A middle-aged man hummed cheerily to himself, swapping between rifling through the thin stack of paperwork on the desk in front of him and picking at a loose thread of rich, blue trim along his otherwise crisp white suit. His time-burning habits stopped when the door to the room squeaked open. An older woman wearing baggy, blue-collar clothes stepped in; her tight bun of age-greyed hair, and a tender, wrinkled smile seemed familiar.
The suited man stood from his seat and extended his hand over the table.
“Ah hello!” He beamed, eyebrows furrowing slightly.
“Hello, Mr. Camby, I presume?” A frail hand grasped his own with surprising strength.
“Correct, Callahan Camby, Am-Ray’s representative. Please call me Cal.” His beaming smile dropped slightly, turning his head to the side. “I’m sorry but, weren’t you the guard at the gate?” The old woman chuckled, releasing his hand.
“Yes, that's me. Eleanor Hops. Security guard and paralegal before the Scouring.”
The man exaggerated his apologetic shock, gesturing to her to sit first. “My apologies Ms. Hops. Truly didn’t mean to offend or dredge up any sour memories.”
“It’s fine, I know I don’t look the part nowadays.” She waved his concern away, sitting with a breath of relief. “That was the first Scouring anyway, a long time ago now. We’ll see what this old girl can remember.”
Callahan sat opposite her, resuming his trained smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Ms. Hops, and I’m pleased to be working with you on this.”
“Mrs, and yes, well, I hope you have good news for me. Seere was skulking around last week.”
“I’m afraid not.” Callahan’s smile turned tight, he plucked a sheet from his stack and slid it towards Eleanor. “...This is the most my company is willing to offer.” She grimaced seeing the total number highlighted at the bottom.
“...Mr. Camby this isn’t even half of what Seere offered him.”
“Yes well, unfortunately a non-development contract isn’t as appealing to investors as Seere’s proposition.” He nervously plucked at his suit cuffs. “A proposed connection between Priloca and the western trade network-” Callahan paused to let the situation sink in. “-And Ingram is the middle ground. It’s within the best interests of them to get on the ground level of it, as they say.”
Eleanor nodded, realising the position they were in.
“However-” Cal continued. “There are a few companies on our side, mostly those still with fresh wounds from the last time Priloca met in the middle with the corporation networks.” He sadly shook his head, remembering the losses Am-Ray suffered in the Second Scouring.
“Not enough, evidently.” Eleanor pointed out.
“No, sadly. I have a plan, however.” He produced another sheet, an odd list of notes about Simon Torres, their supposed King - as he demanded he was called. “We’ve been looking into the psychology side of things, and they believe we might have a chance if we play to Mr. Torres ‘Kingly’ nature. Appeal to the benevolence of a regent…” Cal bit his lip, withholding further comment. Eleanor had no such reservations.
“Bloody lunatic is what he is, came in around the Second, pointed his mob at us and said he owned us. Then just left, never had any trouble until Seere started poking around.” She cleared her throat, refreshing her demeanour. “But yes, if we can convince him this would be the so-called Kingly thing to do we might have a chance… How do you suppose it would go if we tried to convince him Seere was taking advantage of him.”
Callahan's smile turned back upwards, sharper this time.
“I like the way you think, Mrs. Hops. If we can play on his frustrations of losing control of his territory, he might turn on Seere…There is one other path of action, however.” He produced another sheet from the stack, losing his smirk as he slowly pushed it towards her. El hesitated before picking it up.
“What’s this?” She asked, wanting his explanation before seeing it herself.
“An offer. From the Shekhinists. The Red Shoulder sect.” Eleanor’s throat tightened at the mention of them. She’d had run-ins with them before and knew what they wanted out of Ingram. Who they wanted.
She looked at the paper, that tightness in her throat dropping like a stone into her chest. An offer for them to enter Ingram and apprehend the Splinter within it, and in return they’d match Am-Ray’s offer for a non-development contract.
“...Personally, I don’t have any strong feelings about their demands, or their beliefs. But if we look at this from a purely objective standpoint…” Callahan trailed off, not wanting to be the one to name the truth of the offer.
