Location: Fenwick District — The Velvet Strike — Men's Room — Evening
The corridor was dim.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their glow uneven, flickering. The walls were bare concrete, stained by years of neglect. The floor was tile, cracked, its grout dark with age.
Leo staggered.
His hand pressed against the wall. His breathing was shallow. His vision swam. The world tilted—left, right, left—as if the floor itself was trying to throw him off.
What's happening? he thought.
His stomach churned. His throat burned. His chest—his chest was on fire.
He reached the men's room.
The door swung open. The light inside was harsh, white, unforgiving. He stumbled to the sink. His hands gripped the porcelain. His knuckles went white.
He coughed.
Blood.
Dark. Thick. It splattered across the white basin. His eyes widened. His breath caught. His hand came up to his mouth. His fingers came away red.
No, he thought. No, no, no—
He coughed again.
More blood.
His knees buckled. He caught himself on the sink. His reflection stared back at him—pale, hollow, his eyes dark with shock.
"What did you do?"
His voice was weak.
"What did you—"
---
The door opened.
Two figures stepped inside.
Darius. His face was smooth, his eyes cold, his lips curved into a smile that did not reach them.
Delia followed behind him. Her expression was different—confused, uncertain, her hands clasped in front of her.
"Well, well," Darius said.
His voice was light. Almost cheerful.
"Look at what we have here. The great Leo Jerkins. Reduced to a bloody mess."
Leo's head lifted.
His eyes—red-rimmed, glassy—found Darius's face.
"You—"
"Me."
"You did this."
"I did."
Leo's hands curled into fists.
"Why?"
"Why?" Darius's smile widened. "Because I couldn't stand you. Because every time I looked at you, I saw someone who had everything handed to him. Someone who didn't appreciate what he had."
His eyes moved to Delia.
"Someone who hurt the people who cared about him."
Delia's eyes dropped.
"Delia," Leo said. "Delia, what is he talking about?"
"She's talking about you," Darius said. "About the way you treated her. The way you ignored her. The way you pretended like she didn't exist."
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what you did."
Darius stepped closer.
"You hurt her. Over and over. And you didn't even notice."
Leo's voice was raw.
"I didn't mean—"
"You never meant anything. That's the problem."
Delia's voice was quiet.
"Leo—"
"Don't."
Darius's hand shot up.
"Don't you dare feel sorry for him."
Delia's mouth closed.
---
Leo's breathing was shallow.
His chest heaved. His hands trembled. The veins in his neck stood out, dark against his pale skin.
"You're a BOH defect," Darius said.
His voice was cold.
"A weak link. A liability. The only reason you're still here is because of your family name. Without that—"
He shook his head.
"—you're nothing."
Leo's eyes burned.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?"
"You don't—"
"I know you can't sense the field. I know you can't integrate with the suit. I know you're still stuck in the bombardment of human attachments while the rest of us have moved on."
Leo's hands clenched.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
Darius's eyes were cold.
"You're a pathetic simpleton hiding behind your family name. And everyone knows it."
Leo's voice cracked.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
Darius stepped closer.
"You think you're special? You think you're important? You're just a BOH defect. A liability. And soon—"
He smiled.
"—you won't be a problem anymore."
Leo's throat moved.
"Wait—"
"You two," Darius said. "Did you—"
"Yes."
Darius's smile was wide.
"We did."
Leo's eyes went wide.
"No—"
"Yes."
"It can't be—"
"It is."
Darius's voice was soft.
"We wouldn't have dared act against you if a certain someone—someone you dearly adore back at the Foundry—hadn't given us the go-ahead to dice you, buddy."
Leo's face went pale.
His eyes went dark.
"No," he said.
"No, no, no—"
He shook his head.
"It can't be. It can't—"
Darius's smile was smug.
"It is."
---
Leo's body burned.
Not with pain—with rage.
His hands trembled. His vision swam. The world around him seemed to darken, to compress, to focus on a single point.
