Flux: Chapters 26-31 (FINALE) (Patreon)

26: Flux

Flux darted behind the tree where Roen was waiting. "The perimeter is clear," she reported with her high-pitched pixen voice, hovering at his eye level.

Roen nodded, looking around the street. He then moved toward his house, past the neighbor's fences and the wooden porch with Flux flying close behind.

This morning, she had argued against Roen coming back here. This place wasn't safe and they had everything they needed at her apartment and he was still recovering – but Roen couldn't be talked out of making a trip back home. He wanted to get his drawings and his customized graphite sets, and a few photographs he had tucked away in his drawer. A few things from the basement, too. His full model couldn't be moved, but he was certain he could salvage some of the most important parts.

They both agreed that he needed to vanish for the team's radar, and Roen had no qualms about moving in with Flux. So, she took the victories where she could and joined him on one last raid – one final farewell to the place he had once called home.

Flux didn't come empty handed, either. While Roen rushed upstairs to shove things into his backpack, she zipped around in her miniature form, planting a few hidden cameras – just in case. And since they had been shrunk down with her, they were super-extra tiny, practically microscopic, and would stay that way indefinitely. It was almost like pixies were built for infiltration or something.

Flux was hovering in the kitchen when Roen came back downstairs.

"Can we take the slushie machine?" Flux asked.

"Uh," Roen looked from the tiny pixie to the kitchen appliance almost twice her size.

Flux took that as an agreement. Sniff, big pixie, grab the thingy. Expel dust, now pixie and thingy both tiny.

She was a fuggin genius.

Unfortunately, Roen's basement project was too large for her to shrink down, so he only grabbed the essentials he came for. Some notes, a small section of the Mini-Mega-Nexus, a few of his tools. She wanted to take several illustrations – his forest sketches were soooo pretty – but he only packed one, reasoning that the house wasn’t going anywhere. Technically true, she supposed. She could swing by again within the next few days. Once the police got involved, though, the house would be picked clean.

Once they had everything, Flux stepped outside to give Roen a moment alone so he could say goodbye. Whether the memories here were good or bad, embracing change was never easy. She knew that feeling all too well – she’d gone through it herself when she left the upper glade behind.

He came out smiling, bag over his shoulder. Flux flew up to smush a tiny peck on his chin, and then they were off.

It took the better part of an hour to unload everything in their apartment and get ready for the next errand on their schedule. The appointment Korella had arranged with the djinn would be taking place at a nice tourist broadway adjacent to the southern edge of the upper glade. The meeting was off-the-books, which meant that it probably cost Korella an arm and a leg – or maybe two hooves and a tail – just to make it happen. It would include consultation and drafting up the wish.

Flux didn't know how they were going to pay for the full service. Taking up a loan was an option. Not a good one, but an option nonetheless. Flux could also turn to her family, but even if she did agree to her mother's conditions – to which Roen said that he trusted her to follow her heart – her parents would more than likely look into such a massive spending, completely ruining the whole 'secrecy' aspect of the process. Not to mention her thirteen siblings.

Either they would need their own money, or a single high-profile benefactor who could afford to throw around creds like it was chicken change.

Regardless, they would get the wish. It was the only avenue to save Roen and secure them a life together.

They set off for the address, and for the first time ever, Roen willingly boarded the Flying Pixie Express. Flux had a sneaking suspicion he was starting to enjoy being hauled around like the world’s most lovable human beanbag. She made sure to squeeze extra hard around the corners.

Korella was waiting in front of the rental offices. She gave Flux a quick hug when they touched down, nodding at the entrance. "Second floor, room one. Let's do this."

Djinns might've been expensive as hell, but they were the height of professionalism you could buy. Mr. Vurres was a man with light blue skin and with rectangular glasses sitting on his narrow nose. He was all handshakes, nods and gestures toward the large conference table where several documents have already been laid out. The paper kind, the secure kind.

They sat opposite of him, Flux holding Roen's hand in a crushing grip under the table.

"This is your first time seeking to purchase a wish, yes?" Mr. Vurres asked. When they nodded, he shuffled things around the table a bit and slid one of the documents in front of them. It outlined the base conditions and limitations they could work within.

"Our magics have three baseline rules that, no matter the circumstance, cannot be breached," Mr. Vurres explained. He finger moved to the first section of the document, tapping once. "Firstly, 'you shall not wish upon others'. You cannot wish to kill. You cannot wish to heal. The only person your wish can directly affect is yourself. No human, non-human, or otherwise living creature will suffer or benefit from our deal today – other than you, sir, of course."

"You said the wish cannot affect others directly," Roen said. "What about indirect effects? What if I wish a new city into existence right next to Sirrej? People would flock and industries would collapse and start again."

"The material consequences of a wish are determined on a case-by-case basis," Mr. Vurres replied. "In your example, I'm afraid that level of interference goes well beyond what our magic can safely bend into reality. We could do a house, a car, a yacht. It would have relatively small effects on a relatively small number of people. But a fresh lane for the Mega-Nexus, say, between Ozum and Lux City, to connect the two ends of the continent?" he shook his head. "No amount of money will make a djinn risk playing with such scopes. The calamities from the Godswar are bad enough as it is."

Roen looked thoughtful, but he nodded eventually.

"The second rule is the following: 'you shall not surpass the biological limits of your race'," Mr. Vurres said. "We cannot give an urk pointy ears. We cannot give a human the regeneration of a hydra. If a client planned to turn their skin blue and make themselves a djinn, well, that's certainly an ambition. But one we cannot indulge."

"Sounds simple enough," Roen said.

"And that leaves us with the final limitation – maybe a bit obscure, but it's just as important," Mr. Vurres said. "'You shall not gain knowledge beyond that of the mortal collective'."

Flux had heard about that one in a documentary. Something about dark zones and trying to cure godly curses.

"We cannot teach you to conquer the skies against Vejopatis' storms. The space age, unfortunately, is not going to be the byproduct of an errant wish. Civilization will have to advance without shortcuts."

"Part of that scope angle you mentioned," Roen agreed.

