ZETA

It was there again. The moment Hera and Zeta stepped outside that evening, a man in a brown cloak passed by. With him, the sigma Chilling Presence.

This time, Berto and Igel got to share the unpalatable shiver. Their entire group paused to take a breather as if the wind had been knocked out of them just from standing still. Is fear truly this powerful a force?

“That awful man is still here? I’m shocked he hasn’t left the city yet,” Hera said. “During tonight’s prayer, I’m asking for a blessing that he has nothing to do with us or anyone in Balder’s organization.”

“Me too,” said Berto.

“Me three,” added Igel. “If we all do it, God has to listen.”

Hera sighed. “Somehow, I doubt he will.”

They continued onward to their destination. Tonight, Hera left earlier than the usual black cat hours. There were still “ordinary” civilians wandering about and “regular” shops remaining open, their candlelight reflecting off the simple gray stones. Even with Igel and Berto’s brutish appearances, the four blended in with the evening crowd.

Zeta smelled brimstone as they passed by a forge. The grumpy man inside sneered at all of them except Hera, for whom he smiled. She smiled back.

“Berto, Igel, how were the sales today?” Hera asked.

“Dismal,” Igel responded. “Even at our fastest pace, it may be days before all those lightning sigs are gone. Nobody seems to be buying much of anything anymore.”

His statement sent her into distress. Before she voiced her complaints, Hera entered an awkward muttering of commercial terms that even her partners raised eyebrows at.

“Relax, Hera,” said Zeta. “As long as the usual flow is maintained, you can stay under the spotlight.”

“The usual flow?”

“The flow of this city. Of Aspic. The way its people and its streets work. As long as disruptions are subliminal and everything looks well on the surface, Balder won’t notice you. Small, gradual changes are undetectable.”

“You say that with a lot of confidence for a new arrival,” she glared. “You better be right, or I’ll hold you to it.”

The group peeled around the corner to the docks, this time heading straight for a warehouse in between two Technocrat warehouses. The number 6 painted in bold white on its side. A risky venture for risky behavior, but it was worth it if they put a stop to another branch of Balder Rex’s operations.

“The guys who meet here are the Flyers, Zeta, and they are significantly larger than the Lilick Brothers.”

“Flyers? Do they fly?”

She facepalmed. “No, but they’ve been involved in every synonym of the word ‘racketeering.’ I doubt the two of us can take them on alone, but with Igel and Berto, we’ll be more than a match.”

She gestured for Igel to sneak around the warehouse’s side with Berto, then she started climbing a drain pipe to the roof of the warehouse. No ladder to assist them, he followed. Atop the tin roof, an open skylight thankfully allowed them to peer inside. They were met with an empty space and stacks of dusty, unmarked crates.

“We’re a little early, but they’ll be here. They always come here. Wait for Berto and Igel to make the first move.”

“You’re certain? You do some pretty decent reconnaissance for someone who's never intended to ‘take down her rivals’ before the past few nights.”

“Well, what do you think I do all day, now that I’m involved in my own suicide?”

Zeta shrugged. “Praying?”

“I’m going to push you through the skylight.”

She didn’t get the chance considering seven figures walked in the room. From their crouched postures and lightless positioning, Zeta determined they were returning in stealth. After a few minutes, one of them dropped their guard and gestured for the others to do the same.

“Nobody’s trailed us! Good job, boys!” he called. “Bring it in!”

The Flyers cheered at their ambiguous success. A few members dragged a massive crate about as tall as the men themselves on a dolly. Zeta wondered what the hell they had to do to hide that thing as they smuggled it.

“Let’s see it. I want to see the beauty with my own eyes.”

“Good lord, how many sigmas did they snatch?” Zeta asked. “Did they kill Rex before we even had the chance or something?”

“Ridiculous,” Hera said. “I don’t know, but they say suspense is half the reward. And we’re not killing Rex, you fool.”

The Flyers spent several minutes trying to pry the crate open. When the sides were loose enough to fall down, they acted as if they were bedazzled in golden flecks.

Cooled steam pushed out into the warehouse, revealing a jarring contrast to the entire city of Aspic. A sleek suit and harness, made of smooth plastic and ceramic, rested in a refrigerated outline. Two rings jettisoned from the back, and a lowered helmet rested against the nape.

“Technocrat technology?” Zeta asked in astonishment.

“This is a Technocrat city, technically.”

“Yes, but–”

“Get ready.”

“What?”

Hera whistled at the top of her lungs.

Igel punched in a back door and sent it soaring into one of the Flyers, and Berto charged in with the padded parts of his skin shielding his face and torso.

“Whoa! What! What the hell are you guys doing here,” one of them exclaimed, recognizing the duo as part of Hera’s group.

“Now, Zeta!”

They dropped in from the skylight and used Flyers to break their fall. Three down.

Zeta took a rapid sweep of the warehouse. There was not a single sigma, but loads upon loads of Technocrat guns, and an oversized, two ringed piece of metal attire. What the hell do they want with that? Where are the superpowers?

Igel bashed in another Flyer’s face. Four down, which left three more enemies remaining. Unfortunately, they all had drawn their swords and surrounded the haul.

The rivals glanced at each other, nodded, then made a move for the guns. Within seconds they were all wielding one, except for their apparent leader, whose goal was the strange, refrigerated contraption.

Pointed at the immediate threats, Hera and Zeta dodged behind separate warehouse crates as the bullets shredded the wood. The hail of fire nearly tore down their cover before it briefly stopped.

