With Arthur separated from the White Fang and Dutch back to gum up everything he's done, our favorite outlaw is on the back foot. Also, you guys gave up WAY too quick on Eye of the Tiger.
Chapter 22
3 weeks after the Schnee Mansion Incident...
In the wilderness of Mistral outside of the Kingdom, villages and towns popped up and disappeared all the time. The residents knew this, and many had seen a village fall in their own lifetimes. But they persevered regardless, relying on their own autonomy instead of the Kingdom's taxes and walls. The people living in the wilderness were hardy and self-sufficient, snubbing the protected life in Mistral. That being said, sometimes problems cropped up that required more than the locals could safely handle. So even though the Kingdom itself wasn't welcome, Huntsmen, Huntresses, and bounty hunters were still a common sight, either passing through or handling local affairs.
For the town of Tumbleweed, enough traffic passed through to warrant a small tavern with a well stocked bar. Trading and brewing presented quite a selection, and it helped pull Lien from every traveler looking to wash the dust from their throats. The tavern was a sizable wooden structure, with the main room open and homey. Several wooden tables were spaced out in the dining area, where a few local girls waited tables during the evening hours. This morning, however, the only souls in the tavern were the bartender and a lonely patron at the end of the bar. The jukebox sat in the corner, unplugged and dusty from lack of use. The television over the bar, however, was vibrant with the top news story.
"Tensions escalate in the aftermath of the White Fang's terrorist attack on the Schnee Manor just south of Anthem. The SDC released a statement condemning the attack, declaring it the work of radicals attempting to sabotage the company. Heiress to the company was present during the attack, and so far has been unavailable for comment. SDC spokesman George Schrat had this to say."
A short, stocky little man that was balding and had bushy mustache appeared on the screen, a still picture to show whose voice was playing on the recording.
"Mr. Schnee is adamant that the authorities will take the proper steps in apprehending and punishing these criminals to the righteous extent of the law. The Schnee Dust Company will not stand idly by if these attacks continue." The image disappeared after that, moving back to the reporter. The TV had an image of the Schnee manor, smoldering wreckage that is was, with the words 'TERRORIST ATTACK' etched across it. The bartender glanced up at the television, then shook his head wearily. He wore a powder blue button up shirt, a stained handkerchief in his breast pocket. His slacks had been pleated once, but he clearly didn't bother anymore. He had a roughly controlled beard, black and streaked with gray like his thick hair that billowed around his ears and brow in a cloud of curls.
The door swung open, allowing light into the tavern for a moment as a bounty hunter entered, smacking dust off of his shoulders and removing his white leather hat. His tan jacket dropped the dust and dirt easily enough, but the bartender raised an eyebrow when he heard the telltale jingle of spurs. Either the guy actually rode in on a white horse, or he was really into the whole cowboy deal.
"What'll you have?" The bartender asked gruffly, pulling a glass from below the bar in anticipation. Most fellas looking like this guy took whiskey or bourbon, playing into the stereotype. The man approached the bar wearily, dropping onto a stool with a sigh. His face was haggard and bristly, clearly not having seen a razor in some time. Judging from the dirt on his clothes and the weariness in his eyes, he'd also been on the road for a while.
"A beer, please. Something dark if there's a choice." His voice was rough, too. The bartender slid over leisurely, not moving too fast for the customer's sake. He had a few to choose from, but went with the cheapest one just in case the man's wallet matched the rest of him. As he slid the glass over, the traveler had a couple Lien cards waiting.
"What brings you through here?" The bartender asked, making conversation while he collected the price of the drink and the tip. The cowboy said nothing, opting instead to lift the beer to his lips and drink deeply, draining the glass to half before he set it back down with a satisfied sigh.
"Lookin' for a fella around these parts. Haven't seen him in a while." The stranger's voice was scratchy, with an accent the bartender couldn't quite place. He looked familiar too, in a roundabout way.
"Oh yeah? Who might that be?" The bartender asked, more because talking people drank more than out of any real conversation. The bounty hunter knocked the rest of his beer back in long, slow quaffs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sighed contentedly.
"Fella by the name of John Rackam. Around these parts, he probably went by Calico Jack." The bartender froze at the name, the fake smile he'd been wearing slowly dropping off of his face as his hands slid from the counter, reaching behind it. The stranger kept talking, either not noticing or not caring. "He ran with quite a few other boys. Edward Thatch, Monty Montgomery," The bounty hunter was about to continue listing names when the door was thrown open, revealing a disheveled, inebriated man with dirty blonde hair held back with a crimson bandanna. He wore a tattered yellow shirt underneath a brown vest, and his brown pants were equally damaged and dirty.
"Dan, someone's collecting the rest of the crew! He got Thatch and Double M already!" The man slurred, staggering into the nearest table as he rushed toward the bar. He ignored the patron entirely, slamming up against the stool as he tried to regain his balance. The barkeep's face began to bead with sweat, his eyes cutting nervously to the cowboy bounty hunter that had named off then entire game. Dan noticed only now that the stranger's hand was under the bar and hidden from view. For all he knew, the man had a hand on his gun as well.