"Part of it, yes." The djinn looked between them both from above his glasses, his hand resting on the page. "Any questions?"

Flux watched Roen anxiously, but he didn't seem overly troubled. He just looked like someone deep in the trenches of a puzzle. He surfaced from his thoughts long enough to give her a reassuring smile.

Korella, leaning her upper body against the wall by the entrance, clopped an imperial hoof. "Everything is clear, so far."

Mr. Vurres smoothly slid the document away from them, made it disappear within his suitcase, and opened a folder on his side of the table. He quickly rifled through them by the corners, then placed the new stack of papers in front of them again.

"Making a wish is a major, life-altering decision," he began. "When the only limit is your imagination, it can be overwhelming for any client to settle on what they truly want." He gestured toward the documents. "These contain the wishes I've granted over the past couple of decades. Some names are redacted, while others have agreed to share their choices for the public record. Even if you already have something concrete in mind, I recommend you browse through these papers so you get a better idea of what's possible."

Roen picked up the documents, paused for a moment, and then split the stack around the middle and extended half of them to Flux. She took them with a smile. Teamwork IRL was so much more satisfying than in-game.

The list was extensive and, to Flux's surprise, a lot more vanilla than she would've expected. They were ranked by popularity, and by far the highest number of wishes had been under the codephrase 'I wish to be healthy'. From superstars like The Dullerina to corpo-lords and upper glade persons, many people went for that spell. She even saw Peter J. Lemux among the public names, the de facto owner of NullCorp.

When asked, Mr. Vurres explained the health deal as basically a maximization of one's own body. For a human, it would make them be their best self for the rest of their lives; a perfect immune system, peak physical condition, and youthful vigor up until their deathbed.

The redacted cases were usually the most intriguing, like the codephrase: "I wish Fortune to never turn the other cheek." It was a complicated deal – one that, according to the djinn, had pushed that particular client to the brink of mania. Months had gone into ironing out the details, trying to determine the biological limits any given race may have regarding luck and the scope it encompassed. A bold 'NOT RECOMMENDED' stamp was slapped across the field.

Material wealth, mastering practical skills overnight, dealing with impossible roadblocks – wishes varied from person to person, page after page, and all of them squeaky clean with it came to legality. But the deal struck today wouldn’t be recorded on any list, nor bound by governmental law… only by the immutable rules that governed the djinn and their magics.

Flux squeezed Roen's hand as he started speaking, haltingly at first, but with more confidence as the details took shape. What he wanted, what he needed, was a clean severance between him and anything that connected him to his criminal past. 

Mr. Vurres listened in silence, only interjecting at a few points to point out technical details without going into anything concrete. Databases could be altered, yes. Recordings and pictures and even the gov's cellular samples could be modified, on a small, personal scale.

A person could be erased legally. Even if others still remembered, they’d be recalling someone who, on paper, no longer existed. A new name could be fabricated. An identity rewritten. Familial ties rendered null.

Though strong on the outside for his sake, Flux mourned in her heart. Not for the future – the future had never looked brighter for her and her human – but for the past Roen never got to live. How easily, how eagerly he seemed to want to rid himself of his old connections. 

A father who would only have a single son rather than two. A diploma that never happened. A human sweeping a hand over his footsteps and stepping forward in a new pair of boots.

The djinn assured them the deal would be finalized within a few days. Once the payment was processed and the codephrase spoken out loud by the client, the wish would take immediate effect.

They say history is written by the victors.

Today, they had managed to rewrite just a small piece of it for themselves.

27: Roen

Roen sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the piece of tube with soldering iron in hand. The glowing tip touched the metal with a sharp hiss, melting the material into a shimmering bead that spread like silver lava. A thin wisp of smoke curled upward from the point of contact.

A nostalgic saxophone melody from a synthwave track drifted from one corner of the room, blending with the neon glow of towering adverts outside as they began to cut through the deepening dusk. The wall-mounted monitor cast shifting hues across the space, cycling through apps before settling back to a muted gray when the code editor switched back into focus. Flux softly hummed along to the song, mechanical clicks coming from her keyboard.

Roen let the liquids cool, and then raised the entire contraption, testing the grip. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it fit in his hand well enough. The launching port would need some tightening, though.

He glanced up to see Flux watching him from behind the couch, her chin resting on its plush back.

"What is it?" he asked with a small smile.

Her head bumped on its side like a domino piece, but her eyes remained on him. "I'm just imagining it." Her head slowly tilted to the other side. Bump. "How you're gonna look tomorrow." She used her hands to frame him. "Wearing a suit and all."

"Ha," Roen said. He swapped the iron for a socket wrench. "I'm sure you have a dress tucked away somewhere that will outshine everyone, boring humans included."

"Nah. Dresses are for normies."

Roen tightened the last bolt into place, the ratchet clicking with each turn. He raised his brow wordlessly.

"I know I'm being a contrarian or whatever, but it's just so – ugh, so basic," Flux said. "I mean, if the whole point of a fancy party was to look good, then chicks should be prancing around in sports bras and booty shorts. Like, who thought it was a good idea to throw on some curtain-lookin-ass thing with a belt around it and call it appropriate? I hate it."

Oh. Leftover demons from her upbringing in the upper glade, Roen figured. He suddenly glanced up from his work, remembering that one particular line he never had the chance – or the bravery – to use. "Hey, um. Are you made of copper, tellurium, arsenic, helium, carbon, and potassium?"

Flux's eyes crossed in trying to catch all that. "Huhnhgh?"

"Because no matter what you wear – you’re gonna be CuTe As HeCK."

Roen tinkered in peace for a minute. He caught the change in the lighting as Flux switched through windows, looking something up in the browser. And then…

"Wiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

A girlfriend-sized rocket slammed into him and damn near bowled him over the carpet. "Mwah, mwah, mwah." Kisses rained down on him in a tangle of limbs, somehow finding his lips and neck and fully-healed cheek below the eye.

"Oookay, easy there," he huffed, setting his work aside as carefully as he could. He then put his hands around her waist and, running them up to find that sweet spot, began tickling the base of her wings. She peeled off him, dissolving into helpless laughter.