The situation clicked in Zeta’s mind, and in a swift series of rolls, he was atop the two Flyers as they reloaded. One went down with a slash to the kneecaps, and Zeta pommeled the other after Hera made him wince with Neural Flash.

As the last mobster, the Flyer’s leader put on the ringed metal device around his shoulders and worked some controls on an armpad; the loud roar of fire burst through the warehouse. Within moments, the thug was hovering, flying around in the air like a bird of man.

Great, way to stay true to your name. He had heard of this technology before. A Jetpack. It was the last thing he ever expected to see on Axle Island.

The Flying Man had an awkward experience maintaining his stability mid-air, and Zeta couldn’t take advantage of that disruption. When the leader understood what he was doing, he grinned with perverse delight.

“Burn, you fucking traitors!” he said as he raised the right arm of his jetpack.

Zeta was exposed, and he froze, lacking any sort of strategy for what to do next. Milliseconds passed, yet he had no answer as the jetpack’s right arm heated with fuel and fire.

The leader winced, Zeta saw Hera grip her temple in his peripheral. The Flyer stopped and clutched his head in pain. In a wild leap, Zeta grabbed his leg when the pack lowered. Tripping in the air, the man stumbled and tried to shake the swordsman.

Zeta would not let loose, so the man tried to burn him again. Not a chance, according to Hera, he winced, but the flamethrower from his arm misfired, sending a jet of flame towards Igel and Berto, exposed.

Igel ducked out of the way, but Berto found that unnecessary. “I’ll stop it!”

“No Berto! Your padding can’t–”

The sound of crisp cooking, of charred flesh.

“Berto!”

As chaos unfolded behind him, the airborne mystery was left in Zeta’s hands. He didn’t catch a clear glimpse of the event, but he knew what happened. His determination and fury spiked.

Finding footing on the cold ground, Zeta exerted with all his might an attempt to stay grounded, tugging on the Flyer’s leg with an even tighter grip.

The Flyer tried to burn him, first with the jetpack itself and then the flamethrower. When the arm aimed at him, Zeta cut it with Black Meridian, disabling the addon.

His grip on the Flyer was released in the process, and the leader darted for the skylight out of reach.

However, the man only considered escape, yet not the route. His body was not large enough to fit both himself and the machine through the skylight. When the fuel tank was clipped by the skylight’s edge, it exploded.

Zeta retreated to the shadows as pieces of metal, straw, fuel, and flesh fell where he once stood.

Zeta looked at Black Meridian. “And here I thought I might have to chuck you. Seriously, though. Hera? What the hell was that? Where are the sigmas?”

“Never mind that, Zeta! Berto’s not responding!”

Oh, right.

She stood over him, pumping her hands against her partner’s chest. As if coming out of a daze, Igel eventually joined her. Zeta ran over and examined Berto.

The front of his body was seared and blackened. His facial features had been distorted, swollen or plain burned away. He was breathing. Barely.

“CPR’s not going to do him any good, Hera. We need to seal those wounds. He needs a doctor.”

“Zeta, I told you, there–”

“Yes, I know. No doctors, which is a terrible setup, by the way, but we have no choice. We need to get help.”

With Igel’s assistance, they were careful to move him. Hera plugged the pockets of blood among the burns with some clean strips of her clothes. They abandoned the warehouse and ran for the street in plain sight. An explosion that loud was sure to draw the attention of someone.

Maybe we can use that to our advantage.

“Help! Help!” Hera cried out in desperation. “Someone please help us. He’s been shot! Please!”

Instantly, they attracted everyone’s attention. Instantly, they were ignored.

“Please!”

“Please, people. Do it from the good of your hearts!” Zeta cried. He said to Hera, “I haven’t lost faith in humanity. Don’t lose yours either.”

No responses. People shuffled along. Windows closed, lights shut off. No voices of sympathy heard.

Just as quickly as the morning crowd emerges at sunrise did it disappear, leaving their group alone in the terrors of the night.

Hera let go of Berto and started running down the streets, tears welling in her eyes. “Please! Someone! Someone with medical training, help him! Help him, please!”

Part of Berto’s weight collapsed on Zeta, and he looked over to see Igel stumbling too. “Where…where are they? Why isn’t anyone helping? Ber–Berto…” Igel quivered.

“Please, someone! Someone help!”

Zeta started shaking. Surely there had to be someone willing to assist them. No city, no matter how awful, could ever be that terrible, right? “I haven’t lost faith. Come on, someone please help this man!”

But no voices came. No people rushed out into the dark with kits of medicine. Not a soul.

No, no this isn’t right.

Zeta felt powerless. Truly powerless. He trembled at the realization that there was no method to heal this man. He wanted a Healing sigma or even traditional practices in his hands right at that moment. Perhaps none of those existed in Aspic either.

At the same time that realization dawned, the weight of Berto slipped off his shoulder, and he and Igel barely managed to catch his fall.

“Ber…Berto?” Igel asked.

In the distance, Hera’s voice, filled with despair, rang loud, pure and hollow.

Zeta touched Berto’s neck. There was no pulse, and enough blood now slathered Zeta’s fingers to stain his palms crimson.

Chilling Presence - Fear, Dormant: Forcefully sends shivers down the spines of all those who come within the user's presence. (300)

(A) Force of will. Affects those within a 10 m radius. Chills are sustained as long as targets are within the radius. As soon as they exit the radius, the effect is drastically eliminated. Is meant solely to be an intimidation factor, the user should wary of social consequences