Stomping footsteps descended from an alley way ahead and to their left, rushing fast and belligerent. It was impossible to tell whether these had been patiently waiting or were only now just arriving. Nevertheless, seven souls rapidly stepped out and onto the way, blocking the direction ahead.

  Maker huffed such a sizzled breath as he spun himself around in a single sharp turn, his eyes glaring them down as they glared in kind. Nine cautiously remained behind him, guarded and tense… unsure how to react or respond.

  “Well, well, well… Who do we have here…” His taunting voice so began to remark.

  These seven persons were typical Strawberrien lower commoners in their fashion and appearance, yet judging from the distinct armbands tied around their sleeves, these were clearly Restorationists; although, the defining design seemed…flipped differently—intentionally so. These were not the same Restorationists of westside whom Nine had become accustomed to seeing…

  And being armed with knives, cleavers, and sharpened pitchforks, faces stern and quite upset, it was obvious that they were here for trouble. Perhaps surprisingly, standing front and center of them…was a young woman, unarmed yet commanding the meanest stares of them all.

  “Abigail…” maker so condescendingly named, fauxly thrilled; “Sweetheart! Visting me all the way out from your little eastside factory! I’m touched!” His hands interlocked in a single clap, raised to his smiling cheeks as if a daisy darling. “But… What the fuck are you doing in my turf? How’d even you get this deep?”

  “Don’t be obtuse, trickster.” Yet the leading woman was not having it, voice aggressive and stern. “Thou’re predicable. And thou knowst whyfor we’ve come hither. Our wordsman was found dead in his bed this morning. Mysterious.”

  Yet maker so gasped as if shocked, not even trying to pretend sincerity. “Yikes! Why that’s terrible… Sincerely, Abigail,” he spoke her name mockingly, “you have my condolences.”

  “That’s the second one of ours in only two days, tricksie.” Yet the woman’s voice remained cold and hostile… Her eyes proceeded to lock onto the girl peeking behind him; “Who’s she?”

  “Who?” Maker shrugged as if confused, before casually looking behind. “Oh, her?” He pulled Nine closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder whilst his hand slipped…beneath her attire’s collar, promptly groping her breast. “She’s just my bitch. A real nice one too; slut does whatever the fuck I want, when I want.” His glancing eyes screamed just play along.

  Nine suppressed the urge to growl… There were thousands of other things he could have done, but of course we just had to go with this. Nevertheless, she loosened her posture and softly moaned within her breaths as if she were heating, pretending as though she were totally into this despite her base instincts wanting to dagger him in the groin… Once again, she was so very glad to have taken that tipsy drink…

  “Oh really?” Yet the woman’s eyes glared utterly unconvinced. “Just thy bitch? Fucking whores now, huh?”

  “Jealous?” He gave her a kind of smug stare.

  “No.” The woman shook her head. “Let’s quit the shit, tricksie: thou’re working with the Guild; I’ve known; we’ve known. And we know there be a Raven in this citie who arrived a wee few days ago, right when the fuckerie began.”

  Suddenly, his hand’s groping touch became a single tight clenching squeeze. “Really, now?” There was a sizzle in his breaths.

  Nine had to hide the discomfort and pain, though she certainly gave him an obvious grumbly eye; frankly, such was the least of her alarming concerns this moment.

  “Fair-skinned, mapley straight-hair, ambery eyes, and shortish height. And we did hear that a top-northern dressed girl was seen sweet talking with La Castrada.” Indeed, that young woman’s glare pierced into that supposed ‘bitch’; “Thy ‘slut’ fiteth exactly. Funny.”

  There was an inaudible grumble from maker, his nose almost wrinkling as his squeezing grip only tightened even harsher.

  “You’re hurting me…” Nine quietly whispered, yet maker either did not hear or was simply ignoring. Nevertheless, her breaths became more uneased and worried, and not even from the discomforting pain of his ired grip…

  She had been compromised, and she knew it. Yet at what stage, at what point, when and how… She had no idea.

  The woman’s piercing glare restruck maker; “You’re targeting us. There’s no point in pretending; it be obvious.” she plainly accused. “I thought we had understanding, tricksie; we had respect. And, worst: we had a deal, and you broke it.”

  “Now, now… You’re speaking some kinds of words alright… Many kinds, even… Only just makes me wonder…” Maker’s harsh clench loosened, his hand finally slipping out from Nine’s collar, freeing her. “How much you and your sister being paid, huh?”