"You got me good there," Flux gasped, clutching her sides between hiccuping breaths. "I thought you were gonna... umm... you know..."

"What? Embrace the cuteness?" Roen teased, leaning above the pixie splayed on her back.

"Yeah! Like, what kind of monster says that sorta killer pickup line and then doesn’t wanna smooch?"

"Flux, you never not want to smooch."

Rooming with Flux had turned out to be a very high energy endeavor. His alarm clock had become a living-breathing pecking machine with wings practically assaulting him to wakefulness, and she hardly let up during the day. Stumbling out of the bathroom, still half-asleep? Peck. Sitting down for lunch? Peck. Walking across the room within her general orbit? Peck-peck-peck. There was simply no escape.

Whatever practice he had missed out on so far, Roen was rapidly catching up in terms of kissing expertise.

Flux's pullover had ridden up during their scuffle, the rise and fall of her bare tummy mesmerizing in the neon lights. His gaze drifted over the subtle contours of her hips, tracing the gentle dip downward until it lingered just above the waistband of her sweatpants – where the faintest glimpse of cotton teased beneath. Her laughter tapered off into something quieter, her breath hitching on a sharp inhale.

"Why hello there, oomfie," she said with a low voice. With that smug smirk on her face. "Do you like something you see?"

Roen felt himself flush, but caught the instinct to look away. He crawled forward until he was above Flux, her breaths visibly quickening. He lightly put a hand on the side of her belly – her skin smoother than silk – and then leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Are we really doing this on the floor?"

A sound somewhere between a frustrated moan and a chortle ripped out of Flux. Her hand shot forward to grab the front of his shirt, and then she rolled them both over until she was sitting on top. "You're playing a dangerous game, human," she growled with a grin.

"Ow?" Roen said, tapping the carpet. "I mean, if you really want to—"

His words cut off as Flux grabbed him under his arms, locked her legs beneath both of his, and then her wings whirred up to catapult them toward their bedroom in a straight line. Good thing the door was already open, otherwise his head might've been used as a battering ram. He hit the mattress with a soft whump, bounced once, and collided right back into the pixie still clinging to him before they finally came to a breathless halt.

Slowly, Flux sat up, straddling his waist, the dim light tracing an alluring outline around her body and wings as she perched atop his world. With languid ease, she crossed her arms at the hem of her fluffy pullover, fingers curling into the fabric before peeling it away in a slow, effortless motion.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

If the hints of her flat stomach had been captivating before, the smooth landscape waiting above was near hypnotic. There was just the faintest outline of ribs – not sharp, but just enough to frame her petite form – and a barely noticeable tan line above her belly. Her breasts, neither large nor small, were nothing short of perfect – delicately rounded, perky and firm, with just enough weight to rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic dance with each breath. The neon outlines played along their curves, tracing their supple roundness and the delicate nubs that stood at their peaks.

He had no idea where her pullover had landed, nor when her artfully spiked hair had come undone, tumbling into messy strands that fell across her eyes.

Her smile was predatory, a slow, deliberate curl of her lips. "I'm all bottled up for you, Roen," she purred, her voice husky with barely suppressed desire. Her eyes, luminous beneath those white-and-blue curls, held him captive. They glittered with a mixture of amusement and challenge. "Come uncork me."

Roen let out a small laugh, but then it was his time to have his breath taken away as Flux grabbed his hands, and then placed them flat on her stomach. A shiver ran across the soft skin under his touch.

"You're perfect," Roen breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His thumbs traced lazy circles along the smooth expanse, feeling the rise and fall of her breath beneath his fingertips.

"We are perfect, Roen," Flux said, her hands sneaking toward the front of his pants. "You, me – this right here. Us together. The crazy pixie and her genius hummie."

His hands began their reverent ascent. Roen had never scaled the snow-capped peaks of the Liftic mountains, but as his fingers traced their way upward, he knew he would never long for the experience – he was already reaching the most breathtaking summits imaginable.

Meanwhile, Flux’s thumbs hooked into his waistband, tugging his pants and boxers lower. Distantly, he registered the cool air brushing against his exposed skin, but the sensation barely registered – his entire world had narrowed to the moment his hands reached those perky mounds, cupping them from below.

Soft yet firm, they fit perfectly in his palms, their warmth seeping into his fingertips. His thumbs brushed over the delicate peaks, drawing a quiet shiver from her, a subtle arch of her back that pushed her diamond nipples toward him, seeking more friction.

"Ohfuck, Roen. Yes," she whimpered. "Yours."

Flux’s wings twitched behind her, a restless flutter that betrayed the tension coiling within her. She rolled her hips, slow and deliberate, sending a fresh jolt of sensation crackling up his spine – because her fingers had wrapped around his length, pressing it snugly against the slick heat nestled between her thighs.

The gap was drenched, her sweatpants completely soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin and almost slimy with a combination of her nectar and…

"Ah… P-pixie dust," Flux gasped, her voice trembling between breathy moans as if she forgot how to speak. "There's… s-so much…"

Roen swallowed hard, feeling a hot wave pulse through his system at her words. Her pixie dust. An unseen, secret manifestation of her desire now tangible against his skin – proof of her love in ways that went beyond that desperate vid recording in a rain-soaked alleyway. She wanted him, body and soul. And he wanted her just the same.

"Yes," he whispered to an unasked question, giving another tentative roll to her nipples.

Flux froze for a moment, her grip on him going weak and clumsy and utterly flustered. With one hand, she fumbled with her own clothes, pulling at the front of her soaked layers that were plastered to her skin. They came away with a lewd squelch sound, lowering just enough to expose her glistening core.

Before giving him more than a moment to admire, she adjusted her grip on his length, shifted her hips forward in a way that arched her back nearly into a bow, and then pulled him inside of her.

Oh, fuck.

He gasped, his head jerking back against the mattress as his hands instinctively tightened around her breasts. The sensation was overwhelming, indescribable, and his hips responded, surging forward, pushing deeper into her as he bottomed out. His pelvic bone collided with the bottom of her thighs, sending yet another jolt through them both.

