At the border of the heavens below the islands of paradise reside the expansive white ocean of clouds, a thick layer segregating the sky from the surface. Loose strands of clouds wave above the main sea like seagulls soaring over the waves. So far down is no sound but the natural breeze pushing the clouds, for there was no civilization near the border, built on mountains above the gates to the underworld on the floor.

Even above the white ocean there is no visible life but rather only more batches of clouds, as so far down it appears there is no life at all. Whether that life was simply not perceivable from such a low angle when the islands they reside on generate their own cloudy mists or if those clouds are natural, the resultant effect remains the same.

Instead of rivers of traffic flowing in lanes, there are only strands of clouds gliding above, and instead of seas of speech, there are only tides of wind. In a way that makes the ocean tranquil, but only due to its abandonment, the irrefutable fact that living by the border was so undesirable that not a single colony stuck nearby. It was instead left in lonesome solitude, for the calm silence was also the hollow emptiness. But why fall back into the darkness after climbing for so long?

Another gust of wind passes, once more allowing silence to reign where nothing else would, alone and untouched. That silence remains isolated for what would be anticipated for another eternity, and in that silence emerges a quiet hum that gradually greatens.

At first the hum can be mistaken for another breeze, but rather than passing swiftly as all others it instead swells up, intensifying from the thick clouds above the sea, getting louder exponentially.

Then suddenly one of the wide clouds bursts from the center, being penetrated with a gaping aperture that scatters the remains outwards away from the piercing blade in the form of the matte black pod which dives down with an intense whooshing hum. The pod accelerates the further it plummets, and in seconds it passes straight into the white sea.

Inside the thick white layer bolts the black pod in a straight line, its engine fighting within the suffocating embrace, racing headfirst into hell’s portal, submerging itself in the white void fearlessly. Like a black bullet it doesn’t stop as it effortlessly pushes itself through the rift.

More the engine intensifies like a warrior’s roar, still inside the layer even seconds in as it appears it’s far thicker than any natural cloud, but instead may be a bottomless pit. Still it doesn’t turn around and go the other way, rather it keeps moving down relentlessly, seeking the pit within the pit, the deepest that it can go until it can reach the end.

From heaven to hell, the pod ultimately bursts out of the ocean’s floor, emerging out of the white void and into an intense yellow atmosphere further insinuating the atmosphere of the underworld, as though the pod had flown straight into a raging flame.

Below the black pod where there were once infinite layers of white clouds, from short strands to great seas, now instead is an infinite orange layer, but whereas the clouds glide the orange layer is static, for there was no cloud.

The pod was surprisingly low to the surface as well, discernible by the detailing that could be made out of its perspective, although that’s not saying much as there’s little on said surface. No skyscrapers, buildings, neighborhoods, not even roads, just the plain desolate desert out in the middle of nowhere.

Approaching the ground, the pod slightly inclines upright, not entirely flat but gradually curves up for a smoother landing. It decelerates too, albeit slowly and especially due to its high initial velocity it still cruises at a quick pace.

In the otherwise empty yellow sky below the white ceiling glides the black pod, its hum softening while soaring over the grainy surface where not a single spec of vegetation or water is in sight on the flat biome.

Still coasting in the air in one direction, far ahead in the black pod’s trail on the surface at last appears to be some large entity, a structure, and while it isn’t very tall for it’s only potentially a few stories tall even overestimating, it makes up in surface area as it covers a vast portion of the ground.

It continues approaching the structure while descending and decelerating gradually, and the closer it reaches the structure the more the structure’s shape becomes clear, yet oddly enough it’s shape that it lacks, for the additional clarity exposes it as not a building but rather a cluster of piles amassed together.

In fact, as the black pod nears the ground with perfect trajectory to reach the border of the structure, that structure’s articulate design is defined to be composed of multiple piles filled with various objects and devices ranging from large rusty pods to random home furniture such as tables and beds.

From a general perspective, the area appears to be a garbage dump of sorts, bordered by a ten foot metal fence that surrounds the entire dump with only a single visible gap, a gap that the pod approaches.

The dump has a vast quantity of piles of diverse sizes with ample flat ground in between them all, for there appears to be little to no organization and rhythm but rather a haphazard and carelessly collected congregation of an old era.

At last the black pod comes to a gentle landing in front of the opening to the dump, and after the graceful landing its engine falls into slumber. For a few moments the pod simply sits in front of the entrance to the dump in silence, as if there is nothing more to it. It just sits in front of the towering piles inside the confines of the facility, waiting.

To the left of the matte black vehicle is the wide opening great enough for the pod to enter through yet it instead is insistent in parking outside. Not a sound comes from the vehicle at first, for the only sound in the area is the near silence of the breeze, a minimal breeze in an otherwise scorching environment where the air itself is disturbed by the blaze.