The stranger pushed the glass away from him with a satisfied smile, grinning as finished his statement.
"And Daniel Mashburn, also known as Powder Dan." The bounty hunter cast a sidelong glance at Calico Jack, who was blinking owlishly at the conversation that had superseded his startling realization. Dan, the bartender, wrapped his hands around the shotgun that he kept tucked under the bar. He was halfway to pulling it out when he heard an ominous click by his ear. He slowly lifted his hands, empty of the weapon, and looked up to see the barrel of a large revolver pointed right at his forehead. The stranger was half standing now, keeping his revolver pointed at Dan since Jack was clearly less of a threat.
"Ah ah ah, mister Mashburn. If you don't want me to turn your head into a canoe, I'd keep whatever special stock you were pullin' behind the bar. Keeps things civil." The stranger turned and looked over at Calico Jack, who was blinking his bleary eyes as he finally realized that the person he was coming to warn Powder Dan about was standing right in front of him.
"What the devil?" The drunk asked slowly, reaching behind him for a rusty dagger. The stranger's barrel swung to him, and Jack nearly tripped over the stool as he backed away.
"The name's Morgan, and I'm to take you in." The bounty hunter replied, stepping away from the bar so that he could keep an eye on both wanted men. "Let's do this quietly, and no one gets hurt." The three men stared at each other for a few tense moments, sweat rolling down Dan's face as he looked between Morgan and the door. Morgan just stood there, revolver in a relaxed grip, not worried in the slightest as his flinty eyes watched their every move.
As anyone could have predicted, it was Rackam that made the first move. Yelling out in a mixture of panic and inebriation, Calico Jack drew his knife and threw it, way off course and lodging its rusted edge in the ceiling. With the bounty hunter not even remotely distracted, Calico Jack bravely turned and ran toward the door, knocking over chairs in his haste to escape.
Morgan's eyes flashes gold for a moment, and his gun arm moved with unnatural speed. The revolver barked loudly, taking out the leg of a chair by the door. The chair fell into the way of the graceless Jack as he fled, tripping him head first into the door frame with a loud crack. Both of the men winced sympathetically when they heard a loud crunch, followed by light snoring. Morgan and Dan both looked at each other, processing the event, and Dan held his hands up higher.
"I give up."
Two hours later after a brief explanation to the folks of Tumbleweed and a quick ride to the nearest bounty station, Arthur chuckled as he pocketed the four thousand Lien from his arrest of the entire Land Sharks gang. Apparently, they had once been pirates on the open sea until the Atlesian military had taken notice. A couple of missiles later, the pirates had wisely decided to keep their operations on land. They'd terrorized the countryside for months, and the Kingdom of Mistral finally placed a bounty on the whole gang. They were a rowdy bunch, but nothing Arthur couldn't handle. Hell, he could have dealt with them even if he hadn't had Aura. Since the White Fang hadn't exactly been willing to pay him as they chasing him out the gate, the Lien had been desperately needed. Now, he could at least get a haircut and a bed to sleep in.
The bounty station sat at a crossroad between Kuroyuri, a failed village to the north, and Mistral to the east. For small fries like the Land Sharks, Arthur could just drop them off at manned outposts like this. For big fish like Raven Branwen, he would either have to kill them and deliver their corpse to the Kingdom, or find a way to transport dangerous individuals across half the continent. Since Famine didn't exactly come with a cage, Arthur figured the smaller bounties were a safer bet. Besides, if there were people out there of the same caliber as the leader of the Branwen tribe, he didn't want to meet 'em.
A notification chimed on his scroll, and Arthur pulled it out quickly. A message from Tukson played across the screen, and it seemed that the bookseller had finally heard about what had happened with him and the White Fang. Arthur sighed and typed out a quick reply, promising to call the Faunus and give him the whole story later. Right now, he was three days shy of a bath, and he wanted to get cleaned up before the dirt became permanent.
Arthur found a rest stop not far from the bounty office, tethering Famine to a post nearby as he walked in. It was a small office surrounded by log cabins, each one furnished for guests to relax while on the road. There was little else to the area besides a wooden fence around the cabins and a post office, its aging holographic display flickering every now and then as it sat in front of some rusted metal bins. The place didn't even have a name, referred to instead as rest stop #14. Arthur knocked on the door as he entered, and a bell above the door rang as well. Inside the small office was a counter like most places, with a few cloth chairs on his side of things for waiting. He let his eyes roam over the magazines that were sitting in the seats and rolled his eyes. They were several years old.
Behind the counter, a short woman was peeking out over top of it to see who had come in. Her gray hair was tied up in a neat bun, and her brown eyes were comically magnified by her prescription glasses. She was barely five feet tall, and was clearly straining just to see over the counter. When she saw Arthur's hat, the woman laughed and waved him in.
"Come on in, mister Morgan! We haven't seen you in a few days." The woman had a strong southern accent, not out of place if she had lived in Rhodes or Valentine. Arthur waved in response, chuckling as he wiped his boots off on the rug beneath him.