"Fffffuuaahh—" Flux whimpered, moaned, contorting. "Sss… mmh, s-slower! Ah… slow down a l-little."

He did, somehow, even if all his instincts roared up to do the opposite. He gave it a little rhythm, a slow in, a deliberate out. He kneaded her trembling breasts like a painter handling a work of art, and she writhed and trembled and shivered on top of him like a woman possessed.

A second or a minute later, they locked gazes, and a sliver of sanity returned to the pixie's eyes as she reached up and removed his hands from her breasts, locking them together, fingers entwined.

"Mine," she whispered, gazing at him with those crystal eyes that never failed to promise her being there for him. A promise was made with the deliberate movements of her body for a future that she would fight for, no matter what stood in their way. She gazed at him with love and determination and so much tenderness it ached.

And then – then she rode him to oblivion.

28: Brigenn

The Hummer coach rolled up near the fountain with the pegasus statue, slowing, its six sets of monstrous wheels crunching to a stop. Only a few lights glimmered inside the mansion, but they were enough to illuminate the vehicle’s gleaming red paint and the golden accents around the sliding door as it slowly began to open.

From the darkened interior, a single, graceful hoof touched the pavement, followed by another. Then a mature, busty figure of the centauren woman stepped out, her confident stride radiating an undeniable air of authority. She moved with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it, and how little anyone could do to stop her.

And it was all true. Well, most of it, anyways.

Brigenn adjusted her red mane of hair and glanced skyward, giving a wry thanks to the dead gods for the rare blessing that was a Sirrej night without rainfall. The air of the upper glade was fresh, and would have been just a touch too chilly had it not been for the yeti-fur coat draped over the length of her body and coming together above her cleavage in a heart-shape that made them pop.

This city held many a pleasant memory. The weather, however, was not one of them.

Brigenn motioned for Chu to stay behind the wheel, then began clopping toward the double-doors of the little mansion with an unhurried gait. The lights in the stairway turned on, and then the entrance swung open with her favorite niece standing in the doorway.

"Auntie!" Korella yelled, rushing toward her.

Brigenn's red lips pulled into a genuine smile. She spread her arms slightly, the slits along the sleeves of her satin blusón fluttering with the movement.

They embraced, kisses on the cheeks, and then she took in the stylish little creature in front of her from hoof to headtop.

"My, my," Brigenn murmured. "Still a straight knockout, I see."

Korella's own lips curved into a grin, though not without a blush that did wonder to bring out the color in the black-and-white ensemble. "It’s… been a while, Brigenn." She laughed a little. "Geez – I don't think I need to tell you how breathtaking you are. It's more a rule of reality than a variable. You make gravity look uncertain."

"Flattery is one of the twenty-five cardinal sins," Brigenn said, flicking a not-at-all displeased tail. "But, alas, we're all sinners in this city. It works."

Korella turned and accompanied her inside. The warm interior was a welcome change of pace, as was the rich, centaur-furnished décor that left plenty of space for her legs to stretch languidly. Brigenn let out a satisfied sigh, slipping off the gold-rimmed designer purse from one shoulder and placing it by the coat rack.

"Exhausting trip?" Korella asked, leading them toward the parlor section of the open space.

"The trip itself? Not particularly, no. I've caught up on quite a bit of sleep during my ride on the Mega-Nexus. It's all the stops along the way that are the bane of my existence. Thank you, dear," Brigenn took the offered space upon the plush, flat couch. Her equine stomach sank into the mattress, with little divots on both sides for her legs to curl inside.

"Tea? Wine? Coffee?" Korella asked, bending down to open one frosty display cases. What a delightful gal. She knew her too well.

"Cabernet Sauvignon, please."

Glass clinked as Korella readied a pair, then filled them both to the brim with the bold red wine. Brigenn murmured another thank-you, then tasted the harvest with a measured sip as Korella took her spot on another flat couch, opposite of her.

"Mmh," Brigenn said. "Been to half the cities on the continent, and still there's nothing quite like upper glade wine." She gave a tiny salute with the glass. "Hattor and Luminelle know their business."

Something sad flickered through Korella's face, but it passed before Brigenn could be sure it really happened. "They sure do," Korella said. She flicked a strand of black hair out of her eyes. "Whew. How have you been, Brigenn? I wasn't aware you'd come visit until your call earlier today."

Brigenn leaned to the side, settling her weight comfortably into the cushions. "As ever, keeping busy. Going up north has been a riot, especially with the whole cultural aspect of things. People have such different perspectives up in the Lifts. On the government, on history and propriety and everyday-living."

"And fashion, no doubt."

Brigenn smiled. "And fashion." She fingered the thick fur of her plunging neckline. "Three-hundred-year-old design, stitched by hand – can you believe it? I could almost hear our corporate factories wailing in shame from down below."

"It's pretty," Korella agreed. "Though I like some of your designs better. The serratura plated-skirts are still unbeatable."

Brigenn made a faux dizzy motion with her head, one hand clasping her collarbone. "Oh please, not you too. I feel like I'm dealing with a simpering fangirl all over again."

Another reason she’d enjoyed her trip so much – up in the Lifts, the locals couldn’t care less about corporate trends or net celebrities. It reminded Brigenn of her earlier days, back when making a single post online wasn’t tantamount to dictating fashion for large non-human folk across the globe. She didn’t mind the spotlight. But there was a rare and wonderful freedom in stepping out from beneath it every once in a while.

Part of why she loved visiting her little niece so much, actually. She was so refreshingly bold.

"No fangirling, I promise," Korella said, knocking back her wine in a way she'd never dare in upper glade company. "You're a killer fashion designer, auntie, but your vlogs fucking suck."

Brigenn burst out laughing. "Gods, they do, don't they?"

"Hell, do you even have an editor? That first vid you took was upside down for a couple of minutes, and it didn't improve much when you tried a sideways angle where half the screen was blocked out by your gigantic melons."

