Izari gritted his teeth. "What the hell..."
The man shoved his way inside, kicking the door shut behind him. "She needs help," he continued to insist, laying her down on Izari's bed. "Now."
Izari backed up, gripping his knife tightly. "Hey, I don't know what you think I can do..."
"Do you have any alcohol?"
Izari was momentarily stunned before he quickly recollected himself and dashed to get the medical kit underneath his bed.
The man grabbed it from Izari's hands and rushed back to the girl while he muttered a curt "Thanks."
Izari eyed the man with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He stood rigid by the door, the metallic tang of fear thick in the air, battling the stink of antiseptic that the man had been slathering on the girl's wounds. His small room, usually a haven of organized chaos, was now a tableau of desperation. The man, whose face was slick with sweat, continued his frantic work, his large hands moving with surprising gentleness as he dabbed at a particularly nasty gash on the girl's arm. Her breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent, and the intricate, cruel patterns carved into her skin made Izari's stomach clench. This wasn't the work of a simple thug; this was ritualistic, depraved.
"Who even are you?" he demanded
The man's expression hardened. "Rona of the Silver Echo."
"And her?" Izari pointed at the girl.
"She's the daughter of someone… important. In the South District," the man said, his voice thick with urgency.
The words hit like a sledgehammer. Izari's pulse slammed against his ears. "Bullshit." He didn't want to believe it; residents of the South District weren't very welcoming to any strangers. Deep down, he felt that the man was lying to his face.
Izari's eyes darted between the girl's mangled body and the man standing before him. "Do you know what you've done? You've declared war on the South."
Izari exhaled sharply, the air leaving his lungs in a rush of bitter understanding. He slapped his hand against his forehead in defeat. " Of course, Fucking rebels.". It finally dawned on him. Rona was one of them, a member of the Silver Echo, one of the few pathetic, useless rebel movements in Machine City. To him, they were nothing but a joke. And looking at Rona, Izari could see the man wouldn't last long either. And he was going to drag Izari down with him. However, looking at the state the poor girl was in, he knew he had to help her.
The man muttered again under his breath, a feverish, shaken whisper as he began to clumsily bandage the wounds on the girl's body. "I had to do it... had to... no choice..."
Izari watched him, his curiosity increasing, a flicker of something akin to pity warring within him. What was the deal with this girl?
He looked at her again. At the wounds. Torture wounds, the thought of whatever happened to her, made him slightly shudder.
"What the hell did you get yourself into?" Izari muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
The man kept doing his best, trying to bandage the girl's wounds. Despite a few clumsy attempts here and there, which made Izari almost feel bad for the guy, he finally managed to use up all the bandages to cover all the visible parts of her arms and legs.
All this while Izari's gaze flicked between the prone girl and the darkened hallway outside, a silent debate raging within him. Help them? Suicide. Toss them out? Cruel, but smart. Betray them… the thought sent a shiver down his spine, but the glittering promise of favor with the South District elite alongside tons of money was a potent lure; this was literally what he always wanted in life, what he had promised himself to achieve in this short life. But why was he hesitating? he had already helped them enough.
He grabbed Rona's arm, pulling him away from the girl. "Listen," he hissed, his voice low and urgent, "I don't know what you think I can do for you. If you want help, I can help you find someone else—"
Rona spun, his eyes blazing with a desperate fire, and gripped Izari's shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh. "No! Look, I've been through hell and back just to get her here, and I've lost good people. She must live!" The words were raw, torn from a place of profound loss and unwavering conviction.
Izari stiffened. "What the hell are you talking about?" The urgency in Rona's voice was unsettling, too real.
The rebel exhaled, shaking his head, releasing Izari, and looking down, a sudden shift in demeanor. "All I'm saying is... I need your help."
Suspicion coiled tighter in Izari's gut. His instincts screamed at him to run, to disappear into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Machine City, to leave this man and his dying burden to their fate. It was the logical, the safe thing to do. He could melt away into the shadows, unseen, unheard, leaving them to face whatever horrors were coming.
But something, a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years, kept him rooted in place. A sense of reluctant obligation to the girl, to the desperation in Rona's eyes? He didn't know. He didn't want to know.
