Jasper clenched her jaw, whispering a silent curse. Maybe her rep had been right. Maybe the camera wasn't worth this.
She slid her eyes past the alley. Straight ahead lay the AquaTran. Safety. Tereliva in a couple of hours.
Her hand hovered over her camera strap, breath tight.
Turn away. Keep moving. Survive.
"Come on, old man," one of the bandits sneered. "Just give up your little 'Jin friend, and we'll only leave you with a couple bruises."
"Please—you have to listen," the old man pleaded. "It's just me here."
"Then you won't mind if we search the place."
"No—no, no!" He staggered in front of the workshop door, arms wide. The lead bandit shoved him hard against it, his coat shifting with the motion.
A gleam caught the eye of another.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" A female bandit sauntered forward, rifle in hand. She hooked the barrel under his coat and flicked it aside, revealing the grip of a strange revolver nestled in his holster.
To the old man's dismay, the bandit yanked the revolver from his holster, revealing it fully. a heavy, squared weapon with broad plating and strange grooves running its length, faintly glowing as if alive.
Jasper's stomach twisted. The revolver looked like hers. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to the weight at her own hip.
The old man lunged for it, but the bandit holding him shoved him back down. Another leveled a pistol at his chest.
"Look at this," the female bandit said, waving the weapon like a trophy. "One of those fancy 'Jin Mechanica revolvers."
"Please—give it back," the old man begged from the ground, hand outstretched.
"Give it back?" She scoffed. "You shouldn't even have this." She jerked her chin at the others, sneering. "This old bastard was part of the war. The losing side."
The bandits snickered, enjoying the cruelty.
Jasper kept her eyes down. The woman was right—her people were branded forever by the choices of generations before. Prejudice and hatred stained every step she took in this land. It was hard enough to survive without dragging someone else's burden onto her back.
She had a job to finish. A family to support. She couldn't afford to be reckless.
So with one foot in front of the other, she turned from the alley and set her path toward the AquaTran.
The female bandit's tone turned cold. "You 'Jins killed my granddaddy. You don't get to breathe my air."
She leveled the revolver at the old man and squeezed. Nothing. The trigger wouldn't move. Her finger strained, veins standing out along her wrist, but the weapon refused her—as if it were dead weight in her hands.
"What in the hell?" she growled, yanking harder. Still nothing.
Another bandit groaned. "Forget that thing. I'm going in to look for the girl." He and another slipped into the Onyxsmith's workshop, his boots clattering into the dark.
A moment later, his voice echoed back—sharper, urgent. Then louder, almost panicked.
But no one outside even turned their head. All eyes stayed fixed on the revolver, on the woman fighting a weapon that simply would not answer her.
Jasper lingered at the alley mouth, flinching with every futile pull. Her father's face flashed through her mind with each attempt, each muted click-that-wasn't.
She stopped.
"Hey!" the woman barked, shaking the revolver in the old man's face. "Tell me how to work this piece of shit!"
The old man raised a weary arm. "It won't work for you."
"Oh yeah? Then I'll use it another way." She flipped the revolver in her grip, ready to smash the butt across his skull.
Jasper moved.
She sprinted from cover, rope cracking out. The loop cinched around the nearest bandit's neck, and with a vicious yank she dragged him down hard, the thud echoing through the alley.
"What the fu—"
She slid beneath another's legs, looped the rope around her ankle, and wrenched. Her face hit stone.
The bandit rolled to recover—only to freeze when Jasper leveled her revolver at her.
Noise would draw more bandits. Looking the bandit in the eye almost saying: Then I'll use it another way. She flipped the revolver in her hand and slammed the grip into her temple.
Crack.
She dropped to the floor.
Jasper turned— but it was too late.
Another bandit stood over her, rifle aimed square at her face.
Her glasses had slipped in the scuffle.
Her red eyes burned into his.
"See? I knew you red-eyes stuck together."
"I don't know this young lady," the old man insisted.
"Yeah, whatever."
The female bandit recovered and grabbed her rifle, slamming the butt into Jasper's back. She hit the ground hard. Another blow cracked across her shoulders.
"Thought you could get the jump on us?" A boot drove into her stomach.
"Stop that!" the old man barked.
The bandit with the rifle swung it toward him. "Shut your mouth, old man, you wait your turn."
The beating went on. Jasper's breath rattled. Thoughts of her family cut through the haze — how would they survive without her? Her father's voice echoed: too reckless.
Her vision blurred.
The beating stopped when a scuffle erupted inside the workshop. Shouts, then a scream—cut short.
A frightened bandit backed out of the workshop stammering "It's—it's—it's"
Every bandit's head snapped toward the cracked door. One of them called out, voice cracking to the frightened bandit "What the fuck has gotten into you."
"Shoot the damn place." The frightened Bandit screamed.
The bandit ripped his revolver free and fired blindly into the dark, his partners joining with a hail of shots. The thunder faded, leaving only silence. Then came a sound—heavy, deliberate—that made their hands shake as they fumbled to reload.
The workshop door, already rocking from the barrage, suddenly burst open. A body—one of their own, riddled with bullet holes—was hurled out and slammed into the dirt at their feet. The door creaked back on its hinges, half-shut, groaning in the silence that followed.
The bandit with the rifle pressed it hard into the Onyxsmith's chest, panic edging his voice. He kicked the fallen man at his feet, trying to rouse him. Nothing. Out cold. His eyes darted to the others, worry breaking through the bravado.
"Who's in there?" he barked, jabbing the rifle at the old man.
The Onyxsmith's lips pressed thin, saying nothing.
Then the garage door groaned wide, swinging open from the inside. A long arm stretched out of the dark.
"No." the old man turned his head,nothing but distress in his face as he looked into his workshop "I told you to stay inside."