“We sacrifice Gress, we double our standing from a financial standpoint.” There was no warmth in her tone anymore, no neutral indifference from her law background, only glacial, razor-like delivery. No mincing words, no hiding the meaning, confronting Callahan with the facts. “Send a young man to death, or worse. For money.”
“For a much better chance to save yourself and your people, Mrs. Hops. You know what Seere plans, this cosy little town would be bulldozed. You and everyone else here will be thrown out.” he steepled his hands and leaned on his elbows over the desk. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, and I don’t like making deals with organisations whose loyalties lie in the divining of numbers. But we simply have our backs against the wall.”
“I am aware.” Eleanor said, her voice tight and restrained. “You have to understand however, we would never sacrifice one of our own. Splinter or otherwise.”
Callahan paused, contemplating his next words. “You have to understand our perspective on this, for Am-Ray, it's one life for hundreds. It has nothing to do with his…affliction.”
“I'm sure that's fine for Am-Ray to say. It's a personal matter for us. I’m sorry but we cannot and will not accept this offer from them.” Callahan sighed and leaned back, his disappointment clear.
“I understand, but it would’ve been remiss of me to not bring up every asset we had.”
“Yes, of course…There’s really not much more to go over, is there? I think that will be all for today, Mr. Camby. Please look into the possibility of appealing to Mr. Torres humanitarian side.” Callahan rose from his seat.
“Of course, I’ll also see if we can amass any more fringe investments. Play to the fears of another Scouring should Priloca get too comfortable with the corporations again.” He gathered up his papers, including the wrinkled sheet, and extended a hand to Eleanor.
“Good day, Mrs. Hops.” She accepted the gesture.
“Good day, Mr. Camby.” She parted the door for him, letting the businessman out first.
“We’ll reconvene and reassess our strategy next week. I don’t think we’ll have much longer than that before the decisive meeting will happen.” Callahan closed the door behind him, leaving the old woman to ruminate.
He breathed out and looked around. It would truly be a shame to lose Ingram, one of the first settler towns on the planet that still stood. Old sheet metal and brick buildings, roughly paved roads, overhead power lines, empty streets. A snapshot into the past.
Up until now, it’d been too far away from anything of note to justify its development, it was pure bad luck that Seere had proposed such an aggressive expansion across the region. Slightly more north and it’d been out of Torres’ Kingdom, something about it rubbed him the wrong way.
“Hey.” A low, soft voice snapped Callahan from his thoughts. Turning towards the voice, he stiffened as he saw the cloaked figure beside the small building. Sharp black lines on his face contrasted against tight, pained features.
Callahan steadied himself, loosening his tie to hide the slight tremble in his hand. “You must be Mr… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Gress.” The Splinter took a step towards Camby, who had to stop himself from taking an instinctual step back. He turned the motion into checking his watch, pivoting his foot towards the town exit.
“Good to meet you Mr. Gress, apologies but I really must be going. I’m running behind schedu-” Gress stepped forward again, glaring low at the lawyer. Frigid fear spread through Callahan.
“I need to talk with you. A quick chat, that’s all.” Despite the Spinter’s fearsome stare, his tone was steady and calm.
Callahan stifled a groan, looking between Gress and the town gate. He sighed, deciding to stand his ground against the Splinter. “...I suppose I can spare a minute or two, how can I help?”
“Well, that’s my question, what can I do to help?”
“...I don’t follow, help with what?”
“This Amray and Seer thing, and Tores. What do they want to leave us alone?” Callahan stiffened in surprise, then sharply sighed. The naivety of the uneducated tired him.
“Apologies but, there's nothing that can be done at this point.” Calllahan was careful to come across apologetic, not wanting to incur the man's ire. He started to distract himself with the cuffs of his suit, not meeting the golden stare.
“Am-Ray, Seere and Mr. Torres are all committed to this exchange happening one way or the other. The best we can do is try to reduce the impact on this town.” He put cutting emphasis on the correct pronunciation.
