The guards turned before anyone else did. Their shoulders stiffened; one even lowered his head slightly.
That's when he appeared.
The darkness parted as a man in a slate coat -- visor tinted silver, the rain sliding off him without clinging emerged.
There was something different about him... something the other guards didn't have. It was clear.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
As he approached no one spoke. The guards stepped aside.
"Unit Two on-site," a voice said into a comm.
The figure said nothing. His visor tilted slightly, scanning the gathered crowd -- children, traders, stragglers -- everyone one of them silent now.
"You've questioned them?" the new arrival asked.
"Yes, sir," one of the guards replied. "They're not talking. He's still here somewhere."
He grumbled in return; that slate coat shifted slightly as he moved his hands. He pulled one up to his face, touching the tip of his visor.
"You all may address me as Silver."
The name hung in the air. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then from the back, a hoarse voice muttered -- the kind held by a man who'd lived through a lot. "What kind of a name is Silver?"
A few heads turned. Kids looking wary. Men offering slight smirks, in between creased foreheads.
Silver's head shifted -- just slightly -- toward the man.
He didn't move closer, didn't raise his weapon at his side. He only lifted a hand, brushing some dust on his sleeve as if the comment had dirtied him.
"The kind that doesn't ask twice."
The man stiffened slightly, before turning away.
A stray rat scurried away into a hole somewhere. A few insects rummaged back into whatever crevice they came.
A dirty cough echoing was the only sound in that moment apart from the patter of rain.
"I'll say it once," Silver called out, voice quiet but carrying across the alley.
"You all are harbouring a thief. That makes you part of the theft."
He let the words breathe -- slow, deliberate.
"Any--" before Silver could finish his words... he was interrupted. It came from the broad man earlier -- the one who had challenged one of the guards.
"Like we told your lackeys, we didn't see whoever you're talking about. But why don't you tell us what he stole?"
A few heads turned toward him -- disbelief, maybe admiration; the old man with pipe expunged a puff through it all.
One the guards snapped, stepping forward.
"You don't have to know!"
The bark echoed through the rain; an aftershock replying back.
'Gotta be kidding me... what did that guy steal?' Bast questioned, watching through the gap as he thought about that cloaked figure.
Silver's voice sliced through, soft, effortless.
"A relic."
Ding.
A woman dropped a can she was holding. A few people shot up, eyes widened.
A simple word, but it landed heavier than any shout.
"....A relic?"
"No way..."
"Tchh.."
A ripple of murmurs flowed from around the crowd.
"He's lying."
It was a mixture of reactions. The guards shifted, hands on their weapons, as the noise swelled.
"Quiet," Silver said.
The murmurs died instantly; even the rain seemed to slow in its fall.
"Anyone who remains silent about his location...." he took a pause, turning his gaze across everyone scattered around.
"They will share his sentence in the cage," his visor glowed orange from the fires nearby.
A flash of surprise ran across a few women's faces. The air seemed stale as light steps rummaged.
"Thirty seconds is all you have," Silver continued. His voice was calm -- almost emotionless.
No one moved.
Somewhere behind some crates, a boy whimpered. Behind his own set Bast pressed himself flatter, his breath offering a slight tremble.
'Fuck...' he thought, as his gaze ran across the area.
"Twenty."
The old man with the pipe shook his head, whispering, "Don't... don't do this."
"Eighteen."
At first there was slight hesitation in the air. Everyone watched unsure if he was being truly serious.
"Fifteen."
Would he really round up everyone and put them in the Cage?
"Fourteen."
The number echoed, dull and hollow. No one breathed.
"Thirteen."
A cough rattled from somewhere obscure. Someone muttered a prayer.
"Twelve."
The other guards stood, faces looking almost smug -- was it really that enjoyable? "Eleven."
The sound of rain striking tin filled the gaps between everyone's beating hearts.
"Ten--"
On the tenth count, he was interrupted. "Wait!" The voice cracked through the storm like a whip. A woman had stumbled forward, clutching a small child tight to her chest. Her face was pale, eyes wide with something between terror and resolve.
"Wait--please!" she called out.
"Nine."
But Silver didn't stop counting -- the counts seemed to only get firmer as he continued.
The woman looked distressed, as did some others in the back... but why? What exactly was this... Cage? And why did the mention of it only seem to build despair? There were too many questions.
"Eight."
There wasn't enough numbers.
"Seven."
Silver's tone didn't waver, but he did turn his head slightly. His visor glinted a faint orange as he looked towards his subordinates.
"Take the child," he voiced, mid-count.
For a heartbeat, no one believed they'd heard him right. That's when the words sank in...
"Take the child."
It rippled through the Warrens like a virus -- disgusting, sharp. Heads turned rapidly, eyes widening, a murmur crawling through the crowd.
"He--he didn't."
"He said take--"
"Fuck..."
Mothers clutched their sons tighter. Orphans scattered into darker shades, hiding themselves as they clutched their seams. A few older men stepped forward on instinct... but then they froze mid-motion, realising what that would mean.
The guards didn't even look at them.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
They obeyed, stepping forward.
One moved for the woman. One aimed to yank the child; the other brandished a weapon to warn her. "Please!" she screamed, digging her nails into her child's skin as he whimpered.
"Please, he's not--"
There wasn't much else to say in that instance...
A howling cry. Tears falling like the rain above. Hearts pounding in unison.
"Six."
Bast's breath hitched. The world was pressing in -- the cries, the rain, the count edging closer.
"Five."
He felt the few looks turning towards where he was hidden -- the faces of faint disgust... but they still hadn't revealed him.
'Why? Is it because were all living in this hell hole?' he thought.
He didn't know what to think. His mind was a blur of faces, screams and a faint pounding in his skull. The woman's voice cracked again, begging, but everyone just watched. What could they do?
Bast clenched his fast around the coin still stuck in his palm -- it pressed until his nails bit skin.
'Stop it... just stop...why....' his chest tightened -- shame twisting with anger.
He hadn't done anything. He hadn't stole anything. And yet every sound, every accusing breath -- they all made him feel smaller.
"Four."
Something was growing inside of him. Something hot -- burning.
'Fuck.... if I don't stand up now... who will?'
He shifted, muscles coiling to move. A drop of rain stung his eye.... and that's when a sharp sting laced his palm.
His hand jerked back as he offered a faint exhale of pain; "arhh...."
It tore away his focus.
A thin line of blood slid between his fingers, tracing over the coin's edge.
"Three."
As the blood spread across its dirty frame, he hadn't even noticed the faint glow it brought at first -- a pulse, soft and irregular, like a dying spark.
'What the....' he thought.
Something was happening... and as the countdown reached its crescendo:
"Two."
A flash of light flowed through those amber eyes -- the pain still fresh in his palm.
---------------------------------------------------
###
[Relic Synchronization Detected]
Item: Dormant Coin
Tier 0 - Fragment
Status: Unclaimed
Emotion Registered: Desperation. Guilt. Defiance.
Choice or Chance required.
Flip to decide.
###
---------------------------------------------------
His pupils contracted. The words burned into his vision, static flickering at the edges.
"You gotta be kidding me...."