  “…paid?” The woman gave him an eye, as if indifferently baffled.

  “Yeah… Don’t think I’m not figuring it out; I am figuring it out, pretty close… There’s something bigger going on, and your eastside gang ain’t just insidious for fun. No, no… You two little sweethearts have gotten yourselves in some stupid-stupid nonsense…” His casual tone and relaxed posture downplayed the menace in his voice. Yet his demeanor then abruptly shifted, stiffening as he looked straight into that woman’s glare. “I’m willing to double it.” he stated, blunt and serious; “Your pay. Whatever it is, I’ll double it. If you just walk away… Right now. And pretend you didn’t say a single fucking thing; I’ll pretend the same.”

  “No.” Yet the woman shook her head. “Still thinkest as if pay be the about… Truestly, thou are a hopeless sock.” Her voice almost seemed disappointed yet unsurprised. “Here’s the deal, tricksie, because I am willing to make one with thy terms. Hand over that Raven, and then we’ll walk away and pretend nothing ever happened, go back to the before.” she demanded in effect. “Otherwise, I may no longer be able to guarantee the elves in the eastside quarter… Nor promise our westside compatriots shan’t harass this quarter.” she threatened in effect. “Either way, we will be given that Raven.”

  “Hm.” Maker grumbled slightly, his eyes retaining his glare. It was hard to know what was befalling within his head; what he was thinking… Much like another, he was good at keeping his intentions cloudy and vague.

  Nine’s breaths only became more uneased.

  “Believe us, tricksie… We’d be doing thee a favor.” that woman so added; “We both know how the Guild’s net works, and…trust me, thou are in tenuous standing. That Raven is not here to be thy bitch nor helpful puppy; I wouldn’t be surprised if thou joined the mysteriously dead by week’s end.”

  “Huh…?” Nine’s breaths expelled as her eyes could not help but widen, staring… Fuck… Completely compromised; she had been completely compromised. How did…that bitch even know that? Was she just guessing? Or… Or… Shit. This was very bad.

  “So, give us that Raven, and there shan’t be any problems… Otherwise…” The other armed six tightened their grips, as if readying themselves.

  “Hm.” Tension filled the air as maker continued to glare as if in a standoff.

  Yet as seconds dragged, the woman’s posture relaxed slightly, her eyes casting down as if…reappraising, or rather… “Listen… I don’t hate thee, and I haven’t forgotten. I know thee; thou be too far trapped… But I can give thee a way out; a way to make things right…” Her mellowing voice was speaking more personal and direct; “We have more in common than you think… Thou helped me, and I want to help yee, if thou trust me as I did thee.”

  “Heh??” Yet one of the others swiftly grumbled aloud. “This be not the plan! Thou’st lettyn’ thy personale feelynds getten thruch-by’n ouren way!” he accused; “Trusteth never an halfite elfish-blooded! Letteth ous fork them both ond leaven!”

  The woman swiftly glared; “Be quiet.” she growled, and the other went silent. “We all have the same enemie, even if it might not seeming so… And this mayth be the only chance…” She relooked at him, “to extend a hand.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you actually…” Maker so exhaled, stroking his forehead as his head casually bobbed and nodded… “Oh, Abigail… You were so tangy and sweet ‘nd sour; so clever and smart… But still so fucking naive and short-sighted.”

  “Tutored from example.” the woman simply remarked, stiffening. “Thy answer, trickster?”

  A suffocating silence ensued. Nine’s widened eyes slowly turned to maker… She could tell, he was thinking, contemplating… He must be weighing his options, she assumed.

  She tensed even more… This was bad; this was very bad.

  Maker might be a valuable asset, but there was a reason the Bureau had become doubtful; he was becoming increasingly rogue… And not only did these two seem acquainted, but that woman was giving him an out… And if his primary concerns were always the city’s elves above all else…

  Indeed, she had absolutely no reason to trust maker would not simply hand her over… And while she was skillful, she was not Nilia—she was meant for clandestine murder, not directly fighting…seven angry people at once.

  Breaths becoming anxious, Nine tightly clenched maker’s sleeve, perhaps out of genuine fear or maybe to intimidate… “I have a hidden dagger on me…” she whispered, either to simply remind him or to threaten… She could strike some of them or she could strike him; either way, she was going to evade capture.

  Yet maker so sighed, having decided… “Yeah, and I’ve got…” Fingers swinging into his mouth, he let out quite the alarming whistle.

