The familiar, yet unexpected fierceness of her declaration made Broco bristle with indignation. Visibly, apparently, because his face flushed with surprise and outrage.
And oh, the reaction from Traore was priceless - he let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by the show.
Cleome, unable to contain herself, covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggles, which only seemed to make Broco more agitated.
"This little bitch…" he said through gritted teeth, glaring at Ratelsi.
With an exaggerated groan, Timoth dragged his hand down his face, the lines of stress on his forehead deepening as he sighed heavily.
"We literally just agreed not to start with that…" he muttered under his breath. He shot Vesir an apologetic glance, but she merely raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression expectant, as though she was waiting for the fireworks to begin.
Timoth continued to rub his neck with a weary exasperation, shifting from foot to foot, as he cast a sidelong glance at Ratelsi, who was still focused on Broco.
"Come on, Ratel," he whispered. "Not right now. We just got here, for crying out loud."
But Ratelsi was completely tuned out to his words.
She took another half-step forward, lifting her chin defiantly,
That annoying pile of offal she had for a boss had to know she was pissed the fuck out of her mind with him. Even if she couldn't exactly tell him why. Her glare remained trained on Broco as Vesir led the runners into the spacious lounge, seemingly unfazed by any of the interactions taking place.
As they approached, tiny fishes inside a massive aquarium practically charged at the glass, flaring their iridescent fins in excitement at the arrival of new guests. Ratelsi's fingertips brushed against the glass, and she watched in fascination as the fish curiously followed her movements, darting back and forth playfully.
However, when their pace brought them past the couches where the clients were seated, Traore felt a sudden hitch in his breath. Drawn by a force, he felt a very particular energy in his marrow that needed no introduction.
His pupils dilated so wide that they almost overtook the colourful irises of his eyes as he sensed the unnatural density of arcane energy Ratelsi reeked of. Oozing from her pores, it quickly filled the room, leaving glowing footprints in her wake - footprints that only he could see, for only a Mawborn could identify another of their kind.
He cast a sideways glance at the woman, recognising the essence she exuded with an instinctual certainty. It bypassed rational thought entirely and spoke directly to the survival part of his brain.
There was no doubt about it: that was her.
Ratelsi Ozias.
The real reason they had come to The Basin under the guise of Exonites! The name didn't even exist. But she…she did and was exactly as Eliàna described - Strong. Incredibly so.
Yet, unbeknownst to him, Ratelsi was acutely aware of his gaze raking over her. She felt the weight of his smiling, attentive look. The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly. How he focused on her with such intention made her feel like the only person in the room.
Ratelsi suddenly stopped, then turned to look.
Her bright, malachite eyes caught his, interrupting his thoughts. She mischievously tilted her head to the side, and he shuddered slightly at the intensity of her stare.
Caught off guard, Traore immediately averted his eyes, scolding himself for being so overt and obvious with his interest.
A chuckle escaped Ratelsi's lips as she continued on, thinking that this meeting's offerings would be delightful.
"Here."
Vesir came to a halt, pointing the runners to a two-seater couch wedged between Broco and the clients. Timoth started unpacking the bags onto the table. Meanwhile, Ratelsi settled herself comfortably, draping an arm over the backrest and crossing one leg over the other.
Traore exchanged a knowing glance with Cleome, who nodded discreetly towards the fly buzzing lazily above the verbenas. Traore winked at her, and Cleome, her beady green eyes fluttering downward, felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks.
A long, heavy pause followed.
Finally, Broco broke the silence. "About time yer showed up, Timoth," he remarked, clearly unimpressed. Timoth's lips curved into a feigned smile as he responded, "Ah, if I knew you craved my presence this much, I would've arrived sooner."
It was all bravado, of course; the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, making him wonder what had transpired between the Monger and the clients before they arrived.
Broco snorted dismissively, his gaze lingering over the goods spread out before him. Silently counting what had been delivered, he took a long drag from his joint.