"Howdy again, missus Moses. I wasn't expecting to be back so soon, but I finished work early." He stepped up to the counter, digging into his satchel for some Lien. "Hope you don't mind me stayin' the night again."
"You know I don't turn away customers, mister Morgan. And for the last time, just call me Granny!" The elderly woman admonished. "Jed just finishing dressing a deer, so its venison stew tonight. I'll make sure to bring some around for you if you're feeling tired." Despite his return to civilization, as Sienna called it, there were few things that made Arthur's mouth water like venison stew. The meat was fine on its own, seared over a fire, but in a mix with potatoes, spices, corn, and some bread? Nothing beat it.
"That sounds wonderful, Granny. Same cabin as last time?" Arthur placed thirty Lien down on the counter, and another ten for a tip and cleanup. He wasn't the type to make his bed, and Granny Moses preferred her cleaning charge up front. The short woman took his money and placed it in a register, handing him a worn metal key with the number '3' etched into the head.
"That's right. There's a traveling family in seven, so hopefully you've got enough room between you and them to get some shut eye." Granny looked up at him, her glasses making her eyes owlishly large. "I take it you'll be stabling your horse as well?"
"Please. Famine can handle a lot, but I'd rather not keep him outside in the elements if I ain't there with him. He gets jealous." Arthur winked in a conspiratory manner, causing Granny to cackle and slap her knee.
"Alright then, I'll have Ellie Mae board him once she's done cleaning the showers. You go on and get some rest now. Supper will be ready at six." Granny waved him on, then went back to writing down in the log book. Arthur left her to work with little more, not wanting to interrupt the small woman as she worked. Granny Moses owned a few different rest stops in Mistral and Vacuo, but she still ran them with the personal touch. Her son and his children helped her manage them, and it was a strong family business. Arthur liked them because they reminded him of home.
Cabin number three was a small, wooden construction, though it still carried the basic amenities. A small common area had an outdated television and a dark cloth couch next to a wooden coffee table. Attached to the common room was a small kitchenette, tiled and boasting a refrigerator, sink, and small range. The cabinet above the sink had a few dishes, but Ellie Mae usually collected the dirty dishes after every meal. Two rooms in the back had a bed and bathroom apiece, and Arthur dropped his satchel in the one furthest from the door. Removing his hat and setting it down on the bedside table, Arthur sank onto the soft bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It had thickened in the past few weeks, growing to a length a little longer than what he was comfortable with.
Not wanting to pass out and miss supper, the outlaw turned bounty hunter sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes to stay awake. He pulled his scroll out and looked down at it, reading the most recent news title as it slowly crossed the screen. White Fang attack caravans, SDC furious, the title read. Arthur breathed a sigh through his nose, frustrated with how everything had gone down.
Ever since his forced exile from the White Fang, the news had been covered in reports of attacks and holdups all through Mistral, each one citing the Faunus rights group. Along with the report came pictures of trucks ransacked, some filled with bullet holes. One even had a covered body on scene. The last picture was of Sienna herself, a profile picture from the side as she gave orders. It was an older picture from before she had become the Supreme Leader. According to the article, ten million Lien had been offered by the SDC for her capture.
Dead or alive.
Arthur ran a hand down his face as he moved to his contact list, scrolling down until he came to her contact card. Unlike the picture run in the article, the one he had for her had been provided by Tukson. It was from their adventures on the boat, just after the Sea Feilong had been defeated. Sienna was looking out across the water, relaxed and leaning on the railing with a content smile on her face. And that was how Arthur saw her too, contrary to the media depiction.
Three weeks was far too long to go without contacting each other, and Arthur knew that he was making excuses. Sure, he'd been busy dodging White Fang scouts and creatures of Grimm, but there was nothing stopping him from calling her once he was settled in for the night besides sheer stubbornness. He'd turned his scroll off every chance he had to keep from being tracked again, but nearly a month without contact had him relaxing slightly. He still stayed on the move as he made his way toward Vale, but he didn't turn the scroll off as much.
Figuring he had time until supper and Ellie Mae was taking care of Famine, he didn't have much more to do besides call Sienna. And yet, five solid minutes went by as he stared at his scroll, thumb hovering over the 'call' command. Sienna had been a dedicated friend, if a little snappy when she had the whole world on her shoulders. They had watched each other's backs for almost the entire time he'd been on Remnant, and he honestly believed her to be a good friend. But now that he was out of the picture, the White Fang was finally stepping up its game. He knew this level of violence hadn't been her first choice, but the White Fang was finally making waves for equality. Sure, it was doing it by force instead of through negotiation like Ghira had done it, but Sienna had expected that going in. Was he really going to interrupt that by holding onto that friendship? She had looked hurt and stricken as he'd left, but what did she have to gain by associating with a human like him? Surely she would be better off without his skeleton in her closet, so to speak.