Darius, he thought.
You—
His body was not his own.
His body was a vessel. A container. And something inside him was trying to get out.
"Yes," Darius said. "That's it. That's the feeling."
His hand came up.
"Let it out."
The air around Leo changed.
Not heat—pressure. The air grew thick. The lights dimmed. The walls seemed to pulse with a rhythm that was not his own.
Darius's hand moved.
Not a gesture—an invitation.
The pressure in Leo's chest released.
It flowed out of him—not blood, not breath. Something else. Something that looked like smoke, like mist, like the color of a bruise. It rose from his skin, his eyes, his open mouth.
It moved toward Darius.
And Darius absorbed it.
His body grew brighter. His skin seemed to glow—faintly, pale, hungry.
Leo's body sagged.
His knees buckled. His head lolled. His eyes—once bright, once sharp—went dark and empty.
He collapsed.
---
Darius stared down at him.
"Pathetic," he said.
His voice was flat.
"Delia. Dispose of him. Toss his body somewhere no one will find it."
Delia's throat moved.
"Where—"
"The back door. The dump. I don't care."
He turned.
"Just make it quick."
Delia reached down.
Her hands found Leo's legs—his ankles, cold and limp. She began to drag him across the floor.
His body left a trail of dark smears.
---
A figure watched from the shadows.
His face was young—sharper, darker, the face of a trainee who had been at the Foundry for months. His eyes were hooded. His posture was relaxed. His hands were clasped behind his back.
"Well," he thought.
Wonko's voice was dry.
"It seems luck is always on your side, boy. You don't even have to do the dirty work—someone will do it for us."
"It appears that way."
"Your plan—to figure out which of them to target—it's not necessary anymore."
"It appears not."
The figure's eyes moved to Delia.
To the way she dragged Leo's body across the floor.
To the way her hands shook.
"I was trying to find a way in," he thought. "A way to get close to the Sigil Stone."
"But it seems—"
"—someone else has done the work for me."
He smiled.
"Let's see how this plays out."
He began to move.
His footsteps were soft on the tile. His shadow stretched behind him.
---
Delia reached the back door.
It was heavy, steel-reinforced, its surface scratched and dented. She pushed it open with her shoulder.
The alley beyond was dark.
A van sat near the curb—old, rusted, its windows tinted. Three figures stood beside it. Their faces were hidden behind hoods. Their bodies were still.
"Can't you be quicker?" one of them said.
His voice was low. Impatient.
"I'm going as fast as I can," Delia said.
"Fast isn't fast enough."
She dragged Leo toward the van.
Her arms burned. Her legs shook. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
The three figures watched.
Their eyes were cold. Their bodies were coiled.
---
A voice came from behind.
"Who's the body fool?"
Delia turned.
A figure stood at the entrance to the alley—young, sharp-faced, his eyes hooded. His hands were behind his back. His posture was relaxed.
"Who are you?"
"Nobody."
"Nobody—"
"Nobody you need to worry about."
The figure's eyes moved to Leo.
To the way his body hung limp in Delia's grip.
"Let him go."
"What?"
"Let him go."
Delia's grip tightened.
"I don't—"
"Let him go."
The figure's voice was calm.
"Or I'll make you."
---
The three figures moved.
Their bodies shifted—not fast, not slow, just there. The air around them grew heavy. The ground beneath their feet seemed to darken.
"You're making a mistake," one of them said.
"Am I?"
"You're outnumbered."
"Am I?"
The figure's eyes were cold.
"You're outmatched."
"Am I?"
The three figures stepped forward.
Their bodies were not their own. They were vessels. Containers. And something inside them was trying to get out.
The air around them shifted.
Not heat—pressure. The lights dimmed. The walls seemed to pulse with a rhythm that was not their own.
"Last chance," one of them said.
"I don't need a last chance."
The figure's hands came up.
"I need a new suit."
He smiled.
"And I think I just found one."
---