But then, his demeanour shifted almost instantly when he noticed, with growing annoyance, "It's incomplete."
His sharp, irritated voice made it clear he wasn't in the mood for jokes.
Turning to Ratelsi for an explanation, she merely rolled her eyes in exasperation. A flick of her head threw her long, white bangs out of her face, revealing determination and barely masked frustration in her features.
Digging into her pockets, she pulled out the capsule, still wrapped in the same inconspicuous manner they'd originally found it, and gently placed it onto the table.
A ghostly blue light erupted from the depths of the tabletop, bathing the capsule in laser grids. Suddenly, five jagged crystals weaved themselves into an intricate three-dimensional projection. They rotated slowly in a circular formation above the capsule, making it accessible from every angle for everyone to inspect.
Broco reached into the projection and began to navigate the data. Swiping right, he flicked through the Venerites one by one. As each crystal moved to the centre of the display, several scrolling technical specs - purity levels, energy resonance, molecular stability - expanded beside it.
He scrutinized the third crystal longer than the others, his brow furrowed, before flicking it away to reveal the final two.
Meanwhile, Ratelsi glanced up, only to physically feel Traore and Cleome's hungry gaze. It sent shivers down her spine, holding her there, and Ratelsi could tell from the hawk-like look they threw her way that they were studying her.
Dissecting her from the inside out. Analysing who she was.
Oh?
Her gaze involuntarily passed over the tendrils of Traore's runic tattoos. She didn't trust him one bit, but she couldn't look away. There was something persuasive about how effortlessly he controlled the air around him, as if he were a part of it.
The glow of the halo orbs carved sharp lines across his face, accentuating the cut of his cheekbones and the hardness of his jaw.
Ratelsi's eyes lit up, and a crooked grin tugged at her lips.
It really was them!
The tattooed dude and the stunningly beautiful woman Macaque talked about. Everything - from their attire to the way they carried themselves - made it obvious where they were from. Balun.
Seeing them in the flesh, and so close, added an electric jolt to the already pressurised situation; it made everything feel alarmingly real.
At the end of this meeting, thanks to them, she and Timoth would get twenty per cent of the amount paid. For both of them, that's forty per cent instead of their usual total pay.
Yet, with no more information to go on, she was left to speculate.
Who were they? They were clearly onto her, looking at her from time to time. What did they want?
Vague suspicions and guesses of what it might be, each more terrible than the last, swirled on the edge of Ratelsi's mind, refusing to take shape, so Ratelsi pushed them away.
She decided to focus on the dynamics in the room instead. She would observe how the clients reacted and try to decipher what they intended to do with the Venerites - and perhaps, with her.
It was as if she'd caught their interest, and Traore in particular seemed to be expecting her presence.
Maybe one of them was EXON.
If EXON were a person, that is.
However, Timoth was itching to make his exit. He bit the inside of his cheek under the pressure of his own frustration. Even here, on the brink of finalising their contract, the atmosphere felt stifling with uncertainty of the outcome.
Just the way he stepped back to sit down after unwrapping the capsule spoke volumes - he stared at Broco, eyeing him with obvious distaste.
Seemingly satisfied with his gifts, a smirk tugged at the corners of Broco's mouth. He tugged the primary interface downward, making the holograms collapse into a single point of light and vanish.
"Perfect," he muttered, nodding. "They're exactly as promised."
The runners breathed a sigh of relief, looking excitedly at each other.
This was not lost on Cleome, who failed to suppress another chuckle at the somewhat sentimental scene. It caused a palpable confusion in the room as everyone turned to look at the Peculiar, who began laughing out loud.
It was both inappropriate and oddly light-hearted given the stakes at play.
"Apologies, your runners are quite amusing in the way they react to you," Traore said to Broco, whose upper lip curled into a sneer. The lines of his forehead creased, shadowing his expression with irritation.