Before he could turn the scroll off and put it away, an idle thought swiped his thumb sideways, pulling up more pictures of Sienna. He only had a few, seeing as how neither of them were shutterbugs. One good one he had was from the night of her inauguration, when he had walked into Ghira's mansion with Sienna Khan on his arm, by all accounts the most striking woman in the room. Blake had taken that photo, before she'd gone climbing for some last minute repairs. With her arm snugly wrapped around his, Sienna had been greeting her people with a smile, escorted by Arthur even as she was clearly the one guiding him. And that was how it had always been, hadn't it? With the exception of the Marston debacle that had sent him back to Vacuo, Arthur had been following Sienna's lead in exchange for her help, and she'd given it in spades. Was that a relationship he wanted to throw away?
The dial tone said no. Arthur fidgeted on the bed, wondering if he should have brushed his teeth or shaved before he made the call. He grumbled and decided not to do anything, knowing full well he'd use the preparation as an excuse to end the call and not try again later. The tone rang three more times, each second increasing his anxiety slightly as he waited. Maybe she had been more hurt than he'd first thought, throwing himself to the wolves like he had? The last time he'd taken a decision like that out of her hands, she'd been furious. This time, the stakes had been just as high.
When he was about to hang up, the line finally opened, though no video image appeared. The screen displayed the message 'audio only', and Arthur could hear a voice in the background.
"Report." Arthur blinked, not really expecting that after three weeks of silence. He opened his mouth, hoping it would come up with something to say, and his improvisation was as brilliant as ever.
"Uh...all quiet on the western front?" The outlaw tried weakly. Sienna scoffed over the phone, and he heard someone in the background speak. Sienna said something to them, too low and muffled for Arthur to make out, then came back clearly.
"I sent you out two days ago, I expect a report. Have you found him or not?" Arthur's brow furrowed, until suddenly he understood; whomever was in the room with Sienna didn't know that it was him calling her. She was making it sound like he was someone else.
"No, not really. Got a few bounties to keep myself fed, but no sign of whoever 'he' is." Arthur reported. "I was hoping you were doing okay. Just checking on ya." She said something else on the side, and Arthur heard some more movement and then a door close. Once silence returned, Sienna's voice dropped its authority in favor of worry.
"I'm so sorry, Arthur. Are you alright?" Glad to finally be on the same page, he couldn't help but chuckle a little.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I would have called earlier, but...I guess it just didn't seem right. Looks like you have your hands full."
"Yes, things have definitely gotten out of hand. After Adam sabotaged the mission with Cain, he eliminated every peaceful solution we had. No one will work with us now that they think we are bloodthirsty monsters. At this point, violence really is the only option." She paused. "I sent Marcus out after you, or at least that's what the others think. In reality, he told me that he's had enough. He said he doesn't recognize the White Fang anymore." Her tone broke slightly at that, though she still kept her edge. Marcus had been respected in the White Fang, both as a Great War veteran and as a friend. Losing him so soon after Arthur's exile must have really forced Sienna to make some hard choices. Another thing that Adam had brought on.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Who do you have training the new guys now?" He had a sinking feeling who it was, and her defeated voice confirmed it.
"Adam." Goddammit. "He's too popular with the others to cast out, especially since they believe his story over yours. Any action I take against him now would cripple our morale, and we are actually making progress now." She sighed. "As long as he's training, he's not slaughtering people. But everyone that he trains will be as vicious and stubborn as he is. If I remove him from training and put him on missions, the death toll will skyrocket. And I do not trust him to remain on base with idle hands." Ouch. It sounded like she didn't have much choice, especially with a lot of her original members gone. Without Marcus, Cain, and Tukson, the White Fang was slowly filling up with new recruits and the leftovers from Shao Khan's gang. A really bad combination.
"I wish I could help, but I think that would cause more harm than good." Arthur admitted. "I'm willing to help from the outside, but if they know it's me, there will be trouble." It was a halfhearted offer, but it was also the best he could do.
"I appreciate that, Arthur, I really do. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like that's an option right now." Sienna didn't say anything for a time. "I am sorry, Arthur. I should have done something to protect you. You didn't deserve that." The outlaw shook his head, expecting that and already having an answer.
"If you had, we'd have both been running to the hills. Then where would the White Fang be? At least this way, you can still steer them in the right direction. The sooner you get things done, the sooner things go back to normal." Or at least, the new normal. Preferably one where they didn't have to lie and sneak just to have a conversation.
"I know, I just...I feel like I betrayed you, Arthur. I'm sorry, I should have had a better hold on things. It's all my fault..."
"No it ain't. We both know who is to blame, and it ain't you or me. Adam started all this, and he's the one that will pay when all the dust settles. I know you can't do nothing now, but he won't get away with this. I promise you that." Arthur said fervently, fire blazing in his eyes. Cain had been a good friend, one of the first ones he'd had on Remnant. And Adam had sacrificed him on the altar of petty revenge.