On the left side of the black vehicle, an eruption of black particles discharges off of the wall in an immense whoosh like its own stronger breeze, and the particles then swiftly dissipate to reveal a breach in the vehicle’s sleek shell. Another few seconds pass after the last of the particles vanish, leaving an opening in the silent vehicle parked in front of the gates.

Just then a leg emerges out of the aperture, dressed in black pants with a pair of dark gray streaks on each leg, and on the bottom are silver shoes. The shoe hangs out of the vehicle before then making contact with the ground, crushing the orange rocks below and turning them into grain.

The leg bends down, further putting pressure onto the ground, and is then joined by another leg which also makes contact with the ground. Both legs stand side by side, the tips of the silver shoes facing the fence in silence as another loud whoosh bellows on the other side of the vehicle.

All four white locks of hair wave in the breeze past the pale, visibly veiny, head, which stares at the dump past the fence in silence. A collar made of aged grayish black leather supports the neck above a black hood that rests on the shoulders.

While staring silently at the dump, another whoosh is made on his side of the pod, and a few moments later it’s followed by a similar whoosh on the other side.

The breeze passes, allowing the four locks to glide back to an idle position. They drape down over the neck, composed of many fine white hairs held together, all of them thin and feeble, rippable with a simple tug. They have no nourishment, no life, rather they’re corpses hanging over a larger corpse also white. The locks held by pure will remain still behind the unmoved head, which maintains its gaze.

That gaze is cast through a pair of dull azure eyes devoid of the spark of life, hollow inside on a pale, soulless face. The face has the resemblance of a ghost, helped by the lack of movement, as it silently stalks without hardly moving even to take a breath.

With the relaxed expression there are no muscles visible on the face either, and with a flat mouth there are no teeth or tongue but rather horribly chapped lips. In a deadpan face, the man just gazes forwards in silence.

While the man stands still, on the other side of the parked black pod stands another man, noticeably taller but far more slender, so much so that he appears tragically malnourished. He’s entirely bald with not a single strand of hair, entirely exposing his wrinkled skin.

His cheeks are inwardly curved like a skeleton, and while his body is concealed by a brown overcoat his figure is still visibly bony even though it’s clear his coat is far wider than his body as the collar is much wider than his neck.

He stares forwards with keen yellow eyes, also silent, analyzing the dump on the other side of the vehicle next to the driver, both of them exactly aligned.

The senile and slender man then is the first to take action by nodding his head and then strolls past the vehicle and towards the gates with steps that crunch the rocky floor below.

After the slender man takes several steps forward, he’s then pursued by the pale man who takes strides to follow, although they’re entirely silent as if he’s a specter. He follows away from the pod, and towards the opening.

At the wide open gates in between the metal fencing where beyond is the vast dump of piles, the slender man saunters with his hands by his side, his bald head shining as he hikes in the scorching blaze of the desert. Perfectly beside him treads the pale man with his hands pocketed in his leather jacket, his white locks waving in another breeze as he marches in the sweltering heat of the underworld.

Both men trudges in through the entrance, distancing from the pod, their only method of departure, their only way of escape. Yet regardless they walk away from the embrace of safety, and into the dump, passing through the gates and inside the abandoned facility.

As they continue to walk with the same pace, they grow farther and farther away from the parked black pod, their backs turned to it as they’re now on their own.

Wandering beneath the white ceiling, the slender man guides the two with slight turns to maneuver around the various piles which the pale man casts glances at with eyes hardly open as though fatigued. Still, he gazes with clarity, meticulously analyzing the bleak surroundings.

Around the two are piles filled with hovering chairs with torn up leather, and entire white cabinets with black tops fitting for a kitchen, now all piled on each other with no purpose.

Dented pods sit below vases and flower pots, and next to it are ripped up beds functioning as the base for racks and wooden tabletops.

Out of the ground are whole sofas and couches like stakes protruding from the dirt, many of which are gray but one shorter in particular being a black couch, the single black spike amongst the silver towers.

Just as the two images align, the pale man blinks and glances away, troubled by the haunting thoughts and focusing his inspection to the other side.

Bedside table stands split apart on the beds of pickup trucks. Even entire dismantled sheds lay around on the ground, the size of a room but now either flattened or torn apart.

Not only was this a dump of old products, this was a desertion of old lives. Hearts of homes forsaken. Cores of communities relinquished. From how people move to how people rest to how people play to how people experience, all of it was dismissed in this one mess, ditched for the heavenly paradise lived above, past the white ceiling that maintains the boundary between the two words, the new and the old. The loved and the forgotten.

Trekking through the dumpster, the slender man’s brown shoes step on glassy shards, which are crunched upon being crushed. Once the shoe steps away to continue its journey without concern over what it had just stepped on, the glass shards appear to have fragments of embedded writing on it in a stylized white font, scattered over the pieces after having lost its original shape.

