“Should have worn a coat,” they mused, adjusting their collar so it protected the back of their neck. The pair of humans had been stamping their way through the dives for a while now, the afternoon sun submitting to the approaching night, firearms hidden but close to hand. The evenings began to stretch and grow long, the frost that melted in the day threatening to refreeze. Every breath released a plume of white now, the inhabitants of the city turning to bundle themselves up beneath their layers. Lights came on sooner too, the lamps lit and casting dull ochre glows along the streets – marred by the smoke of industry.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Gale turned their gaze ahead, past the lingering pedestrians and stalls, “Mean, I can take care of mys-”
“Normally I’d agree with that,” the short, greasy man shivered. He rubbed at his shirt sleeves in an attempt to return life to them, “But after what I saw, that guy, what he was doing… and what you…” he gave a small bump against their bicep, lips attempting to pull into a smile, “People like us, we’ve got to look out for each other. How else are we gonna make the world a better place?”
Oh Dancer, spoken like a true Cadet.
“Besides, someone’s got to drag you out that stuffy forge every now and again. Else you might forget what outside is like.”
Gale snorted, “Fine, I’ll let you have that one.”
Smoke exhaled from their nostrils, the cloud lingering behind them as they walked. Ever since the fourteenth the Gentleman and his men had been quiet to the point of being notably absent. It caused the smith to occasionally glance over their shoulder, waiting to see the looming face or lingering eyes that followed. But there never was, nothing was wrong or out of place. Paranoia had simply taken route where it was not warranted.
“So… what you doing tonight?”
The smith coughed, giving him a long hard look as they traversed one of the smaller streets. They awkwardly stepped around some of the frozen puddles that had not received the direct light of day, “Well, just going to go back to the forge. Do some work-”
“But you don’t have any?”
“Well, what you suggestin’ then?” the smith stopped then, watching his expression twist. His ears had flushed red, “Wait. Lance, are you?”
“I mean if you don’t want to go get a drink, that’s okay.”
He’s asking you out Gale. Don’t just stand their gawking. Answer the man.
Eyelids fluttered, expression turning in confusion, “I mean… sure? If you want?”
He swivelled at them, the smile affixed to his features. Here a man, barely a few years older than was grinning ear to ear, “Yes, course! There’s a pub near yours, right? We can go there?”
“Uh, aye?” Gale leaned away and continued walking down the street. The next left took them onto Smollett Street, following it down would inevitably lead them pass the forge and onwards to the establishment. Perhaps it was fortunate that the cool of the evening air stung against the prickling rise of blood. It did not stop the occasional glance back to the man as he gingerly walked beside them.
Gale rolled their eyes and turned their attention forwards. It was quiet here, the usual crowd of the day absent. The darkness began to grow, the small bump of shoulders as the sounds of nothing greeted them. Ahead they made out the shape of the forge, still and silent. They paid little mind to the distinct lack of light, it was the usual case for them to be late in doing the rounds of lighting the lamps. A cold wind blew past; Goosebumps rising as they picked out a stark colour that was contrasted against the painted white brick. Gale’s steps quickened, springing off down the way with Lance hot on their heels. It was only as they skidded before it that the smith read the single word in a black paint. It was still dribbling as it dried. The smith felt cold, body stiffening as it stared upon the word that marred the wall. Lance’s hand grasped upon their wrist, eyes growing wide as he looked around their immediate surroundings. He shook their shoulder, incessantly tugging, “We need to go. We need to go now.”
Peeling out of the darkness came the shapes. Upon them both in an instant, they felt the warm hand of Lance being ripped away. Slammed against the ground, they rolled while the other shouted. Hands came, dragging and pulling in all directions. A strike in the gut, the smith brought a fist swinging round only to find it caught. A kick to the back of the knee sent them buckling once more, cheek pressed against the ice. A slither of light came in, the half dozen shadows above dancing around them as they kicked and punched. Lance was still struggling as they dragged him opposite, fighting to get to his feet while two brutes held tightly onto his arm.
The seventh, the bearer of the faint lantern was the one to speak. A broad hood covered his features, a gnarled hand clawed around the top of his walking stick. If it was not for the beard that plumed out from beneath, Gale would not have known much on their appearance from their current angle.
