Cyberpunk

by Kahlil Johnson

Makos did

1. Rat

Expect spoilers for Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina, as well as Limbus Company once it is published. Maybe Leviathan, Distortion Detective, and Wonderlab.

"If you don't dream, you won't die, but even you won't be alive without them."

You are a Rat.

In this cruel City where blood may well be money and the contents of your body are worth far more than you, you eke out a living at the bottom rung of society. It could always be worse, of course; you could be banished to the Outskirts or Ruins, where monsters tread in uninhabitable land.

At least you got some food every day, even if it is hard work to get the money. Scurrying through the Backstreets with your pack, picking the right targets and jumping them when they least expect it. You make sure the anesthetics work, your cuts are precise after years of doing this. Into the bag the organs go, to be sold off for a decent profit.

You do this day in and day out. Harvest guts, pick pockets, dig through the trash. Sometimes there are no good targets, or the pack tries for the wrong one and has to scatter. And then there are the areas protected by Fixers, where acting out means courting death. You did it anyway a few times, mostly out of desperation; nobody under protection expects to get jumped.

Somehow, you continue living in this hellish place. On better days your pack even shares smiles over a big meal. On worse days you need to fight off other packs that come to take what is yours, or prey on them to take what is theirs. Everything goes, if only you and yours can survive.

But none of this changes this simple fact: you are a Rat and always were. The lowest of the low, meant for nothing and expecting nothing. The day you slip up or fail to make end's meet is the day you die. No safety nets, no one who will help. But that is okay; you never knew anything else.

In this constant cycle of waking to an uncertain day and falling asleep tired and hungry, you are just a little bit different from the others. Not unique, nobody is unique in this City of seven billion people. But different you are, for you have a dream. In the hours the pack is curled up together awaiting dawn, you sometimes whisper to them of a brighter future. Of buying body augmentations and weapons, getting a Fixer license to start. Some days they indulge you more openly, joking about becoming an entire Fixer Office together. Being handimen and expecting battle is scary to think about, but not all that different from how things are right now.

Your name is Ciel.

You are a Rat.

And you want to become a Fixer.

But not just that, no; your dream goes further than that. After all, even if your hands can reach nothing, you are unbound in your dreams. You want to go past mere Fixers, stand above them as a Color. The highest Grade any Fixer can ever get, crossing blades with the greatest threats to the City.

Being free.

Even as you slavishly work every day to survive, even when your next victim turns out to be a Fixer or worse, that dream keeps you going. You hold it tight to your heart until the day it becomes reality.

You could wish for anything; miraculously joining one of the world's twenty-six Wings, the megacorporations practically owning the City. Any of theirs must lead far nicer lives than you do, being allowed into the Nests and protected. Or joining one of the five Fingers of the Backstreets, the City-spanning Syndicates that each can compare with a Wing on their own merit.

But no, you seek to be a Fixer. Ever since the day you first shook off the haze of muted feelings, that is what you wanted. Admittedly, perhaps it was because of how you first saw the world clearly.

That is the other reason to make you stand out. No great power, no hidden talent. Just the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, followed by the good luck to come out alive.

That was when it happened: a splotch of colour splattered onto the empty canvas of your life.

No more than a drop in the bucket, yet enough to ignite your passion. A single stroke of...

] Red

] Blue

] Black

] Purple

Here we are, welcome to "A Rat's Guide to Glory". The goal is as simple as it is lofty: become a Color.

You do not get full character creation for several reasons, chief among them that I do not like the practice. It would also be a wasted process because Ciel is a Rat. This particular vote will affect who they are as a character to an extent, though.

I will not tell you the exact effects, but you may make guesses of your own if you wish. Just keep in mind that this vote's main purpose is to provide flavour to an otherwise unremarkable life.

Just give me a moment to reserve some posts, then we can get this going.

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Naron

Jan 16, 2023

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Threadmarks Rat 2 - A Colorful Memory

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Naron

Naron

Jan 23, 2023

#342

A single stroke of purple.

It has been three years now, but you still remember that day so vividly. The memory stands out among the dreary day-to-day, a moment of tranquility. A chance meeting, no more and no less.

You were nineteen, scouring the streets for victims that day. After a rough week, the pack was not sure they could scrounge up enough money to pay rent and nobody wanted risk running from Sweepers or breaking into warehouses to spend the night. Some Rats can survive a night or several like that, but most do not.

So you were looking, carefully scanning passersby for hidden weapons or suspicious bulges in their pockets. Anyone dressed fancily, you disregarded. As juicy as they might be, chances are they could afford augments, making an attack suicide.

You never left the shade of the side alleys you knew so well; it may be risky for a Rat to skitter where others also prey on those weaker than them, but you had long since learned which areas they like most. Not to mention that few sneak better than a Rat; if you could not do at least that, you would not be alive anymore. Hidden by the occasional stall or nook, you moved along with the crowd.

That was when you saw her. No one could have missed it, really.

She was tall, standing out of the crowd even had it not parted before her like the sea. You did not know where to look first; the long, straight, black hair falling all the way to her lower back? The two blades slung to her hip, or the larger one on her back? The elegant snake scale coat that probably cost more than every organ in your body was worth? Or perhaps the first signs of age on her face, hints of wrinkles and dimples.

Even if you did not know exactly who she was, every single one of these things would have been an instant red flag. She had money, she was armed, she moved as smoothly as a snake slithers. She was a Fixer and good enough to grow old.

You could only stare in awe, even forgetting to watch your surroundings for a time; her presence drew your attention like a moth to flame. You were not the only one, either. Passersby gave her a wide berth, gawking all the way. Construction and office workers, teachers and students, Fixers and criminals, all hesitated.

The Purple Tear walked the Backstreets of District 9. An apex predator daring any to oppose her, completely certain she was untouchable here. And she was right. Nobody dared move even a muscle when she looked their way.

You long since made it a habit to stay informed; every rumour you can get your hand on, you commit to memory. Every name and affiliation, just to make certain your pack does not step on the wrong toes. You are not the lone leader, but you call the shots on who the pack goes after. None of this digging and sometimes trading for knowledge is necessary to recognise her. One of the longer lasting Colors in the City; even the Red Mist herself did not manage to keep going like her. It had been over two years since anyone heard from that one. Even now after more than five years, there was no sign of her.

Yet the very much alive Color Fixer right before you was there. You did not even realise she turned until she passed less than a metre from your hiding spot.

And she was looking right at you.

You knew, just knew, that a single twitch toward your pocket knife would have seen you killed. That smile almost plastered on her face held a trace of warmth, but also a sort of playful challenge. She dared you to try her, yet never even broke her stride. Her mere presence suffocated you.

Then she was past and you could breathe again. Sweat soaked your shirt and trousers, the near brush with death leaving you reeling.

You were terrified as you should have been. But at the same time you were in awe. It was like a veil was lifted from your eyes for just a moment, making the world and all its colours seem so much brighter. So much more real. A sense of envy grasped your entire being; you wanted what she had. Power, fame, money, all of that and more.

And like the world's greatest idiot, you followed her.

Skittering from hiding spot to hiding spot, keeping your steps as quiet as possible, you followed a Color into the dangerous side alleys. You knew you could not hide from her, but that did not help; something alien drove you forward, something you never felt before. You wanted more of this sensation, this intensity. Not the thrill of certain death, but the mesmerising clarity. It felt like you could truly see for the very first time.

The Purple Tear suddenly stopped, her back to you. Your heart skipped a beat when her hand rose to the two blades on her waist.

"How peculiar," she mused, a warm yet cold voice that rang clear in the shadows, however it could be both at the same time.

You did not even see her move. Just a blur of grey, after which she held the unsheathed blade in a backhand grip. The wall to that side slowly collapsed, revealing a hideout of sorts in the back of a boarded up shop; three figures were behind at least a hand's length of solid steel, cleanly bisected. They gurgled and wailed, only for their heads to suddenly separate from their necks. Some suspicious powder lay on the table they had crowded around.

"The Snow Society, just an Urban Myth," she explained jovially while cleaning specks of blood off her blade. After sheathing it, she scooped up that powder and a few booklets. Her motions were careful yet smooth and she never averted her gaze from her work. "But sometimes it pays to fell a Star before it can ever rise."

Her words made no sense. You knew Urban Myths were the lowest actual category of stuff that Fixers were paid to deal with. Why a Color of all people would come out to deal with one, you could not comprehend. Perhaps this was like a vacation to her?

Regardless, the Purple Tear finished her work and walked away. "Skitter on home, little Rat," she told you before vanishing from sight. "These bodies will not sell."

You almost did as she said, but kept yourself together. Still in awe, you entered the hidden abode and rifled through every spot you could think of; a loose floorboard hid a small stash of bills and each corpse had some more on them. Not a fortune, but more than enough to pay rent and even afford a good meal.

The bodies, you left. Whatever sorts of drugs that lot did, you did not want anything to do with them. Or risk pointing whomever they worked with at you by trying to sell their organs. You later learned that the Snow Society was a newly formed Syndicate trying to rival Enkephalin with a new, highly addictive wonder drug that boosted all bodily aspects beyond the base human peak. Withdrawal had several dozen addicts turn into mindless berserkers two weeks after the ringleaders were killed.

Three years passed since that day. You should have died then. You probably would have, had the Purple Tear not decided to let you live on a whim. Nobody would have batted an eye over a dead Rat.

The pack was equal parts happy and annoyed, too; you were lucky enough to tide them over for another month, but only because you were stupid enough to risk your life like that. Or perhaps it was bad luck that something about her mesmerised you so.

Even three years later, you can not quite tell what it is you felt at the sight of her. Or when you experienced her effortless exertion of power and presence. Admiration, perhaps? Not for the Purple Tear herself, but what she stands for. Some now-dead packmates teased you over crushing on her; maybe they were a little right? But it can not have been just that, if it was at all.

Either way, you wanted the same thing ever since that day. Maybe one day you can shake her hand as an equal, that was what you told yourself. Yet you never stopped preparing. It can not be called honing skills, you had no money for a teacher. But you still had time that you could spend swinging your trusty metal pipe, getting a feeling for its weight and movement. You continued to memorise names; Fixers, Fixer Offices, Syndicates, anything and everything that could help you stay alive.

You even got your hands on a little treasure, something all your own. A scrap of cloth, not even large enough to cover both of your hands. It has no special properties, you do not know who it is from. Perhaps a tailour made it from a person, even. But it is yours now, the one thing you always keep pristine; the rest of the pack never touched it, they know how much it means to you.

Especially because it is in your favourite colour.

Such a humble thing, having a favourite. Nonetheless, you dare call this preference your own.

Your treasure is...

] White

] Black

] Purple

] write-in

This vote has influence on Ciel, but is unrelated to further encounters. I decided to make the default options white (the absence of all colours), black (the presence of all colours), and purple (the previously picked colour). If you want another, you can write it in.

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Jan 23, 2023

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Threadmarks Rat 3 - Money Often Costs Too Much

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Naron

Naron

Jan 30, 2023

#507

Your treasure is golden.

A bright gold the likes of which one just does not see in the Backstreets. You found it in an alley one day, left behind by whomever once owned it. Maybe it used to be a Nest-dweller's handkerchief, perhaps it was part of some gaudy Fixer's outfit. You have no idea and you never cared. It is yours now.

Your pack understood not to touch this. The changing members may have needed a reminder or two, but there was an unspoken sort of respect between everyone. Not to mention you were one of the oldest members, together with Arin and Mu. No matter how many Rats you lost over the years, those two were always with you. You ran together, fought together, survived together. You laughed and ate and drank, as a pack should.

It was them that you first opened up about your dream to, the day after meeting the Purple Tear. Of course they gave you shit for it, a Rat with a dream is ridiculous after all. And yet you caught them saving up where they could; a coin here, a bill there. You like to count the money, so they must have known it was only a matter of time. They did it anyway, a small nest-egg that was not touched over the years, no matter how bad things got. They did not even let you use it for the pack during hard times.

You always thought it was Arin's idea; that one was too nice for their own good. Mu just went along with it, maybe she had some idea about becoming Fixers together after you began. She never said. Maybe you should have asked when you had the chance.

Tonight, that little piece of cloth is your only solace.

You have it clutched to your face, wetted by a single tear. Crying is something you rarely do, much like all the rest. Children cry until they realise nobody cares. There is nothing gained by it, nobody will take pity on you. You kept it together until night fell, when all pretenses of civility were gone; no Rat stays outside after dark for no reason.

So now you are alone with your thoughts, thinking back to today's awful events. Where you would normally lie tangled in a pile of bodies, cuddled together for warmth, it is just you tonight. Only a thin blanket to spend warmth, normally unneeded. There is no pack anymore, only you. The occasional scream from outside remains unheard in your ennui as you weep. No more tears flow past the first one, for any who could shed that many would be long ground down by the Backstreets. Just this once you do not care for staining your treasure.

Losing some Rats is nothing new. It happens all the time, really. You should stop lamenting now, this is no different from seeing all-new faces after every year. No different from going from twelve to three and back up to nine in the span of weeks.

But you can not lie to yourself: this is different. There are Mu- and Arin-shaped holes in your heart. For the first time in years, you curse the Purple Tear for showing you proper colours; it would not hurt so bad if you were still in that haze. You could laugh it off and find another pack to join. The fat stack of bills on the table would see you welcomed with open arms... that, or jumped and disemboweled in short order. Right now you are not sure if you would even care if the latter happened.

That money was supposed to be split; most goes into the pack's collective pocket for rent and taxes, the rest evenly to everyone for food and whatever other knick-knacks they were interested in. Usually more food.

Now it is just you this belongs to. One of the organs you nabbed was augmented, a stroke of luck that got you a little extra. Everyone else no longer need to pay taxes either. This is more money in one place than you ever saw, but it still does not make you happy.

You can finally start following your dream. Yet right now, you would give it up if that only brought back your pack. The things you made yourself do keep you queasy, shuddering under the thin blanket.

The mechanical and precise pitter patter of Sweepers sounds faintly through the walls, announcing the Night in the Backstreets. They do not speak in any tongue you understand, but the days where you put an ear to the wall are long over. You do not truly register their presence, even. Wet smacks and the sizzle of dissolving flesh are a familiar backdrop to your waking nights.

You can buy a Fixer license with that money. Adding your nest-egg to it, you can even buy something useful to get started with. A proper weapon from a Workshop, or some small augment. Hell, if you wanted you could sell your own body to buy a mechanical one; you might even do it just so the pain in your chest passes, were you not so revulsed by the idea alone. Humans should be humans, not machines.

Maybe if you did something different today. But what could you have done, really? You did not stand a chance. Everyone is dead and only you were lucky enough to survive.

If it were not for...

] Zwei Association

(A Fixer Association that focusses on policing area they are paid to protect, keeping it free from crime and undesirables. They take their motto quite seriously: "Your Shield". Zwei Fixers are organised, numerous, and known to carry massive greatswords into battle)

] The Thorns

(A somewhat new Syndicate that started growing in District 9. They do not have an official rating by Hana Association yet, but the shoulder spikes each member wears are quite indicative.)

] An Index Proselyte

(Of the five Fingers, the great Syndicates grasping the City's Backstreets, the Index is a cult. They follow the will of Prescripts, abitrary instructions delivered per messenger to their recipients. Somehow, following these instructions always turns out well for the Index.)

] write-in

As of right now, there is a character sheet on the front page. Apologies for taking so long, but I wanted to finish a decent-ish portrait beforehand, which needed the colour votes first.

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Naron

Jan 30, 2023

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Threadmarks Rat 4 - That Which Does Not Kill Us Makes Us Stronger

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Naron

Naron

Feb 6, 2023

#912

A quick note before we start: As of this point, Approval Voting is no longer allowed in this Quest.

If it were not for an Index Proselyte, then everything would be okay.

No matter how often you revisit the memory of those minutes, you can not come up with any way it could have ended differently.

The pack just finished their run, carefully inching around an area policed by the Zwei with their next paycheck in a cooling bag. You got two careless folks who were dressed a little better than yourselves; just not so much to set off alarm bells.

It happened just as you all stopped to orient yourselves in a side alley. He was among you before anyone even realised, no more than a blur of black and white. Then there was red, a familiar crimson coating the cobblestone.

