̑̀
"I would like to propose a deal."
Oh, great. So he was being sold something now.
"…Look, the point is, I own a company. I'm...sure you can guess what we do, but suffice it to say that I have amassed quite a lot of money from this venture. Enough to get you back on your feet. Back in the air, even, if you should choose to accept."
Okay, now he had Trigger's attention. He looked up—just enough of a gesture to show that he was listening. Seeming to notice this, "Kaiser" continued.
"I'm willing to pay for the highest-quality replacements possible for your arm and leg—I could give you access to cybernetics that haven't even been shown to the public yet. However, there would be a condition for this."
"…Of course. Nothing comes free from the rich."
Kaiser chuckled. "So you do speak! Naturally. What I want in return is for you to help bring me glory. You'd be employed by Sicario, working off your debt to me until every dollar I spend on this is in my pockets again."
Trigger noticed an obvious flaw in this plan. "And what's stopping me from just running off once I can run? Or…you know, dying before I pay you off?"
"I wouldn't try running. You wouldn't get very far," the man told him as casually as he would say the time of day. "As for dying…I'm gambling on this, of course, but considering we're talking right now, I don't think you're the type to die so easily. Would I be wrong?"
"…Wait, hold on a minute." Prez finally spoke up again. "I mean, he's a great guy and all, but…you want him to become a merc? The former Peacekeeper?"
"Yes," The answer came. "There used to be quite a lot of talent among the Peacekeeper forces, before the corporate world began snatching them all up. I have a hunch that our friend here might be more capable than lets on.
That was startlingly close to the truth. People did tend to underestimate him, what with his quiet nature and his...eccentricities. It was actually kind of unsettling to have someone see through him that quickly…he hoped this guy didn't know anything more about him than
"So," Kaiser continued. "What do you say? Will you stay trapped here, or will you help me find glory in the sky?"
B̶̙̰̫̏͘͜e̸̥͗͂͑ ̸̢͈̺͋͌c̸͓̬̮̋̈́́̇a̸̞̜̗̾̋r̷̡̃̆͑̏ẽ̶̬f̵̖̩̀ù̷̘͐l̵̺̼̣̀̃͘ ̷̨͙͓͂͐̈́w̸̱̹͈̆͑h̵̫̲̤͎̍͌̽͘a̵̬͂͝ṯ̶̨̅̚ ̶̹̙̈́̇̄y̸̤͉̠̌͌o̵̦͗͌̾̀ù̷̫͒ ̶̣̄̂c̵̼̘̏̌̃h̷̨̗̪̼̀̔̂̓o̴̢̥̔͝o̶̼͊ș̵̗̬͖̉e̴̢̦͂͋̇̀ ̶̛̥͌́̆t̶̥̘̘̦͆̉̚o̶̡͂͝ ̸͍̈́͑̆̃d̴̡̬͔̃̆o̵̩͔͍̎̑,̸̨̭̬͉̀͗ ̸̭̅̈́͛̇F̷͖̊̊ā̷̜̯̀̈́t̵̖̘́h̷̜̋͛e̶̞͔͆r̴̼̮͠͝.̸̮̯̿
Trigger was wary of this man now, but…when he thought about his other options, he realized that there really were none. Anything else would essentially be death. He'd be going back to his life before the sky. A life where nothing he did mattered. A life where he'd barely even existed…
He took the proffered hand. Kaiser hadn't been asking him a question. He was offering him an answer, the only answer.
And that answer was "yes."
Interlude: The King's Steed, Part II
Monarch entered the building with some apprehension. It didn't seem like anyone was here…he hadn't noticed any cars parked outside, at least.
The lights were out, and it was already getting dark. Had he come to the wrong address? Or maybe he'd gotten the date wrong…he really hoped the latter wasn't the case. He'd taken a flight all the way over to Usea for this, damn it…
C'mon, you old hag, where are you…?