“Please, I have to do something to help… the offer you were talking about with Auntie El, what was it?” Gress spewed the words out in a hurry. Worry and panic over losing control over the conversation were creeping up, accented by an amused chuckle taunting him from the back of his mind.
“That’s confidential.”
“We’re a bit past that, I’m pretty good at listening in on things.”
Callahan looked back at Splinter, his face no longer steady and threatening despite Gress’ best efforts. His lips twitched downwards, eyes furrowing and flickering around. Pity struck into Callahan’s chest. The lines across Gress’ face killed that pang of pity. The sharp split off from the side of his lips travelled along his jaw to his ears, a wide and satisfied grin. The lines from the outside of his eyes going down to meet the grin trembled along the side of his cheeks, looking more like it was laughing than nearly on the verge of tears.
It was a pathetic, conflicting sight. Callahan likened it to a panicked animal, sad and stressed, out of its element, indecisive to strike out or retreat. He sighed, rolling his neck before hammering the truth into the young man.
“Look, Gress. The only thing you can do to help is leave this to me and Eleanor. This isn’t the sort of conflict that can be solved with any escalation. And that’s what you are, living escalation.” Gress was taken back, his unsteady features turned frozen, hurt by the man's brutal honesty. Callahan took it as a sign to start leaving, turning towards the fence gate. His frown flicked down, annoyed that the Splinter was now silently following him.
“The business with Seere’s private guard was bad enough, they’ve taken it as an excuse to muster more forces and won’t hesitate to turn this violent using you as an excuse.” He spoke aloud, not turning back to the trailing man, the gate started to crawl open as he approached.
“There’s two results to this ordeal. Option one, Seere acquires the town, drives you and everyone else here out into the wastes with nothing else. This is the worst case scenario, and right now the most likely.” Callahan continued. Not far outside the gate, the driver of his branded vehicle stepped out to open his door.
“Agreed, so what’s the other options?” Gress returned from behind him.
“Option two, what Eleanor and I are aiming for. Torres agrees to Am-Rays non-development contract. Ten years of the town being untouchable, and becoming our foothold against stopping further development” Callahan casually checked his watch as he settled into his seat. The driver was already returning to the seat beside him.
“And then what happens, everything continues as it was?” Gress stepped up to the open window, Callahan looked to meet him, hope was painfully clear on Gress’ features.
The man took a deep, slow breath before continuing.
“The town would remain untouched, and the townspeople would be able to remain here, yes.”
“...That’s some careful wording there.” Gress’ tone turned low and accusatory. Callahan sighed again, deciding to get the painful truth out and over with. “As if you’re excluding something…or someone.”
“Because I am. Quite frankly, it’s a nigh-impossible option without the financial support from the Shekhinist’s, who require you to be turned over in return.”
“Why?” His voice was turning unsteady.
“Please, you know why.” Callahan gestured to him, to the black lines down his face, the cloak obscuring the rest of his corrupted body. “It’s nothing personal, but for us to have a chance to match Seeres offer, we need the Shekhinists' support.”
“...You’re making it sound pretty personal.” Something sharp and cold was growing in Gress’ wavering tone. An idea struck Callahan, a workaround to the biggest roadblock he faced.
“You’re a risk. My job is to reduce risks… You wanted to help with the deal? With the town? Then work with me, Gress. Let me make a deal with the Red Shoulders, that’s the only hope we really have to make an offer for the town. You’ll have to leave, but everyone else can stay. They’ll be safe.”
“...It’s just that easy for you to organise? What do they want me that badly for, Callahan?” Gress breathed out. The laughing had stopped, replaced by growing anger wrapping around his spine.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know, and I don’t think you really want to either.” A hand clapped down beside him. Claws dug into the upholstery. He met Gress’ furrowed eyes with a stone gaze.
“Don’t lie to me. You do know.” The sharp fingers dug deeper into the inner body of the car. “They’ve been here for me before. They had a chance to kill me and missed it, they won’t make that mistake again.”
“...I know. But this is the facts, Gress.” Callahan fished a card from his suit, handing it to the young man. “This is my private comms frequency, I can already tell your people won’t willingly make the deal with them, so it’s up to you. You can save them with this.” Gress took the card with his good hand.