By the time you saw him, it was already over. Dead sacks of meat flopped to the ground, surrounding a lean man clad in a dark suit with white cloak. He sheathed his sleek blade, barely even touched by the blood it just spilled. Heads rolled this way and that as you stared in abject fear, caught up between the instinct to flee and horror at the sight in front of you.

The Proselyte paid you no mind. Though blindfolded, he studied a piece of parchment, then glanced around. "Seven, eight," he finished counting the dead, then nodded. "Good. Thirty-five Rats, all beheaded. That is my Prescript complete."

Then he left without so much as looking your way, long black hair trailing behind. Perhaps he watched you and the blindfold hid it, but not a word was spent on you. His mission was complete and though he could just finish you off, he did not. You were below his notice, even as the pipe in your hand shook.

Visceral anger bubbled in your guts, hot like fire. But even that could not overcome the fear, the knowledge that going after him would be death. Proselytes of the Index are powerful. Terror doused the flames as fast as they sprung up.

So you stood there in this alleyway, surrounded by the remains of your pack. All of them gone in an instant. You were powerless to protect them and you hated it. The anger turned inward then, from the Index to yourself. If you were stronger, this would not have happened.

You hated it.

You wanted it to stop.

Then you snapped out of it, but could not quite flee the scene yet. Eight dead bodies, freshly killed. Money was the issue, always was, you thought in that moment. But with enough money you could also solve some issues. Start getting stronger, follow your dream at last. They were all hollow justifications, you feel now. Hiding your greed, your desperation.

So you put down the filled sack, drew your knife, and got to work.

Your cuts were precise as always, but only the numbness that followed the anger kept you from collapsing. You moved through the day in a haze, so familiar to the past yet completely unlike it. All because some elusive force decided to order a man to kill Rats that particular day. All because you took this alley and not the other one.

After filling every sack you took off the corpses and stuffing all their belongings into your pockets, you marched on. Be it luck or the Proselyte having killed other Rats too, you made it to the dropoff point without incident; then to another and another, not stupid enough to try selling all the harvested organs in one place. Money changed hands, but today it did not make you happy.

Then you skittered home, still free of other packs. You somehow kept it together until the moment the door closed behind you and only you.

You did not really do much of anything since. Simply lay there and wallowed in misery. Living as a Rat made you numb to the many ways you or yours could die, but you never encountered such effortless brutality before; only the shining beacon that is the Purple Tear compares, but she did not come for you.

You want revenge on the Index and its Prescripts, but can not conceive how. Proselytes are the lowest rank and thus weakest members, yet a single one could slay you a hundred times in a single minute. You remember the face of the one who attacked you, but half of it was hidden by a blindfold.

And honestly, does it matter? Even if you got strong enough to kill a single Proselyte, that would not stop the Index. Killing all the Proselytes will not stop the Index. People die all the time in the City, the one you are after may already be dead by the time you get strong enough.

That does not mean you can just let it slide, though.

No.

The shivers stop. You slowly slide the cloth off your face and stare at the ceiling, hidden by near perfect darkness.

A deep breath is taken.

Blaming the Index is meaningless, in the end they all just follow orders from someone else. Maybe one day you can find out who that is and kill them. But you know one thing for certain: you do not want anything to do with that damned cult, or any cult. Mindlessly following whatever their Prescripts tell them, the thought is inconceivable. It is the same as being dead!

You sit up in the dark. The noise of Sweepers outside has passed, but the digital clock on the nightstand says there are still ten minutes until the Night In The Backstreets officially ends.

For now you just breathe. Your clothes are sweaty, but not so much that you need to wash them. Clammy hands rub each other for a little more warmth. You stick them under the thin blanket to absorb its warmth.

"Watch me," you then tell the empty room, eyes closed. "Arin, Mu. I will go where no Rat ever was. I promise."

Were you speaking to the living, those words would be meaningless. Rats can not afford to make or keep promises, having to break every single one sooner or later. Just another bitter reality in the City. But right here, right now, you vow to them and yourself that this is a promise you will keep no matter what.

Then you stand and turn on the light. It is deceptively soft, as much as anything can be in this hole. Weak bulbs that use less power, but at least they do not sting your eyes. You shuffle about the room to check yourself over; no traces of blood on your purple coat or dark slacks, blond hair unruly as always. You brush it a few times, not that that helps much.

Then you store your money. All of it. As great as it is to have, you will get nowhere sitting on it. This is all you have left of your little family, their own broken dreams among yours that yet takes breath. You will use every last coin.

Once the clock shows 4:34 AM, you open your door and scurry along. Head kept down and through the side street your little hovel opens into. Neon signs begin to glow already, diners that welcome customers and try to entice the early birds. You are among them today, but your mind is elsewhere. If anyone sees the money in your wallet or makes the connection with the pouch at your waist, you may be very dead very quickly.

You move through familiar streets under cover of night, clothes rustling ever so faintly. Along the way you think about recent events; if that Proselyte killed Rats in just this neighbourhood, then you have somewhat free reign for today. It will be a bit until other packs realise there is some space up for grabs and move in. By then you will not be one of them anymore.

You deftly jump over a beartrap that has been there for months. Its teeth are encrusted with dried blood, you know that even without seeing it today. It is always in the same spot, not that you ever learned who it belongs to.

A number of people are out and about, but most of them skitter through shadows like yourself. Better dressed people walk in the streetlights' shine and no one is dumb enough to try for them. You almost run straight into another Rat going the other way, only hearing their light steps in the last moment. You dodge right and they dodge left, you both pretending not to have seen the other. Whatever business they have, it is important enough to be out before dawn just like yours. An unspoken truce among the lowest, to live and let live when far more dangerous beings may lurk nearby.

It is in the twilight hours that you reach the Hana Assocation branch office. First of the twelve associations and often seen as the greatest, they grade Fixers and their offices, as well as all the City's dangers. It is here that your journey will truly begin, as it has for so many before you. Even the Purple Tear and Red Mist once walked up to such a quaint office building much like you. It is hard to imagine that all Colors started like this, but it also makes them feel a little closer to you.

The air is warmer on the inside, courtesy of a heating grid that the association can afford. The entire building stood out from the urban jungle already, mostly clean and without any visible damages while a neat sign above declared its purpose and whom it belongs to. Even the most ruthless Syndicate would not dare strike at an Association Office without good reason.

You immediately feel out of place upon stepping inside, suddenly bathed in white light that hurts the eyes. The receptionist's eyes are on you, too; you can feel her gaze, dissecting your every motion. She clearly notices the pipe haphazardly strapped to your back. It is hard not to hunch over reflexively, find a darker corner to hide in. Years and years of experience scream at you to not be caught in the open. It is just the two of you. If she wanted, she could kill you without anyone ever knowing.

Nothing happens for a few tense seconds. When you finally manage to look up, her expression shows no hostility; she does not seem to have measured you up before even though you know she did. Her white suit is ironed and immaculate, much like the visitor area itself is clean and tidy.

Taking a deep breath, you stomp on your instincts this once and move forward. The receptionist waits patiently until you stand before her before greeting you: "Welcome to Hana Association East, Section Six. What is your business with us today?"

Not a word is spent on the early hour or your being armed. Then again, you know she could kill you with a flick of her wrist; she knows that, too. Your throat is dry, but you force out the words you always wanted to speak.

"I want to become a Fixer."

Your voice is soft, much like it always was. Some called it weak, but it rarely ever breaks and neither does it now. But there is neither ridicule nor denial from the woman; if anything, what wariness the receptionist still held is gone. She immediately turns to business, falling into a sort of monotone that tells you she repeated these words a thousand times: "Of course. To obtain a Fixer license, you need to fill out these forms. In addition, the processing fee and assorted sums must be paid up-front."

She names a number that has you wince. Knowing it would not come cheap was one thing, but being confronted with it directly is still different. Maybe she waits for you to say you do not have that much money, even if it is just chump change for her. But instead you simply nod and draw your wallet, no matter how much it hurts.

She does not become friendly afterward, but there is at least a trace of warmth when she offers you a pen. Or maybe she is just pleased that you do not make trouble for her. Perhaps both.

Regardless, you then spend half an hour filling out paperwork. The Hana take everything in triplicate, your citizen ID and personal details as well as information about previous occupations and the like. The section about ongoing lawsuits confuses you even as you make a cross at 'No', at least until you realise this covers being in debt.

Though it is early, two other people come in while you work away at one of the small tables they set up just for this. Each time you flinch and risk a peek, but both wear the same white uniform. Hana Fixers without doubt. You get wary looks from each, though they lose all interest when they see the papers you work on.

With a faint sigh you place the last signature and return to the receptionist, who stops idly spinning another pen between her fingers faster than the eye can see. She receives the papers and studies the pages, then nods. "Very good, this is all in order."

You then have to wait another ten minutes before she hands you a card carrying your name, a Fixer identification number, and a prominent 'Grade 9' stamped on it. The Hana's seal makes it official and you receive the ID card with reverence.

"You will begin as a Grade Nine Fixer," she explains and you hang on her lips. "You are free to apply to any Fixer Office or form your own, a catalog of options is presented in the room over there. Hana Association recommends not to act as a one-person Office and find employment at an established one. In addition, all cases you resolve require a written report be submitted to Hana Association. For more details, you may consult this guide."

A booklet out of sturdy paper is handed to you. A quick skim down the table of contents tells you this has everything you need to know about your new obgilations, up to and including the taxation of every Fixer Grade. You clutch it to your chest like a new treasure and nod.

"Okay. Thank you."

She huffs, breaking the professional mask and throwing you a wink. "Don't thank me yet, fresh meat. Lotta folks have no idea what they're getting into. But being polite'll get you places," she praises with a smirk. "So I'll give you a freebie: it doesn't really matter which Office you go to. Associations don't take Grade Nine's and all the Grade Nine or Eight Offices just grab what jobs they can get. No specialisations or anything."

You soak up everything and thank her again, then hesitate. "If I may ask, what is your Grade, ma'am?"

"Six."

That one word makes you firm up unconciously, almost standing at attention. Just like you thought, she could break you to pieces without breaking a sweat. The receptionist huffs over your reaction and makes a dismissive motion. "Good to know you know how things work. I could probably go higher, but I like being safely behind this desk."

You have opinions on that, but know better than to say them. You just nod and glance to the room she indicated earlier. "Erm, is it okay to come back later to look at the different Offices in the area?"

"Sure, these services are offered to all Fixers. Anything else?"

She slipped back into her montone, but you notice the twitch of her brows and the hint of annoyance. Seems her patience is running out pretty quick now. You decide not to risk bothering her further, thank her again, and wish her a calm day.

Leaving the Hana Office, you feel like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. The atmosphere in there was stifling for some reason. Yet the edges of your Fixer ID dig into your palm. That sensation grounds you as you stand in the shadows. It is sturdy enough not to break even though you squeezed it hard, faintly reflecting a nearby streetlight.

You did it. You are a Fixer now. Even if it is the lowest Grade, you made the first step.

Despite the awful yesterday, knowing this draws a faint smile onto your lips. Step by step toward your goal.

Next up, your stomach aches in a reminder that your last meal was a full day ago. So you quickly dart away and toward a cheap diner you know. Dawn breaks in the meantime and you slowly start to see people you recognise in the streets.

It is the same crowd, the same colours, smells, and sounds. Yet today the City feels a little different. Instead of skittering around, you force yourself to walk amidst the throngs of people; nobody pays you any mind, the faceless mass accepting you without complaint.

Even the food tastes better; maybe it is because you decided to treat yourself with some of the middling options instead of the cheap stuff, but the super sweet coffee invigorates you and the sandwiches make you feel full. Throughout the meal you peek at your new ID and feel a surge of confidence.

Today marks the first day of your new life, for good or ill.

But you still have a decent amount of money burning a hole in your pocket. Rent will be no problem for a few weeks, tax season is still months away. Now is the perfect time to spend it all and you will do that. The question is on what.

After eating and taking a quick walk through an area policed by Zwei Association to clear your head, you decide to ask someone who knows better than you. The receptionist lady is still on duty by the time you return to the Hana branch office, she even recognises you by the look she gives. Seeing that she is not busy right now, you approach her.

"As a Fixer, what is the most important to spend my money on?"

"Good question," she muses, thankfully willing to indulge you. You take note of her red hair as she mulls it over, tied into a bun that makes her seem more stern than she is. It seems almost silky and gleams in the office lights. She definitely has enough money to afford caring for it, is what you realise when she finishes thinking.

"Okay, there are two really big things to start with: augments and equipment, well weapons mostly. Both are important, but I'd say you should start with augs. Whatever sort of Fixer you wanna be, get started on it the moment you can. You won't get much fighting done at Grade Nine unless you go looking for it, anyway. Can be a good way to grab some more jobs though, I guess?" She shrugs off the notion and waves toward you. "The other thing is that you can lose a weapon unless it's bionic. Or someone can steal it if you don't pay attention. Losing a limb or your heart or eyes is much harder, you get me?"

You nod. Her reasoning makes sense, although you personally feel that information is equally as important as either of those things. Then again, that is probably much harder to buy at your Grade.

"Great. So yeah, augs over weapons is what I say. And don't skimp on quality if you can afford it. One good aug or sword is better than a shitty version of both."

Again you nod, having received her wisdom. You quickly disregard the idea you had earlier to buy as much as your money can afford. Stretching each Ahn as far as it can go works for food, but not this.

It is also Rat thinking, and you are a Rat no more.

"I got it, thank you very much."

"Heh, don't mention it. Ciel, was it?"

You freeze up for a moment, wondering how she knows your name. Then you realise she must have seen it on your paperwork. For some reason she barks out a little laugh at your reaction. "Name's Giano. Drop by if you make it to Grade 8, I'm curious how far you can go."

"I will. Thank you again, Ms. Giano."

She waves you off and you head into the adjacent room to look at the local Offices. But the matter you spoke about remains in mind. Before actually going to any of them, you will spend the rest of your money. There are countless options in Workshops and enhancements or weapons, you can get just about anything as long as it is not too fancy.

] Follow Giano's advice and get an augment

-] (optional) write-in what type, what organ, or what effect (be as precise or vague as you want)

Examples: Strength augment, enhanced eyeballs for toggled low light vision

] Pick up a decent weapon first

-] (optional) write-in what type, a particular Workshop, and/or what else it can do (be as precise or vague as you want)

Examples: A concealable weapon, something that can change size, a Stigma Workshop burning axe

No write-ins beyond the subvotes. I will say if a proposed option goes above Ciel's budget.

We also have a nine hour Moratorium. Please do not vote for 9 hours.

-Ciel receives a new trait.

(Noting Ciel's current traits for posterity, so people coming in later do not need to brave spoilers)

Traits

-A Stroke of Purple: Even if it was ultimately nothing, Ciel will never forget that encounter.

-Beloved Gold: Ciel dares have a favourite colour. It shines bright like the future they envision.

-Indexed the Index: Due to past grief, Ciel will never work with members of the Index unless there is absolutely no other way. They are wary and distrustful of religious groups of any kind.

-Ciel's occupation changes from "Rat" to "Grade 9 Fixer"

-Ciel's Wealth will change from "Well off (for Rats)" to "Completely Broke (for Grade-9 Fixers)" after the currently voted purchase

-Unlocked Contacts, to be found in Dramatis Personae

-Added Hana Fixer Giano to Contacts

Last edited: Feb 6, 2023

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Naron

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Threadmarks Grade 9 - 1; Mankind Has Legs so it Can Wander

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Naron

Naron

Feb 13, 2023

#1,284

"When you know what you want, and want it bad enough, you'll find a way to get it."

Spoiler: Winning Vote

You were given advice by a higher graded Fixer. Even if Giano weren't good enough to get accepted by Hana Association, her Grade alone would be enough to do as she suggested. Getting an augment first is not even in question .

The room you were shown to does not just have a catalog of Fixer Offices for you to peruse, though. It seems to be a general purpose information desk; Offices, Associations, even a scrapboard with local, yet unsolved cases can be found here. You give that one a wide berth upon realising there are no more than two Urban Myths on it. All the rest is Urban Legend and higher, far out of your paygrade.