  Almost immediately, windows from the surrounding buildings flung open as elvish handgunners pointed their aim down and at them, maker simultaneously taking out his own pistol—flintlock—which had been discreetly tucked somewhere underneath his coat and pants, cocking the hammer.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The would-be assailants stumbled, their attention distracted; their eyes looked up and around with shaken surprise. The young woman, caught off guard, nevertheless tried to retain some composure; “Shite… Guns? Since when did you—”

  Click. Snap. Bang.

  Nine’s hand had instinctually grasped her mouth, having nearly gasped in a recoiling twitch from that sudden frightening shot, taken by total surprise as she saw…

  The woman tumbled down, face smacking the ground; dead silent besides those horrid groans and final expelling breaths… Brainy blood oozed out from the hole in her head.

  “Oh, Abigail…” Maker’s breaths so hissed, his pistol’s muzzle still fresh with heat and smoke; “Abigail, Abigail…” He simply walked forward… “I mean, come on! I never said this before, what kind of stupid fucking name even is ‘A-bi-gail’, huh?! Why couldn’t you have been named after your hair color, or your eyes, or a fucking fruit—you know, a normal fucking name, huh?!” He mocked her name, yet his voice seemed awfully overwhelmed; “See… This the problem, the same fucking problem infecting our lands… Same rot, same stupid fucking rot… You’re all infected…” There was a tremble to his jaw and breaths.

  The other six had frozen; they just stared at their motionless leader, as if their minds were struggling to process… “Abby…?” Their realizing breaths sank with a shocked horror…

  “I mean… What the FUCK were you honestly expecting from this, huh?!” Maker waved his empty pistol around as if maddened, his shouting breaths cramping in a way increasingly unhinged; “You honestly thought…that you were exempt, huh?! That I’d just…let you come on to my turf and start speaking these…accu-fucking-sations! Shouldn’t have brought pitchforks and shitswords to what was only ever going to be a gun-draw!”—he glared at the body—“Gods’ sacred toilet, arrogant woman! Didn’t I teach you to fucking think! What were you thinking?!” He was in such shocked disbelief despite being the one who had just shot her.

  The breaths of the others became shuddering growls as their freeze melted… “Thou… Thou…” One glared straight at him, seething and sizzling; “Thou forsaken halfling elf! THOU SHALT PAY! WE’LL CUT OFF YOUR POINTY EARS! EVERYONE OF YOU!” Screeching with spit, he was about to charge…

  Yet…

  Pew.

  That assailant tumbled down, a smaller hole in his head; dead.

  “Shite!” The others immediately hunched down with squirming eyes, looking up and around in panic; “What was that?! Whence did that come?! Whence?! Whence?!”

  Pew. Pew. Pew.

  So fast and sudden, whistling bullets from somewhere someplace who knew where pierced and cracked. Shots silent as if death’s whispers, besides perhaps that faint pop of bursting air. Primeval instincts took control as the assailants scrambled for cover. Yet within seconds of beginning, it was practically over. One by one, each came down…until only one remained standing.

  Maker whistled once again. “Enough!” he shouted loudly with a wave, glancing at an old tower far behind… And those pews and shots immediately ceased.

  Nine’s breaths remained perturbed, her shaky hand still grasping her mouth… “…what just happened?” They were all just shot, but…by what? A repeater obviously, but… How was it so silent and…discreet?

  Nevertheless, maker turned his eyes to that chosen survivor who cowered away in a trembling ball…as if awaiting… “Lucky you.” He approached and halted before him, crouching down with such a wide-eyed glare.

  The survivor opened his ball, looking around…as if confused as to why he was still even alive. “W-what… What…” His shaking jaws and trembling breaths could barely articulate.

  Maker cared not, however. “You’ll be the messenger.” he plainly told; “Run your ass back to eastside and tell your little flag-waving posers what’ll happen if they ever step a single fucking boot into my turf again.” His voice was not merely threatening. “Eastside, westside, I don’t care which kind; I don’t discriminate. They’ll be shot on sight.” He pulled the survivor’s head up by his hair. “And if I get even a little whisper of bullshit happening to the elves on your corner…” Looking into his eyes, he so made clear… “A lot of bad-bad things are gonna happen to a lot of people.” He thus let go. “Not a single elf fired a shot. All just trickster. Got it?”

  The survivor nodded frantically, whimpering as his eyes clogged from frightful tears.

  “Then why the fuck you’re still here?! Fuck off!”

  Yelping, the survivor sprung up and proceeded to run, faster than he could possibly scram.