Was it mockery? A slap in the face? It certainly felt like it.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Broco's voice thundered through the room as he slammed his fist on the table. The force caused two wine glasses to lose their balance, teetering before crashing down onto the floor.
Glass shards exploded in a shower around them, ice cubes skittering across the marble.
The pricey whiskey pooled ominously at their feet, messy, as stunned silence fell upon the space.
Cleome's laughter eventually subsided.
Meanwhile, Mhode immediately took to cleaning up the mess, while Vesir tended to Broco's injured hand.
Bored malachite eyes almost rolled into Ratelsi's skull at the whole scene. But then, as if a light switch had been flipped, those eyes sparkled with mischief when they fell on Mhode. The staples on his cheek were hardly an aesthetic look for anyone, and a band-aid plastered over his smashed nose added to the overall hilarity of his condition.
A week had passed since then, yet it was obvious he was still in pain - she could see him wince now and then - but he maintained a facade of nonchalance, determined not to show much how it hurt.
Ratelsi followed his every move, hoping he would notice.
And when he did, she smiled so cheerfully, her canines practically gleamed. " You look nice with your little boo-boo," she waved.
Mhode curled his lips in a sneer and scoffed, trying to restrain his seething frustration.
"I'll get yous one way or the other, arrogant bitch..." he muttered under his breath.
It wasn't easy trying to stay professional for the sake of his boss and the company, but a sharp glare filled with visible disgust seasoned his features, veins bulging on his temples.
Oh, how she'd love to see more of that.
You'd think a Peculiar like Mhode wouldn't look at his kind that way, the same way Normies do. But working with people who exhibited prejudiced traits day in and day out could change anyone's perspective. Eventually, you start to act like them.
Pathetic!
To Ratelsi, that was a weakness in spirit and will.
Timoth, who had been watching them, let out a loud snort before quickly turning away.
After what felt like an eternity of awkward tension, Vesir finally finished wrapping a fresh bandage on Broco's hand, where a blotch of crimson had already stained the gauze.
Yet despite the pain and the unsavoury circumstances, Broco's greedy gaze remained fixated on the capsule sitting on the table before him.
The mere thought of finally obtaining the Venerites filled his face with an ear-to-ear grin.
With obvious impatience, Timoth spoke his next words in a clipped tone, "We're sorta in a hurry to get out of here. So, can we just wrap up this shit, get paid, and never see each other again?"
His growing exasperation, mirrored by Ratelsi, was palpable.
But Styx wasn't having any of it. "Not so fast, sport. You know the rules - Thumbleaf test, first." He waved a handheld scanner in front of him with an air of authority that put Timoth on edge.
The Thumbleaf test was a bizarre yet crucial part of their contract. It was a safeguarding measure to authenticate the goods by a magical leaf seal embedded on the item. A normal scan would've been enough proof of authenticity, but even that can be forged nowadays.
If the thumbleaf glowed green, it meant the item was all clear and undamaged. If it glowed red, well, that was the fire alarm of the Mongers, giving them the right to refuse payment, confiscate the item, and even sue if the goods were legitimate.
But in this particular case, there was no thumbleaf.
Ratelsi knew that. Timoth did. Maybe even Broco as well.
It was now that Traore and Cleome became acutely aware of the ticking clock bearing down on them. Discovering that there wasn't a thumbleaf spoke of a quick but inevitably dangerous end to this meeting.
Styx's fingers were almost grazing the capsule's surface when a soft chime from Broco's HoloSmart suddenly echoed through the stillness. Styx froze mid-reach as Broco's AI assistant intoned,
"ALERT: Your account has been credited with Æ300,000,000. Your new balance is-"
The Monger turned it off.
Silence stretched, eerie, thick and suffocating.
The only sound was the residual hum of Broco's HoloSmart shutting off. Styx straightened himself to face the wide, unblinking eyes of his employer.
It suddenly felt forbidden to speak.