Instead of checking out potential employers, the first thing you do is look around for a decent workshop that deals with legs in particular. You feel that is a good start; mobility has been your best friend all your life, both in the few fights you took and the many more times you ran away. There are a number of general workshops dealing with body modification, but you also find two that specialise on leg augmentation not too far away.

After carefully reading both entries, you mull it over for a bit. Both are well recommended and the prices are similar, so you ultimately pick the one closer to home and write down the address.

After that is the time to check Fixer Offices. Although, much like Giano said, there is little to really choose here. None of the Grade Nine and Grade Eight Offices that take bottom-rung Fixers have noted specialisations; they mainly compete by the number of successfully completed missions without ever saying what those are. Some offer 'a job for everyone who applies', which is both tempting and alarming. Places who will take anyone often expect a lot of wear and tear.

You are not quite sure you have a choice, but decided to stay away from those unless you must go to them. Of the rest close enough to your neighbourhood, you decide randomly to pick Dexter's Office. It is a newer Grade Nine Office, led by a Grade Eight Fixer called Dexter. There are a lot of Offices named after the founder, you notice.

Nonetheless, you get that address as well and grab a dozen more just in case, then make the best of your remaining day. Giano is gone by the time you reemerge, the counter now manned by someone else. You offer a soft nod in passing and keep your head down.

First stop is your augment. You move through unfamiliar streets to get there, neck a little itchy and highly tempted to try hiding in the shadows. The crowds thankfully protect you as much as they do everyone else, or perhaps there is no danger here in the middle of day. Things become even more orderly as you enter a street full of workshops; you quickly notice they are all about vastly different things. One for arms, one for legs, another for regular weapons, and so on. A beauty workshop is squeezed between two others, the sign offering genetics changes that include hair colour, eye colour, and physical sex. Not the first one of those you see, but also not one you really consider.

No, your target is LegLock, right in the middle of the street. A stylised human silhouette is depicted by the neon sign above, switching from standing to a high kick. Then it jumps, backflips, and stands again before repeating the sequence.

Cautious eyes follow you as they do everyone else, you realise upon approaching the door; there are Fixers watching this street. Not the Zwei, you would have noticed them on sight. No two of the guards here look the same, but they are all attentive.

Thankfully, everything after getting inside is simple. The attendant passes you a catalogue of options, answers a question of yours, and carries your order to the professionals. Focus on running and some kicks is ultimately a simple augment, so they can easily squeeze you in.

Two hours later, you wake up feeling much the same as before. An apprentice watches you with clear boredom and runs you through the improvements after dressing; the muscle fibres and bones across your legs were strengthened to the point you can jump a dozen metres high, hop down twice that height without harm, and run several times as fast as before. They have an indoor gym where you can test out all of this, mesmerised by the air roaring in your ears as you leap ten metres forward in half a second.

"Just keep in mind this is only your legs," the apprentice cautions you on the way out. "LegLock takes no responsibility for any injuries to your upper body obtained while using our product. Likewise, please mind the safe heights you were informed about, injuries caused by exceeding them can not be named as reason to demand a refund."

"Okay. Makes sense," is really all you can say to that. Once you reach the door, the procedure already paid beforehand, you wave weakly. "Have a good day."

"You as well, dear customer."

There is no real emotion in it, but you did not expect much. Meanwhile, you are brimming with energy despite waking up from a surgical procedure not too long ago. It takes a considerable amount of willpower not to vault across the streets just because you can. Instead you simply walk away, a soft spring in your step. You feel so light now!

Then again, so does your wallet. You put as much as you could into those improved legs, there is only enough for a few days' worth of food left.

Despite yourself, you crack a grin at that thought. The more things change, the more they stay the same. You are a Fixer, you even got an augment, but you are still dirt poor.

Seeing that a nearby clock declares the evening, quite literally because it shouts the time, you move a little faster to your final destination for the day. As intuitive as augments may be, they still take practice; you sometimes break into a run without realising and have to slow yourself back down. But some hiccups like these are much better than having your bones snap, or some muscle tear from shoddy workmanship.

LegLock is a low-Grade workshop, but they still offer decent quality; you could not even afford most of the better packages, this was one of the cheapest options.

You try to split your attention between getting used to the better legs and keeping an eye on your surroundings. Nothing really happens until you reach Dexter's Office, though.

Actually standing in front of the place makes you wonder once more. It is on the ground floor, a simple sign atop the door to an office space that can not hold more than three rooms. Light shines out the windows to each side of the door and you see a pair of figures sitting at a desk. One of them faces your way, their head turning ever so slightly even as they continue filing paperwork.

You knock twice, then wait a moment for one of them to open the door. He is massive, you realise upon actually standing before him; sporting broad shoulders and a full, black beard. Smoky eyes scan you from head to toe, then he grunts.

"What d'you need?"

Well-honed instincts scream to run as fast as you can, but you force yourself to stay. A momentary, awkward silence follows before you manage to get your mouth to work as well: "I'm here to join the Office."

A brow raises and he grunts again, then steps aside. "Come in. Dex, fresh meat."

"Really now?" a friendlier voice answers. You see the owner a moment later, only slightly taller than you and similarly slim. Dexter's features are softer than the mountain who now returns to the desk, though his gaze is just as analysing. He waves you closer. "Don't be shy now, let's see what we have. Grade Nine?"

The question is unnecessary, you both know the answer. You still nod and come to stand before Dexter, license in hand; he taps a hand of dark brown steel against his chin as he studies you. The artificial limb juts out from his overalls, similar to his flesh-and-blood hand with exception for the colour and several lines indicating the plating. Not that anyone would mistake that for a real limb. The wrist is oddly thick as well, you imagine there is some gizmo inside.

"How's your knowledge of the area?" he finally asks.

"Pretty good," you say. You lived here all your life after all. The response draws a nod, chances are he expected that.

"Weapon experience?"

You know he is glancing to the pipe you still carry. "I know how to use that and I'm okay with a knife."

"Alright, alright. Ready to work?"

"...yes?"

"Great, come on over here to sign."

You follow his lead with great confusion, unseen only because his back is turned. This was easier and far faster than most of the interviews you managed to get over the years. Dexter passes you a single sheet of paper with a very simple contract; you almost forget to read it in your excitement, but stop your hand just in time to give the thing a quick once-over. Then you nod and sign it. It really is simple; you work here and only here as long as the employer and yourself agree that you do, no paid sick days or leave. At least one job successfully completed per week or the contract is void and you are out. The Office takes half of the reward from each job, but pays you a set fee per job completed.

Dexter snatches the paper once you signed it, almost gliding across the room. "Great! Welcome to the team, ah, Ciel." He has to check your signature for your name, but does not let it bother him. "We got a few jobs lying around over there on the board. Nothing big, but good to get started. My Office has nine other Fixers employed at the moment. If you got questions, come to me or Rocky over there."

"It's Rookwood," the aptly nicknamed mountain of a man drawls from his seat, though without any heat. He offers you a simple nod afterward. "Dex is in charge here, but I'm the guy who does the paperwork. If you need help filing stuff, come to me."

"Got it. Thank you."

He snorts and goes back to work. You spot the handle of a super-sized battleaxe by his side as well; that makes it pretty clear this guy is not just here for the paperwork.

A clap of Dexter's hands makes your head snap back to him. He is still smiling, hand reaching for his semi-organised desk. "And with introductions out of the way, I think I got just the thing for you to start. Came in just thirty minutes ago."

So saying, he hands you another paper with job description. Your first job, you guess. It is about finding a pet cat that ran off this morning. You squint down at it, then at the man before you. Memories of catching strays to eat in the past compel you to ask: "How many of these do you get every day?"

"Less than you'd expect," he retorts wrily. "Maybe one a day. Good thing is if we do find one, chances are we'll get another job from the same customer soon after. Bad thing is we only got till Night In The Backstreets to find the pets. Think you can do it?"

You frown down at the paper, then nod. "I can at least try."

And try you do; after buying a kebab for dinner, that is. Knowing where the client lives, you carefully comb through the neighbourhood in search of a cat and even find the beast just before nightfall; it is trapped under an open crate that seems to have dropped on it. The cat tries to run the moment you let it out, but your improved legs mean it does not get far; your trusty coat gets scratched, but that is fine.

After racing the cat to its owner,who thanks you and gives you the reward, you then make your way home. It was no great accomplishment, but you are one for one in jobs taken and completed. You can do this.

The next day, you are at the office for a few hours figuring out how to file the paperwork. The guidebook Giano gave you is a great help and Rookwood can answer what few questions you have.

That done, you quickly pick your next job. There is nothing else to do and the next week becomes a bit of a routine; file reports in the morning, pick up a job, and complete it until the evening. None of it is dangerous, just busywork people do not want to do. You carry stuff around the streets, clear out a flat after the tenant was evicted, and stand guard for some sort of transport with four others. Nothing happens, the five of you just try to look intimidating with your weapons in hand. Nobody asks what is being transported and you do not care beyond being paid.

In your free time you try practicing kicks, but find it harder than expected. Snapping out the limb is one thing, but you can not quite figure out how to move it right. Experimenting tells you that you probably need to ask someone for help with that; Dexter may know, considering his build. But at the very least, you know you can deliver some nasty knees to the groin if you have to. Or full-body tackle someone; that will hurt you too, but them much more so.

What you practice more is jumping, though. That is a lot more useful than you expected. You can clear smaller buildings instead of having to walk around the block. Few people even bat an eye at you beyond some wary glances.

Overall, Dexter and Rookwood seem happy with your performance, too. They are both Grade Eight, you gather over the week; the only ones higher than you, really. Everyone else is about as fresh, if less motivated to do this mindless busywork. You get some looks from whoever else comes to the Office while you are there, but nobody talks to you beyond the operator and his assistant. Nobody really seems to be talking to each other at all.

You wonder if you should be the one to break the ice with someone when a single clacking noise alerts your senses. It is the eighth day since you joined Dexter's Office and you are out delivering a parcel to a different part of District 9. Not far out from the area you call home, but outside of it.

And you left the Zwei territory that allowed you to start debating the pros and cons of trying to find allies over just doing your work to progress. Danger is near. Your senses immediately go into overdrive, pulse quickening. It was a footstep, you know that oh too well; whoever it belonged to is somewhere behind you.

Ordinarily, you would rush down the empty street to escape, preferably into some sort of crowd. But this time you just keep walking, pretend you did not hear. It is nerve-wracking to stay in immediate danger, but just bolting may make them pursue. You need to know who they are first. A Syndicate? Other Fixers trying to get the messenger bag slung over your shoulder? Cannibals after your liver?

With all attention on your surroundings, you soon notice motions in the shadowy corners. Careful, subdued noises and the occasional whisper make it to your ears. More than one, but less than five, the noise level tells you that much. If they are augmented enough to trick your ears, you are already dead, so you trust your body.

All of them are behind you; most glimpses you get are from the corner of your eyes while pretending to look around the buildings. It feels familiar in a sense that you need another twenty metres to connect; these are Rat tactics. Stay behind them, stay hidden, stay ready, wait for the target to lower their guard and stop on their own. Run at the first sign of being discovered.

You used the same strategy not too long ago, together with everyone else. The reminder of Mu and Arin's deaths still sends a stab of pain into your gut, but you soldier on and keep thinking.

If these are Rats, you can startle them into fleeing with a few words unless they are really desperate. Alternately, you can just run for it; your legs are stronger than anything a Rat can bring to the table.

Or... you turn the tables on them instead. You know they are there, but they do not know you know. Even if they are not Rats, getting the drop on them is a huge advantage. The downside is that you need to use yourself as bait and make them commit first; if you turn around right now and charge, they will just scatter. A Rat only fights with their back to the wall.

You still have enough time, too. The evening is an hour or so out and you are almost to your destination.

] Just book it

] Scare them off

] Turn their ambush back on them

-Added Dexter's Office to Contacts

-Added Dexter and Rookwood to Contacts

-Ciel's Wealth changed from "Completely Broke" to "Barely Afloat"

Last edited: Feb 13, 2023

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Threadmarks Grade 9 - 2; Believe You Can and You're Halfway There

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Naron

Naron

Feb 20, 2023

#1,409

Spoiler: Winning Vote

Your heart beats heavier with each step. The moment you stop they will pounce. You could explode down the street without warning, but no. You are not a Rat anymore. You will not run from danger, not when you know you can face it instead. You know how Rats work. There is no threat here.

Even though you try to tell yourself that, it takes repeating this mantra several times in your head until the pounding in your ears relents. Adrenaline hits your system and time seems to go slower. Your steps feel longer and the absence of people becomes more apparent. This street is not deserted, everyone is just at work. The buzz of noisy crowds is not far, though.

Remembering the Purple Tear, you reach a hand to your pipe and stop. One could hear a pin drop in the silence as you try to steady yourself.

"I'm right here," you speak to no one, your soft voice almost echoing in the otherwise silent street. Then you turn around, pipe clasped tightly. One pursuer is peering out of a sidestreet, surprised as they meet your gaze. Dishevelled hair and old, worn clothes confirm what you already knew: Rats.

"Come and get me," you challenge them, sounding more brave than you feel.

Maybe if you not surprised them, they would hear the waver in your voice. Perhaps they could have spotted how white-knuckled the grip on your pipe really is. You know these signs of fear as well as they do, false bravado meant to intimidate a real threat. But they miss them. They outnumber you, but you are no longer just a Rat without a pack. Perhaps they can even tell that much.

Whatever the true reason is, the head vanishes behind the corner and you can hear the swift sound of footsteps, all fleeing away.

Exhaling the breath you were holding, you touch your hammering heart. A trace of joy follows even as you try to calm yourself. You did it! Alone and afraid, you scared away a group that outnumbers you! Even if they are Rats, this means something in this moment.

You give the street one final look before reattaching the pipe to your back and moving on, back that little bit more straight. You still shuffle along into the crowd as soon as you can, but your wariness of the area has lessened ever so slightly. Confronting those Rats only took a minute but felt like an hour; you almost forget there is still a delivery to make.

Fortunately, the rest of the journey is calm. You deliver the parcel to the address given, collect the reward, and move on home. As much as it can still be home, that is.

The nights have become a little easier this past week, but you still miss the warmth of your pack. Even an extra blanket and pillow do not compare to being surrounded by living, breathing bodies. But you need to sleep so you can work, just like you need to eat. Through work you earn money and raise your Fixer Grade, and through both of those you can climb higher. Work will make you free.

It is not too different from being a Rat, as much as that irks you. There are a lot more safe but boring jobs, which you do appreciate. You are still intimidated by the combat-focussed requests, so you stay away from them for now.

Another week passes like this, nice and boring. You could almost get used to this if it were not that boring. Your wallet slowly fills back up, already matching what you need for rent. You even have a little more for food to treat yourself, getting used to the new lifestyle bit by bit. Regular meals were not always a thing, but as long as there is work you can do it.

Having work is the problem, though. The open requests on the Office board shrink day by day, to the point you complete four over two days just in case. More come in, but Dexter hired another handful of Fixers in the meantime. Two others were kicked out, too. You only noticed because the man himself discussed it with Rookwood while you were there.

"Bit of a slow week," Dexter tells you in passing. A knowing look goes to the underfilled board. "Looks like we're up to capacity on staff for now. You're doing good work so far, Ciel."

"Thank you," is really all you can say to that. His praise helps you deal with the worries as well, though you end up glancing back to the board. "Is it likely that we will run out of jobs?"

He hums in thought at that, absently fiddling with his metal fingers. A studious look is thrown at the job board, then to Rookwood. "Hard to say," Dexter finally admits. "I saw it happen before, but not where I was working. Rocky once told me that the Hana spread out whatever Grade Nine requests they get evenly among the local Offices. Most of it is people who approach us on their own, so you never know if requests suddenly run out. A friend higher up the ladder told me not to hire too many, too. Guess we're hoping that a few more drop out."

He chuckles a little awkwardly, but you can not quite laugh with him. It is not particularly funny, so you just nod. Dexter clears his throat and turns around to look closer at the jobs on the board. "But yes, it could be a problem if more of my new hires are as productive as you. We will have to see."