"Chu still does most of the digital magic for me. She's not accustomed to vids, so…" Brigenn said, shrugging an elegant shoulder. "You're right, of course. Vlogging hasn't been the most fulfilling experience, either. I'm thinking I should return to my roots." She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "I have some amazing swimwear drafted up for test production. The tour is finishing just in time, and I simply cannot wait to spend the rest of my summer down at the sunset beaches of Lux City."

"Sounds awesome. I'll keep a lookout on the ratings."

Brigenn watched her niece for a minute. The girl seemed… distracted. "What about you, dear? How are things going for the gothiest little babe in the megacity?"

"Good," Korella said. "You know me. I'm all chill, both online and with the glade. Nothing really happens over here." There was that sadness again – no, that fear, almost. A crease of worried brows.

Brigenn slowly set her glass aside, then folded her hands beneath her breasts, leveling a look at the other centaur. It was a gaze that balanced reproach with a patient, almost maternal understanding.

She knew the effect well – she practiced regularly in front of the mirror.

The poor girl never stood a chance.

"It's… it's about Flux," Korella said with a little smile. "You know that guy she'd been chasing for so long? She finally did it. She finally got that boyfriend through the finish line."

Ah, of course. She’d been meaning to ask about Flux. Korella and the pixie had been inseparable since childhood, and while Brigenn wasn’t particularly close to the greater Sirrej glade community, she always enjoyed her visits to the vineyard owned by the little hacker’s parents. Of all the kids that flew around the dinner table, it had always been Flux she liked the most. The girl had spunk.

Mhm. Apparently, in both senses of the word now.

"That sounds like something we should celebrate," Brigenn said. She tilted her head. "But your mood, dear – it seems more fitting for a funeral."

"Roen," Korella said. "His name is Roen. And he's in trouble."

The tale that her niece weaved before her mind's eye was as moving as it was fantastical. Tragic pasts, villainy and heartache, a new love blooming between two young souls. Brigenn had traveled to many places and found just as many different flavors that fulfillment could take – but the one thing that had always eluded her was true, magical, pure and simple love. When two hearts cared for another more than they did for themselves, the effect tangling and rebounding to grow sturdy like the roots of an oak.

Brigenn listened, and she asked herself: what would it be like to have the gods smile upon her and find the One – and then not have the ability to provide for him?

She took a shaky breath. The thought was… unacceptable.

"I might not have the time to stay for the evening, dear. But I think I can make a single call."

29: Roen

Silver beams sliced through the night in a fluid dance on either side of Skye Towers, framing the tall building like an expanding crown. Long cars pulled into the underground parking lot near the venue, valets rushing to open doors for the passengers and parking their vehicles for them.

The building was draped in massive digital billboards cycling through holograms of corporate emblems, market highlights, and a prominent countdown to the keynote address. A long flight of steps, spanning at least thirty feet, led to the main entrance flanked by uniformed attendants who were already busy checking and double-checking the growing line of guests. Many arrived in overcoats and carried umbrellas, shielding their carefully curated ensembles from the dribbling rain, and many had their menservants do the same while the good people themselves got a continuous dose from the high heavens.

Roen did not have attendants at his beck and call – but he did have a nice midnight-black suit and a matching tie to go with it.

He stood at the front of the queue, hands in his pockets and his eyes scanning the faces around him. He had arrived early in hopes of spotting Arlo or some of the others, but no luck so far. Through the swirling lightshow and the thin sheet of rain and the curls of smoke pouring in from the streets, it was hard to identify anyone from a distance.

Which, in retrospect, was just as well. Maybe coming face to face with his brother would only complicate things. Maybe he'd lose some of the courage he'd bottled away for today. The evening was young, and he was past worrying about things he couldn't change.

Roen pulled out his phone and checked the two most recent notifications. The first, from Mr. Vurres that morning, had hit like a reverse heart attack. The payment had gone through, and once the codephrase was spoken, the djinn’s magic would take effect. That was it – no mention of who had footed the bill.

After a morning spent cycling through disbelief, shocked elation, and daresay a flicker of hope, Flux had managed to get hold of Korella. The centaur hadn’t named their mysterious benefactor outright, but Flux had pieced it together easily enough.

They owed their friends more than they could ever repay, and a part of Roen hated that he had nothing to offer in return. When he voiced as much, Flux had just shrugged, bumped his shoulder, and reminded him that between friends and family, the only price tag was what you could afford to give. Wealth was relative, and some people had more creds than they knew what to do with. Maybe one day, the centaurs would need a vintage engine repaired, and Roen would be there to help. Give what you can, when you can. That's all anyone could expect of you.

The second notification was a more recent one, only from about an hour ago.

Flux: I need to run to get my drip ready, no ETA but ill be there in time

Flux: kiss-kiss :*

Roen looked around once more. No pixie in sight yet.

It had been his idea for them to arrive separately. He’d done everything possible to keep Flux’s involvement with the crew under wraps, and showing up with a stunning pixie on his arm would raise all the wrong questions – especially from anyone who even vaguely knew him. Roen wasn’t a ladies’ man. Hell, he wasn’t even a people person. Mingling with the guests was one thing, but arriving at the venue with Flux? That would be pushing the limits of plausible deniability.

At first, she’d insisted on going with him, precautions be damned. But then he brought up the whole fancy outfit situation, and despite her well-documented hatred for dresses, Flux was still a girl. She wanted to hypnotize him, to etch herself in his memories like a stone tablet. It wasn’t every day she got the chance to show off for the man she loved in a ballroom glittering with chandeliers and the swell of violins in the air.

Plus, she had some stuff to organize with her employers. Procedure, and all that. Roen might have been in the dark about Arlo's plans tonight, but Flux wasn't working under the same limitations. She had absolutely zero moral reservations about destroying the people who had hurt him. Be it a jail cell or a deep, deep grave.

Roen breathed in the clear air of the evening as the entrance came in sight. No jitters and no hesitation. The kid scared of his own shadow wasn't here tonight, and the man in his place would see this through.

