The bullet that grazed Brandon's ear digs into the roof. Sizzling with purple rot. They both stare in disbelief.
Click Clack Clack. More purple bullets rain onto them.
"Pye. This is no time to sit and debate. We need to go. Now." Gideon wraps his thick arms around Brandon once more and leaps off the roof. Plummeting into the street below.
It hustles with life and trade. People buying augments. Others paying for magic classes. Gideon scans the area. "There pye. An alley. We travel through the combs yeah?"
"O-okay Gid…"
The combs were a set of buildings that thieves, like the duo, use to maneuver and lose whoever's following them. From shotgun rooms to mazes that beat any good path keeper. Into the combs they trek.
"Pye. Where we headed? That bullet was infused with rot. What official uses fucking rot on their bullets?"
"I think w-w-we should just go home."
"Fine. We're bringing this safe. If it's so important to our employer then it'tl be fun to spite him."
"What's so important that he would rather have us killed for it himself than having it delivered?"
"Dunno pye. Let's just get through the combs and figure out that to do next."
Nodding and curling next to Gideon, Brandon lights a small flame in his hand. Flickering with uncertainty. "What if it's just gonna get us killed?"
"It won't. I'll make sure of that. You hear me?"
"I hear ya gid…"
But in the end. Brandon's curiosity won.
Sizzle…
"Pye, I swear to fucking god."
Gideon looks back to see the safe melted open and a paper in Brandon's hands.
"I'm sorry! I couldn't help myself." Brandon scans the document. His flames dimming as he reads further.
"…Gid… this looks… bad…"
Gideon holds his hand out.
"Let me see, please."
Brandon shoves it over quick—Too quick.
Gideon reads it over once. Twice.
"Oh…"
Silence.
"Oh shit…."
The page reads
T_37
PROJECT LEGION
-> It worked boss.
-> The process was mesmerizing—unlike anything we've observed before.
-> Please come to the lab as soon as possible.
-> We need to discuss the implications.
Attached to the document is a grainy photo of scientists huddled around a chair inside some locked machine. Dark smog obscures the camera slightly.
Gideon lowered the page.
"Pye, I don't like this photo."
Brandon's flames flicker in the empty combs.
"Ditto…"