"Don't forget that good work increases our reputation," Rookwood drawls without ever looking up from his desk. "The more jobs we complete satisfactorily, the more people will hear of us. On that note, Dex, there are a few combat jobs nobody wanted so far. Need to do those soon."

"Good point, good point." Dexter nods sagely before pausing and glancing your way. "Say, do you happen to be interested in one of those?"

Your first instinct is to deny him outright, but you bury it somehow. Not a Rat. You can at least take a look. "May I see them?"

"Of course, let me see. You didn't put them on the board, Rocky?"

"Only the two without classification. The rest are Urban Myths."

The air changes notably with that. You know it and you see Dexter hesitate. His furtive glance your way says just as much, though you share his feelings on the matter. Urban Myths may be the lowest actual Hana classification for issues, but you do not feel ready for them yet. Shaking your head, you let Dexter know that and step to the board to help find the combat jobs.

Maybe it was the reminder how weak you still are, but you do not end up taking any. Maybe next time, you tell yourself. Maybe once you have a good weapon or a second augment. Either of those are some time off, though. For the time being you just work as usual, earning money where you can.

Sadly, your thus far perfect streak of completed jobs is ended by another lost pet two days later. You fail to find the dog before the Sweepers come out; the rest of the night is spent trying to figure out where you did not check or what could have happened, but there are too many possibilities. Who knows, maybe you found nothing because someone ate the mutt before you even started to look?

At least neither your boss nor his partner seem too upset. "It happens," is all Dexter says with a pat to your shoulder. "Just send in the report as usual and keep on going."

For their part, Dexter and Rookwood are out of the Office on occasion. The operator asks you to man the desk and take calls for him while they do some work of their own that day; it feels weird answering what few calls come in, but you note down messages and answer as best as you can. It is a nice change of pace after a night mostly spent brooding.

You talk more to most of your coworkers than you have during the past two weeks, too. Which is kind of sad, considering most of them just ask how it comes you are holding down the fort. One of the people who come in that day talks a bit about this neat new restaurant they spotted sometime ago, another shows off a brand new halberd made of chainlinks; the materials vibrate and tear far deeper wounds than they otherwise would. You congratulate them, even feeling the tiniest bit of awe. Then you think of your wallet and have to suppress a sigh, well aware it will take a while until you can afford a Workshop weapon.

Overall, you find you kind of like talking to people. It is something you mainly did by necessity, but listening to what others have to say has helped you a lot thus far. By the evening you try to prompt another coworker about her day, which she gladly tells you about. Nothing deep or personal, but it seems she cooks the meals for her older brother and younger sister.

Dexter and Rookwood only return when it is almost time to close up shop. The sight of them surprises you, though: the giant of a man who still intimidates you a little has his right arm in a bloody bandage. He grumbles into his beard while Dexter leads him along, as mellow as always.

"Hey there," he greets you with a wave. "We got into a bit of trouble when we looked into The Undulating Ribbon. Got Rocky good from below the floor before we figured out what's going on."

"O-Oh." You glance between the pair and hold open the door. Each of them is stronger than you, this is just a reminder even they are just small fish. But you are also curious what an Urban Myth is like. "What exactly happened?"

Dexter waves you inside and you follow; there is still time enough to buy groceries and get home. Once inside he plants Rookwood at his desk and starts rifling through a safe. "We never figured out what exactly the ribbon was, but it kept growing. That request was a little older, so it grew across the entire house. In the walls, under the floor, above the ceiling, everywhere. A bit like a spider's web, if that's familiar to you?" He barely leaves enough of a pause for you to nod, not that he sees it. "It didn't have any sort of core, so we just chopped it up until it stopped moving and burned the leftovers."

"We need to send the report soon," Rookwood adds, already in the process of stuffing some papers into a bag. "That house was in the residential district. I don't think the ribbon just pushed the plaster aside."

You shudder at the implications. The residential district is off-limits in the Backstreets unless one wants a visit from the Head. Nobody is allowed to just force their way into a building regardless of circumstance; the same goes for damaging them. Doing it anyway is a good way to get hit with draconian fines.

It never happened to you, but you heard about it once. Apparently, the offender could not pay even though they sold everything they owned and their body on top. After two warnings, the Claw paid them a visit.

"But you didn't damage the house yourselves, right?" you ask quickly into the pregnant pause.

Dexter looks up from where he is spraying something onto Rookwood's arm. He huffs and quickly shakes his head. "Not that I noticed, it was all the ribbon. For a piece of cloth that thing was wickedly sharp."

In the meantime, whatever healing solvent he put on his partner closed up the wound. You already spotted the K-Corp logo, but quickly notice that it is one of the somewhat cheap cans from the shelf. Seeing your gaze, Dexter holds it up with a grin. "Always pays to be prepared, I always got two of these babies ready. Maybe I'll make it three soon, just in case. They won't help if you get a limb cut off or a broken bone, but any flesh wound is nothing."

"Sucks for my shirt though," Rookwood grouses. At this point you can recognise there is little heat in it; maybe he just likes to complain.

"But I guess it's better to just lose a shirt than the arm," you answer diplomatically. Dexter huffs and Rookwood grunts in assent. That does tell you he has none of the fancy cloth from an actual tailor, but you did not really expect him to.

"Either way," he continues with a frown at his arm while flexing and relaxing the healed muscles. "That thing may have been on the verge of becoming an Urban Legend. Maybe higher than that if it had torn down more than the one house."

Dexter nods along, but the comment has you confused. "How would it just skip a grade? Was it really that dangerous?"

"'s not about how dangerous it is. It's about how much people will pay for someone to get rid of it."

"Oh. I see. That makes sense."

You stand there a little awkwardly while the pair finishes up; Dexter goes through the notes you left him and organises everything while Rookwood finishes packing his things. When they make ready to head home as well, you follow outside after them. That is when you remember your previous thoughts.

"Say, Dexter?"

"Hm?"

You hesitate, unwilling to even ask yet aware you can not really progress on your own. "Do you know anything about fighting with your legs?"

He nods idly and pats one of his legs for emphasis. "A bit. I like to stay mobile, so I focus on agility. It complements Rocky's strength well," he adds even though his partner already vanished into the descending night. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, could you give me a few pointers sometimes? I was thinking it would be useful to know more than just swinging a weapon around."

Silence follows, at least between the two of you. The crowd is still there, if swiftly diminishing. All pretenses of civility vanish once dark falls on the Backstreets. Dexter still takes his time to mull it over and hum in thought. Then he snaps his fingers. "Tell you what: you take an hour or two to help out in the Office this next week, I give you those pointers. Sound fair?"

A bit of tension fades from you; you did not even realise it was there. A deal is better than asking for freebies, much better. "Sure, sounds good. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, bye."

You separate like that, feeling a little better about yourself. A burst of speed carries you down the street and to one of your preferred supermarkets; they will close soon, but you already know what to buy. A few cans of juice, some jerky the label says is not sourced from District 23, and to the register you go. At least until you reach the sale rack.

It's a small thing, mainly filled with stuff that went past its expiration date. You have many memories of checking through these to find food when money was tight. At this time of day there is nothing edible left in it, though. You do not even know why the singular item still on the rack makes you stop; maybe because it is all alone just like yourself. Maybe it is the faded image of a half-created tablecloth that draws your attention.

A beginner's knitting set. A number of needles, several balls of yarn, safety scissors, measuring tape, stitch markers, stitch holders, and a crochet hook. A few simple items, yet something about them intrigues you.

You stand there for the better part of a minute, trying to convince yourself you do not want it. That the money is better spent on important things. But your feet do not move and somehow your heart is not in it.

Despite all misgivings and pragmatism, you end up picking it up. The cashier does not even bat an eye, probably too busy thinking of their imminent end of work. You pay silently and force your gaze away from the spontaneous purchase; the first you ever made. Never before did you have enough money and a stable enough job to even consider something like this. It feels nice.

After a quick walk home, careful to avoid deeper shadows and circumspect alleys, you close the door behind you and finally relax. All the tension bleeds away; empty your place may still be, but it is safe.

You let out a deep breath, then glance at the clock. At least two hours until you can consider turning in, dusk is a bit too early for that. Normally you would turn on the TV; it was always a favourite pastime for the pack, what with L-Corp's energy being so cheap. Even if you have only one channel, the motion and noise helps drive away this sense of desolation. Today you do it too, but pay no attention while rifling through your new purchase.

And as you do so, you think about how to go from here. The next week will see you more at the office than before, which is work but also an opportunity. With Dexter already willing to engage, you could try learning more about him along the way. You could do the same with Rookwood, maybe without talking to both of them at the same time for once.

Alternately, there are a number of Fixers you hardly even know the names of. If you gave it a little more effort than "hello" and "goodbye", maybe you could find a new acquaintance or two. Perhaps even a partner, like Dexter and Rookwood are. That would be nice to have, despite how unlikely it is.

Or, the pragmatic part of you reminds, you could instead spend more time on work. More money means more opportunities, not to mention that you want to get out of Grade 9 as soon as possible.

As you slowly begin reading the manual on how to knit and prepare all the things, these thoughts fall away. How you spend your time is for later to decide.

] Try to get to know Dexter better

] Interact more with Rookwood

] See about getting to know your coworkers

] Do some extra jobs

-Ciel's Wealth changed from "Barely Afloat" to "Afloat"

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Naron

Feb 20, 2023

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Threadmarks Grade 9 - 3; There's Not a Word Yet For Old Friends Who've Just Met

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Naron

Naron

Feb 27, 2023

#1,450

Spoiler: Winning Vote

"Making friends, aren't you. Good thinking."

You absently sign your report before looking up. Dexter is leaning over his own chair with that easy smile of his. It was a non-sequitur, but he may have waited for nobody else being around to bring it up. Still, you are not exactly sure what this is about.

"How do you mean?"

"You've been talking to the others recently, haven't you?"

So he noticed that after all; you started wondering, what with how he said nothing the last three days. You are already halfway into the office time to pay back his improvised lessons on using your legs. Maybe you should not be surprised; Dexter is the type to think before he acts, you figured that out by now.

"I would not say friends exactly," you deflect, shrugging a little awkwardly. Being candid with others outside of the pack is not something you are used to. "But I figured it would be good to find someone to work with, or make contacts with others before they start climbing the ranks."

"Not much luck on that end so far, I guess?" His smile remains even as he wanders over to file your report and hand you some paperwork to go over. "It's to be expected. There are a lot of Grade Nines and far less Grade Eights. Most of this lot won't even get there. Which reminds me," he muses while pulling out another paper. "I need to terminate this contract, too."

He seems oddly apathetic about this. You both know that while some may just drop out, most who do not make it are dead; either before or after their contract termination. Dexter does not give any extensions or second chances on his contracts, either; whoever can not keep up gets the boot. Then again, one job per week at a minimum is pretty easy to keep up with.

"But you made it."

"Yep, I did. If things go well Rocky or I will get up to Grade Seven soon. I got you pegged for Grade Eight in a few weeks, too. Two months tops. Just keep doing your work and you will get there."

"Really?" you can not help but ask, still at the start of your own work. "That fast?"

"Of course, you're like a machine with these easy jobs. I'm keeping track, Ciel. Even if you stay away from the Urban Myths like the rest, you easily work enough for two or three of the others. That sort of work ethic can get you far." His praise is certainly genuine, as baffling as that is. Dexter motions for the board. "I was thinking to take you along with me and Rocky for a Myth sometime soon. Strength in numbers, and all that."

"Oh."

That is unexpected; you are not exactly sure what to think of it right now. The prospect of an Urban Myth is... frankly, scary. Maybe not so much in a group, but you already know how that tends to end. At the same time, you can not go it alone; Rat or no, you can not survive on your own. As much as that galls you to admit, some things stay the same. Considering how often Dexter sends groups of people to do anything even remotely dangerous, that remains true even as a Fixer.

Then again...

"Is that why you haven't tried very hard to put me in any teams?"

He shrugs at that, head buried in his own work. "Kind of yes, kind of no. I had the feeling you'd rather go it alone for a bit and I had a good feeling about you staying alive, too. Now that you're taking stock of potential allies yourself, I figured I might as well offer."

"Am I the only one?"

"Hm? Nah. I got a few others in mind, but you were my first pick."

So about as expected; you are not sure if he just said the last part to make you feel special. Either way, you promise to think about it and get back to work.

Dexter continues to help you figure out how to kick properly in the afternoons; the dummy made of an old barrel and some sticks gets ever more battered by the day. Your footwork improves a bit as well; you mostly learn and practice to keep your feet apart so you can maintain balance. It is harder to do constantly than you would expect.

Aside from that, you continue going through the people that visit the office as well. Whomever they are, you ask how they are doing and how things go; most do not mind talking to you, but a general air of wariness clouds most of these interactions. Some people have an edge to their voice, once you catch a glare aimed at your back. Is it you in particular, or the fact you go out of your way to talk with others?

You go through all your coworkers during this week and think them through. Seeing them from the other side of the desk, you start to get what Dexter means; even though they want to move up, most of them only do the bare minimum or a bit more than that. Of the employed Fixers, you have not even seen half more than once. And of that group, only three others came in frequently.

For that last day, you made a plan. Fixers can not get ahead if they do not work hard; trying to spend time on anyone who just goes through the motions is a waste. But at the same time, you can not try forming a large group when the jobs just do not pay all that well. Sometimes the commission fee from Dexter is higher than the half of the reward you get to keep.

So you decided to approach the board for an Urban Myth that seems as safe as possible. And you will talk about it with the first of those three frequent arrivals that comes in today; they are the only ones who were in no way hostile to you so far. Maybe they just get why you work more than the rest, considering they do the same.

Much to your surprise, it is Parvati who shows up first. The woman with an older and younger sibling, who told you before that she likes to cook. She usually shows up later in the day.

"How's it going today?" she greets you while leaning at the desk, arms loosely crossed. "Still doing extra work for the boss?"

"Yeah." Your lips quirk up and you tap a small stack of papers. "Today is the last day I have to help out. I think it was worth it." More than that, really. You may not be a trained expert, but you figured out how to throw a good kick. "And yourself? Are your brother and sister alright?"

"Oh, same old, same old." She makes a dismissive motion. "My silly sister is crushing on someone again and sighs up a storm, you know how it is. At least she doesn't forget to get to work on time, else we'd be in trouble."

"Right, rent is due soon. Do you have trouble with money?"

At that she frowns. Her light green dress swishes around her calves as she turns somewhat, studying you; whatever test there is, you seem to pass. She shakes her head. "Not really. It's close, but we got enough. Despite our brother buying stuff he doesn't need again. And just in case you're looking for people who'd jump on a loan: no, thanks."

You shake your head in response, a little amused. "Not really what I meant, no. I wouldn't recommend taking one unless you must, either." The one time you had to was bad enough, considering it was your pack's organs on the line as collateral. Paying that back took a year, even if it was ultimately so little.

Maybe some of your feelings show on your face; Parvati grimaces as well, commiserating with you. "Yeah, we had to do that once, too. Never fun."

A moment of silence stretches between you two. The idle chatter has run its course and this would normally be the point one of you makes an excuse to get back to work. You study Parvati's profile from your place behind the desk; she is of average height, with her dark hair in a haphazard bun that a few strands escape from. A simple metal spear is strapped to her back.

Overall, she appears as a woman who knows how to handle herself.

Shaking off your hesitation, you straighten your back some. Your fingers ghost over the job report you already picked up earlier, then you push it over to her. "Say, would you mind working on this one with me? Even if we split our half of the reward, that's still more than we'd get from any of the others on the board."

First she was about to grasp the paper, but her fingers twitch at the implication. Parvati's brows furrow as she reads it. A soft hum escapes her while she mulls it over, glancing from the paper to you and back. "An Urban Myth? With just us? That sounds risky."

"You're right," you admit freely. "I checked to make sure this one doesn't have any reported deaths or disappearances connected to it. That's not a guarantee, but we should be fine."

"Hm. You really put some thought into this." She sounds mollified, maybe a little intrigued. A thoughtful gaze goes back to the request. "Any reason you're not asking the boss about it? I figured he's calling dibs with how chummy you are."