Security was tight, but not unreasonably so. Roen stepped through a metal detector, which let out a series of low beeps. He then deposited his phone and his datapad on a little table – the latter of which they scanned in to confirm his identity on the guest's list, as well as his chosen plus-one who was running late. He then went through the detector again without issue, grabbed his stuff off the table, and stepped through the glass door that one of the attendants held open for him.

The entrance opened up into a gilded lobby with a cloakroom on one side, a squad of suited werefolk working behind a quartz separator to keep the possessions of Sirrej's business elite safe and organized. An attendant started across the busy room toward Roen, but he stopped him with a small gesture and a smile. His suit trousers had pockets just barely large enough for his paddie.

Roen looked around as he walked down the crimson carpet toward the far archway, but there was still no sign of the crew. He checked his phone once more – no notifs – and ran a hand through his hair. He passed beneath the grand, timeworn arches, ascended another set of steps, and turned twice through well-lit corridors before emerging onto a balcony landing that overlooked the banquet hall.

Below him, the hall stretched wide, a space of polished opulence bathed in warm golden light. Towering chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, their crystal prisms scattering reflections across the marble floor. Ornate columns framed the perimeter, each wrapped in delicate strands of soft-glowing lights that pulsed faintly in tune with the slow melody drifting from the speakers near the stage. A long banquet table extended through the center, its pristine white linen broken by silver candelabras and platters of hors d'oeuvres and other delicacies too small to serve as a full meal. Waitstaff in tailored uniforms moved around with trays of champagne, topping off glasses and offering drinks to early arrivals who gathered in small, murmuring clusters.

Though the venue was not yet at full capacity, the banquet hall was already crowded enough to make someone question their life choices with so many financial success stories crammed under a single roof.

Roen lingered on the balcony for a moment, hand resting on the railing, before making his way down one side of the sweeping double staircase and straight into the shark infested waters below.

Men moved through the hall in suits ranging from classic black to blinding shades of tan, with occasional flashes of green from urks, reptoids, and goblins mingling among them. The women’s attire was far more varied – deep blues, shimmering golds, regal purples – all glittering under the lights, each dress designed to catch eyes and trap wallets like mobile teller machines. Skin was tastefully revealed, but wealth was flaunted even more boldly; if a thief had somehow slipped past security and landed in the middle of the dance floor, they’d have found themselves in a jeweler’s paradise.

Roen sidestepped a manservant balancing a tray, moving through the sea of walking credcards without drawing a second glance. He didn't stand out, and he didn't want to. Anonymity suited him just fine.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checked the new text message, frowned, and changed course toward the columns at the front edge of the banquet hall.

Anonymity had its limits when you were still one of the lost Travall boys.

"Ah, there you are," Roen heard his voice just a moment before he reached a small group by one of the illuminated pillars. "The man of the minute," Arlo said, clasping Roen's shoulder as he arrived.

Arlo, suited and all, stood among three others. He introduced Brundy first, a tall, wolfish werefolk and a significant shareholder of one or the other corporation Roen had never heard of – both marketing agencies. Sharp looking, but eager on the liquor and with a stare that kept wandering down the ladies of the group.

The other unknown quantity was Ms. Forthell, a woman with poison-green scales and an elongated head reminiscent of a crocodile. Her tail was long enough to sweep a dozen feet out from passing guests if she chose to uncurl it from around her waist. Jewels adorned her rake-like teeth. She very obviously liked her own smile.

The third person standing around in their little group was none other than Jezau Dawnkill. She wore a simple, dark gray satin dress that matched her dusky skin so precisely it was difficult to tell where fabric ended and flesh began. Her half-lidded eyes lazily tracked the conversation, occasionally drifting to scan the room before settling back on whoever held the group’s attention. A cigarette smoldered at the end of an elegant holder, dangling carelessly in one idle hand.

Arlo introduced the others to him, but not the other way around. Roen gave a small nod toward the group as a whole, then reached for a champagne on a nearby little table. He didn't know what to say and didn't want to worry about it – better to just let the important people fill the silence with important things.

"So they've been hounding me about it all week, but I say, let the damn lawyers work for their fees. If I wanted to read that many pages, I’d pick up a novel,” Brundy was saying.

Ms. Forthell gave a slow, reptilian blink. “It’s about more than just paperwork,” she said, her voice a deep drawl. “The wrong clause in a contract can chain you tighter than debt. Even tighter than marriage, and gods know those are hard enough to wriggle out of.”

Brundy's eyes flicked down to her décolletage and back. “Don’t know, never been married.”

"And you never will, at the rate that you're going," Arlo said. He glanced at Roen, seeing the pointed look directed at him from above his champagne. "One moment, ladies. Gentleman."

They moved away until they were standing by the large double-windows looking out toward the city. Past the blinking neon lights and the sheets of uneven rain, the green slopes of the upper glade were barely visible.

Roen stared outside, chewing his lip. "Let's not do this, Arlo. We can still leave." He said it in an almost offhand way, with not much conviction behind the words. He knew Arlo wouldn’t change course. And he knew that, from this point on, whatever happened had to happen.

To stop the violence, they needed to get the crew behind bars. To get the crew behind bars, they needed the key to Malcolm's hideout. And to get the phone holding the key, they needed to follow along with this fucked up dance until all the pieces fell into place.

And still – somehow Arlo managed to twist that knife deeper in.

"You have a good heart, Roen," he smiled, following the gaze of his brother toward the night city. "If only you could grow a pair back during the beginnings when there was still a way out."

Roen looked on. The champagne tasted like ash in his mouth.

Arlo hummed to the soft music classical playing in the background, then nodded toward the side. "Seen Dawnkill over there? Didn't know professional mercs had that sort of game in their wardrobes."

"What is she going to do?"

"Dance, I presume. Turn some heads with those stormy black lips."

"You know what I mean."

Arlo shrugged. He watched the lights reflect in his glass. "She'll be around, Roen. She'll be around." He pointed toward the twin building of Skye Towers visible just outside. "Less than an hour, now, until the speech. You'll be going out toward the storage rooms with thirty minutes to spare – room 117, down the eastern hallway. Bull will be waiting for you with the phone. You port, grab the package, get out and start rigging."