He was really starting to regret not having brought his phone. He hadn't even realized he'd forgotten it until he was already mid-flight, at which point it was too late to go back for it. He'd at least had the foresight to bring his laptop, so he wasn't totally cut off from the outside world, but it was awfully cumbersome to walk around with it in his arms, and there wasn't really anywhere to sit in here while he waited—
"You showed up."
Monarch whirled around, balling up his fists in preparation for a fight, only to pause as the scarred old woman he'd met at the auction suddenly entered his view. How long had she been there? How had he not heard her? How did she even get here?
The old lady laughed. "Oh, did I startle you? I do tend to move rather quietly…no need to have a heart attack over little old me, though."
Monarch sighed, letting his stance drop. He…really couldn't tell if she was doing this on purpose or not.
"Well, if you're ready to see the goods, then I'd say the goods are definitely ready to see you," she said, moving through a door with surprising speed for someone her age. "Right this way, merc-boy!"
She led him into a much larger room, a more proper-looking hangar this time. Towards the back stood two planes, concealed under tarps.
"This one," she said, motioning to the machines in question, "used to belong to an old friend of mine up until a year ago, when he finally sold it to me. He was a reckless bastard—still can't believe he went into that mess in Skully all on his own—but he was a damned genius when it came to taking care of and modding machines. Hell, I think he still machines custom parts…If he hadn't been so adamant on risking his life in the sky, I imagine he would've made an even bigger fortune designing aircraft."
"Help me out a bit here, will you?" she asked as she began pulling the tarp off of one. Monarch complied, and with their combined strength it was quickly pulled off to reveal…an F-22? Wait, was it? It looked…off.
It took a few moments to realize that this was not, in fact, a normal F-22. In certain places, the body had clearly been altered pretty heavily, looking like it had been turned into some sort of chimera with parts from a YF-23.
Still, whatever kind of abomination he was looking at, it was in great shape. It had clearly been maintained regularly over the years, and whoever had done so obviously loved this thing to death.
"It's a nice piece…does it have COFFIN functionality?" He asked.
"First-gen only. This one's pretty old, but the previous owner was able to wire together a rudimentary COFFIN system for it. Looks a bit weird if you ask me, but apparently it works just fine. He really didn't want to abandon this thing."
Why did he decide to part with it, then?
He was curious about something, though…
"What's under the other tarp?" He asked. He'd happily take the Raptor off her hands in nothing else caught his eye, but he wasn't a fool. Taking the first deal you saw without looking at anything else was a newbie mistake. And there was also the issue of morbidity—he wasn't a very superstitious man, but buying a Raptor so seen after seeing someone nearly die inside on felt like he was ignoring some sort of omen.
For the first time ever, she actually looked pensive at the question. "What's under there…isn't for sale. Some things are better left forgotten." The feral grin quickly returned. "Surely you understand, being what you are."
Panic rose in Monarch's chest. How much did she know? Damn it, he needed to get out of here…
"Where do you want the money sent to?" He asked, trying to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. Already, thoughts of precautions he'd have to take were flooding his mind. He'd need to have someone check the Raptor as soon as it arrived to make sure it hadn't been sabotaged, he'd have to check the people checking the Raptor to make sure they hadn't been compromised, he'd have to—
"Here's the account name," the woman interrupted him, handing him a small slip of paper. "I'll ship it over to you as soon as I'm able. But just remember…If the money isn't there by two days after your 'package' arrives, I have ways of finding you."
Monarch nodded frantically, scooping up the card and stowing it away safely in his bag. "Thank you," he said, before turning away in the hopes that she had nothing more to say. Anything to get out of here as soon as possible.
As he walked away as quickly as he could without looking suspicious, however, the woman spoke up.
"The two of us are an awful lot alike, you know. We're both drawn to the promise of power—we can't resist it. Although…I really must wonder what you could possibly need all this power for. Pride? Survival? World domination? Or maybe," she asked, and he could feel her glare boring into his back as she continued, "it's because you're running from something, and you know it's finally catching up...Do you think you can fight the oncoming storm all on your own?"
He didn't dare to look back at her as he slammed the door shut behind him.