"Even so, I am responsible for what happened under my command. I appreciate the sentiment, but you can't explain it all away. I will have to pay for what I've allowed, someday." Sienna's voice took a far off quality to it, like she was resigned to a brutal end because of Adam's deeds. Arthur disagreed wholeheartedly, but he also knew how difficult it would be to convince her. It was just her nature to own everything, all because she wore the fancy hat, so to speak.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, the Schnees think you're worth ten million. Seems kinda low to me, but I'm biased." He made out as a joke, and thankfully he got a dry chuckle from her. Anything to break the melancholy she was clearly wrestling with.
"How many times do I have to tell you, flattery will get you nowhere." She paused, as if she was unsure what else to say. "Arthur, I want you to promise me something."
"Sure." The outlaw agreed immediately. "Whatcha need?"
"Don't...don't be a stranger. I know things are tricky right now, but I've already lost one friend in the past few weeks." Arthur's eyes fell to the floor as he nodding, though she couldn't see it. "I don't want to lose the first real human friend I've ever had because of some arrogant, red haired son of a-" Something sounded in the background, likely a knock. Sienna stopped talking for a moment, likely looking up to see who it was. When she spoke again, her voice was low and hushed. "Stay safe out there Arthur. I...I'll call you again soon." She'd clearly been about to say more, were it not for the interruption. The outlaw breathed out a disappointed sigh.
"Yeah. You too, Sienna." The line closed with a click, and he stared at the scroll for what felt like an eternity. She missed him, he could tell, but the situation wouldn't be resolved easily. Arthur knew better than most the damage that came from a leader keeping secrets. If he had caught Dutch sneaking off at odd hours to speak to someone, he would have left the gang a long time ago. Obviously the situation was a little different here, but the core problems remained the same. The White Fang thought that he was a traitor and a filthy murderer, and anyone in willing contact with him would be viewed similarly. The camaraderie and kinship he'd enjoyed with them over the past year had gone up in the flames of the Schnee mansion.
Overall, he was glad he'd made the call, but it just brought all the troubles he'd been ignoring these past three weeks to the forefront, forcing him to think about it as Sienna grappled with her own issues. A million problems, and no solution in sight. Just like the old days. It made him tired, thinking about it, and Arthur decided to reconsider the early nap. He took off his jacket, revealing his white vest and blue button up shirt. Content to lie back for a few hours, Arthur placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes...
BANG BANG BANG! "Supper's ready!" Granny's voice screeched, earning a weary sigh from the outlaw. He just couldn't catch a break.
Despite how long he'd had it, the scroll had been the most irritating thing to deal with; trying to match up the tiny organization of blocks on the map with what he knew of the city was harder than it looked. A gray dot sat near the corner of the industrial district and Junior's territory, and hadn't moved for nearly a month. For reasons that John just couldn't fathom, Sean McGuire had disappeared.
It wasn't uncommon for the Irish cyborg to take long distance jobs like the one he'd had in Vacuo, but those were always approved by Junior ahead of time. Even though Sean didn't just work for one boss, Junior was his usual patron and the name he threw around when things got rough. If the owner of the Club had no idea where Sean was, then that was some seriously bad news. Neither of the Malachite twins had seen him either, which was equally worrying. When Sean wasn't boozing his troubles away, he was harassing the two bouncers to try and get a rise out of them. Sean was always stirring up some kind of trouble, so to not hear from or see him for this long meant that something was wrong.
The map John had followed was Sean's activity map, available to John since he and Sean had shared contacts. It meant that the Irishman could track John as well, but that didn't bother him as much as it used to. Sean had taken some getting used to, not only for him being alive after the incident in Rhodes but also for his apathetic and cold greeting upon their reunion. Working with him under Junior had thawed that initial encounter, even though it remained in the back of John's mind. Whatever sacrifices Sean had made to survive Remnant, it seemed that they were the kind that caught up with you. Regardless of the way he'd acted when they'd come to Remnant, Sean was still the closest thing John had to a brother outside of Arthur.
The dot sat in front of an abandoned building, as best as John could tell. A few kids and skulking figures ran around the area, but John hadn't been able to find any legitimate businesses nearby. It was on the edge of Junior's territory as well, and the man hadn't seen much activity outside of some drug users seeking asylum from the public eyes.
"Some rich prick came snooping around a few years back, wanting to buy a place." Junior had told him. "Judging by the look of it, I'd say he moved on." It wasn't much, but it still nagged at John. On its own, the outlaw wouldn't give the building much thought. But with it being the last place Sean had been before his scroll was turned off, his suspicion grew. Sean made it pretty clear that he owed someone money for putting himself back together, but John had never met the doctor responsible. All he knew was that the man had been from Atlas.
A quick case of the property showed that there were no obvious security cameras, which matched the story Junior had told. Why would there be protective measures on a property not worth protecting? The front door was obviously locked, and he couldn't find any quiet little holes or broken windows to exploit either. That also gave him pause. For a dilapidated old office building, someone would have found their way inside, be it a bunch of hoodlums looking for things to break or steal or the local junkies trying to find some solitude to ride out their high. That not a single door or window yielded indicated that the building had been fixed in some places. On one widow, John could see a brand new lock affixed to a pane of glass that looked ancient.