While the scrambled fragments make legibility difficult, the writing on each shard loosely coordinates with one another in a general shape, adequate enough for the broken text to read: ‘Metha Mug.’

Both of the two degrading men make their way through the dump side by side, passing ripped hoods of pods and randomly thrown toilet bowls. They walk around the perimeter of a remarkably huge pile, for many of them are like mountains, large enough that climbing could prove a difficult task. Other mountains stand behind them with some smaller than others, lazy attempts to organize the trash, half efforts before thoughtlessly departing without another glance back, instead facing forwards at a perfect new life ahead where consequences of the past would remain mere memories only to fade with time.

Finally the two men reach around the mountain and continue forwards in a straight line, the slender man’s eyes ahead while the pale man continues to observe the various scraps. In his gaze, his eyes graze ahead before continuing to the other side, but before they do they’re then immediately pulled back ahead as if compelled by a magnetic attraction. The pale man’s azure eyes widen with wrinkles exposing themselves on his forehead in concern while at the same time the slender man beside him exhales deeply.

Straight ahead of the two men is a clear walkway in between mountains of garbage, a valley of ashes. Tens of feet down the valley on the other side is an upright black shoe, facing the two straight on.

That black shoe isn’t abandoned however, for instead it’s worn by a being with black pants whose hands are pocketed in them, and above those black pants is a black jacket, and above that black jacket is a black frame of glasses on a pale, wrinkly head, and over that black frame is a black fedora. The being’s sight is directed straight at the two men approaching them steadily from the other side of the valley, and the being stands steadily with calm breaths.

Keeping the same pace, the two men walk down the valley, staring straight ahead with keen eyes.

Specifically the dull azure eyes are trained ahead sharply, the expression stern with anticipation.

Ahead of the two men walking stands another two men on the other end of the valley. On the right is a man of average height dressed in the black pants, jacket, and fedora, with glasses that have black tinted lenses to conceal his eyes. He has a thick beard with a mustache and goatee, and carries a cold demeanor, standing menacingly before them.

Beside him on the left is another man, and while he’s only slightly shorter, he’s clearly far younger. He’s dressed in oversized pants and a hoodie, both dark red in a matching outfit with his hands by his side exposed. He has short brown hair and an unmasked face to reveal light blue eyes above a light beard. He appears to be in his twenties or so, whereas the man beside him is a full fledged adult, potentially in his senior years of fifties even.

Through only the sound of the light breeze and the sole set of footsteps, the two pairs close in on each other, two of them walking down the valley and the other two waiting. They walk between the mountains of abandoned garbage, remnants of homes and memories of lives.

Eventually the two reach the patient pair, where they then stop a few feet away, maintaining cautious distance. For a few seconds they just stare at each other plainly, as if one party is waiting for the other to make a move, as this whole interaction was a meticulous game of chess.

First to move, the slender man raises his right wrist, revealing the device embedded on his body. He then brings up his left hand and taps on the central disk, which projects a small gray holographic screen in front of him. After taking a short glance at the contents of the screen which appear to have small text next to a golden logo of the letter ‘C,’ he then swipes his hand towards the fedora man, causing the gray screen to vanish off his device.

In front of the slender man, a beep sounds from the fedora man’s left wrist, to which he brings up his left arm to reveal that around his wrist is a device resembling a watch strapped on by a leather band. The fedora man then taps on the watch’s face, which projects a green holographic flat screen, which from the perspective of the slender man is entirely blank, but on the other side the fedora man appears to be reading on the screen as his companion also does the same from next to him.

The fedora man and his companion both glance at each other, and the companion nods his head. The companion then stuffs his right hand in his hoodie’s pocket, and he keeps it in his pocket for a couple seconds while the fedora man gazes at the slender man’s companion.

Staring straight back at the stranger, the pale man gazes with sharp azure eyes and curled eyebrows, wrinkles visible on his forehead. The breeze sways his locks as he maintains his stare on the stranger in silence with an interested, curious tint to his eyes.

Right back the stranger in the fedora stares, although his expression is concealed of course, his mouth closed with wrinkles visible on his forehead too. He stands confidently, although his head isn’t exactly straight but instead has a slight tilt, seeming peculiar.

Next to him, his companion’s held pocket discreetly flashes a blue light. Then the companion pulls his hand out of the pocket to reveal that in his hand is a tiny white bag shaped as a ziploc bag about the size of a palm. He hands the bag over to the slender man with steady motions.

Standing next to the slender man who reaches his hand out for the bag, the pale man’s eyebrows angle more intensely as his gaze becomes a piercing glare, a silent hostility against the stranger made apparent with his face alone. He glares intently straight forward as his hair breezes behind him, a look far from ordinary, even different from the one he initially had when first laying eyes on the stranger as this was a look that extended beyond the simple synopsis of whom this man was in terms of his role in the transactional arrangement.

