A silent office was filled with the constant ticking of a singular clock, resting on the surface of the desk.
The dim, yellow light of a small lamp reflected off the clean wooden top.
Marco reclined in his office, leaning his chair back.
His elbow rested on the left arm rest as he faced the cabinet to his right.
The desk sat to the left of him as he glanced down over his shoulder.
There's been nothing…in the past several days.
It was—
Clean.
Devoid of any maps or pieces.
A small glass rested underneath the lamp shade forming sweat around the dark brown liquid.
Marco reached for the glass, shifting the two ice cubes inside.
His eyes—
Shifted.
Focusing on the closed cabinet.
A gear—
Rested.
In the center.
The number Ⅰ was engraved on the crevasse of the two doors.
Marco moved the glass to his lips, taking the final sip of liquid.
They are incompetent.
The glass tapped the wooden desk, clinking the ice against its clear sides.
Marco stood to his feet, walking towards the cabinet.
Moonlight shone through the window at his side, resting its silver illumination on his right shoulder.
His hand—
Reached.
Pressing the number inward.
A violet light—
Streamed.
Moving along the seams of the cabinet.
The doors churned clicking inward as they slid to the sides.
Marco's eyes—
Narrowed.
Looking at the dark case.
A single—
Blade.
Fastened in the center.
A sleek black sheath encased the blade, having a violet line run down the center of the rectangle.
It stopped at the base of the sword handle as it passed over the half gear.
Marco's hand—
Reached.
Prepare yourself…
A memory—
Flashed.
Marco stood at the base of the tower, joined by another tall figure.
They brushed off the dirt along their shoulders placing the training swords in their hands back on the rack.
The figure—
Turned.
Facing the younger Marco.
He reached for the sword on his left waist, shifting his black and gold uniform along with it.
The hilt—
Detached.
Resting across the shadow's palms.
Marco's hand—
Reached.
Clasping the sword's center.
The blade rested in his left palm as the memory bled with static.
His view—
Returned.
To the dark office.
Marco exhaled through his nose, fastening the sword to his right side.
…Arthur.
The single gear—
Clicked.
Once.
…
The refurbished metal figures churned in their own motions, moving along the limestone courtyard.
Carts were wheeled into the fourth hallway, adorning perfectly cut squares on their surfaces.
Jean watched the afternoon sunlight reflect off the smooth green stone.
I need to prepare for the mission.
She continued towards Tremors workshop, pushing open the metal door.
An empty duffle bag was in her other hand as an empty backpack was over her shoulders.
The chiming of tinkering sounded from the back of the shop.
A blue light hued from the furthest workbench as Jean pushed past the piles of scrap and shelves of devices and parts.
Sparks flashed before her, flying over the shoulder of Tremor.
She crept clocker to him, watching as he placed his mask down.
The floating parts gracefully fell onto the metal surface.
Tremor exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as his veins returned to normal.
Jean was—
Quiet.
As she leaned close to his ear.
"Good work."
Tremor's shoulders—
Jumped.
As his knee hit the underside of his table.
Jean placed her hand on his back.
"I didn't mean to startle you that bad."
Tremor calmed himself, placing his heels on the chair.
"It's alright…"
He rubbed his kneecaps.
"...what do you need?"
Jean pointed to the empty duffle bag.
"Where are the suppressants?"
Tremor rotated his chair, pointing towards two small piles of boxes.
"Over there."
Jean nodded, walking towards the workbench.
"Thanks."
Their voices went silent as Jean unzipped the bag, placing the devices inside.
The duffle bag was zipped a few moments later, full of boxes.
Tremor continued to watch the back of Jean.
His hand—
Rose.
As his other palm stopped him.
What am I so afraid of?
He closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose before exhaling moments later.
Jean glanced over her shoulder, watching Tremor compose himself.
Her face—
Tightened.
As she shifted her focus.
He'll be fine without me.
She zipped the backpack, placing it on her shoulders.
Jean collected the duffle bag before walking to Tremor.
Tremor's eyes—
Opened.
Being met by Jean's gaze.
His lips—
Parted.
As his voice softened.
"Be careful."
Jean's hands—
Twitched.
A warm—
Smiled.
Formed on her face.
"I will."