You hesitate there; this goes a little deeper than you expected a casual conversation to end up, but it was her who asked. "He did say something like that, but he also said I'm not the only one on his list. From what I saw over the last week, I imagine you're on it, too. So we might as well see if we can work together on something safe... ish. If we'll see more of each other in the future."

"Fair enough." She frowns back at the request, then nods to herself. "You know what? Sure, I'm in. Gotta try my hand on a Myth one of these days, best case it's nothing. Being payed for nothing sounds like a dream come true."

"A nice dream, mind," you add a little wrily. Parvati nods in response, so you get up. "I'm about done with my work here, Dexter is filing stuff with Rookwood in the back, so we can get started right away."

"Perfect. Let me just check the board... aha, there's a little one in the same area." She points it out and waves the second request around with a grin. "So even if this one takes time, I gotta earn some money today."

You open your mouth to speak, but refrain. It was a good idea and as much as you want to claim half for being around, this is first come, first served. So you nod and make another note.

Dexter is a little surprised when you lean in to tell him which job you're going on, but he shows you a thumbs-up right after and wishes you good luck.

"The Geyser Fountain, huh?" Parvati prompts once you are in the streets, walking side by side. "What did you figure out about it?"

"One of the better areas to the south has some sort of fountain installed. You know, the things that splash water around." You remember being desperate enough to drink from one of those in the past. Rare as they are, Rats appreciate them a lot. Parvati nods as well, so you continue: "That one recently started spewing water everywhere every hour or so. No one figured out what does it yet, except it isn't the pipes or pumps."

It is a little weird walking together with someone again. Outside of the handful of jobs Dexter sent an entire team for, you were on your own this last month. It feels alienating to be part of the crowd while talking to someone; you walk at a normal pace, neither in much of a hurry as you talk quietly.

"Yeah, that sounds about like what they wrote on the request." Parvati glances around in the pause she leaves, still alert much like you. "Anything else?"

"Well, yes. Going by what I heard when I asked around, that fountain spews only water. No blood or organs or anything. No weird food, either. That's why I think it will be harmless. It's mostly just an annoyance."

"Hm. I see what you mean. Which way?"

You take the lead somewhat, though Parvati follows you rather quick. Her attention still flits between the various hidey holes someone up to no good can hide in; yours does too, you even spot a few people eyeing the crowds. But none of them actually do anything, not even when Parvati stops at one spot to pick up a package for her extra job.

Then you walk for about an hour, each quiet as you follow your own thoughts. Even as coworkers you barely know each other, so just asking more about who she is and what she does outside of work would be overbearing. Not that she seemed too opposed before, but you do not want push too much.

This does make for a quiet journey, but you manage not to squirm too much.

Afternoon is well underway by the time you reach the area. The Zwei Fixers give you looks, particularly Parvati and her spear, but her flashing her Fixer license is enough to prevent confrontations. You commit that one to memory.

Then a loud splash sounds from not too far away, alerting both of you to the fountain. First you pick up speed, then Parvati follows along right after. You arrive to find a small plaza no more than twenty by twenty metres, devoid of people and completely splattered in water. Others are already trundling back in, a small number of peddlers and hawkers. You spot someone giving you speculative looks, but they quickly vanish into a sidestreet.

"I guess this is it," Parvati muses while looking around. "And it's really just water." She crouches to study a puddle up close, even pokes it with her finger. "Feels kinda... viscous? Or maybe that's just the dirt." She shudders and rubs it off on her jacket's sleeve. The fountain went back to spitting water into set of basins at the plaza's center.

With nothing else to go on, you start looking around. The water is just water, though neither of you is willing to try drinking any. It looks like water and acts like water, case closed. There are no suspicious bumps in the ground around the fountain and peering into the various holes provides nothing, either.

"Is this one of those fancy, remote controlled ones?" You wonder. "Maybe someone is playing a prank."

Even as you say it, your gaze wanders toward the Nest.

"Doubt it," Parvati answers a moment later. She is crouched next to the basin, brows creased. "I'd need one of those super expensive eyes that can look through solid materials to be sure, but this doesn't really look fancy, does it?"

She has a point with that, considering you stand in front of a depiction of two humans with three dogs. The water flows from each of their mouths and nowhere else; if it were a fancy one, the water would probably change colours or do tricks in the air. Even the stone the figures were hewn from looks a little rough.

You quietly disregard your idea with a nod, then move on. "Would be nice to have eyes like that. If it is something with the pipes or below, we're pretty much screwed. Can't just tear up the ground."

"I'd like to live without fines for collateral damage, thank you very much."

"Looks like we agree on that one."

"Cheers."

Twenty minutes into your examination, all you manage is to banter a little. Which helps your budding acquaintanceship, but not actually solving this case.

While Parvati excuses herself to take care of that package, you take a step back to study the fountain in its entirety again. There is something you are missing here.

Then your gaze wanders to the peddlers. Only a handful populate this place, each owning just a handful of objects. But they are still there despite the fountain; some even have a customer or two, trying to get better deals out here. The scene is almost achingly familiar... but the fact you and Parvati served as their entertainment is not. The reminder that people notice you elicits a faint twitch, but you keep a hold of it.

Not only are you stronger now, you are also not alone. Well, outside of right now because your companion left for a few minutes. You do hope she does not get ambushed. Then again, few Rats are desperate enough to attack an armed Fixer.

Shaking off those thoughts and trying to stop your hands from shaking, you approach the mats and improvised stalls. People tense up, but nobody outright runs. Keeping an eye on the rest, you pick out a middle-aged man among the group and squat before his shop. "Are you around here often?"

He peers back at you, but nods. "Plenty of late, yeah? Why you askin'?"

"I heard that fountain spews water every hour. Is it always one hour exactly? Even at night?" Then, before he can even say anything, you point at a decent looking ball of yarn. "Oh, I'd like to have that. How much?"

A moment passes in which you pretend not to notice the glint of greed in his expression. He nods sagely and pushes the yarn your way, then names a price. It is a little over what you would pay at the store, but you pay for more than just that anyway. Still, there are people watching; once you paid and pocketed the yarn, you make sure to keep an eye on the crowd listening in. The peddler shows a toothy grin and leans forward conspiratorially.

"See here, thing is: it's not always the same time. Sometimes it's an hour, sometimes more like fifty minutes, sometimes a tad more. But you can kinda see it by how the water stops flowing first. Then it always starts gurgling and then do you get the splash. I guess I can't really complain, the thing gets some people here."

"And it does that even at night?"

"Beats me, I dun live here."

"Well," another of the 'merchants' chimes in while rubbing her hands. "I do. How about you make it worth my while, too?"

You almost sigh. Paying money on things you do not need will eat into your reserves. The rent is already put away at home, no need to worry about that. But your spending money is for important things.

At the same time, you are kind of tempted. Having money to spend is nice, too. So after considering it, you scoot over. The other 'shoppers' relaxed by now, though one or two still watch you with interest. This second peddler mostly has food, so you grab a packet of jerky and something that looks like a candy bar. This time you need to haggle a little; the result is still a little overpriced for just the wares, but about what you agree the information is worth. Somehow, this comes easily, just like you haggled in the past out of necessity.

"So yeah," she starts once money changed hands, "it's even at night. That thing was starting to gurgle just minutes after the Sweepers went through these parts."

"And nothing else happens beside the water?"

"Nope." She shakes her head immediately. "Just a big splash everywhere."

"I see. Thank you."

You rise then and turn to walk away. The calls of others who missed their opportunity are ignored, though you make sure to keep a hand on the pocket with your wallet. Better not risk someone trying their luck and getting away with it.

Only in walking away do you realise that your pulse is racing. Heavy heartbeats echo in your ears, now that you pay no more attention. This was more harrowing than it should have been, but you managed. Somehow. It is not so different than when you did this as a Rat, you just do not have to act as subservient anymore.

But now that you learned everything you can, you can only watch and wait. Parvati returns a while later, less than an hour because the fountain did not yet start spewing water everywhere again. "Anything new?" she asks upon returning bereft of her package, so you fill her in. You also offer some jerky, which she accepts with a little nod.

"So probably not a person. Unless it's automatic, but why go this far just for a prank?"

You nod along, thinking much the same. "From the sound of it, it's like something clogs up the pipes until it builds up, or something."

"Hm, yeah. I guess... oh, there it is." She points to where the steadily dwindling stream of water has cut off entirely. The peddlers are already clearing out again while something akin to gurgling emerges from the fountain.

You are already turning away to get somewhere safe, but pause upon seeing your partner approach the fountain. She deftly climbs onto the pedestal with the dog facing your way and peers inside. Then she grabs a flashlight with a click of her tongue.

You are about to say something when the gurgle turns into a rumble. Instinct has you jump up and away, onto the nearest roof. You barely outspeed the water, but Parvati is not so lucky. She gets blasted stright in the forehead and is thrown back with a shriek, then soaked from head to toe.

The other four streams just explode over the plaza as before, splattering water just about everywhere. When nothing else happens, you cautiously hop back down to check on your partner. Some giggles sound from the returning people.

Parvati groans and rubs over her face, which is faintly discoloured. "Ewwww, what is this?"

She blinks blearily at her hand, as do you. Something clings to it before slowly peeling off and dripping to the ground. More viscous than water, yet swiftly dissolving.

Instead of speaking or even screaming, she wordlessly starts wiping away at herself. You quickly reach out and help scoop some of the goop off her head, then take a proper distance again. It feels yucky to just touch the stuff. Parvati shudders, looking herself over in a hand mirror; her face is fine, though.

With another "Ew", your partner climbs to her feet and starts wringing out her soaked dress. The gawkers have gone silent upon realising something is happening. She grumbles under her breath. "I blame this on you."

"You went to look inside."

"I still blame this on you. You talked me into going for this job."

You just let this stand and look closer at the ground. Now that you know this goop is here, you can spot some more of it. Most just dissolves, but some small amounts remain. And what of it you can spot slowly pulls itself back to the fountain. Looking into the basins reveals more in there, too. This even has a faintly grey colour hidden by the stone beneath. You only spot it after fishing around and grabbing onto it.

Parvati is silent when you hold up the writhing slime. She just stares at it, then down at the ground. "Okay. What is this?"

"I don't know, but it lives in there. Maybe something left from a Wing experiment." Saying that, you squeeze it a little. The slime does not react. Then you slam it to the ground with a splash. It immediately loses colour and starts dissolving.

You both look at the puddle at your feet, then at each other.

"Huh," Parvati summarises for both of you. "I guess that's it?"

You wordlessly pull the request back out and look at it. "Says we have to figure out what causes it, but we get a bonus if we get rid of it too."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

You then proceed to fish more goop out of the basin and stomp down on whatever is still crawling. It probably looks ridiculous, especially with one of you still damp all over. But as evening begins to approach, no further gurgling is heard. The fountain's water pressure does not lower over time, either.

Looking up at it, you can not help but smile. "Now we did it. Let's head back to the office."

"Yeah, sure. Actually, no." Parvati looks down at herself and scowls again. "I'm going home and take a shower, and run my clothes through the wash. I really don't want Wing slime anywhere on me. Do you mind calling in that we did it?"

"Not really. Do we write the report tomorrow?"

"Sounds good."

You do not quite part way yet, there is still an hour-long walk back to undergo. It is about as quiet as before. In the end you part with your candy bar out of pity for Parvati's state; she did take one for the team after all. You would not have noticed the slime if she had not caught some with her face. The little gesture at least keeps you from any further blame.

And the next day, Rookwood does smile a little when you ask him how to put that into the report without actually saying it. You never saw him smile before. Silver linings and all that.

You keep talking with Parvati, too. Rent is paid by both of you, clothes are cleaned, and you continue to each do their own work. But you align your schedule to meet her usual times so you can chat for a bit. Nothing serious is exchanged, but you do agree to team up again for another juicy mission once you find a good one. Preferredly more stuff that is just weird.

"I was meaning to ask," she pipes up a week after the fountain job. "What's with the pipe?" She motions for your yet trusty weapon, the both of you seated doing reports once again. "Is it some sort of Workshop weapon?"

You are a little confused, glancing over your shoulder and back to her before shaking your head. "No, just a pipe."

"Hm." She taps her chin in thought at that. "Shouldn't you upgrade then? It's kind of weird that you haven't bought anything good yet. Are you saving up?"

"Ah."

That makes more sense. She is kind of right and kind of not, really. "A Grade Six told me I should start with an augment," you explain, well aware Dexter is also listening from his desk. "So I bought that instead of a weapon. She also said to go for quality if I can."

There are a few others around too; this is one of the busiest office times, right after the lunch rush. Everyone listens to your conversation, probably glad for the distraction. Parvati nods her understanding. "I mean, if she's a Grade Six that makes sense. Did she say why?"

"Something about it being easier to steal my weapon than my arms or legs," you supply from memory. It has been over a month now, you do not remember the exact words. At the same time, you wonder how Giano is doing. She should be fine though, being a Hana Fixer.

Meanwhile, Parvati lets out an understanding noise and nods. "Ah, that makes a lot of sense. I still think I kinda want a weapon first. Or maybe a neat dress, but Tailors are expensive. Not even the boss got one of those," she adds with a nod to Dexter, who is in his work overalls. He shrugs in response.

"Guilty as charged, but I'm working on that. Ciel's friend has some good advice there, too. I think the bit about quality was more important, though. Still think that's why Gordon hasn't come in this last week."

Right. Gordon, one of the other two harder working members, did not come back. Everyone suspects he died and his contract is about to be terminated either way. You do recall him bragging about getting a bargain for some sort of tattoo. Nobody so much as bats an eye at the prospect of his passing. It happens.

Shrugging, Parvati turns back to you. "Anyway, I still think you should go for-"

She never gets to finish as someone jumps through the front-facing window. More bodies follow and the office jumps to attention. Weapons are drawn as people force their way in through windows and doors, shouting wildly and swinging weapons. You recognise the spikes on their shoulders immediately, images of vines painted onto them. Everything else is a wide mix of clothes and styles. The Thorns.

Rookwood is the first to hammer into them, cleaving two intruders apart with his axe. He barely gets away from what is more of a mob swinging a cavalcade of sharp edges and pointy ends at him. Dexter weaves between a few and delivers a lightning-fast jab that breaks one woman's skull; she drops and makes others stumble, where Parvati stabs into one's head.

The doors are blocked and everyone is fighting despite being outnumbered, but you know there is another window in the back. You could get away, that pragmatic part of your mind says. Get to safety now, before they spill your guts on the floor.

Adrenaline makes time feel slower. Your heart beats heavily at the prospect of violence, but you can still think clearly. As always. Freezing up is death, so you move.

You...

] Fight

-] (optional) write-in a plan

] Flee

-] (optional) Grab Parvati and run

No write-ins except for subvotes to either Fight or Flight

We also have a six-hour Moratorium. Do not vote for 6 hours!

The Thorns

Current Classification: Urban Myth

Goal: Raid Dexter's Office, Kill Everyone Inside

Number of Enemies: ~35

Displayed Strategy: Wild Mob

Dexter's Office

Current Grade: 9

Goal: Fend off The Thorns

Number of Allies: 9 (Grade 7 (Dexter), Grade 8 (Rookwood), rest Grade 9)

Situation

-Fixers are cramped into the office space, door and front windows blocked by the mob

--outside invisible

-back window seems unattended, but situation outside is unknown

-Ciel's Wealth changed from "Afloat" to "Decent"

-Added to contacts: Parvati (Dexter's Office Fixer, Grade 9 Relation: Cordial Coworker)

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Naron

Feb 27, 2023

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Threadmarks Grade 9 - 4; A Lost Battle is a Battle One Thinks One Has Lost

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Naron

Naron

Mar 6, 2023

#1,616

Spoiler: Winning Vote

In a moment where you can only move forward or backward, you race straight ahead. Ridiculous speed carries you into the mob's reach and transitions into your pipe as it opens a head like a ripe melon.

You stop and scramble backward before they even realise you are there, too distracted by the other Fixers. One of yours gets mobbed and buried under three attackers, hacked apart screaming. The irony scent of blood hits your nostrils, eyes dilating.

You barely manage to keep yourself together and abuse the distraction, beating one of those three over the head before they can even look up from their grisly work. You repeat it with another, almost feeling the skull break before they fall.