No.

He had noticed something off about him.

Something that ticked him.

Taking the final step of the transaction, the slender man reaches his hand out to grab the bag, for just as planned the errand was perfectly executed, swift and clean.

That is until the stranger in the fedora suddenly places his hand on his companion’s shoulder, to which the companion glances at him and instinctively lowers his arm.

Right at the last moment, the bag slips away from the slender man’s fingers, still gripped by the companion who brings it down. The slender man’s yellow eyes widen in disbelief and concern, his arm still out but aimless as it reaches for nothing.

With the bag back to the companion’s side, away from the reach of the buyer, the fedora man keeps his gaze towards the pale man. He then glances at his companion before silently whispering to him, his voice hardly audible with only the movement of his mouth making it clear what he’s doing as the slender man lowers his own arm in puzzled defeat, understanding that for some reason the deal was being withheld.

The stranger then returns his gaze back on the pale man, but this time the companion also stares at him with a visibly agitated face, glaring too.

Breaking still, the companion then inquires in a familiar young male voice, “Yo, you have something to say? I get if you’re trying to act stout, but now you’re just sirening. I don’t know who you are, but your friend here is a respectable businessman, so I’m more than happy to finish this and get going but only after I know that there isn’t something lizzy going on here. This isn’t a setup, is it?”

Even more puzzled, the slender man glances at the pale man, and only then does he notice the fiery glare that he’s imposing on the stranger in the fedora. So much so, the slender man’s eyes widened in shock at the hateful look, as he didn’t even realize what was going on.

Glaring with an inferno through the blue blazing eyes, the Tempest glares straight at the fedora man, as though he’s holding back a nuclear explosion with his fingertips alone.

Then he answers: “Your name is Richard Gray, the president of this world, dealing illegal substances under your own nation, am I correct?”

Petrified by the sudden unwarranted accusation, the slender man quietly gasps, unable to react as now the man who had made such strict regulations on the errand was the one to be going off the rails.

On the other side, the companion also adopted a terrified expression, immediately glancing at his ally with a quiet gasp, also finding difficulty in making a smart step forward after the bold interrogation. He stares up at the fedora man, who stares straight at the Tempest, his expression entirely flat as even his mouth doesn’t show concern nor his forehead.

Straight forward the fedora man gazes with a menacingly calm expression despite the worry of his companion on the incriminating question posed to him. He just stares forwards through his black tinted glasses, his old face untense, signs of a calculated man.

Then he answers: “You’re goddamn right.”

Suddenly the fedora man pulls his right hand out of his pocket to reveal what appears to be a silver handgun shaped as a Colt, which he immediately aims at the Tempest before firing a shot at his forehead for a clean assassination, causing an orange flash before a projectile is blown out of the barrel.

Rather than the projectile fired being a laser, instead it happens to be a physical bullet encased in a metal resembling copper with several rings wrapped around emitting an orange light. The bullet soars through the air with a sharp nose before striking the target perfectly.

Rather than splattering blood, the bullet merely bounces off of the Tempest due to his armor, failing the assassination attempt. Oddly enough however the Tempest instinctively grabs his forehead where the bullet struck in a pained motion, seeming to have been affected even if not terminated. He groans in excruciation, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Hey!” bellows the Alchemist, to which both the fedora man and his companion turn to him in intrigue.

Standing in front of the man who fired the first shot, the Alchemist tightly grips his own weapon, his personal firearm primed and aimed straight between the stranger’s eyes.

“No!” yells the companion, who then raises his hand towards the Alchemist before his blue eyes flash. From his fingertips, a blue mist projects forward in a stream and strikes the Alchemist, causing him to stagger back.

Disoriented and staggering back and forth, the Alchemist groans to himself while shaking his head.

Through the Alchemist’s eyes, the entire world is immensely blurry and bright as random lights keep flashing in his vision. The men in front of him oddly appear to be melting before his eyes too, deforming strangely while also duplicating into other melting clones.

He groans more in perplexion and fatigue while watching the melting men surround him while the sky flashes pink constantly.

Blinking twice, the Alchemist appears in a daze, and his pupils specifically appear to be much larger as well as the same shade of blue as the companion’s irises. He still groans in disorientation, stumbling aimlessly about while stuck in the trance.

Standing in front of the bewildered Alchemist, the companion reaches into his hoodie’s pocket again, and upon doing so it flashes a blue light. He then brings his arm out, but this time rather than holding a bag, he holds a short silver revolver which he immediately aims at the Alchemist who had threatened his life.