Even Ratelsi found herself holding her breath. A stunned blink, followed by rapid fluttering as she processed what she'd just heard. Timoth sank in his seat, instinctively searching for something solid to latch onto, until his fingers found the armrest.
Sixty million Aures.
His eyes trembled in disbelief as he mouthed the words, "No way…"
Sixty…million… That was how much they would get paid.
The number was obscene! It was an eye-watering sum of money!
The kind of Aures could buy you a small fleet, or a controlling share in a mid-level mining operation. It was a hefty price tag attached to silence, compliance, and even guaranteed death.
Oh, benevolent Liyuen…
The stakes had never been higher.
Traore let a slow, utterly joyless smile creep across his lips.
"Well, Monger," he purred. "Looks like we can skip the thumbleaf test and just get straight to handing over those Venerites. Such a pleasure doing business with you, truly."
The runners, feeling victorious, shared a fist-bump.
Double pay? Fuck yeah!!
They were practically buzzing with adrenaline, thinking about the wealth that would soon be theirs.
But Broco remained oddly silent.
His invocation of the thumbleaf test had been a desperate gambit. Without the seal, he could declare the whole deal void, hang on to the Aures already transferred, seize the Venerites, and eliminate witnesses.
Yet, as he sat there, the rictus of surprise on his face was hardening into a mask of grim understanding. He was being outmanoeuvred.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. Who in their right mind transfers three hundred million without even blinking an eye?
All to avoid the thumbleaf test?
Broco's eyes, now filled with savage intensity, darted between the so-called "representatives." They shifted onto his own runners, Ratelsi and Timoth.
Ratelsi didn't flinch. In fact, she welcomed his attention with her teeth bared in a triumphant grin.
"So?" she said, her voice dripping with impatience. "How 'bout you pay us up so we can get the hell outta here, huh?"
The feverish glitter in her malachite eyes was hard to miss. Sixty million Aures? That was no laughable amount! The woman was almost salivating at the thought.
So much so that she scooted even closer, those eyes never leaving him as she waited for some kind of response.
"Oi, c'mon, what's the holdup?" she pressed, beginning to frown.
But Broco wasn't having any of it.
In his mind, he frantically searched for the fault line in his immaculate plan to keep the Venerites for himself. It didn't sit right with him that three hundred million of someone else's money had just funnelled into his account without a hitch.
"Yer really think 'tis da end o' the deal?"
Broco's voice, tight with controlled fury, was directed at Traore. He completely ignored Ratelsi's probing.
The woman threw a murderous look in his direction, itching to explode with words that were sure to ignite a full-blown fight.
But Broco still had more to say.
Pushing his whiskey aside, he pressed on. "Yer think yer can just buy yer way outta the thumbleaf test? That thing's collateral, y'know? Yer pass, yer get the stones. Yer don't, yer lose yer Aures… and yer lives."
Traore looked at the Monger with such a dull gaze that it was as if the man in front of him did not exist. Then, letting go of Cleome, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back with an air of arrogance.
His next words were devoid of even a hint of human warmth. "Ah, Monger. Still clinging to the script, I see? How quaint."
Casually nodding toward the capsule, Traore said. "We know there's no thumbleaf. Quite obvious it was, from the start, that you'd use that absence as a justification to seize the funds and the Venerites. That was the play all along, wasn't it?"
Ha! I knew it! Ratelsi's eyebrows shot up with a fleeting smirk.
This was all Broco's plan from the get-go.
But in truth, she was off the mark.
Traore was aware that Broco had been suspicious of the Venerites' authenticity from the start. After all, the Wing Quill and their arrival as representatives were too much of a coincidence to ignore.
But no matter.
At this point, his suspicion was irrelevant; this meeting was unfolding just as they had planned.
The Mawborn was present, and tangible evidence of Broco's clandestine dealings was caught on camera. They would take the girl, and the curtains would drop on this whole charade.