Then you turn to the third, only for a screaming body to run you over. Four more are on you in an instant. What follows is a flurry of motion, searing pain as knives are stabbed into you, and the dull impact of a mace.

--Switching Timeline--

Then you retreat from the third, barely evading a screaming body coming your way. The woman stumbles over the corpses and is buried when others follow. You leap back in to kill another with two mighty swings, then disengage to check for the others.

The mob buried another of your colleagues and Parvati's dress is in tatters, but she has no more than shallow cuts. Her spear keeps the Thorns at bay, though the steady press of bodies pushes them into her reach. You leap over a desk and hit one with an axe in the temple before he can cut her down; then you trip on the bloody floor and frantically roll away through the crimson. Parvati steps in to cover you as you scramble to your feet.

Rookwood all but roars as he cleaves another three gangsters apart with his axe nearby. Dexter dances around him, arms a blur as he surgically kills anyone who gets too close to his partner. But only one other Fixer is still fighting, you notice. You round another desk and dart to his aid, but a spiked glove tears bloody gouges in his face just before your pipe hits the attacker over the head.

Your colleague screams in pain, dropping his weapon out of shock. You push him back, only to realise that the bodies serve as makeshift barricades. The mob keeps coming, but they have to climb over their dead. Two more gangsters come right at you, but Parvati stabs one over the desk between you and her; the other's head turns, only for your pipe to strike home the moment he is distracted.

You know how to fight an outnumbered opponent, how to make use of your superior numbers. This is not quite it, but they probably did not expect this much resistance.

Your heart beats heavily as you grip the pipe and keep going; the growing mountain of bodies shortly after the doorstep slows them down, but it also stops you from getting at them. Still you dart in and out of the mob, breaking wrists and arms wherever you can; Parvati and Dexter capitalise while Rookwood ties up the main group. Body by body falls, then you realise someone snuck around and stabbed your injured colleague in the back. By the time you get there, his jugular is already opened.

Just then, the bodies in front shiver and are pushed aside. Someone else marches into the office while the last dregs fight on flesh more than stone.

You flinch to attention and get at them before they can get Rookwood in the side, only for a thorn-covered hand to grab you by the throat. You almost crush your own windpipe from the suddenly arrested momentum, gasping as the thorns draw rivulets of blood. The new arrival snorts, squeezes, and throws you aside with your neck broken. You can only watch the battle as your life slowly fades.

--Switching Timeline--

You flinch to attention, but stay still to observe for a moment. The newcomer has the same shoulder pads as the rest, but their clothes are a bit sharper. They act more certain, less bloodthirsty than the mob. What is more, some sort of thorny vine seems to grow from one shoulder pad, all down their right arm. They swiftly grow and entangle Rookwood as his axe cleaves apart two of the last three enemies, then begin to whir.

Be it that or the sudden bellow from Rookwood, you shake off your hesitation. The vine digs into his clothes and flesh, rapidly whirring around as it tears him apart; its owner blurrily ducks under a rapid one-two combo from Dexter and catches Parvati's spear in his free hand; he never sees you coming, rearing back a bloody pipe.

The impact rings through your entire body. Your pipe bends over his reinforced skull, almost assuming its shape before the body droops from under it. He catches his fall, only for Parvati to stab his shoulder with a shriek. Dexter chops through the chainsaw-vines, but half of them just keep sawing into Rookwood; his scream is only a faint moan of pain by now, body hidden under gore and blood.

Instead of hitting again, you use the full strength of your augment and kick the Thorn in the head. He flies sideway, where Dexter does the same thing and sends him to Parvati. He blinks up blearily at her, bleeding from open head wounds. She raises her spear high and runs him through the eye.

Then someone stabs her in the back. The last living Thorn and from the mob, grinning almost mindlessly. She does not have time to celebrate as Dexter takes her head off with a sharp jab; you catch your colleague, careful not to rustle or dislodge the dagger in her wound. Parvati curses under her breath.

Getting treatment will take too long with such a wound. Your breathing grows laboured at the prospect, not wanting her to die in your arms. That would be just cruel, surviving whatever higher-up that was only to get shanked by a nobody. You look around for something to help, wildly taking in the carnage. Bodies lie everywhere and the floor is more red than grey. Half the desks are broken, paperwork flew every which way.

Then your eyes fall on Dexter's safe. Of course.

"Boss, the K-Corp stuff! We need one now!"

He looks up from Rookwood's still form, blinks at you and the bleeding woman in your arms, and nods. "Yes, of course." He quickly strides over and opens it up. "Any injuries you need treated?"

"Just some scratches, I'm fine." Which really is a miracle, all things considered.

"Good. Here." A can is thrown your way and Dexter slides over half a desk. "You apply it, I pull out the weapon while you do. Don't want that to get stuck in her, now do we?"

"Stop talking and do it," Parvati presses out between grit teeth. She twitches and tries to turn, only to gasp and moan in pain when you start. It is a little unsettling to watch her flesh grow back where it was, following one final spurt of blood as Dexter pulls out the dagger fully.

He drops it and runs a finger over the point it stuck in Parvati's back. "You're lucky that didn't hit anything," is his verdict. Then he takes the can from you and sprays some more onto a cut on his leg.

You help Parvati up in the meantime; she leans on you only as much as she has to, but one hand weakly claps your back. "Thanks for the save earlier. You're pretty fast."

"Augment," you return, to which she makes an understanding noise. It may not be perfect for a fight, especially one like this, but it definitely paid for itself even just today. "I could get used to this hit and run stuff," you murmur, then grimace at the sight of Rookwood and your other dead colleagues. "But it could have worked a lot better."

"It's more of a strategy for open ground," Dexter agrees. He seems half tempted to sit back in his chair, which you realise you should help Parvati do. The boss rubs his eyes, immediately regretting that when he realises his hands are sprinkled with not quite dry blood. "Anyway, does either of you know who our unannounced guests were?"

You still feel a little numb, but mostly just jittery from adrenaline. Parvati shakes against you in the same state until she is on another chair and can lean back. Then you nod to Dexter next and kick the nearest corpse's shoulder pads. "The Thorns. They were growing around the time I got my license last month, looks like that kept going."

"The Thorns, hm? That was one of the Urban Myth class Syndicates." Dexter watches you bend down to rifle through the dead man's pockets as he muses. "Looks like they decided they want to be Urban Legend before the year is out. Office Raids are an easy way to infamy, if sometimes a dumb one. Good work, you two."

"Is this normal?" Parvati adds from her own seat. "That mob thing, I mean."

"Sometimes. It depends on the Syndicate. This one seems to focus on quantity over quality. Maybe a new rite of initiation or something, considering none of this lot are augmented. They even had one of the higher-ups observing. That last one was on the level of a Grade Seven Fixer," he keeps musing. "Either got cocky because we were already battered, or was new to his augments Maybe a bit of both."

It is just another lesson to stay grounded to you. At the same time, you slowly begin to fill with awe at yourself; you stood your ground today, killing several people despite being severely outnumbered. You rifle through that one's pockets, too. He has a decent amount of money in his wallet, among some other stuff.

"Okay," Parvati finally says. "Are you seriously looting them, Ciel?"

"Yes?" You glance back at the host of dead bodies. "Money is money. If we have time, I can check if this guy has any augmented organs we can sell. We don't really have the time to grab all of them before they go bad, sadly."

The disgust is clearly visible in her expression at the prospect, though it swiftly fades in favour of acceptance. "Makes sense, I guess. Any chance we can share the loot?"

You pause in your work, not having considered that before. It is true that everyone still alive contributed to the battle. Keeping all the loot to yourself would be prudent, but selfish. You do want to keep getting along with those two, too. Which is why you make yourself nod in the end.

"Sure. Even split after we sold off whatever is valuable?"

"Fine with me."

You both look to Dexter, who seems lost in thought. It takes him a little while to realise you are looking at him, at which point he nods slowly. A soft "Sure" is his only response, though you doubt he really listened.

Knowing that, you hesitate when getting to Rookwood's remains. "Boss?" you try, motioning for his former partner. "Is it okay if I...?"

"Hm?" He follows your gesture before nodding. "Sure, sure. It's not like Rocky will need any of his things anymore. If neither of you want to keep the weapon, we can sell that too. And get his wallet, he was saving up for another augment."

Something about how dispassionate Dexter is about his friend dying rubs you the wrong way. Everyone else you can understand, this is how the City is. But those two seemed close. Parvati does not seem to recognise anything being amiss; is it just you?

Either way, you systematically loot everyone, friend and foe alike. Each body you finish with, Dexter carries outside; he stacks the dead gangsters in neat rows along the front while a pile of valuables grows on the floor. A few pieces of fake jewelry, various simple weapons in good condition, Rookwood's Workshop-made battleaxe, and most of all money. You also keep the body of that special Thorn inside and have Parvati buy a stasis bag from the supermarket. By the time she gets back, you can deposit a set of organs into it. His heart does seem augmented after all.

If your colleagues are surprised that you have underworld contacts, they do not comment. If anything, Dexter seems to appreciate that you do.

Two others come in sometime during the grisly work; they are surprised, but quickly put to work righting the office space as best as they can. Parvati makes sure to watch your little pile of treasure in case someone wants to grab some, her spear since returned. Dexter is writing up a report on what little clean paper he could find. "At least they will pay us for thirty-something gangsters killed, even if it is a pittance per head," he tells everyone. The leader's name and ID are also included, just in case there is a reward on that one's head in particular.

You finish counting money by that point, dividing it equally in three piles of bills and coins. "How likely is this to repeat," you ask while handing Dexter and Parvati their shares. "Will they try again?"

"Maybe," Dexter responds with a shrug. "That is really all I can say. Some Syndicates try to get revenge for 'getting snubbed', others shrug it off. Considering that they were ready to throw so many people into the grinder, I don't think they care much about them."

There he pauses, squinting at the money and then at you. "But just in case, I'd suggest you spend that as soon as you can. With selling the rest, we can all afford some good stuff."

"Absolutely," Parvati agrees at once. "I'm going to get augmented tomorrow, right after I decided what to go for."

"Focus on dexterity if you want to stay with the spear," your boss recommends absently. "I used to use one too, but I like my hands better. Don't hesitate to try others, though. Just make sure you try the cheap ones."

This brings you back to wondering; your pipe is bent and basically unusable. You could always get another pipe, but at that point it can just as well be a bat. Or maybe a dagger, or a spear like Parvati, or an axe. Maybe something more out there like a shovel? A crowbar? A scythe or sickle?

You have many options and little time to think. After cleaning away the blood, you head to one of the drop-off points you used to trade with Syndicates before; it is almost ironic when a member of the Thorns welcomes you. Thinking back, you faintly recall this being one of theirs before already. None of them have any idea you are selling their compatriot's organs, they just congratulate you for staying alive another month.

Something about the irony makes you grin on the way back. Again money is split, the other two freely believing that you are not scamming them. You thought about it, but decide to stay honest for now.

Once the sky starts growing dark, the office is back in decent shape; blood and other stuff was cleared away with some cleaning solutions that removed everything right quick, the furniture was righted. Whatever broke is now next to the heap of corpses adorning the front; people give it a decent berth, though some give it speculative looks. It may even serve as advertising for Dexter's Office.

"One last thing," the boss tells you and Parvati as he locks up; not that this will help much, what with the windows hastily boarded up. "I am a little miffed that I need to replace furniture and personnel. Keep your eyes and ears open about them the next week or two, I want to know whatever you can learn about them. If we can, we will go after them and beat them down. I doubt we have the manpower or strength, but you never know."

You both nod, a little queasy at the prospect of actively attacking someone else. Parvati stands in a patchwork dress, badly repaired with clean scraps from the dead. She seems a little more ready, nodding along.

Meanwhile, you walk home in a daze, trying to figure out how to go about the next few weeks. Listening to people and gathering information is simple enough. But the fighting bit is still daunting.

That evening is spent calming down from the ordeal; you knit a bit, not that any of your practices has yielded much more than a halfway decent tablecloth. In the end, you put the needles aside and simply stare at your treasure for a while. The soft fabric and golden threads calm you some more.

The next day, you meet Parvati at the office at noon. She almost glides inside, motions far more fluid than before. Her spear is still in place but she grins cheerfully.

"I got a package deal," she reveals once seated. "The Workshop offers twenty percent off on a second, complementary augment to whatever the first I buy is. So I had them improve my reflexes and reaction time, then got a decent speed upgrade on top. Probably not as good as yours, but it'll do for now."

That discounts like these exists is news to you and immediately suspect, but Dexter explains that Workshops sometimes do that to hook more customers. Considering that you need to buy at least one augment anyway, they probably even save more money than the discount costs if they only need to put you under once. So a marketing strategy, not a scam. Well, technically also a scam, but the Workshop is not hawking inferior quality on you for this one.

"What about you?" your coworker asks next. Her eyes wander over you, but she can not spot any change. For good reason.

You shrug in response. "I went over it, but I'm not sure what I want just yet."

"Then let's go shopping together. I know a few good places."

The offer surprises you, even if it makes you a little happy at the same time. The moment you nod, Parvati gets up and throws a glance at the job board, then shrugs. "Rent just went through and we have food money, so I can afford to take one day off."

So saying, she waves you along on a surprisingly long shopping trip. You browse through a number of Workshops and even some regular shops, just because it is interesting to see what is in stock now that you can afford it. Parvati being armed draws some looks from the crowd, but she is by far not the only one with a weapon. Her spear and your combined alertness deter any would-be ambushers, too.

In the end, you decide to...

] Buy a Workshop weapon

-] write-in what, be as specific or vague as you want

] Just keep one of the weapons from the raid and buy another augment

-] write-in what weapon (no extra effects, type is subject to QM veto if too infeasible to be among the mob)

-] write-in what augment (be as specific or vague as you want)

-] Keep Rookwood's reinforced, super-sharpened battleaxe and buy a strength-augment to wield it properly

You can vote without specifying anything; if any option without any or all the required write-ins wins, the not specified parts default to being Ciel's choice. All write-ins are subject to QM veto if desired effects surpass Ciel's budget or sensibilities.

One-hour Moratorium. Do not vote for 1 hour!

Achievement Unlocked!

And To Many More!: Die for the first time.

-Ciel's Preferred Strategy changed from "Skittering Away" to "Hit and Run"

-New Mechanic observed: Timeline Switch

(Whenever Ciel dies, the narration switches to an otherwise identical timeline where Ciel did not commit the action leading to their death. In some cases, this will reset the story to a previous decision point.)

-Death Counter: 0 - 2

-Rookwood is no longer among your contacts

-Dexter's contact information changes: Grade 8 Fixer - Grade 7 Fixer

-Ciel's Wealth changes from "Decent" to "Really Well Off"; this counts the proceeds of selling loot

-Lost weapon: old pipe

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Naron

Mar 6, 2023

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Threadmarks Grade 9 - 5; Progress is Not Achieved by Luck or Accident

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Naron

Naron

Mar 13, 2023

#1,858

Spoiler: Winning Vote

Being spoilt for choice is a new experience, but one you are starting to appreciate. Parvati shows you around a number of shops she likes, which tells you a bit about her as well; all of them deal in cheap items that she assures you are more than worth their price. Only when it comes to the Workshops does she stop carefully turning over every coin for the best deal.

Even there however, you spend the better part of two hours window-shopping. Partly because you are just not sure what augmentation you want at the moment. Having seen her work so well with the spear not long ago, you grabbed one from the small pile for now. It will do until you have a better idea what to go for. But you do not yet know if you will stay with this, so an augment that perfectly matches spears may be a step too far.

At first you mostly talk about prices and which are the best offers, a nice and safe subject. Then come comparisons between foods; you both like meat, though your companion seems to love a particular place a bit out of the way that she promises to show you later. While Parvati prefers rice as a side, you like noodles more.

But while discussing the particulars of cooking meat on a stove can go a long while, you eventually have to stop and face your choice. Remembering how ineffective your attack was against that one augmented guy, you decide to go for strength. This is followed by a stroll across the Workshops until you find one that looks reliable but also affordable.

"Welcome to Nano Nice," you are greeted upon entering. "We provide for all your needs in bodily improvement." It is a sentence you can tell the teller has repeated far too often to be genuine. An empty phrase intended to finish luring in whoever was interested enough to enter. Not that you need much convincing.