He shook himself, snapping out of his internal struggle. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. "Okay, if you want my help, you have to tell me everything. Why did you take her? Who's after you?"
Rona stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "I had to do it. I had to do it." He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if trying to quell a throbbing headache. "They… they've begun something down there in the South. Horrific things. Worse than you can ever imagine. This girl, Cassia Veidt —she's one of the victims. Her father… is one of them. Seems he doesn't even care for his flesh and blood."
Izari narrowed his eyes, disbelief warring with a chilling sense of foreboding. Veidt. The name alone was enough to send shivers down the spines of even the most hardened criminals. "And so you thought taking his daughter was the right move? You've just put a bounty the size of this entire district on your head. You do realize that, right?"
Rona swallowed, his shoulders trembling slightly. "You don't get it. He…they were going to do something to her. Something worse. I had to get her out. If I hadn't—" He trailed off, his eyes flicking to the girl's broken body, the muttering starting again, a litany of desperation and fear. "Look, kid, as I said before, I'm with the Silver Echo. If you help me keep Cassia safe, I'll make sure you get rewarded. Anything you want, well, almost anything."
Izari's hold on his knife loosened, the metal cool against his sweaty palm. An opportunity. He pushed back the doubt gnawing at his mind. "Money, seventy thousand in total." The question was out before he could fully process it, a whispered prayer he was hoping would come true.
Rona's eyes snapped up, surprised by the directness of the question. "Well, if that's what you want... consider it done. Deal?"
Izari hesitated for only a fraction of a second. This could be his ticket, his last chance. He extended his hand. "Deal."
Rona grasped it, his grip firm, sealing the pact. "Deal."
Then—
Heavy boots thudded in the corridor. "He, you are sure we have the right room?" "Yeah, I saw a little runt let him in." Rona stiffened, drawing his pistol, the metallic click echoing in the small room. "Shit."
Izari clenched his teeth. They were being hunted. And whoever was after them wasn't bothering to be subtle.
A shadow flickered beneath the sliver of light under the door. Then, a knock—hard, forceful. Not the nervous, hurried taps of a fugitive. This was the knock of someone who knew they had already won.
Rona took a step back, his pistol shaking in his hand. "You said your name was..." he whispered. "Izari," Izari whispered back, his voice tight with fear. "Well, Izari, your work begins now."
Izari clenched his teeth. He could hide them. Face whatever monstrosity was waiting outside. Survive this, and he could finally continue clawing his way up this goddamned city and find a life atop the spires.
The door exploded inward, splintering wood and showering them with dust.
Five figures stepped into the room, a terrifying tableau framed in the doorway. Four of them, clearly mercenaries, were dressed in haphazard dark brown armor assembled from scraps, offering scant protection to their legs and arms. They were scavengers, Bronze skulls most likely, judging by the crude symbols daubed on their ragged clothes and weapons. Two were hulking men, faces covered by stained rags, clutching homemade, rusty melee weapons. The other two were equally menacing - a tall, burly woman in the same attire and a younger woman whose face was hidden behind a grey ornate beaked mask, clutching a sharpened hooked blade and a modified shotgun, a malicious smile etched on the lower uncovered part of her face.
But it was the leader who commanded attention. He was a tall, imposing figure, clearly from the South District, a stark contrast to the grime-covered mercenaries. He was clad in a long, exquisitely tailored coat lined with metallic plates, the green leather gleaming ominously in the dim light. An ornate, silver chain with a strange circle between two hands with the fingers all pointing up in prayer draped across his chest, and his gloved hands were spotless. He exuded an aura of power and disdain, his mere presence suffocating the small room. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on Rona for a moment before settling on the girl.
A flicker of…something akin to reverence crossed his face as he looked at Cassia.
"Give us the girl, rebel," he said, his voice like rusted steel, each word laced with contempt. His eyes narrowed, focusing on Rona. "The altar still craves its sacrifice. You cannot deny what is owed." He glanced at Cassia, a strange combination of piety and possessiveness in his gaze. He pressed two fingers to his chest and bowed his head slightly toward Cassia. "The vessel cannot choose her fate. Only the altar may judge."