Yet for that to truly happen, Broco had to be painted as the mastermind scheming to claim everything for himself. It just so happened that he actually wanted to, which played right into their hands.
They were at the final act in Eliàna's plan.
Cleome slid a data slate across the table, not to Broco, but to Styx. As the Merc caught it, she finally broke her silence in a soft accent.
"Read it, Styx," She ordered. "What you're looking at is a legally binding, encrypted contract, and it's not something you should take lightly."
Styx flicked the slate on, and a holographic display sprang to life. It projected a matrix of clauses and sub-clauses written in an annoyingly minute script. The Merc had to squint as he quickly scrolled to the execution summary, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he read the key provisions.
"Boss," Styx stated, adopting the submissive tone of a devoted lapdog, but with an edge of tension in his voice.
"Go on..." ordered Broco.
Styx nodded.
"The transfer of 300,000,000 Creds was the agreed-upon activation fee for an immediate transfer of ownership and physical release of the Venerites from their escrow location," he read aloud, fingers dancing across the screen.
"Furthermore, this contract stipulates that in the absence of the 'Thumbleaf Collateral' --- which it correctly identifies as missing," Styx turned to his master in disbelief, "Broco Aqqa forfeits all claims to the stones and waives any right to harm the buyers physically."
Ratelsi let out a loud, amused laugh at this, clearly entertained by Broco's predicament. Timoth just watched the scene unfold, thoughtfully.
Broco's complexion went from florid rage to an ashen grey. A meticulously rewritten contract had been used to checkmate him.
These Peculiars were anything but amateurs.
Like him, they were sleazy bastards who had effortlessly exploited his own greed against him.
The 300,000,000 was basically a legally mandated transaction fee that activated the immediate release of the Venerites and protected the buyers.
How did I not see that coming!?? Broco fumed internally.
"Aw, look at the bright side, Monger," Traore chimed in with a wicked grin spreading across his face. "The money is non-refundable. You get to keep all the Aures, but we walk away with the merchandise. A pleasure doing business, indeed."
Broco could only stare in disgust, his face contorting with frustration and a desperate impatience that made him look a bit unhinged.
His eyes darted around wildly, and all his sophisticated calm had completely shattered like glass.
The unthinkable was unfolding before him. The sight of Traore and Cleome walking away with the Venerites - the ultimate goal he was willing to risk everything for - was too much to stomach. Regardless of the ridiculous number of Aures in his suddenly worthless account!
"Fucking circus animals," he spat venomously, bitterly.
He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, the room was charged with the cold threat of steel. Weapons were drawn in a blink, aimed with precision at the bewildered clients and runners.
"Circus animals, you say?" Traore's grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an expression of utter boredom. It was as if the Mercs were merely holding toys, not pointing heavy-calibre pistols straight at him, Cleome and, surprisingly, even the runners.
Traore evaluated the situation, reading it like a book. Broco's instinct for dominance and retribution had clearly overtaken any sense of profit or self-preservation.
It was Ratelsi who first reacted to the mounting danger. Her narrowed eyes followed the laser dot from Vesir's gun dancing over her sternum to Timoth's forehead, causing his heart to race a little faster.
He whispered to Ratelsi. "I don't like this one bit."
"No shit. Just stay alert. Anything can happen now," she whispered back.
"Monger," Cleome warned, her voice low and dangerous. "You just took three hundred million Aures. Forcing this confrontation will result in a fallout that will make you lose everything you've worked for. We have the crystals. Let us walk."
Broco sat up straighter, leaning forward with feverish intensity. The outcome of the transaction was blinding him, wrapping him in a cloak of rage, making him almost foam at the mouth.
"I don't give two fuckin' shits about the money!" he roared. "Yer embarrassed me! Yer rewrote the contract and stole my prize from under my nose! I want that capsule, and I'm gonna get it! Fuck you!"
Turning to his Mercs, he yelled hysterically, "Kill them! Every single one of them, KILL THEM ALL!"