Shaking his head one more time and lowering his hand, the Tempest reorients himself and recovers focus. He then faces forwards to lock eyes with the revolver aimed at the Alchemist, to which his eyes shoot wide open and he dashes forwards right in front of the dazed Alchemist while extending his hands to his sides. His whole body flashes blue as cables project out of both hands right as the revolver is fired and he’s struck in the chest, to which his body is flung backwards which also shoves the Alchemist too.

Due to being thrown back however, the cables projected from the Tempest which had anchored onto the piles of garbage surrounding them jerk backwards, reeling back massive clusters of trash.

Even more so, the sudden pull triggers avalanches on both sides, causing massive floods to pour in towards the two sellers.

Astonished by the quick move aimed straight for them, the companion and stranger both dive backwards to avoid the avalanche, miraculously avoiding the flood and landing right behind with pained groans.

On the other side of the avalanche, the Tempest collapses on the ground, panting heavily while being barred off ahead due to the wall of trash accumulated from the avalanches. He grabs his chest where he had been shot, groaning from the pain of the second point blank strike, and he takes two quick breaths to calm himself down.

He sighs in relief as the plan had worked, and he scrambles up on his knees to turn around where he then faces the Alchemist, whom he brought with him, whose jaw is hung open to moan in disorientation while his wide pupils remain blue.

Groaning in the acknowledgement of the situation he escalated, the Tempest shakes his head before holding his hand out. Hidden behind the trash wall, he expels azureus flames over his hand, which manifests a familiar device shaped as a deodorant stick with transparent casing to reveal a green liquid. Suddenly above him, several gunshots go off, and a few orange bolts soar over his head as warning shots to indicate that they are still far from the clear.

On the bottom face of the stick is a black panel, which the Tempest plunges against the Alchemist’s shoulder, to which the device emits a familiar sizzling hiss while the liquid then depletes itself steadily until the stick is entirely emptied.

After the stick is emptied, it bursts into azureus flames which dissipate, and right as it does the Alchemist’s pupils darken from blue all the way to absolute black and shrink back to its natural size. His jaw then closes and he gulps before shaking his head, having regained control as he faces the Tempest directly and inquires, “What happened?”

Kneeling before the Alchemist, the Tempest opens his mouth to speak, but instead he begins dry coughing intensely, to which he cups his mouth. He coughs for a few seconds before stopping, finally able to explain, “His associate is an Exhuman, he can induce strong hallucinations, it looks like it’s caused by a sort of mist so as long as we can keep a distance we should be fine. Also they appear to be using some kind of modified ballistic firearms which have a surprising amount of blunt force. I should be able to survive but if I take too many hits I might be rendered unconscious, and they could probably incinerate me or something of the sort. I’ve already done a full scan of this area and it’s only them two, I say we neutralize them, take what you already seemed to pay for, and get out of here. Can you fight?”

He then dry coughs twice again before patting his chest, trying to focus on the battle.

Facing forwards with disorientation, not due to being under a trance but rather from pure perplexity, the Alchemist blinks twice before glancing down at his right hand which is still gripping his weapon. He then returns his gaze to the Tempest to whom he interrogates, “Why did you even say that? I thought you were the one barking about making this simple! We could’ve gotten out of here easy!”

About to respond again, the Tempest is then interrupted by another burst of three gunshots that fly right above him, to which he bends lower to avoid, making use of the trash as cover. He glances back at the direction of the two shooters before he cups his mouth to cover another two dry coughs. He gulps and sighs, understanding the perilous predicament he put them in. He raises his right hand over the cover of debris, and flicks his wrist thrice, firing his own burst of blue bolts in retaliation both in hopes to take down the two firing at him or at the very least hold them off. He then brings his arm back down, making sure to keep himself away as least exposed as possible.

Staring ahead while panting desperately, the Tempest grunts before declaring, “We’re going to subdue them and take what’s ours, easy. But what I said still stands, no assassination. Unfortunately as much as I’d like to further punish this man, all we should do is render them unconscious, take the bag, and go. Understood?”

Still struck with a perplexed gaze, the Alchemist blankly stares up at the Tempest, who faces away from him with an intenful glare. He then gulps and apprehensively nods his head before relaying, “I got it, yeah.”

He then analyzes the screen built on his weapon, reading the gauges on the small interface while concerningly mentioning, “Uh…well if you really are going to make me go nonlethal…I should probably update my estimate.”

Puzzled by the strange topic, the Tempest tilts his head and urges, “Huh?”

Still inspecting the screen on his gun, the Alchemist explains, “I hardly have enough juice for this gunfight alone.”

Tsking in irritation, the Tempest reprimands disappointedly, “Why did you use that thing so carelessly then??”

“Hey, you’re the one putting on more restrictions, Med. I don’t know what you want from me,” argues back the Alchemist just before another three shots fire above them.

Now groaning in more annoyance, the Tempest shakes his head before disgruntledly muttering, “Then just sit here and wait.”

