The docks smelled of rusted iron and wet concrete. Salt carried over the wind, and beneath it all, the sea. Vast, endless, almost angry.
Heylel didn't know if he liked it. It invaded the car all the same. The environmental control unit had failed long ago.
"Remind me, Andrew, we need better cars," Heylel said to thin air.
There was a soft crackle in his ear. "There aren't better cars."
"The King has one. So do the princelings," Heylel replied as the suspension lurched from paved asphalt to half-torn gravel.
"They're royalty," Andrew said. "It's in the name."
"So are we less?"
The question trailed into silence as the lead car took the corner.
"Do you want to be more?"
Heylel let the words settle. Did he?
The answer came easily. "No. I think I just like an easy life."
"I'm trying my best, you know," Andrew said lightly. "Besides, you're up."
The convoy stopped.
A knock rapped against Heylel's window. He lowered the glass. A man stood outside in a perfectly tailored suit, the kind worn by someone accustomed to negotiations rather than docks.
"Matthew Smith," he said, raising a hand. "Administration Head."
Heylel didn't take it. "What do you want?"
For a moment, something flickered across Smith's face. Surprise, irritation, perhaps even anger. It vanished just as quickly. He lowered his hand.
He stood there instead, silent.
"Sir Task," he said carefully. "We only require the Patriarch to complete the walkthrough and sign the handover."
"I'll be assuming that responsibility," Heylel said.
Smith's eyes widened. "Sir, we require the Patriarch's signature. This is a government handover. This is not—"
Heylel tilted his head.
"This is a Task Industries matter, Smith," he said evenly. "And for the purposes of this site, I am Task Industries."
Silence followed.
Smith swallowed. "Of course," he said. "If you'll follow me."
Heylel nodded as he opened the car door, stepping out into the cold winds. They carried the tang of fire dust burning in rotaries and engines.
Smith was already moving, shoes clicking sharply against concrete stained dark by old leaks and newer brine. He didn't look back.
Two Task operatives fell in behind him as Heylel walked. No rifles but holstered pistols.
"Schedule?" Heylel asked.
Smith hesitated half a step before answering.
"The walkthrough was set for ten minutes. The arbitration podium has been erected at the North Berths. Sector Four."
Andrew's voice slid into Heylel's ear. "Sector Four, that's the container canyon. Four layers of containers."
Heylel's mouth twitched. "How did that ever happen?"
"An escape from the cold," Andrew said. "Built after Mantle bombed the docks flat. Resourceful. Also—"
"Let me guess."
Four layers. Too much for shelter.
Fortification then.
"Invasion?" Heylel asked.
"Close," Andrew replied. "Rebellion."
Heylel laughed softly. "No history of that here. The rebels lost their will, didn't they?"
No answer.
"They were killed off?"
Andrew laughed. That was answer enough.
Dismissing that laugh, he focused forward.
Smith's shoulders were tight. He pretended not to hear any of it.
"After the walkthrough," he said, "the Patriarch was to sign. The port officially transfers to Task Industries. Security protocols would then—"
"Change," Heylel finished. "Yes. I'm aware."
They passed beneath a gantry crane, its shadow cutting across them in long, angular bars. The machine creaked faintly as wind caught its cables.
Andrew spoke again. "Crane Four just went active."
He glanced up, eyes tracing the lattice of steel above. "They're early."
"Be ready," Andrew said.
Heylel stepped over a painted safety line, the yellow long since faded to a sickly gray. There the wind didn't blow. They were in the mouth of the canyon.
The sound of tortured metal filled the air. A crane moved, its hooks gripping a steel container. "That's Crane Three." Andrew said.
If it swung, the container would be on top of them. A plug. The one meant for his father.
Smith took a moment to notice Heylel had stopped, so he turned and waited.
"Smith," Heylel said quietly. "Get lost."
For a moment the administrator was frozen. His eyes found Heylel's. Dull brown met bloody red.
He swallowed.
"Sir—"
"Go away."
That was a command.
Smith obeyed.
Heylel didn't watch him go, he turned to the canyon. "On me."
Both men shifted, attention sharpening. One moved to his left, the other lagged half a step behind. Rear guard, eyes up.
Andrew's voice was no longer light. "Crane Three is live. Four is powered but idle. I'm seeing manual overrides on both."
"Do you have access to the other cranes?" Heylel asked.
"Ones without manual overwrite? Yes."
"Use them."
Andrew was quiet for half a second. He was smiling.
"Understood," he said. "Redirecting auxiliary cranes. Old software, no safeties. They'll scream."
"Good," Heylel replied.
A moment later his voice came again, "I have all the marksmen painted. On your go, we execute."
Heylel didn't answer right away.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
"Heylel," Andrew warned.
"I heard you."
He stopped in the open, exactly where the container would fall if they committed.
"Alright. I am here." A breath, "And here to talk."
