Page 41 of Remnants: Disruption
And the one person who got the closest is frog marching her way to a quick, shallow grave.
“Dark One,” Harlot turns before she pushes open the roof door, “take control of the narrative. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
The shadows gather around me and the roof disappears.
DAEMON was founded in Chicago before the Affliction War. After the Disruptions and war tore the world into slices, leaving most of the old European countries as utter wastelands, New Chicago became the mega-corporation’s forever home. The building itself, though, never really matched the rest of the city-state.
Where most buildings in New Chicago followed the same rustic, copper theme resembling the old industrial boom, DAEMON chose to look like a steel monster.
When the Second Disruption opened the floodgates for the flow of Affliction out of whatever realm had contained it, DAEMON had only grown in its otherness.
The entire building is that of dark steel, towering into the sky. Only one other building outdoes it, and that's the capital itself. Affliction flows through the tubes that run the length of the megacorp, culminating at the roof where the swirling “D” logo illuminates the sky.
The entire thing screams “sinister evil corporation,” but no one's proved ill-tidings, and they own nearly everything on the New American continent.
I perch along the nearest rooftop from their central courtyard and watch the people coming and going. Each look like the normal corporate type, their suits probably matching to the hexadecimal. And each have their heads bent low over a phone or tablet, their whispered corporate conversations barely reaching my vantage point.
My HUD blinks with no new messages and the enhanced vision provided by the mask provides no information as to where Percy might be. I shoot her a terse “where are you?” but receive nothing in the several minutes I watch the front doors.
As it nears almost two in the afternoon, the plaza clears entirely.
Evidently, the mid-afternoon break has ended.
The front door opens, and I see her.
Percy's black peacoat whips around behind her as she tucks her hands into her jacket pockets. With her head tilted low, I can’t tell the expression on her face, but the brisk walk doesn’t endear “success.”
She makes her way across the courtyard and pauses briefly before crossing the street and angling towards the large parking structure.
I move along the rooftops, ensuring that no one else follows us before leaping down beside her, hiding in her shadow.
Despite being a few inches taller than her, the aspect of the shadow alone captures me like a warm blanket. Apparently we’re friends today. Suppose maybe their exploits last night had been a one-off.
Though, maybe it would easier if they’d do it again—and finish the job this time.
I nearly crash into Percy’s back as she freezes in place. And I realize I’d stopped following directly in her shadow, rather my right foot had crunched along broken glass along the parking complex’s floor.
She turns on her heel and raises her service pistol directly to my forehead. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, but she doesn’t drop the gun.
“Is this where we’re at now?” I ask, my voice still modulated by the mask. “You’re going to pull a gun on me like we were never friends?”
“Friends don’t keep this shit from one another,” she hisses, hand never wavering. Her bionic grip tightens along the metallic handle.
I snort, stepping into the barrel so it presses to my forehead. “Your reaction has hardly proven otherwise.”
“I should bring you in,” she says quietly, amber eyes hard. “You’re a murderer.”
“And here I was concerned that you were on your way to pick a fight with DAEMON.”
“What?” she bares her teeth in a sardonic grin. “Were you sent by the Guild to stop me?”
“No,” I hiss, pressing the barrel firmly against my forehead. The mask won’t protect me. Nothing will at this rate. “I got here as soon as I heard about your idiotic decision to go it alone.”
“Was I supposed to wait for you?” she asks, her fingers tensing along the trigger. “To protect me?”
“Why do you act like I wouldn’t?” I ask, almost feeling hurt despite the rising anger in my throat. “Why do you act like I wouldn’t do the right thing?”
“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do. I don’t even know who you really are.”