Two hours later, you are led into another indoor gym much like LegLock's. They offered a two-in-one package for strength and durability that plays well with your current augment; steel nanofibres are threaded through your muscles and bones to reinforce them, giving you an easier time withstanding the force of motion. At the same time you are far, far stronger than before. Despite your lithe frame, you can now lift weights larger than your own without really feeling it.

"I think I will go for that next," Parvati comments from her perch on top of your outstretched hands. She balances on her heels, which dig into your palms. "This is dead useful."

"Very good," the attendant compliments without really meaning it. They did not react much to the display, nor to Parvati's fluttering dress as she hops back down. "Please be aware that while the modifications are safe, you did not buy a package that is de-magnetified or non-conducting. Interacting with strong magnetic fields or electrict currents may cause damages to the fibres or your body. While Nano Nice takes no responsibility for injuries you incur that way, we offer recalibration and replacement of damaged parts."

Those are a lot of words to not say they will take more of your money to fix whatever may go wrong. You still nod and thank them for the reminder.

Back outside, Parvati looks up at what you can see of the sky before tapping her cheek. "I think we still have time to visit that one place I mentioned earlier," she muses. "I bet you're hungry."

Your stomach agrees, aching in a way that reminds you of the past. "Yeah. Augmentation really takes a lot out of you, doesn't it?"

"Yep. It was the same for me. Come on, this way."

She leads you along the unfamiliar area and to a small bar, or rather a pub. Smoke floats around, the scent of alcohol and the sound of sizzling meat fill the air. You think you can smell something less pleasant hidden underneath, but that is probably just someone vomiting before being thrown out. A Zwei Fixer sizes you and Parvati up from the street corner before you vanish through the door.

The room's light is dimmed and a pianist plays in the corner, completely focussed on his song. It is not incredibly good, but nice enough as a backdrop that drowns quiet conversations.

Parvati beelines for the counter and you follow, only to hear her order: "The special for me and two pork steaks for them, and a beer each. My treat," she adds when she sees you looking. "I do owe you for saving my ass the other day."

You want to say it was nothing, but she has a point. It did not really register at the time, you were just fighting together. Still, this is a veritable feast to your sensibilities; even if you slowly get used to larger portions, Parvati is being generous.

"I am a little worried," you admit as you wait for the food to arrive. Your hands open and close uneasily. "It was probably for the best to round out my augmentations first, but I am not sure a simple weapon can keep up for much longer."

She hums in thought at that before shrugging. "You have a point, but Dexter did say to take something cheap to try out. Spears are easy to use, but I was thinking the same thing. We had that one guy with a Workshop weapon, did you see him recently?"

"You mean Guiying? I think I saw Dexter terminate his contract, so he probably died."

"Ah, makes sense. Shame about the weapon."

"It is. Maybe someone killed him for the weapon, too." Saying so, you frown back down at your hands. "Which may be another reason to go this way first. I think we are ahead of our Grade either way."

"Well, yes. We survived and got a nice stack of money out of it." Parvati throws you a little grin with that and raises her only slightly dirty glass mug. You click yours against hers and take a sip at the same time as her. Parvati sighs contendedly. "That hits the spot just right. And there comes the food."

A moment later, two plates are placed before you and the conversation stalls. Despite only taking five minutes or so, the meat is nicely cooked and juicy, served with bread and a spicy sauce. You both dig in quickly and enjoy the meal; it takes a while for you to glance at your companion's plate to see what the special is. It is red meat but not pork, you can tell that much. It looks different from your own. She takes rice and some sort of vegetables with it, eyes almost shining with each carefully chewed bite.

With what little alcohol was in the beer and the generally relaxed mood, you decide to indulge your curiousity once you are done.

"What did you work as before becoming a Fixer?"

This earns you a quick look, Parvati searching for whether you actually want to know. She shrugs in the end and answers: "Secretary. I guess it was nice enough and plenty safe, just sitting in my little office doing paperwork. At least that part is the same with Dexter," she jokes.

Then however, Parvati makes to add something only to frown and trail off instead. You make an encouraging motion before she keeps going: "I like to say I quit because they tried to foist more work on me than I got paid for, but it was really my boss firing me afterward. And that was the second job that happened, not even the first. So I decided I might as well switch tracks."

You silently raise your mug in salute, prompting a soft huff. Parvati mirrors the gesture nonetheless before turning the question: "How about you?"

This time it is your turn to size her up. Parvati seems almost as interested as you were before, though. In the end, your brow scrunches but you say it: "Didn't really have a job before this. Nothing stable, at least."

It takes a moment for the message to register. "Huh," Parvati makes before taking the final sip of her beer. "I have to admit, I didn't expect that. You're more confident than any Rat I've ever seen."

All you can do is shrug in response. She does not really want to know that you just got decent at faking it. The compliment is nice enough on its own either way. "Not a Rat anymore. I made it this far, so I am going to see how far I can get."

"Sounds good. I'm a little curious how you got your pack on-board," she starts, but cuts off upon seeing the look on your face. "Ah. Forget I asked."

You just wordlessly lower your head. It still hurts.

The conversation eventually returns to lighter subjects, though a question about this special they serve at the pub remains unanswered. You put it aside for if you ever come back here, although you would not really mind. Soon enough the two of you say goodbye and head home.

Getting used to your new strength takes some time; at least the sudden dearth in Grade Nine Fixers means there is more busiwork available. From what you hear while working with members from other Offices, The Thorns have been raiding a bunch of them in rapid succession. As with your own, they had someone higher up the ladder oversee an unruly mob that overran whoever was inside before ransacking the given office. The strategy seems more successful than you expected, at least three Offices go out of business within two weeks.

Once while out with Parvati, you hear a Thorn initiate claiming that this is indeed an initiation rite. Anyone who survives the raid and brings back at least one Fixer head gets to join up. Dexter himself figures out that the vines growing from their limbs are a bionic type of weapon administered by Thorn Workshop, which does serve as a front for the Syndicate.

Soon after that, several things happen in rapid succession. Two weeks after the raid, you receive a missive from Hana Association about being promoted to Grade Eight. Parvati gets the same a week later, on the same day The Thorns ascend to Urban Legend.

The prospect of facing an Urban Legend makes you shudder. The Urban Myths are fine by now, what with you and Parvati having gone to deal with another two of them. That and the sudden influx of other jobs fill your wallet somewhat, enough to not have to worry about rent. Tax season is still some time off, though you start to put money aside already. Better not to risk anything in that regard.

As you leave the office that day, a little worried about Dexter musing on whether to take on The Thorns after his Office was also promoted, you remember something else. A request made by a woman in white, perhaps more in jest but still.

She did ask you to come back once you reach Grade Eight, did she not?

Which is why you change tracks. Swift steps carry you down the road and across the rooftops, still careful not to raise too much attention. The Hana Association office is much faster to reach like this.

It looks no different from the last time you were there, almost imposing in its innocuousness. This time there is a small queue, however; not to mention the one you look for is not behind the desk. When it is your turn, you barely manage not to fidget under the Hana Fixer's gaze and flash your own license out of habit. At least your voice does not shake.

"I'm looking for a Grade Six called Giano, is she in?"

That gets a soft blink out of them; their gaze runs up and down your person before they nod slowly. "She should be. Please wait over there, I will call her to the the front."

You do as told and minutes later, the familiar redhead appears from a corridor leading deeper into the building. She talks to the receptionist on duty for a moment, then her eyes follow his motion your way. At first you think she does not recognise you, but then a faint smirk graces her features. The gesture makes you shudder, far more intimidating than it should be. But she is a Grade Six, you can not forget that.

"There you are," Giano greets you with an almost cheerful wave. "It's been a while."

"It has," you agree, feeling awkward but now better at braving it. "You told me to come see you when I make Grade Eight. So..."

You trail off after all, uncertain where to go from there. Giano is the one to call you back, but if it was just a little joke you will embarass yourself. Thankfully, the redhead nods almost sagely. "I see, so you made it? And with the lack of expensive weapon, you also took my advice if I remember correctly. That was you who asked what to invest in, right?"

"It was and yes."

You stand a little awkwardly, uncertain if perhaps you should bow. Giano does not seem to expect anything of the sort, though. After scrunching her brows for a moment, she bids you to wait and slides back into the employees-only area. She returns five minutes later with a greatshield and greatsword strapped to her back, shield covering most of the scabbard.

"Alright, let's take a walk. I have a coworker take over the rest of my shift."

You wordlessly follow her lead outside; literally everyone not in Hana white basically jumps out of her way, both inside and outside of the building. The mere presence of these massive weapons makes you uncomfortable; you can probably lift one of them well enough, but both at once?

"What are those for?" you venture carefully after a minute of melding with the crowd; despite Giano's presence, people seem to seek places near her while also trying not to ever be in her way. She glances first to you, then to her back.

"Why do you have that with you?" she then asks back with a motion for your spear. "Same reason, I am not dumb enough to go out without my weapons."

"They're massive," you add, still a little dumbfounded. The sword is almost the size of those Zweihänders the Zwei are reknowned for and the shield looks like it could easily block one of them. Or two. Or three.

At this however, Giano throws you a cheshire grin. "It's not about the size, but about how you use them," she tells you; even if it is somewhere between tease and taunt, you soak up her words regardless.

"Now, little Rat. Tell me how your first few weeks have been. How long did it take you, two months?"

"A bit over one and a half," you return, uncertain how to take her interest. Giano nods.

"Not bad. I had an inkling you might be interesting, but I did not expect you to be this fast. Good work, little Rat."

This is the second time she called you that. At first you thought she was reminding you of your place, especially because she is only a hair taller than you. But right now you have to wonder.

"You forgot my name, didn't you?"

A moment passes in perfect silence, ignoring the buzz of a crowd around you. It lasts long enough to register what you just said to a Grade Six. Talking with Parvati really softened you up to make a mistake like that, you lament in slowly growing horror.

Much to your relief, Giano grins and taps her head with a gloved fist. "Guilty as charged. Be so kind to remind me?"

"It's Ciel."

"Right, right. So, Ciel. Tell me a bit how your first weeks went. Anything interesting happen?"

She slowly maneuvers you away from the crowd as you begin; at first haltingly, then confused. Even though she asked, hearing about the day-to-day jobs you worked on obviously bores Giano. Mulling that over, you probe a bit and tell her about your first Urban Myth. The slime in the pump at least focusses her attention back on you, if not for long. "Definitely some sort of experiment," she agrees with you. "Not that it matters, considering it's dead."

She takes a bit of an interest in your coworkers, too. Dexter and Parvati are among the first you mention, prompting a thoughtful look.

"Dexter's Office, you say? Good to know."

It is a little eerie, perhaps also threatening. You feel you have a bit of an idea where she is going with this conversation by now, though. Giano is fishing for information.

So instead of giving her more that may as well be worth some money, you throw a question her way: "I don't think I'm a good informant. Do you really think this is worth your time?"

At first she just arches a brow, but then another little grin slips through the mask; she titters quietly before clapping your shoulder. The jovial gesture almost sends you to your knees. "And you're an attentive one, too. I'm actually learning a lot with this, both about up and coming Fixers and whatever trouble may be brewing."

"I thought you work as a receptionist?"

"Come now," she shoots back playfully. "You're smarter than that. Nobody maintains their Grade by doing paperwork and nothing else. I work in intel."

You lower your head, conceding the point. It makes sense, too; she is in the perfect position to spot whichever hopefuls look promising. A few words of encouragement and a request to come back if they do make something of themselves... and she can gather a lot of information basically for free. Nothing particularly big, you imagine, but quantity is a quality of its own; the Thorns are proving it at the moment, too.

"You're right," you finally say. "And I do have a few things that might actually interest you."

"Oh? I'm all ears."

No words are spoken as you stop to look at each other. Giano huffs and nods. "Alright, fine," she acquiesces, reaching into her pocket. A few bills change hands and you tell her about The Thorns and their recent string of Office raids.

"They rose up to Urban Legend just yesterday," you close. "And the Thorn Workshop that set up somewhere in the area is with them, too."

At first she was skeptical, you could tell as much. But by now Giano is running a hand through her crimson locks. The bun came undone earlier, apparently only maintained in the office. It runs down all the way to the small of her back, making you once again envious of how well she can afford to care for it. Not that you have long to do that, seeing that she claps your shoulder again.

"You know, that was well worth the money. I think I heard about the Thorns, but this was more details than we had at the office. I will go and update that later. Anything else?"

"Well," you start, thinking back to your boss. "Our operator thinks about taking them down, or rather if we even can do that. Any advice?"

You can tell she has some, but not a word leaves her lips. Giano watches you expectantly and it takes an embarassingly long moment for you to realise what she wants. So you offer her the money she handed you earlier, prompting a silly grin. "Thanks for your business," she chirps, pocketing the bills. "And really, it's hard to tell. The classes don't describe overall danger, just how much money someone is willing to spend to get it taken care of. I have seen some poor robbers go all the way from nothing to Urban Nightmare after they killed a pair of Feathers touring the Backstreets."

She pats the rim of her shield with a little grin, telling you exactly who raked in the dough for that particular case. Or, well, rather she made a killing. You feel the tiniest bit sorry, though even as a Rat you knew not to mess with anyone from the Nests. Those people were either stupid or desperate.

"From what you told me, they're still in the recruiting phase. If only a handful of elites have those augmentations, then you can probably beat them one by one. Find out where they are and jump them when they least expect it. Problem is you do not know how many of them there are or how strong their augments are." She counts off on her fingers, frowning. "Honestly, a fresh Grade Eight Office taking down an Urban Legend would be a big thing."

Then she pauses as something occurs to her, prompting another little titter. "Or you follow their example and bring together a gang of Fixer Offices to drown them in bodies. There's enough Grade Nines to soften up their elites. And on that note, don't forget to buy augments for endurance sooner or later. You will need them later on."

"I will keep that in mind," you say while thinking of the money you need to put aside at the moment. The idea to turn the Thorns' own strategy against them is tempting, but you need to talk to Dexter about it. "And thank you for the advice."

"Thanks for your business," she repeats without hesitation, then offers you a business card between two fingertips. "And do contact me if you want to do more. I can't squeeze you like some of the others I've seen, but you know how things work. That's almost as good."

You hesitate for a single moment, then take it.

From there your conversation continues on more domestic subjects. Giano does not pry much, mostly focussed on meaningless subjects. It is nice enough to talk to her, even if you sometimes feel like she is a little too cheerful. Not quite forced, but more that she is amused about something you missed.

That evening, you also complete another knitting project. A simple tablecloth once again, but this time one that actually looks decent. It has no embroidery or anything, but it is even and holds together. Putting it on the otherwise empty wooden table makes you smile.

The next day, you pass on Giano's thoughts to Dexter, who listens intently and grows thoughtful once you bring up the human wave tactic she joked about. That is a little worrying, though you doubt you will be thrown into the grinder.

While he mulls it over and reaches out to other Offices, you and Parvati continue doing the occasional Urban Myth mission. You still stay away from combat jobs out of habit, but making it this far and surviving the raid have slowly built up your confidence. One morning, a week after meeting with Giano and thus a month after the raid, you pour over the remaining missions. All those you confirmed as safe are done for now, the rest are uncertain.

Yet in some sort of great irony, all the Urban Myths available at this office are about Rats. 'Some Rats ate my dog, please kill them all', 'There are pickpockets abound in so-and-so street, drive them away', and so on. The list keeps on going.

You only realise Parvati is looking over your shoulder when she speaks: "Second thoughts? Still feel connected to them?"

Her words in your ear make you flinch violently, followed by a momentary glare. "That's like asking if you're feeling connected to every secretary," you shoot back.

"Fair enough. So why are you brooding over this?"

"There is nothing but Rats in all of these."

"Okay, and?"

"...forget it."

You just wave her off, uncertain how to explain this sense of irony. Parvati drops the subject without further comment and pulls the job requests over. The money is decent and Rats will be easy to take care of. But do you actually want to do that? Two augmented Fixers against a few Rats is not a fair fight, not at all. At the same time, it is easy money. You definitely are not getting enough together for another big purchase before Dexter finishes reaching out; if he does decide to go for the Thorns, you may need another advantage.

