Page 38 of Remnants: Disruption
And where the fuck are my knives?
Growling, I stalk back to my bedroom and throw on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants before making my way back out of my apartment. The early morning light cuts through the overcast sky, making it a little less dreary than normal.
And the shadows aren’t nearly as plentiful this early in the morning.
For now, at least.
The garish building comes into sight when I round the corner of the underground auto-tram exit.
It’s in the same style as the other buildings, but the extremely large “GOD” signage glows with the red Affliction that powers it. The sloping copper roof meets the stonework with traces of gears and other powered implements crisscrossing down to ground level.
I move along the street until I find an empty alley. Glancing around, I only see a few people on the sidewalk. And neither of the two women on the other side of the road, nor the two couples beside me pay me any mind as I cut into the back passage.
Shadows envelop me and I reach into the darkness. The pocket dimension tucked in whatever shadow-verse I have access to responds and I pull out my mask and cloak.
Within a few seconds, I shadow-step to the roof of the G.O.D. building and walk into the next shadow. And the next.
“Where are they?” a gruff voice echoes from the meeting hall at the top floor of the building.
“I don’t know,” Agent Zero says neutrally, his voice modulated by the reflective mirror helmet. His outfit always looks especially like Omen’s to me, but no one else apparently saw fit to let him know.
I fall through the shadows in the rafters and land lightly on the metallic floor. Several of nearest Guild members startle and a few choice words are shot my way.
I look up and glance around at the other attendees, frowning as I see a few big hitters.
At the head of the long meeting table is The Angel. His Tier 4 status puts him somewhere in the upper fifties as far as power, but he's one of the few lackeys that the corporate folk trust to be in charge.
Along the floor-to-ceiling windows that surround the room is Umbral in his dark clothes and exceptionally stupid-lookingtop hat and face mask, Tyrant in his large green-grey jacket, epaulettes, and crown, and Harlot wearing almost nothing but the skimpy dress. She, of course, looks totally unbothered by the power culminating in the room.
The rest of the faces, or rather masks, aren’t people I recognize, but I generally don’t pay much attention to new Remnants these days.
“Ah,” the Angel says, his rumbling voice echoing across the silent room. “The guest of honor has finally deigned to join us.”
Darkness settles around me, wisps tracing off into the upper reaches of the room.
“I don’t usually answersummons, but I suspect you wouldn’t contact me for nothing,” I respond, my voice tight. It is not a great day to fuck with me, and I desperately hope this guy gets the message.
Evidently, he does not because he scoffs before gesturing to a seat near a group of Remnants I don’t recognize.
“Reports suggest Bloody Mary has been sighted in New Chicago,” Angel says, looking around at us behind his blank white mask. The thing fits directly onto his face as if it’s sewn there. “We’ve activated our cells in the other city-states as well as let those G.O.D. sites know about a possible impending attack, but nothing has come to fruition yet.”
A flush of whispers sound around me. Not the spirit kind, but of the gossip variety. The Remnant directly beside me whispers something about “being fucked” to their compatriot. The other Remnant nods fervently.
If Bloody Mary, whoever she or it is, is in town, then there’s nothing we can do to stop her. Nothing I can do. Nothing this band of idiot misfits can do.
Bloody Mary is a godlike being compared to us mere mortals, even if I’m third on the list. There's an ocean between us.
“I’m giving this meeting five minutes to become interesting before I go,” I say over the din. “I’m not here for Guild business.”
The silence that follows is so intense I look around to see if someone’s powers are involved. But only the Angel looks back, his masked face tilted a little as if in disbelief. The others drop their eyes to the tables in front of them or each other.
“How about this, then,” he grits out. “Titan’s body was found in an alleyway near Old Chicago. Punctured, sliced to bits, and dropped near a handful of defected G.O.D. members and known criminals. Triggerman, Cellblock, Torch, and Nick Frost were also killed. NCPD is currently calling it Remnant gang violence, but I suspect someone here will know more.”
I scoff and cover it far too slowly with a cough.
All eyes fall on me now, even those who had tried to ignore me when I first arrived.
“Someone’s name is actually Nick Frost?” I ask, wondering why no one else finds it hilarious. Hell, this is the first time I’ve genuinely smiled in the last twenty-four hours.