“Going so soon?” he asked, a rich, heavy voice. Their gaze slipped, looking across and noting the tattooed man was one of the ones who held Lance in place. In the meanwhile a third was rummaging through his pockets, before locating the flintlock he carried. It was quickly taken away and presented to the cloaked man. He waved it away, “Good. Good.”
“The Gentleman?” Gale hissed. The earth dug into their cheek, features wincing as their arms were pulled back behind them.
“The one and only,” he tutted, snuffing out the cigarette that had been lost during this short bout, “It is a pleasure to at last make official acquaintance, Gale Saunders the Artful Gunner and daughter of Beckett Saunders the Masked Gunner.” The smith pulled their arms, attempting to wriggle free and upright. The Gentleman clicked his fingers and the smith was dragged up to their knees, “Enough of that let the lady be comfortable for the show.”
“What do you want?” they snapped, teeth gritting as they continued to fight.
“Are you familiar with actions and consequences?” The Gentleman lowered the lantern to the ground between them. Barely the shape of some hooked nose was made out before it disappeared beneath the darkness of the hood, “You have repeatedly refused to do my requests, despite my lenience to your existence. You look to struggle, and to fight against something you would be much better off obeying. Worst of all,” he was stepping around now, behind Lance. They saw a glint of steel in the gloom, a slither before it disappeared, “You keep actively trying to work against myself and my honest intentions-”
“There’s nothing honest about this.”
A small gesture of the hand. Bare knuckles cracked across the jaw, a hard smack that left a buzz in its passage. The smith blinked, head rolling as they attempted to shake the sensation off. Something coppery filled the back of their throat.
“You would be wise to listen,” the Gentleman grimaced, before turning his attention back to Lance, “So, when one does against the law they are punished. And the punishment matches the crime – fitting no?”
Do not ask your ‘friends’ for help.
A weight sunk in the stomach of Gale, a creeping realisation sinking into their core. Muscles contracted, arms twisting as they continued to pull. They could feel their knee throbbing, leg trembling as pain began to hiss in, “Don’t you dare!”
Another blow, this time to the gut. The pain fed the fires that were beginning to grow within. The Gentleman gave a tut, “You should have thought that before you became a disappointment. A shame that is now all you will be.”
Gale pulled on their arms again, just a little more, just one final push. Green orbs caught sight of the steel in the glow, the knives in the hands and belts of many, “Please! No, don’t! Leave him alone!”
They pulled upon the arms, right jerking free as the first of the knives plunged into his back. It was withdrawn, another came round as his struggles and grunts picked out into pain. They released him and he rose, fists up before the next came. Gale’s freed hand found Liberator, drawing it as the rest of their rose up. It felt like a punch in their side, withdrawing before they could bring it up to aim. Gasping, another punch in the back this time, another grasped onto their armed hand, the sharp point quickly piercing. Firearm wrenched from grasp, the heat chasing after the cold of the blade. They gasped, shoved away as the sharp pain kicked in all but dropped from the hold.
Shadows danced within the low light, the gurgled gasps turning into cries as Lance was grounded. They attempted to rise, gaze regretting looking down. A stain bloomed where the first punch was, a rushing cold creeping in. Fingers slick looked to grasp, the male Cadet finally falling silent. Another blow, the smith clattered to the icy ground. A firm kick, the air driven from their lungs. A spit of something escaped their lips, another kick as their vision swum. Shapes danced, fingers desperately trying to reach out and grasp something – anything. A boot stamped on their hand; the smith let out a howl. Words slurred, the light stolen as the darkness rushed in. Footsteps thundered away, body screaming as it tried to drag itself closer to Lance. Fingers knotted into blooded fabric, the smith alongside him.
“Lance, Lance. Come on… Please?”
Somewhere their mind realised they were alone in this street, but that was not important right now. Blood covered their hands, strength lost as they slumped covering one of the numerous wounds in his chest. The world dipped into a buzz, eyes slowly blinking as their head rested against the cold street. A rattled breath, they felt them growing slower. Gale’s eyes rolled to the front of the forge, body refusing to move further. Somewhere else they heard a scream – or perhaps it was their own cry for help. Logical thought detached from the physical. They coughed as the word solidified in their mind.
‘DIE’
Like fuck I am.