That meant that the building he'd found was most likely what he was searching for. The next step was to make entry. Normally John would just break a window out or something, but the fact that things had been repaired meant that someone was watching out for the place. Causing a ruckus when he didn't know what was inside would be a bad move. So naturally, he called in a favor.
"I really appreciate you doing this." John said, watching the young girl studiously fiddle with the lock on the door. Junior had implied that he knew a few accomplished burglars, and after offering a little bit of savings, Neopolitan had appeared. She didn't say a word, seemed incapable by John's reckoning, but the ice cream colored girl had a knack for breaking and entering. He'd handed her the money and asked her to get him inside, no more and no less. The pink and brown hair criminal had been happy to take his Lien, and she'd magicked them up to the rooftop using her Semblance. He doubted she would throw in an escape for free, so hopefully he would be able to escape out the ground floor entrance if things got dicey.
Neo didn't even acknowledge his thanks, gently pressuring tumblers with a lock pick as her tongue poking out one side of her mouth as she concentrated. She had a natural talent for it, not even needing a light despite the fact that it was half past midnight. Normally, John would busy himself with playing lookout, but since they were on top of the tallest building for a few blocks he found himself with nothing to do. He busied himself by checking over his Cattleman revolver, the Dust rounds all chambered for Lightning. Say what you would about Dust, but making your pistol shoot electricity never got old. Not only did it hit harder than normal bullets, but put enough of them into the same target would fry it completely. Hit a few targets that were close together, and the Dust would trigger a discharge that would jump between them.
John was spinning the cylinder idly when there was a distinct metal click, and Neo's lock picks clicked together as she collected them. The pink and brown haired girl spun from her knees to her full height, a wide smile proudly plastered on her face. With the faint rap of her knuckles, the door opened inward slightly.
"Wow, way to go Neo. You work quick." John praised, walking closer to peer down the stairs into the depths of the building. The little burglar winked in reply and offered a lazy salute. John returned it, then focused his attention on the task before him. Everything he knew about Sean's location pointed to this building, but he knew almost nothing about the interior. He'd been in a few office buildings like it while working for Junior, but he wasn't familiar enough with the general layout to be comfortable. He did know one thing though; no matter how willing Sean was to be here, the people they worked with were dangerous and sometimes violent. Trespassing on someone's territory uninvited was a sure way to be buried in an unmarked grave outside of the city.
John trotted down the stairs as quietly as he could, waving to Neo as the girl dropped down to the ground floor. He was on his own now, though hopefully he wouldn't be leaving the same way. The top floor was absolutely deserted, the carpeted floor curled and mildewing from several holes in the roof. What little furniture remained had already collapsed into piles of decaying wood and rusting metal. John's footsteps thudded in the soaked carpet, and he was thankful for it. With the carpet absorbing his steps, John was silent outside of twenty feet. He just had to worry about not being spotted.
It took the outlaw a few minutes of searching to find the next flight of stairs, and thankfully it was a central staircase that ran the entire building. He found more rooms in the process, each in various stages of decay with very little else in them. The one thing he did notice, however, was that the entrance to each floor had fully functioning doors, some with recently replaced parts. Whoever had made the repairs didn't need to worry about prying eyes since the repairs were indoors, but they only confirmed John's suspicions. Someone was operating out of this building, and it likely had something to do with Sean.
It wasn't until he reached the floor above the ground level that things became dicey. John had dealt with a few security systems since coming to Vale, and he knew what a security camera looked like. Floors six through three had been barren of any security measures aside from the newer locks, but two steps away from the stairs on the second and he found no less than eight cameras at once. One pointed down the staircase leading to the first floor, two pointed down the main hallways, and the rest angled to peer outside of the building without raising suspicion. John stared up at the rear of the camera, pondering just how to disable the devices. They were all pointed away from him, more or less, because a rooftop entry hadn't been expected. But unless he could figure out how to disable them, he could be discovered if he pressed forward.
He could shoot them down no problem, but what was the point of killing cameras if you were going to discharge a firearm inside of a building? He wasn't confident in his knife throwing skills to try that. Not wanting to jump the gun, Marston went back up a floor. In one of the bathrooms, he found a toilet that was mostly intact. Thankfully the water had drained out of it long ago, and it made a decent step stool. Keeping as quiet as he could, John muscled the crapper to the stairs, the slowly walked it down until it was where he needed it to be. The stairs were too shallow to stand the toilet on its base, but if he placed the tank down a few steps, he could stand on the inside of it.
Doing his best to ignore the mystery goo that he was standing in, John got up high enough to where he could reach the camera. It had an elongated head and ended in a square lense, pointed toward the rest of the floor. Where the device met the slanted ceiling, a circular hole had been cut that allowed a metal fixture and two wires to run into the camera. Figuring that was his best option, John drew his knife and sawed through the wires with little effort. The camera didn't change position or anything, but the quiet little hum of electricity slowly faded away. Figuring that was the best he could do, John dropped from his stinky vantage point and stood in front of the camera.