On the other hand, maybe Parvati was right and you do feel a little sympathy for those who are where you used to be. Enough to at least consider not going through with this.

] Hunt Rats

] Do not hunt Rats

-Ciel's Wealth changes from "Really Well Off" to "Afloat"

-Added weapon: metal spear

-Ciel's Fixer Grade changes: 9 - 8

-Parvati's Contact changes: Grade 9 Fixer - Grade 8 Fixer

-Dexter's Office Contact changes: Grade 9 Office - Grade 8 Office

-Giano's Contact changes: "you met" - "information exchange"

-Canon Characters Encountered: 1 - 2

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Threadmarks Grade 8 - 1; Even if One Were to Have Power, That Power Would Only Strike Down

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Naron

Naron

Mar 20, 2023

#1,972

Great Things Never Come From Comfort Zones

Spoiler: Winning Vote

In the end, money wins out. You need it and someone else will go to kill this lot anyway. What little sympathy you have is not nearly enough to leave them alone.

"I have some experience with how Rats work," you tell Parvati; her lips twitch in response, but she does not interrupt as you explain: "We can either lure them into a trap, or search their most likely hidey holes. For the first we need to hide our weapons and pretend to not be Fixers, for the second we need to cover a lot of ground."

She hums in thought before lifting two fingers. "I like the second better. Less chance for one of us to lose their innards."

"The chance is small either way. But I agree." The one time you had Rats following you, it was all you could do to scare them away. More than that, turning an ambush around will make them run right quick. "Just keep in mind that we need them to have their backs to a wall. Rats will always flee if they can."

It feels a little odd, talking about them like this. You are slowly moving up as a Fixer; the past still stays with you, but as more of a monotone series of events than something keeping you shackled. You are truly not one of them anymore. Arin would laugh themselves silly at the idea.

Meanwhile, Parvati listened intently and nods along. "Alright, let's go."

What follows are a few days of slaughter. It soon becomes clear that the recent Thorns raids distracted too many Offices from taking care of occasional Rat troubles; with nobody coming to solve the issue, people began offering more money. Much like that unfortunate group of Robbers Giano talked about. And now they are Urban Myths, making the Grade 9s too hesitant to go at them.

But in the end, it is just Rats. They are far too slow to escape you and Parvati, much less fight. Every time you sniff some out, they are dead in short order. Washing blood out of your clothes feels strangely nostalgic after the last two months being so calm. You actually end up giving Parvati some tips about cleaning that she is grateful for. In turn she helps you with the spear, though those Rats are decent enough practice. It is a good weapon.

With your strength and speed, oftentimes your victims end up with gaping holes in their bodies. You are careful to pillage what little money they have on them, but leave everything else for any enterprising Rats that find the carnage.

"We could wait around some of the corpses to catch the next group off-guard," Parvati suggests on the third day of pest control. "That way they come to us instead of vice versa."

You have to shake your head at that. "It's unlikely those are the ones we get paid to kill. Unless you want to sell their organs after all?"

It is a practice you slowly learn to leave behind. Though decently lucrative, you start to earn enough money not to need it anymore. Parvati shakes her head and that is that. You get back to work finding the last group on your list, the pickpockets; they are the hardest to find because they blend in so well. They must in order to get at peoples' purses. It takes the entire day watching the area before you notice one of them and follow back to the rest. After that it all goes really quick.

Then trouble finds you.

"Hello, you two. May I have a moment?"

You freeze amidst the carnage, eyes snapping around. Parvati moves as well, pointing her bloody spear and almost dropping it in surprise. You feel much the same, assaulted by memories of a monochrome blur surrounded by crimson droplets.

The person before you stands with their back straight, light blue hair neatly curled into tight ringlets. Their tailoured, black suit is perfectly pristine and in complete opposition to the dirty Backstreets. Your heart beats heavy under a gaze you can only feel but not see, hidden by a black and gold blindfold. Their white cape sways in a soft breeze.

The Index Proselyte dips their head in greeting.

"I would like to request a strand of your hair each," they say, not so much as wasting a look on the dead surrounding you. "Will you give them to me?"

They ask nicely, but neither of you misses the ornate sheath at their belt. A familiar, standard-issue longsword wielded by the Index. You stare at them for long seconds, barely held back from fleeing outright. Parvati is just as hesitant, though she does not dare raise her weapon.

You swallow several times to get the lump out of your throat. The Proselyte stands patiently, waiting for a response. You somehow keep yourself thinking and speak out.

"I-Is this for a Prescript?"

"Why, yes. Of course it is."

"What does it say?"

A moment passes in silence as the Proselyte focuses on you fully. Their attention makes you shudder, a clear reminder that for all your progress you are still a small fish. Proselytes are the weakest full members of the Index, yet this one could slaughter you as easily as you just killed those Rats.

But even then, you need to know. You do not trust their Prescript not to say to carve you up if you agree to the demand. Your body shakes and Parvati is clearly worried, but you manage not to cave. In the end, the Proselyte nods. They produce a piece of paper and unfold it carefully, then offer it to you.

Having to approach them is nerve-wracking, but you manage with only a minimum of shaking. Their hand remains on the handle of their sword, a clear message in case you get any clever ideas; they are right, too. If you thought they stopped paying attention, you would absolutely try. But as it is, you simply grasp the Prescript. Parvati reads over your shoulder.

'To Dalton: Walk down Moon Avenue the day after receiving this Prescript. Greet the people you meet with a wave, alternating hands for each person. Turn left after the seventh wave of your right hand, then take a strand of hair (each) from the next person or group you encounter. Weave all the hairs into an accessory and wear it.'

"That's a weird one," Parvati comments faintly, looking between the Prescript and its owner, apparently Dalton. "It doesn't say what to do if we refuse."

"It also says to take the hair," Dalton returns jovially. "I just figured it is less effort to ask first."

Their indifference makes your skin crawl, even if it makes sense. You carefully hand the Prescript back, unwilling to make this Proselyte angry despite the visceral desire to spread their brains over the wall. Then you slip the knife out of your pocket. "How much do you need?"

"I was thinking of a bracelet, though I guess a ring will do too."

That is... sensible. You wordlessly offer the blade to Parvati, who takes a strand off the back of your head. Then you do the same for her and both are given to the smiling Proselyte. They dip their head again and skip away with a simple "Thank you".

Once they are out of sight, you exhale heavily and lean against the wall. Your stomach revolts at the idea of going along with the Index for anything, your heart beats heavily as adrenaline floods your system. Far heavier than it has during the fighting these last few days.

Damn the Index!

You slowly gather yourselves and leave the area to send a report about completing the job. A handful of Urban Myths under your belt to basically no danger, that will look good on your resume. Yet somehow, you do not feel particularly happy right now.

As another week passes, you regain your equilibrium. The Thorns keep on moving as well, serving as a distraction. You occasionally meet some of their initiates in the streets, gleaning bits and pieces about their practices; apparently, they follow after the Thumb in style if not in quality. Anyone can join if they bring a Fixer's head, the raids are organised by the bosses, and anyone who does not respect their superiors properly gets mutilated. That is the second Finger you get exposed to in a week.

"Maybe they want to become a subsidiary of the Thumb," Parvati reasons that evening, motioning with her fork. "I heard they induct Syndicates that impress them, at least as long as they show proper respect."

The two of you went out to eat together once more. It became a bit of a weekly occasion, though Dexter joins you today. He nods along while nibbling on a piece of sausage. "I can see this happening," he agrees. "From what I heard, many surviving Syndicates eventually join one of the Fingers. That, or they are forced to join."

"Here's to hoping we don't have Thumb and Index fighting over this corner of the District," you grouse, more to yourself than them. As much as you would not mind the cultists to get their heads caved in, open warfare in the streets puts you at risk as well. The other two wordlessly raise their mugs in response.

After a collective drink is taken, Dexter wipes off his mouth and changes the subject: "Anyway, remind me tomorrow to set up new contracts for the both of you. I keep forgetting to do that." He immediately has your undivided attention and explains without further prompting: "Now that you're Grade Eight and proving competent, I ought to actually pay you properly before one of the other Offices buys you out from under my nose."

You nod slowly, as does Parvati. Neither of you expects a full salary, but at least the fees taken out of your job rewards will get lowered. Although this does remind you there will be opportunities sooner or later; right now you are not quite sure if you will stay with Dexter if you find something better to do. A better offer.

"That reminds me," Parvati interjects thoughtfully. "I didn't get stinkeyes from the others anymore the last few weeks. Didn't even realise until just now."

You have to blink, but agree. The same happened to you as well; Dexter only huffs, though. "You're Grade Eight now," he explains simply. It is really all you need to understand and agree. Of course Grade 9s will not antagonise a Grade 8.

The thought of grades brings you to another question, though: "Say, boss: did you have any thoughts on specialising the Office in the future yet?"

It is true that Dexter's Office is still a Grade 8 Office, but sooner or later it will rise high enough to consider the subject. At least that is your train of thought; it derails upon seeing Dexter's shrug. "That's still so far off," he muses. "I figure I will get there when I get there."

You have half a mind to object, but he is the higher Grade of you; he probably knows what he is doing. In the end, you just stay quiet and finish your food. Parvati ordered the same beef as the rest of you tonight, you notice; she later tells you that the special is her reward for good work, but she tries not to eat it more than once a month to keep it a special. You kind of get the sentiment, although you feel that the price also plays into it.

Another three weeks pass like that in relative calm. You go back to mostly ungraded work, carrying things or delivering messages. It goes smoothly thanks to your augments, same as with Parvati. You still earn a little better than before thanks to the new contracts you negotiated with Dexter.

The Thorns keep up their recruitment drive as well, although the Backstreets start to react to them. One Grade 7 Office tries to take them on on their own; they beat down a handful of higher-ups, but quickly get drowned in initiates and taken out. Their bodies are on display entangled in thorns, opposite of the Hana building. At least until the Sweepers take them down that same night.

The Fixers are not idle, though. The relative boredom sadly ends for you when Dexter announces a meeting with two dozen other Offices; most of them are Grade 9, with some Grade 8s involved as well. They meet at a larger bar, each operator accompanied by two of their Fixers; you do the same, flanking Dexter together with Parvati. Your main job is to make sure nobody tries anything, though.

The room is filled with Fixers that afternoon, the owner paid a decent sum to let them use it to plan. A neutral ground large enough to hold everyone, unlikely to be bugged by the Thorns.

You spend the time glancing out of windows and otherwise chatting with the other Fixers. Most are wary and some have dark rings under their eyes; the Thorns are harrying everyone in the area lately. At the same time, you pick up more than one hint that people here also worry about facing this now-established Urban Legend. They killed a Grade 7 Office after all.

"Which is why we need to work together here," Dexter explains at the central table, a map of the area spread across. "Perhaps even use their own strategies against them. The Thorns' biggest strength is their numbers. Somehow they attract a great number of recruits. If we can match that or make it less enticing to join the Syndicate, we only need to worry about their bosses."

"Of which there are only a handful," another man adds thoughtfully. "Yes, but how do we do that without an all-out war? We aren't Liu Association, we can't pull that off."

"Maybe they'll hire us if we do," the woman opposite of Dexter jokes mirthlessly. A few half-hearted laughs follow.

The discussion goes back and forth for a bit, only to suddenly fall silent when the front door opens with a jingle. All eyes snap there, only to widen as a woman in white strides through. A woman you know, at that.

"Knock knock," Giano says with jovial cheer. "We're here to pluck some thorns out of our collective sides."

Behind her follow three men, each of which dresses in muted colours. Not uniforms, they just seem to try to be inconspicuous. In complete opposition, her white uniform stands out starkly in the room as she approaches the bar. "A whiskey for me. You want anything, gentlemen?" Heads are shaken and she shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Then Giano spots you and throws you a wink. Parvati sees it as well but does not get a chance to ask questions; the new arrival makes introductions: "I am Giano from Hana East Section Six, Grade Six." The entire room seems to straighten up, seeing that she is the highest-ranked Fixer present. Giano grins and motions for her companions.

"These here are the reinforcements I bring. Hermes, operator of Hermes' Office, an associate of Seven Association. Grade Eight." She indicates a somewhat corpulent fellow in a pinstripe suit; an information gatherer is what you understand, Seven Association is all about that.

"And those two are Darius and an anonymous Fixer we will call Shadow, hopefuls for Liu and Shi Association respectively. Both Grade Seven, I got them lent to me as part of their entrance exam into their respective associations."

Just like that, Giano established her group as the strongest. She gets her whiskey and takes a measuring sip, then snaps a finger. Shadow appears behind the bartender and slices her head off. The woman drops dead in an instant, blood spurting from the wound; nobody moves while the Hana Fixer takes one of the empty chairs at the table. Shadow wipes down his glowing red sword.

"What I know and you don't is that the Thorns are already pressing down on a number of civilian places, like this one. The lady serving you lot drinks would have sold your entire plan before the Sweepers come out tonight. Now, where were you all?" Nobody speaks and Giano rolls her eyes before pointing. "You are Dexter, correct? As the one who started this, explain your plan."

He does as told, recapping what the gathered operators covered thus far. Giano nods while the other Fixers sit at an empty table; nobody dares get in their way, though even Hermes seems uncomfortable next to a prospective Shi Assassin.

"Do you know her?" Parvati whispers to you then. She does not need to nod toward Giano to make it clear who she means. You simply nod.

"She took my application for the Fixer license, but she also works in intel. I sold her some things about the Thorns the last few weeks."

"Did you now? Is that how she knew we would be here?"

You can only shake your head at that. That was not you.

"The main problem we face, ma'am," Dexter finishes then, "is that while we know a number of their fronts and their main base, we don't know how powerful exactly their bosses are. Do you know?"

"Right, right," Giano responds airily; her flippant behaviour almost hides how closely she paid attention. "I could ferret out a few things, but nothing conclusive. For now we act on the assumption that whoever leads the Thorns is on par with a Grade Six or Grade Five Fixer. To actually figure that out, I want to capture one of their higher-ups to interrogate."

There is some murmuring across the room; you feel your hackles rise as well, even a dozen Grade Eight Fixers stands no chance against a Grade Six or Five. Maybe that is why the assassin is here, too?

Either way, Giano's proposal is taken with interest. Before it was risky, but the amount of force she brings to the fore make it a good first step. That and her being a Grade Six make everyone come around to the idea. Hermes has contacts to a mole in the Thorns and found out when and where the next Office raid will be.

"And now," she closes the discussion, "let's talk money. All things considered, a fifty-fifty split sounds appropriate."

Some winces go around; she is absolutely gouging the other Offices right now, even if she admittedly brings the highest combat ability. The operators haggle her down to thirty-five percent and your Offices taking everything valuable; well, looting is always good.

Parvati listened in with interest. "She's good," is her final verdict. "So that's a Grade Six Fixer."

You are not entirely sure, but you feel some of it may be Giano in particular. At the same time, you have other matters to think about. The first task of this conflict is to beat down an armed mob led by another elite. This time with similar numbers.

But right now you have a choice: you are Grade Eight, strong enough to volunteer for facing the elite. It would give you a chance to be seen by higher-Grade Fixers. Or you can join the larger group and beat down the mob for a chance at more loot. Parvati is planning to do the latter, more for safety's sake. The few Grade Seven Fixers present are all slated to join Giano with the elite, including Dexter.

Unfortunately, paying rent left you with too little money to consider buying a better weapon right now. Your wallet may not be empty due to constant work and the extra deals with Giano, but you still remember the lesson about quality. Your spear will have to do.

Now whom do you follow tomorrow? Dexter and Giano, or Parvati? Risk and recognition, or safety and some money?

] Volunteer to help with the elite

] Help with the mob

-Ciel's Wealth changed from "Afloat" to "Okay"

-Added Contact: Darius (Grade 7, Liu Association hopeful, relation: you met)

-Added Contact: "Shadow" (Grade 7, Shi Association hopeful, relation: you met)

-Added Contact: Hermes (Grade 8, Hermes' Office operator, relation: you met)

-Added Contact: Hermes' Office (Grade 8 Office, focus on information gathering)

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