He then stands up while the Alchemist simply watches and begins hollering, “Wait wait, what are you doing?”

Standing straight, the Tempest raises his body over the debris, raising both of his hands up, aiming his fingers to fire projectiles. He aims each of his hands on the other side of the long avalanche, waiting insistently.

Through glaring azure eyes, the Tempest grits his teeth while slowly taking steps to the side, waiting for one of them to pop up for him to neutralize with a simple shot.

Aiming out in the open, the Tempest stalks his prey from the other side under the yellow sky, holding his breath in anticipation. He keeps his arms perfectly steady like an android, ready to fire at a moment’s notice, a gunslinger with immaculate efficiency. Both arms hold out aiming forwards as the soft breeze nudges against his locks.

Glaring forwards with the eyes of a trained warrior, the Tempest keeps silent, waiting carefully.

Suddenly the Tempest begins dry coughing, to which he instinctively brings his arms up to cup his mouth. Right as he does, the voice of Richard, whose body is hidden, exclaims: “Jerry, take the shot!” to which immediately the companion, who has been revealed to be named ‘Jerry,’ emerges from underneath the debris exactly where he was earlier, and fires a shot straight at the Tempest.

Perfectly the shot strikes the Tempest’s shoulder, causing him to stagger back with an agitated groan. He then aims his left hand at the companion and flicks his wrist, firing a blue bolt straight back in retaliation, although Jerry dives back under cover right before it can strike him, rendering the shot a miss.

From the cover, Jerry shouts hastily, “I got him Mr. Gray!”

Not a full second later emerges the fedora man, although he’s on the far edge of the valley, having dispositioned away from where he was when the avalanche came down. He aims his handgun at the Tempest, who's still facing where Jerry was, and fires a clean shot at the same shoulder his ally struck.

Groaning through gritted teeth, the Tempest grabs his shoulder from the pain of both shots, dropping his guard again. He then turns his head towards the fedora man, who's still aiming at him, ready to take another shot.

He takes it.

Another gunshot is made along with a harmonious whoosh of another weapon as a purple bolt flashes between the shooter and the target.

Through the handgun another metal-encased ballistic bullet fires out, racing through the air towards the staggered target. As it soars straight forwards, it strikes a thick white cushioned mattress, which absorbs the force of the bullet, and through its sheer thickness it manages to consume the bullet for it doesn’t reach the other side.

Between the two pairs, a bed levitates in the air, rising up after having perfectly caught the bullet. It continues to rise high up into the air for who knows how far, but in the moment of its flight it manages to shield the Tempest from another strike.

Puzzled by the save, the Tempest glances to his side to find that next to him stands the Alchemist, whose gun is aimed for the rubble in between, his barrel smoking as it seems he had fired the shot that caused the bed to levitate.

Simultaneously the Tempest and Alchemist duck down to avoid two bullets, one shot from each enemy, and they return behind cover.

Back on the ground, the Tempest and Alchemist both pant heavily from the close evasion, and the Tempest gulps to try steadying himself.

Next to the Tempest, the Alchemist stares up at him and beseeches, “I’m not sure what’s going on with that cough, but regardless are you going to act smart now? Because you’re supposed to be the smart man here, okay I’m the one who has fun being gung-ho, you’re supposed to be the one making all the tactics and whatnot. So can you do that?”

Still panting and gripping his pained shoulder, the Tempest is able to nod in agreement, acknowledging his move to have been rather idiotic and put him in a compromising position that could have ended far worse had he not been saved.

But second chances only are offered so freely.

Returning his gaze to the direction of the sellers, the Tempest strategizes, “Very well, I’d prefer to avoid using my abilities…our position on this Earth will be far more volatile if they know who I am. Right now we’re effectively cornered in this lane, the only direction we have is away and flanking isn’t an option due to the length of this lane as well as the height of this debris making attempted escape impossible to cloak. Now luckily for us, they’re in a similar if not worse situation, they’re trapped where they are and they have no hope of flanking. Trying to bait them out is not ideal either since the margin of error is greatly reduced. I say the most effective plan we have is an aerial spread, something that can neutralize or at least freeze them in place long enough for me to get a clear shot. Unfortunately, given the environment I alone aren’t equipped with any tools for that, so do you have anything?”

Put on the spot to take part in this plan, the Alchemist places his hand under his chin and hums meditatively while another barrage of gunshots fly over them but this time noticeably with a longer stream, for more pressure was being burdened on them after the close call, making it clear that even standing up wouldn’t be an easy task.

Even with all the distractions, the Alchemist pushes to ponder deeply, and he glances around at the various debris on the mountains that remain neighborhooding the valley, for the avalanches only dragged down a small portion of the piles. He glimpses up to gauge the size of the piles, still humming, as his eyes sharpen keenly.