The mention of the tauren made the spot under Roen's eye itch. "What about Franklin? He didn't show up at the house, either."

"Franklin has been… indisposed."

"Indisposed," Roen repeated. He would have been lying if he said he didn't expect something like that. But it still sent a shiver down his spine. "Like Hank?"

"Precisely." Arlo said. He turned to him with a serious look, grabbing one arm in assurance. "Roen – there is absolutely nothing you need to fear from anyone coming after you. Okay? Whatever happened to Hank and Franklin… that's just business. Hm? Just business. Nobody will get my little brother hurt."

Slowly, without moving a muscle, Roen flicked his eyes back toward the ballroom, toward the little group and the keres facing away from them.

No. That couldn't be real. Arlo wouldn't… he wouldn't do that against his own people.

Right?

There's no honor among butchers, little Roen.

"Bull?" Roen asked quietly. "Malcolm?"

A sad little smile surfaced on Arlo's face. He shrugged again. "I keep my promises, Roen. After today, the last couple of years will all seem like a distant dream."

"Yes," Roen whispered. He drew in a breath and held it for a moment – then looked his brother dead in the eyes. "It will all be over soon."

Arlo gave him an expression that was bordering on genuine approval. It was a first, as far as Roen could recall. "There's something about you…" he said, trailing off. His eyes flicked down his body, then back up. "You've grown, little brother. I don't know how and I don't know why, but it looks – good. Or maybe it's just that the suit is wearing you, eh?"

"I'm the same as I have ever been," Roen said. "Just got myself a solid foundation, is all."

Maybe pixies weren't the strongest of construction materials. But it had worked for him.

"I'll wait until it's time, then," Roen said. He gave his empty glass to an attendant passing by, nodded to Arlo, and turned to leave. He checked his phone again.

Flux: yo I'm in

Flux: (i always wanted to say that) :3

Roen: Did you bring the stuff?

She replied with a thumbs-up.

The banquet hall had filled out during the last few minutes, now to a point where you could hardly take four steps without having to brush past another shoulder. He went deeper, getting lost in the crowd. It was a sea of a dozen different species – from elvin to goblins to golems to treants, but mostly humans – and it wasn't easy to find someone specific you were looking for. Glasses clinked, the murmur had grown to a riot, and the violins had upped the rhythm in the background.

Fortunately for them, they didn’t have to think in just two dimensions. He only had to look up.

Flux was hovering beneath one of the grand chandeliers, her wings a blur as she surveyed the crowd below. Roen's jaw dropped in awe, but he managed to wave, regaining enough composure. She caught sight of him, smirked, and descended gracefully to make her entrance.

Dresses be damned – Flux could make a statement when she wanted to.

Thick white combat pumps started off the outfit from below, the kind with slightly raised heels that could still deliver a broken bone or two if it applied the right pressure at the right place. Skintight jeans of dark wine-red rode her calves, up the highway of her thighs and parked with a white triple-looped leather belt twisting lopsided around her waist. A bodice in bold lipstick-red conformed to her narrow torso, squishing together a slight but no less appealing hint of a cleavage, with a mini-nylon jacket framing the upper half of her body, matching the deep shades of her jeans below. Her lips – curved into that perpetual, smug smirk – were the color of spilled blood, and mismatched earrings hung at the sides. The blue tint in her spiky hair was painted red tonight.

She landed a few feet away, seamlessly shifting into a slow, deliberate stride toward him. Each step flowed into the next, one foot sinuously crossing in front of the other, her gaze locked onto him with the sharp focus of a bird of prey sizing up its next meal. Roen had heard the term fuck-me pumps before, but he’d never expected to witness a walk that all but demanded he bend its wearer over a kraken in the middle of a storm and rail her senseless – while those very boots stomped the beast to death.

He stared at her as she approached, his brain refusing to fuel the circuits that governed speech. Something fired up when one carefully manicured hand – nails a light shade of pink – touched his tie and ran down the length of it.

"You look good in red," he said, voice hoarse.

Flux grinned, a flash of white teeth. "You don't look half bad yourself, mister dark and dangerous."

Her hand fell down to his belt, lingered for a moment, then ran back up to adjust the tie at his neck. Nobody could hear Roen's gulp with all the noise, and he felt himself take the color of her jeans. Maybe chameleon werefolk didn't exist, but his body sure as hell tried to imitate one.

"Um. Yeah, so… Wow, Flux. I don't know what to say."

"You're so adorable I could gobble you right up," Flux said as she finished rearranging his tie.

"I thought that was a goblin thing. What would the Shortstack Guild say if they saw you stealing copyrighted material?"

"Uzu would throw her keyboard at me, Jelly would wanna watch, and the rest would prolly just resume fermenting in their own musk playing Path of Reptile."

Roen twisted his nose. "Ugh. They do that?"

"Yup. Hardcore gamers shower maybe once a week, and let me tell you, being a girl doesn't magically turn your smell into lilacs and dandelions."

The imagery was enough to catapult Roen's mind back in the game. He reached out and offered his arm, and Flux wasted no time looping hers through the gap. They began walking down toward the far end of the ball room, where several branching hallways would lead to the rest of the building.

"Right, so. Bull's waiting for us in 117. Cams should be disabled already." Roen said, his voice barely audible over the din. "I'm more worried about Dawnkill, though. Arlo didn't explicitly say what her role was tonight, but… but I have a strong suspicion she's related to the killings that had been happening around the crew." He gave Flux a sidelong glance. "Franklin's dead."

"Huh. Good fucking riddance."

"Flux!"

"What?" Flux said breezily, giving his arm a squeeze as they wove through the crowd. "Far as I see it, this saves me the trouble of ripping his arm off for putting his hands on you, back in Vinny's."

Roen just shook his head. He couldn't exactly argue, since he would have the same feelings in a reversed scenario. "The point is, things could easily escalate tonight with Dawnkill present. If Arlo gave her direct commands, it means she will leave me alone. But you need to be on your guard, Flux. Okay? Do not take risks for my sake."