No alarm was raised and he couldn't hear any footsteps approaching, so hopefully it was out of commission. The cameras ahead, though, were spaced out and looking at each other. He couldn't toilet his way past those. There were a few rooms that the cameras couldn't see thanks to a bend in the hallway, so he decided to check there. One was a bathroom with nothing other than decayed toilet paper, but the other was an office that yielded results. Whoever had worked in the office must have been really heavy, because the floor was the desk had once sat had a circular depression in it. John cut away the sopping wet carpet with his knife, and was pleased to find that the floor had collapsed at some point in time, leaving a hole to the next floor. He peeked his head in as cautiously as he could, and found that it had no cameras nearby. The hole dropped down into what looked like a reception area. Rather than sit down on the ruined carpet and soak up years of mystery fluid, John just crossed his arms over his chest and dropped.
The floor to that office had worn away from years of entropy, but Marston never expected that the one below it had suffered as well. Whatever fake paneling covered the floor in the reception area broke away as soon as he landed, and John's second descent was much less graceful.
"Whoa, shit!" The floor gave way to ceiling, and the faded white panels broke away in chunks as electrical lines wrapped around John's legs. The stout cables slowed his fall immediately, jerking him upward and suspending the outlaw above the floor by about three feet. His coat fell down over his face, obscuring his vision and knocking his hat onto the ground below. John coughed a few times as he swung gently, embarrassed at how well his attempt at stealth had gone. Still, there was work to be done. Hoisting himself up with a grunt, John took a few moments to untangle his ankles from the cables. Once both legs were free, he held onto the damnable wires and righted himself, dropping down with what little grace he still had. The outlaw dusted himself off and retrieved his hat, placing it back on his head.
Unlike the once homey offices above, the basement was a whole other story. The ceiling was threadbare and exposed, paneling and wires hanging down beside cold concrete walls. The floor had papers and dirt all over it, the words obscured by years of neglect. A hallway stood outside a metal door that was still ajar. The lighting was bleak, but to his surprise the lights were still on. Why would there be power running to an abandoned building? Come to think of it, didn't security cameras run on electricity too? He was lucky he hadn't gotten shocked cutting those wires.
John brushed himself off and drew his Cattleman, walking toward the door. He managed to squeeze his way out without opening it any further, as there was no doubt the rusted hinges would announce his presence. He could hear a faint humming further down the hall, deep in pitch and constant. Figuring that was as good a choice as any, John followed the sound carefully, his weapon raised. When he reached the door, he leaned up against it quietly, trying to hear beyond it. Unfortunately, whatever was making that dreadful vibration blocked out any other sounds on the other side.
Well, I've come this far. John thought grimly. He reached down and tried the handle, forcing the door open as it squeaked. John stormed in, Cattleman searching for targets as he scanned the room quickly. It was a larger room, maybe eight hundred square feet, with several hard plastic carrying cases sitting next to a large, glowing machine. The deep roar that he had heard distantly was coming from the large contraption, and he could see wires from the ceiling and wall plugged into it. One of the carrying cases was open, and John recognized the shaped foam that usually accompanied Dust cases. He'd seen several of Junior's employees use the protected cases when they were transporting the volatile substance, and he knew that it was a common energy source. It would answer the question about the building's power, at least.
Besides the generator and its fuel, the only other things in the room was a tool box and two spools of electrical cables. Another door was nearby, and John moved toward it. This one was a little better maintained, only squeaking slightly as he pushed it open. Inside, he found a larger room with what looked like large glass cells, with boltholes cut into the glass to pass things through. There were three of them, two that were clear and empty except for a cot and toilet apiece. The other was opaque, the glass frosted to obscure the details of what was inside. But judging by the shadow, it was a man inside the cell. John approached cautiously, looking for any sign of a guard or some other nefarious surprise. A camera was pointed toward the occupied cell, but it was at an angle that didn't face John. A few computers sat nearby, but John wasn't savvy enough with them to try working their magic. He had to make sure it was Sean inside first.
"Sean, is that you?" John's raspy voice rang out in the strange basement, carrying further than he predicted. The silhouette stirred, and he could see the head look around. When the person inside stood up, he could see that they were male judging by their build.
"Johnny boy? Where the hell are ye? I can't see out this bloody box." The Irishman replied, looking around from inside the cell. John made to approach, then remembered the camera and held back.
"I'm behind you, I think. Know how to handle that camera? I don't think I've been spotted yet and I wanna keep it that way." John called out. He saw Sean scratch his chin, the Irishman turning instinctively towards his voice even though he couldn't see out of the cell.
"If you bust up that generator in the back room, the whole building should go dark. You better be quick though, boy. That crazy fuckin' doctor pays people to watch the place for him. If they find out the power's out, they'll come lookin'." That would work, and John was already on the generator side.
"Can I open that cell if there's no power? Don't wanna lock you in." Sean waved a hand at that.