At the same time, the Tempest raises his right hand and fires his own bolts back over the cover towards the dealers, but upon hearing immediate gunshots he jerks his hand back. His hand narrowly evades two of the bronze bullets by not even an inch, nearly having been struck if not for the quick action.

He pants heavily from the second close evasion, reading just how much more intense the dealers were, for even his attempts to fling back blanks was dangerous. Time was ticking as the clock was only getting faster, and soon another bold move would have to be made.

Still without a concrete proposition, the Alchemist loosely notes, “Well, in theory I could potentially take an object and turn it into a slime that’ll harden in a few seconds, so I guess if you had some way of helping me cover them with that, that could keep them still.”

Now back to the Tempest, he takes in a deep breath and calms himself to focus. He then hums in return and raises his head, glancing too at the mountains of garbage surrounding them with sharp azure eyes. Through his intense glare, he analyzes his surroundings, factors in the information presented to him, and formulates a new plan which he then reports: “I see, the space they’re occupying isn’t too large, I could cover the entire space in a layer of debris for you to transform. But you have to promise that you’ll do that, I am not crushing a world president to death.”

Waving his hand back and forth, the Alchemist remarks mischievously, “I mean really when you think about it, world presidents who are part of the E-G-A aren’t really presidents, I mean they can hardly do anything without having to beg for approval. They’re more like…congressmen I guess…or band teachers.”

However, in response a terrifying glare of death beyond death is cast onto the Alchemist by the Tempest, with razor sharp eyes that chop his body into infinite chunks so much so as turning his body into a smoothie, no, a gas.

On second thought, the Alchemist chuckles nervously before recovering, “Yeah yeah, I’ll do it, don’t worry,” before he then begins tapping on his weapon’s screen.

Groaning in exhaustion to his ally’s strange sense of humor, the Tempest shakes his head and exhales. He then raises his head up at the piles of waste around him, and takes in a deep breath to prepare himself.

He then, in a sincere voice, requests: “Are you set?”

With one last tap, the Alchemist nods his head, keeping his gun clenched in his hand. He relays, “I am ready when you are.”

Primed for action, the Tempest nods his head in understanding. He then stays still for a few seconds, waiting in anticipation. One second, two seconds, three seconds.

Suddenly, another burst of gunfire is made above them, as orange streaks dash above their cover and down the valley, once again serving as intimidation.

Again, the Tempest remains silent in anticipation, frozen like a predator.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

In a blue flash, the Tempest springs up to his feet, leaping off of the ground in a blue blur releasing a whoosh on the other side of the debris while Richard and Jerry both kneel behind their cover clutching their handguns after completing their intimidation, both panting in anxiety from the lack of retaliation up until this moment. His locks dance in the air from the sudden acceleration behind his unmasked pale head with glaring eyes that stare forth.

Above them however, the Tempest throws his arms outwards, projecting cables the same color as his eyes from every finger in his hand, each grabbing onto a piece of trash from the dump whether it be a sofa, a bed, a table, or a bike, all of them lined up with the two enemies from the top of the neighboring mountains, to which both enemies take notice to the cables.

Still in the air while the two enemies dawn faces of terror, the Tempest thrashes both of his arms inward, jerking all ten of the items he collected to be pulled off of their respective piles and clash together before falling down over the president and his young ally, who both raise their heads to gaze at the huge hail of horror.

All ten of the cables bend like streams around the Tempest before then all vanishing simultaneously, releasing the objects into free fall.

Just then from behind the cover also emerges the Alchemist from right below the Tempest, who aims his revolver at the collapsing garbage in front of him. He pulls the trigger, to which a bright yellow bolt the same color as his eyes fires out of the barrel, straight at the center of the garbage, all of which are touching one another due to the expertly forceful tug.

Right as the yellow bolt impacts the bed in the center of the hail, all ten of the collapsing items suddenly flash yellow before then bursting into a thick grayish slime, as in that moment all the furniture falling becomes one massive batch of slime, so wide that it covers the entire space from pile to pile that they’re hiding in, sparing not a single inch. At the same moment, the Tempest curls both hands in the shape of his handguns.

The very next moment features the thick layer of slime dreadfully falling on the two men, covering them with the icky substance, to which the two both immediately stand up and cry in disgust as the slime reaches the ground, splattering all over the floor. Concurrently the Tempest, whose body is dropping down, aims both hands forwards.

In the first few seconds upon being struck, Richard hastily scrubs his arms while Jerry flails his while screaming “MR. GRAY”, but both of their efforts are all a waste as only seconds later their bodies immediately freeze, for the only action they can take is to scream.