  Grim silence filled the air as that survivor fell out of sight. Maker stepped back onto the street, breathing in and out as he looked at the bodies; something…was building up in his breaths, before…

  “FUCK!” He bashed his foot into the ground, unleashing such a shout that Nine flinched. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” He scratched away at his forehead. “What the FUCK?! Do we have a fucking squealer?! We’ve got a fucking squealer, don’t we?! HOW DID THIS FUCKING HAPPEN?!”

  Nine remained still, her breaths and limbs shaking… Her natural frightened instincts had overtaken… She was, indeed, terrified; she was unable to even pretend otherwise.

  Maker’s eyes glared up at the buildings around; “The fuck are you doing?! GET DOWN HERE, NOW!”

  The elves positioned within the buildings looked at maker before looking at themselves, silent and worried… They withdrew from the windows, their walking boots being heard as many of them stepped out and…cautiously assembled.

  Unsurprisingly, these elven handgunners were predominantly woman. It was a long-held belief amongst both central elves and man alike that elvish women were born with the keenest of eyes and clearest of focuses, being naturally gifted shooters and rangers; elvish men, in contrast, had longer ears and therefore were believed to have sharpest hearing… Two talent sets that complimented well in union, indeed.

  Though, of course, such were just assumptions. Ultimately, these were nothing more than desperate civilians hastily armed with old firearms… Inexperienced and, indeed, presently scared.

  “I just don’t FUCKING get it! Nobody fucking spotted them?! Nobody saw them??!” Maker yelled aloud. “You!” His finger so pointed at an elf who immediately flinched; “I need a fucking explanation! Bring the watch here, now!”

  The elf nodded, though remained very uneased. “You…aren’t goynd to hurt them, right?”

  Maker, however, glared into her, his widened eyes saying more words than needing to be spoken. “Bring. Me. The. Fucking. Watch. Now.” His breaths were so coldly seething.

  Shivering, the elf nearly trembled back. “Yas! On it. On it!” Nodding with each word, she stumbled off… A few others followed with her to support.

  His attention then flipped to the other elves who had so assembled; “You. All of you. Stop standing! Patrol and double it! And actually keep your fucking eyes open! You’re elvines—how can you be so blind?!” he both demanded and ridiculed.

  “We…wasn’t…” One of them…timidly spoke, though simply stopped.

  “…they rushed, we didn’t…” Another tried to speak, but also stopped…

  All of them were distressed from this situation.

  “Doesn’t matter. Go! Go! Gods’ fucking shit!” maker shouted at them, shooing them off. “Just stop standing!”

  The assembled elves looked to themselves before quickly departing… Thus, left were only him and her…

  And he most certainly turned his glare to her, face beyond furious.

  His stomps descending her way, Nine immediately tensed…

  “You!” Indeed, he halted with ire. “You fucked up. You fucked up real bad!” As if a ball, he kept tossing the blame around. “They were from eastside! That eunuch figured you out, didn’t he?! Must’ve followed you here!”

  “I…” Nine’s teeth somewhat chattered, the anxiety only worsening… “I… I wasn’t…” She took a breath; “No, no… No. I was not followed; I would have noticed armbanded people following me. And at no point…did the target ever give me the sense that…he was suspicious or figured anything… I am certain.”

  “Certain?” He just shook his head as if mocking her certainty, taking a glance at the bodies behind… “Oh, well, they were sure certain of who you are! How else could they’ve made the fucking connection, huh?! She even said—”

  “Someone within there must have told them…” Nine interrupted; “You didn’t tell me anything about the target being associated with…the Restorationists or any group—I would have been more cautious about others.”

  “Bah!” Yet maker so scoffed. “You crow-woreshippers always get so fucking cocky because you’re so good at swapping ‘forms’ and pretending to be cutesy girls, always fucking forgetting you’ve only got one face!” His overloading anger had no sign of fizzling.

  “Look, none of this is my fault, maker.” Even in spite of her present fear, she tried to stand her ground. “You should’ve been aware that I arrived in this city in my Raven form and had spent a whole night running around—anybody with ears would’ve eventually figured out: yes, there’s a Raven in this city! That’s exactly why I told you I didn’t want to create a fucking pattern!” Now she was getting snappy.

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Raising her voice, however, only made him scowl and growl, his hand clenching into a fist. “You don’t fucking TALK!”