“...You said to Auntie El you might be able to appeal to Torres, King, whatever - another way . If he accepted that, could I stay? There's no Shekhin-whoevers then right?” The desperate naivety had returned, infuriating Callahan by the backwards and forwards.
A long pause hung between them. Broken by the tearing of fabric and shearing of metal as Gress gripped deeper into the vehicle.
“Answer me.” He demanded with a growl.
“If that happened. The town would be under the stewardship of Am-Ray holdings. We have a good relationship with the Shekhinists and a policy to avoid unnecessary risks. So, no Gress. You couldn’t stay…There’s no result from this in which you stay…I’m sorry.” Callahan finally relented and ordered his driver to start the vehicle.
Gress couldn’t respond, had nothing more to say. He pulled his arm away from the vehicle, leaving deep gouges where his claws had sliced through the material. He stepped away, silent and looking down at the card Callahan gave him.
“...If I went. They’d all be safe?” Strained, tight and pained.
“They’d have a much, much better chance of it. Yes. Just give it some thought, and better to keep this between us. Friction between the town and Am-Ray will do nobody favours…goodbye.”
Gress didn’t move, or bid Callahan a goodbye in return. He just stood there, even amongst the dust cloud kicked up behind the skimmer, wet eyes stared at the series of numbers on the card. After a while, he crumpled the card in his good hand, but still pocketed it. Gress looked back at his home.
Don’t think about it.
It was back, that cold, slick voice that wrapped around his mind. Whispering every thought he wished he never had, the lines across his body ached in response to it.
“...He makes it sound so easy…maybe it is.”
No. It won’t be.
You won’t let it be.
“Sorry for the wait, Rocco had to do his makeup.” Kirche leaned out the window of the vehicle.
Soune circled around the front, curious at whatever it was she meant.
“...Uuch.” Was her only response to the bruised man, thin cuts along his face had scabbed over into red lines. Scirocco didn’t respond, staring off into the distance with a tight frown.
“Come on, I want to get there before dusk and we’re already a few hours behind.” Kirche hurried her along, Soune opened the rear door to see the two bench seats facing each other. Antonio was hunched over in one, offering her a lazy wave in way of greeting, Razgrith was laying across the other, seemingly asleep. Soune returned the wave, tossing her pack on the floor beside Tonio and Raz’s while she buckled into the seat.
The Mover thrummed back to life and took off northwards, Kirche talked out loud to her team, but mostly for her own entertainment.
“Alright kids, my name is Ms. Kuvie, this is my assistant Mr. Rocco. You don’t have to listen to him but you better listen to me. Today’s excursion is to the little town of Ingram where we’re going to learn about scary monsters. Isn’t that right, Mr. Rocco?”
“Fuck off.”
“Fantastic input!”
The drive was long, hot and uncomfortable. Soune had occupied herself by spending the time tinkering with and fixing Tonio’s armour, made of pieces of tread-plate bent into rough curves. Raz had woken up for a while, swapped positions with Soune, had a quick conversation about potential upgrades for Rhapsody and was now napping against their partner's side.
“Everyone up, let’s recap.” Kirche ordered tersely, having grown sick and tired of the trip about an hour into the drive. “Remember our goal here, identify the disturbance first and foremost. Check the threat it poses, deal with it accordingly. Scirocco, is there anything we should know about it you haven’t told us?”
Scirocco paused in thought, playing back the death of the Seere guards, how the bullets seemed to turn back on them. Then he remembered Garum’s words.
“Nope, nothing in particular.” He said, forcing nonchalance.
“Okay so Scirocco is lying, which means there is something we need to watch out for, stay on your toes.” It wasn’t just Kirche who zeroed in on the lie. The three passengers all knew Scirocco’s tones and glared daggers at him through the headrest. “Up and out, time to work.”
The entire group was grateful to pile out of the vehicle and stretch out.
“...Wow.” Raz was the first to comment on the quaint town, bordered by rusty chain link crowned with razor wire. “It’s so… old.”