Tremor's eyes widened as he watched Jean turn away from him.
A great—
Relief.
Filled his body.
He turned his chair to his desk, lifting his mask.
Jean walked to the workshop exit.
Her grip—
Tightened.
Around the backpack strap.
I'm fully…prepared.
She stepped out into the cold hallway, walking in the direction of the courtyard.
Her footsteps echoed in the metal corridor as she followed the pipes lining the floor edges.
The orange light came into view as the courtyard was slowly becoming quiet.
Jean looked around, stopping on the waving of a hand.
Grimm stood at the fountain.
"Hey, Jean."
She headed in his direction.
"Are you also heading to the garage?"
Grimm smirked, looking at the relaxed expression on her face.
"Yeah I am…"
He started walking beside her, resting his hands behind his head.
"...Something good happened? "
Jean's eyebrows twitched.
"No."
Grimm tilted his head towards her.
"I definitely did."
Jean's face tightened.
"No."
Grimm snickered.
"Sure. Whatever you say."
The two walked down the hallway moving through the open double doors.
They entered the garage, looking towards the airship positioned on the center platform.
An evening sky sat above the ship, shining its light down into the hangar.
Dean crouched on a metal scaffolding, holding a small wrench in his hands.
He tightened the last bolt on the rustic metal, placing a brown pipe into position.
Grimm's voice echoed.
"Yo, Dean."
Dean lifted his safety glasses looking down to the metal rafters.
"What's up, Grimm?"
He flicked a switch, before turning a knob to lower himself to the ground floor.
Jean and Grimm stopped at the bottom of the metal stairs.
Dean approached them, hooking his thumb to the motorcycle.
"Jean, the bike should be ready."
Grimm's finger rested on his chin.
"Aren'tt we departing in two days?"
Jean shook her head.
"You are. I have to go and set the suppressants around the city beforehand."
Grimm ran his finger in between his bolts.
"I see. Good luck with that."
Jean walked over to the nearby key rack, lifting the first pair.
"Thanks Dean, Grimm."
Dean nodded.
"No problem."
Grimm's hands rested in his pockets.
"Yeah. Anyways I was sent to help by Arthur."
Dean pointed to his left.
"Follow me. We need to load those onto the cargo bay."
Grimm followed Dean towards two dollies at the back of the garage.
Canisters were fastened on their tops having a frame of metal and glass.
A dark liquid bubbled at the base as a pump was arched over the top.
Grimm pointed to the small hole on the backs of them.
"What's this hole for?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders.
"No idea. Those worker bots Tremor fixed brought them here earlier."
Grimm gripped the handles of the first one, beginning to push it.
"I see…"
It didn't—
Move.
He strained his arms.
"...a little help."
Dean was filled with quiet amusement as he stood next to him.
"I tried that earlier too."
Grimm looked at him as the cart began to move.
"And how'd it go?"
Dean strained his arms.
"The dollies aren't loaded are they?"
Grimm softly laughed.
"That's true."
Jean sat along the motorcycle watching Dean and Grimm struggle to push the dolly.
She faintly laughed as she placed a helmet on her head.
The bag straps were clicked around her waist as she fastened the duffel bag to the back.
The ignition—
Turned.
As the engine started to vibrate.
Jean revved the right handle, skirting the back wheel before riding out to the wasteland.
Grimm stood straight, watching her leave.
"Lucky."
Dean tapped him on the shoulder.
"Grimm, we haven't made it half way yet."
Grimm sighed heavily, turning back towards the dolly.
"This better be worth it."
…
A target—
Bursted.
Into different pieces.
The sound of the heavy bullet persisted in the silent training hall.
A pillar of smoke exited the long, white barrel rising to the ceiling below.
Art blew it out as her veins returned to a normal color.
She fell from the ceiling turning her body to land on her feet.
Her railgun—
Folded.
Attaching itself to her back.
The bullets along her waist shook as she sifted her thumb across them.
I'll complete…
Each target was ruptured from the center out having the exact same bullet hole.
She relaxed her posture as she moved into the changing room.
Art slid open a metal locker, removing a suit of deep nightshade.
The railgun sat along the center bench as she changed into her field suit.
Her eyes—
Narrowed.
As the gun returned to her back.
…my mission.