  Nine immediately tensed and recoiled her head, expecting to be punched… Yet only for his hand to flop down, his eyes too as he bit his lip… “Whatever… Doesn’t matter… I’m the one who shot her… Fuck…” His breaths were fizzling out.

  Nine breathed out relief…

  There was a silence, maker seemingly in his thoughts.

  “…you knew her, didn’t you?” she…suddenly remarked, eyes downfaced. “Abbigail…”

  “Don’t.” Yet maker’s finger locked with his thumb to form a warning ring. “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t… Say that name.” he cautioned, trying to keep his calm… “I don’t ever…want to hear that fucking name, got it? I don’t want to hear it… Don’t ever want to hear it… That stupid fucking name.”

  “So you did know her closely…” she mumbled.

  “I didn’t just ‘know’ her, alright! Gods’ sacred!” maker loudly snapped again, making Nine flinch and freeze…

  “…sorry” Her eyes evaded down… “Regardless… This is bad. She…didn’t just know I was the Raven, she knew a…description of me, beyond the mask…” she spoke calmly yet…mellowly; “A description too precise; ‘mapley’, most wouldn’t call my hair that.”

  “Yeah, yeah… And she just magically ‘nd telepathically knew all that, huh?” Maker groaned, stepping away from her as he returned to their bodies, particularly that woman’s… His foot tapped and tapped as he stared, incapable of being still… “Yeah… Maybe you’re blameless; maybe you fucked up… Maybe I fucked up… But you’re right. She did seem too familiar; as if someone had given her a description…” His eyes looked up to the sky, glaring eastwards… “And you have to wonder… They ran their asses all the way here from eastside… And with all those Company balloons floating about eastside and center, you’d think they would’ve spotted a bunch of armed thugs running this way… They should’ve; they probably did…”

  “…what are you…getting at?” Nine cautiously asked, stepping closer.

  “AGH! Don’t you have such a fucking voice!” However, her interjection broke his chain of thoughts, reigniting him. “You know what!” He turned and glared at her. “I just realized, I’ve got the perfect job for someone like you! Yeah.” He pointed right at the bodies. “You must be real fucking good at getting rid of bodies; burying them.”

  Nine’s eyes drifted down… “Yeah, I guess so…” She knew where this was going.

  “Yeah.” He just nodded. “So, get to it then. Clean this shit up. And don’t you fuck it up. Because I’ve a mess ahead of me.”

  Nine’s breaths shivered slightly, sighing… “Alrightly, sure…” She knew now not to be assertive, not while he was still…unstable in mind, reeling from…what he had done.

  Maker took one last look at the woman’s…body… “I taught you how to survive… Guess I should’ve taught how you to keep your mouth shut.” he muttered aloud… “Telling someone like me you know a lot ain’t the card you think it is…” He stood there, before, with a final weakly kick to the ground, he stepped away, allowing Nine to approach.

  Nine remained silent as she arrived at the woman’s body… Motionless with lifeless eyes; a shell empty of soul… She just stared, seeing that fresh hole in the head, nose dripping with darkened blood… “You trusted him too much not to hurt you, huh?” Truth be told, she wanted to cry. She would be crying… But she stopped herself. Instead, she crouched down and flipped the body onto its back, readying it to be dragged…

  However, maker began to walk off down the other way behind; he was awfully silent now, but she could hear his steps.

  “Maker…” Nine called, not turning her eyes.

  “Hm.” Maker paused in his walk, not turning either; “What?” His voice seemed emptier… As if all that fiery rage had frozen over, leaving only guilt and sorrow.

  “I changed my mind…” she thus told him; “I’ll be staying in the bunker.” Obviously.

  Maker was silent for a moment… “Yeah…” he just said, unsurprised.

  “However…” Nine continued, “If it’s one thing all of this has shown… Your allegiance is no longer questionable. You had a choice, and…you made it. I’ll be telling them that. My job here is done.”

  Indeed, Abbigail had made it obvious she knew too much, the extent of which was unknown; she was a risky liability. Thus, he handled her…despite his personal interests and feelings. Certainly, the Bureau’s suspicions were unfounded; he was a committed asset.

  Maker was silent… He began to continue walking off yet…only to pause again. Thinking and reflecting, he eventually sighed… “Fine…” He turned and eyed her; “Favor for a favor… That’s the favor from you; that means I you owe…”

  “Huh?” Nine turned her head, looking at him with widened eyes… She was genuinely surprised.

  “You obviously wanted something, didn’t you? You seemed adamant.” he had observed; “So, what do you want? My favor to you.”