"My father isn't here, he isn't coming." The voice travelled through the metal. "But I'm sure you've probably figured that out by now."
Silence answered him.
"I know you're proud of this," Heylel continued. "Manual overrides. Good angles. You think you've built a knife and put it to my throat."
He looked up.
"You haven't."
Andrew cut in, low. "They're adjusting positions."
"Trust me."
Nothing answered.
So, Heylel spoke again. "You think you can kill me? Sniper on a crane? Guns? Tech?"
He smiled. Not wide, not kind.
"You already know the answer."
Silence.
"I could kill you all," Then Heylel sighed, forcing it out. "But my father wants the docks working by the evening."
He paused.
"So you get to go."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then a voice echoed back.
"Five minutes."
His smile grew.
"Five minutes."
So, he stood and as he did, his earpiece came to life. "Why?"
"How else can I keep you both happy?" Heylel's voice was almost chipper, then he imagined Andrew's expression. That dead thing.
He almost laughed. Almost.
"It's not going to work."
Heylel didn't respond.
Andrew had more to say, Heylel knew it too but now was not the time. "They are taking over radio. I can't listen in. They have good cybersec. Liora, I believe."
"And?"
"Don't kill her. Take her alive."
Then the air cracked.
Heylel felt the shockwave before the sound reached him and moved on instinct. Red deepened to blood as he jumped right into the container walls. The round tore through where his head had been a breath earlier.
"Confirmed hostile," Andrew said calmly.
"Executing."
Fire bloomed downrange. A barrel ruptured. The container lurched.
Two auxiliary cranes roared to life at opposite ends of the berth. Andrew dumped power into them without restraint, ignoring every screaming warning flooding his console. Steel arms swung wide, then snapped inward.
Crane Five clipped Three's boom in a burst of sparks. Crane Six slammed into Four's counterweight.
Metal shrieked. Cables snapped.
The suspended container didn't fall.
It was thrown.
It slammed sideways into the container wall with a concussive boom that rolled through the canyon like artillery fire. The ground shuddered. Dust and rust cascaded down in choking sheets.
Heylel didn't slow.
He ran straight into the chaos.
The heat of dust filled the canyon. The guards by his side died where they stood.
Heylel threw his coat open, one hand gripping the fifty, the other wrapping around the handle of a sword.
A head ventured out, helmet and eyes peeking into the canyon. Heylel turned the fifty.
The pistol roared, the recoil barking up his arm as the round punched through helmet and skull alike. The body vanished backward.
Heylel moved back, between containers.
A boy stood there. No older than him. Rifle half-raised, attention still fixed on the canyon.
The sword parted from the scabbard and sheathed into his chest. The flesh didn't resist.
Then he heard metal screech, he looked up, towards it. Crane Four. The counter weight dropped. And the crane shuddered. The crane tilted violently. Someone screamed. As they fell.
It was cut short.
"Mal neutralized. All snipers exterminated."
"I thought you didn't have that crane." Heylel said.
"Didn't. Damage forced the system into safety."
Heylel pulled his eyes back.
Then he moved between the containers, boots finding hold on concrete. A shadow broke from cover ahead.
The boy stumbled into view with a pistol clutched too tight in both hands, eyes wide, lungs pulling air too fast. He froze when he saw Heylel—really saw him—red eyes, coat open, sword already half-drawn.
"Wait—" he croaked. "I—I didn't—"
Heylel shot him.
Once.
Center mass. The bones of his spine, of his chest scattered.
"JAX!" A growl echoed down the canyon.
The wolf Faunus burst from behind a stack of containers, arms thick, hands wrapped around a crowbar scored with old rust. His ears were pinned back. Heylel saw rage. And a suicidal charge.
The wolf swung.
Heylel caught the bar on his blade.
Steel screamed.
The impact drove Heylel back half a step.The world pressed, muscles corded, breath coming in furious snarls.
"You think you own the air?" It spat. "You think you can take everything? Take him?"
Heylel twisted the sword, deflecting the bar aside, then stepped inside the swing.
His free hand came up. The fifty barked.
It's head snapped sideways, blood and fur spraying the container wall. The crowbar fell from his hands as his body collapsed in a heap at Heylel's feet.
"Heylel. North, outside the canyon. The leader is trying to flee."
He ran, three rifles blocked his path. They bloomed. Bullets slammed into him. Aura running red hot as the metal crumpled.
Heylel reached them the next instant. The first died with a sword to his throat, the other through the chest and on with a fifty into his head.
Exiting out the walls, a man with a mask was running, a woman by his side.
"Don't kill the girl." Andrew said.
Heylel pulled up the fifty.
Set the masked man between his sites.
And fired.
The man fell forward.
The woman realized a heartbeat later.
She screamed.
———
——
—
[A/N: This was difficult to write. Thoughts? Prayers?]