“Looks comfortable though, nice and quiet.” Tonio added.
“Thinking about a retirement plan love?” Raz teased. Scirocco shouldered past both of them to sour the mood.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Place is about a month away from becoming a dustbowl. Come on Kuvie.” Kirche followed him up towards the gatehouse.
“...What do you think he meant by that dustbowl comment?” Raz asked. Soune stepped up beside them with crossed arms.
“Scirocco knows something we don’t, not like that’s new…” Soune continued to glare at the wiry man’s back.
“...what do YOU mean by that?” Tonio cut in.
Soune stiffened, realising she let loose something she shouldn’t have.
“Don’t worry about it, just sick of him already.” She tried to play it off as just frustration with the man. It was an easy thing for Tonio to agree with, but Razgrith didn’t take their eyes off Soune, raising an eyebrow when she looked back. Soune offered them a tight shake of the head, the message clear - not now. Raz shrugged, trusting Soune enough to not push the question at this moment.
Soune walked back to the Mover, taking her bayonet and a small twenty-two pistol - more suitable for vermin in the yard than mysterious monsters, but walking into the quiet town with a rifle seemed like a bad idea. They tucked away nearly into her coat. Raz followed her, taking a larger handgun from their own pack, stashing it in a holster against the small of their back. Tonio stayed unarmoured and unarmed.
At the gatehouse, Scirocco slammed his fist against the window. The old woman inside did her best to ignore it, only turning towards him when it was clear he wasn’t stopping. He planted a copy of their travel permit on the glass in front of her.
“By order of King, I demand you let us in.” He barked at the woman, she simply sighed and checked her wrist.
“...It’s twenty minutes until the end of my shift…” The old woman pleaded.
“Did you not hear me? Let us in!” Scirocco barked again, slamming the page against the glass again.
“...yeah, not dealing with this today.” Metal shutters rolled down the windows, and footsteps inside grew quieter.
Kirche was a few steps behind, watching the exchange with quiet joy.
“Damnit, did one of you freaks bring wire snips or something?” Scirocco asked, rattling the gate.
“Did you just not read the contract? We’re here to investigate, not invade.”
“What’s it matter, the end results the same. Just need to find and kill the thing.” He continued while checking the fence for any gaps.
She paused, hearing something odd, sharp, fragile snaps of something. “Did you break the window?” Kirche followed the sound, eyes moving upwards to the top of the small gatehouse. Her hand instinctively drifted over her holstered blade.
“Scirocco.” no response. She didn't dare take her eyes off the top of the gatehouse. “Scirocco!”
“What?!” He turned and barked at her, Kirche just pointed a finger upwards. The other three had noticed it too, slowly and calmly walking up to the gate. Scirocco did not have such control, launching himself backwards against the fence at the sight.
A cloaked figure was crouched on top of the small cabin, yellow eyes softly glowing and glaring at Scirocco.
“I told you to not come back here.” Gress dropped down from the gatehouse, eerily quiet. He casually strolled past Kirche, not so much as glancing at the Shoulder or her baffled team. Scirocco had fallen over in a desperate attempt to get away from the demon, having backed himself against the gate. Kirche stepped forward and between them, the others started slowly moving to surround the Splinter.
“We're here to talk. Not fight.” The redhead said sternly.
“The last time I talked to Scirocco’s friends they tried to kill me.”
He shrugged his cloak backwards, exposing the corrupted, clawed arm. The lines that spread from it and across his exposed skin seemed to ebb and pulse.
“...tried.”
Kirche smiled, sharp and confident.
“It's a good thing we're not his friends then.”
Gress looked around at all four very tense people, the weapons their hands were flicking towards. He sighed, deeply and tiredly.
“You really picked the wrong day for this…” He turned slowly, leaving his back exposed as an invitation for the gunners to prove the redhead wrong. No shots yet, maybe this would stay civil. Gress leaned down and pulled Scirocco away from the fence, pushing him face-down into the ground and planting his foot down on him. Scirocco guffawed and struggled, but Gress remained steady.
“Let’s talk, then.”