"Most of these types open the doors if there's a power outage unless they use keys, and the Doc is Atlesian. They're motto is 'technology first'. And if it don't we can just smash it." Nodding in agreement, John backtracked to the room he had just left. The humming metal monstrosity presented a quandary, as he wasn't quite sure how to disable it without turning it into a bomb. Dust was highly volatile, especially when refined as a fuel source, so filling the thing full of holes would likely send him up into the shattered moon. And if it was pushing enough to power the whole building, his knife was out too.
There was a small interface on the right side, holographic of course and blinking white. When John approached it, the interface widened and presented a few commands. There was one big red button that read 'reset', and the others gave updates about output and fuel consumption. Figuring the big red button was best, John pressed it. The window moved to a new screen, and a message popped up.
Are you sure you want to reset the circuit? Shrugging, John just pressed yes. Almost immediately the generator's prominent growl faded, and the lights all around him dimmed. A grin crossed his face, and he turned back to go toward the cells. The lights finally went out, and John pulled his scroll out and activated its flashlight. The basement hadn't exactly been welcoming when the lights were on, but seeing it illuminated by little more than the light on his scroll sent a chill down his spine.
John pushed through the door and back into the cells, and the cell that had contained Sean was standing open, its walls now clear like the others. Apparently keeping the wall blocked and the doors locked required power. Some shuffling from the right had him pointing both the light and his gun towards the computers. Instead of finding the guard that Sean was worried about, the Irishman himself was standing there in jacket, holding the rest of his clothes underneath one arm. He was wearing a white shirt and pants with clips at the forearms and elbows, like it could be turned into a straight jacket. His feet were bare, his boots tossed over his shoulder with his gun belt.
"Come on with it, Scarface." Sean beckoned with his boots in hand. "When the power comes back on, we need to be scarce. That generator won't stay down for long." The two took off down the hall towards a door that Jon hadn't come through yet, and he took the lead with his light and gun. The next room had a large chair of some kind, reclined back and with a lot of machinery hooked up to it. John dipped to the side with barely a glance, but he turned back around to se Sean kick the think in half with the ball of his foot.
"Fucking piece of shite!" The Irishman spat, his gaze venomous as he turned back toward the next door. "They had me strapped into that chair whenever the 'good doctor' messed around with my prosthetics. What a fool I've been." John was about to agree, but he decided that leaving the building was more important. The next door led to a long hallway that opened into a stairwell. John rounded the stairs, feet pounding against the concrete steps as he came up into the lobby. He found the front doors as secured as they had been when he'd first cased the building. He gave the door a swift kick, pushing it out at the center but not breaking it. From downstairs, he could have sworn he heard the rousing sputter of the generator coming back online. Sean came to a stop next to him, and the two men shared a nod.
With the door already weakened and Sean adding his Aura enhanced strength to it, the doors bowed outward and were thrown from their frames, clattering onto the street as the two men sprinted away. Sure enough, the lights came back on as they turned the corner, and the lights meant cameras. Hopefully they had escaped before being recorded. Sean clearly wanted to stop as he slowed down, but John continued to run, turning down two city blocks and not slowing down until the Club was in sight.
When John turned and looked for Sean, he found the Irishman slumped against a wall, panting heavily with sweat running down his face. Now that he wasn't worried about escaping, John noticed that Sean's frame was slight, as if he had been starved.
"Take it easy there, Johnny." Sean gasped, dropping down to sit on the sidewalk. "I'm not exactly at my best right now." He sagged as he said it, capable of doing little more than breathe heavily as his clothes gathered dirt beside him. John looked around for any sort of pursuit, then pulled his scroll from his pocket. Junior's number came up first, but then he thought better of it and dialed Miltia instead. The Malachite twins would be easier to wake than the mob boss himself. While the scroll rang, he looked back down at Sean.
"We're gonna get this son of a bitch, Sean." He promised. "If he's willin' to mess with you, he's willin' to mess with all of us." Sean said nothing, just nodded in agreement as he continued to catch his breath. John held out a hand, and the recovering Irishman slapped his gun belt into it. The man stood shakily, slowly rising to his full height. He looked like he'd gone three weeks without a decent meal, and John was surprised he'd made the run as well as he did.
"Aye, that's true. But first things first, Johnny." Sean poked him in the chest weakly. "If we're gonna stand a chance, we gotta get you your Aura." Sean slumped back against the wall again, but this time remained standing. John turned around grimly, hearing Miltia finally answer. As he explained what had happened to the groggy bouncer, he couldn't feel glad about finally finding a way to get his Aura unlocked. All he could think was that he'd traded one problem for another.
A/N: Told you guys that you jumped the gun on Arthur and Sienna. Just because he isn't shoved up her ass doesn't mean the ship is sunk. It's just in port for repairs. The plot thickens now that Sean has been betrayed, and knowing Watts he is far from safe. Add Dutch into the mix, and things just became a lot more dangerous for John and Sean. I wonder how they will react once they speak to Arthur? Tune in next time.