Ultimately, the Tempest lands on the ground in front of the Alchemist, both hands already aimed perfectly at each of the targets, and with the simple flick of his wrists he fires a single blue bolt from each hand. Right on impact, the screaming is immediately silenced, and while neither of them fall due to them being frozen in place, they’ve already been put to sleep. The Tempest lowers both of his arms while standing in front of the two defeated sellers who sought for their lives, now defeated from the action of not just him but his ally.

Gifted with the sight of the defeated sellers, Meditat lets out a relieved sigh, pleased to see that the plan was executed perfectly. He shakes his head and begins walking forwards, understanding that the slime had already solidified.

For further affirmation, he asks as his body hovers off of the ground and glides towards the slimy sellers, “It should be safe to step on this stuff, right? Also, is it going to wear off?”

While watching Meditat reach the other side of the debris, Ekitai nods his head and confirms, “Yes and yes! It’s completely harmless, don’t worry, it’s basically like concrete now, it’s a recipe I’ve been perfecting for cen- for ages.”

Meditat quickly glimpses back at Ekitai in puzzlement, to which Ekitai recovers by continuing: “And yeah, it’ll wear off in about…I think five or fifty hours, give or take. I forgot where the decimal was, but I mean it’ll be fine, technically you can cut through it with highly concentrated lasers, I guess if you want you can do that now.”

Landing on the other side, Meditat inspects Jerry’s frozen body, and then glances down under his arm. His eyes sharpen and he bends down, humming curiously to himself while Ekitai conceals his handgun in his overcoat. Ekitai then gazes aimlessly at the dump, waiting patiently for Meditat to make his search.

Only a few seconds later, Meditat then springs back up to his feet, and he pivots around to face Ekitai with his right hand in a fist.

On the former side, Ekitai watches Meditat hold his right hand up, opening it to reveal the white bag which he had managed to scavenge from the aftermath of the fight, as it had luckily been lost by their combatants amidst the chaos only to be found by those who had purchased it in the first place.

Meditat then glances at the two sellers with sharp, contemplative eyes, taking in Ekitai’s advice and meditating on the idea which was surprisingly humane seeing how trapping them in place for fifty hours would be horribly cruel.

However, Meditat instead turns towards Ekitai before then levitating off the ground and begins drifting back to the other side, choosing instead not to follow through, but rather leave them as they are, which only appeared the opposite of what he’d do.

Upon reaching the other side, Meditat lands back on his feet, and he holds the white bag over to Ekitai, handing it to him.

With a wide grin, Ekitai gladly grabs the bag off of Meditat’s hand, and stuffs it in his overcoat pocket, taking what he paid for. He nods his head, and then glances back at the slime-covered duo on the other side with a raised eyebrow.

While staring at the man in the fedora covered in gray hard slime, Ekitai wonders inquisitively, “Wait so…are you just going to leave them there? I mean woah, was I really that much of an influence on you?”

He then glances back at Meditat before further asking, “Like what, are you actually breaking bad?”

Instead, Meditat faces Ekitai, and he lightly smirks before revealing, “Don’t worry, I’m just going to leave an ‘anonymous tip’ to the local authorities so they can come down here and ‘rescue them.’”

He then faces the other side of the valley where they had come from, and on his own he begins silently walking away from the battlefield after having thrown the invisible mic into the core of the sun.

Speechless, Ekitai simply stands in place with wide eyes. He blinks twice in disbelief at Meditat's surprising mischief, and finally turns to face and follows him towards the exit of the dump while muttering, “Well god damn, you might be more twisted than me.”

Both Meditat and Ekitai make their way through the dump to head towards the opening where their pod remains, and while they walk together Ekitai sheepishly asks, “So…just wondering…I know what you said about the deal…but in my defense you were the one that started the fight so it’s not my fault!”

A light sigh of relief responds to the voice of concern, and Meditat assures calmly, “Don’t worry, I know what I did. It isn’t a concern however, as the deal was that we would leave this Earth, which we aren’t doing. We’ve only fought two people and it was in an isolated area, and I’m thinking that soon we’ll be the last they’ll be worrying about.”

“I’m not sure…these kinds of people are drugged for vengeance, trust me. They’ll be after us,” warns Ekitai hesitantly as they walk below the intense yellow skies of the sweltering heat.

“Then it seems we’ll have to deal with that later,” decides Meditat while the two trek below the white ceiling of the cloudy ocean floor, on the surface of the world yet below the surface of civilization. They make their way to their ride off of this abandoned, desolate void, a world left for another, to chase a dream without a care for what they’d have to leave behind, all led by a man who sought for his own interests above those in the clouds.

But even if they had to face him another day, there was no need to fret, for the combined forces of the hero and adventurer would stand their ground against any fight put against them.

Now, all there was left to do was return home where they could rejoin with the rest of their allies, and rest after the long, turbulent errand.

Thus the two begin their trip back to home, below the vast white cloud ocean.

Below the white foamy line.