"I'll do whatever I goddamn please," Flux huffed. "When bullets start flying and the knives come out, it's the big, clumsy humans who field the biggest target surface. A mercenary wouldn't blink an eye at collateral damage."

She was so willful. Both a blessing and a curse.

"Did your recruitment at NC include combat training?"

Flux nodded, then thought about it. She made a so-so gesture with her free hand. "I kick ass at hand-to-hand. Buuut I couldn't hit an elephant with a blaster from two meters away. Which is, like, kinda irrelevant most of the time." She unconsciously reached up to one of her earrings. The metallic tube gleamed in the rich lights.

They reached the edge of the banquet hall, approaching the row of closed hardwood doors in the thinning crowd. Rather than entering the storage areas, Flux pulled him down toward the restrooms instead.

Okay. Here we go. Time to get your game pants on.

30: Roen

The double doors of the restrooms swung shut behind Roen as he stepped back into the heart of the bustling ballroom. The center had transformed into a lively dance floor, with the music turned up to eleven. He glanced at his watch and nodded to himself. Thirty-two minutes until the speech.

He started a shuffling walk down toward another set of doors, these ones with a circular window at the top, the kind typically found on a cruise ship. It opened into a wide corridor, dimly lit and empty, stretching on for a good while until it ended at an elevator dozens of rooms down. The walls were a dull shade of cream, reflective enough to give an impression of a fresh coat of paint.

Hands hanging at his sides, Roen passed several rooms on both sides. His eyes tracked the numbered signs at eye level before he arrived at the correct door. He stopped, looked himself over one last time, and entered the storage room.

The area was stark and functional and cleaner than one would have expected it to be. It was lit by several overhead bulbs that cast a pale, even light over the free space down the middle. Long shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly stacked boxes and cleaning supplies on one side, and more sturdy pieces of furniture on the other. Tables, bar stools. The lectern was among them, too, pulled farther out and separated from the rest.

Near the back of the room, standing by a tall cabinet, was Bull. The tauren was wearing a brown checkered suit, his folded arms threatening to rip the material from the inside out with their bulk. He looked up when hearing Roen enter.

"Are you alone?" Bull asked, starting down toward him.

"Yeah."

"The keres?"

Roen shrugged. "She's out there, somewhere. The last time I saw her was with Arlo." Roen kept very still as Bull towered over him, and he could feel the tension inside and out.

But Bull just gave him a quick once-over, let out a breath, and reached in his pockets to get a phone out. The phone. Franklin's.

Either Arlo had given him the key to Malcolm's hideout for some reason… or Bull was smarter than he looked. And he took an insurance policy to stay the hand of a hitman that had been gunning for them all.

"We do this quick," Bull said, a meaty thumb scrolling to the contacts list. "We let Malcolm know everything is on track, grab the bomb, and get back here. You will not freeze up. You hesitate for a single second longer than necessary, I cave in your head and disappear before Dawnkill could come after me." He gave Roen a pointed, but calm look. "Your brother and I have an understanding. He calls his attack dog back, and I'll leave the phone behind and keep my mouth shut. She tries anything, and Arlo is now a single child."

"I won't freeze up," Roen said.

"I believe you. Now, electronics off," Bull said. His finger hovered over Malcolm's cryptic number as he reached into his waistband and began the motion of tossing his buzzknife away.

At that moment, the door of the storage room burst open with a bang and a gray blur rushed forward.

Bull's eyes widened. His thumb pressed down, initiating the call to the hideout. His knife-clad hand caught the throwing motion just at the edge, keeping the hilt seated in his grasp with his fingertips.

Two lightning quick clack-clacks rang out in the enclosed space, the tip of a suppressor flashing red. Roen, having already started to crouch and get out of the way, felt something whizz above his head and around his side—

The world came to a screeching halt. Visual stimuli elongated around him, swirling, constricting, making him shut his eyes from the frantic motion of it. Colors flashed behind his eyelids, and the wind displaced by the passing bullets remained still, intimate, pressing against his body as if time itself had frozen over.

And then, the djinnic magic spat them out all at once.

Roen immediately went flat on the pallet beneath him, one hand pressing down on his pocket, whispering a word of reassurance.

Bull had fallen forward, catching the back of the long couch before he could sprawl on the floor, and came up in a crouch with one bleeding hand holding a whirring buzzknife, the blade smudged from the micro-vibrations. Another bullet had taken a chunk out from the muscles between his shoulder and neck.

Jezau Dawnkill stood across from him, her back pressed against the bunker wall, blasters in each hand aimed at two separate targets. Her dress was ripped at one thigh, and a thin curl of smoke rose from both ends of the long suppressors.

And Malcolm stood at the center of his star-shaped hideout, an honest-to-gods crossbow held in his arms, the massive thing pointed right back at the keres.

Nobody moved.

"Who," Malcolm said through gritted teeth and bushy beard, "The fuck brought electronics to my place."

The steady beeping of a detector hung in the silence.

The buzzknife kept vibrating in Bull's hands, and the dual blasters twitched once in Dawnkill's. Roen could see the tauren assess the distance between the two of them. Not close enough to avoid getting shot. Not far enough for the shots to finish him off before he was across.

"It was her," Bull rumbled, muscles coiled. Blood bubbled down his shoulder. "Arlo paid her to hunt us down. To kill off all loose ends before he went clean."

"No shit it was her. So maybe you could have, I dunno, not fucking bring her along to my place."

Roen slowly got up to his knees, holding out a hand. He felt something tiny and metallic press into his grip. Nobody paid him any attention.

Bull's hands loosened, then tightened on the hilt of his weapon. "Wasn't planning on it."

The alarm shut off, but the hum of the buzzknife remained loud within the enclosed space. It was a vicious model, longer than the forearm of a human. And one that had clearly seen action before.

"Don't," Malcolm warned. His crossbow was aimed at Dawnkill's center mass. Her blaster likewise. He licked his lips. "Caaalm, now. This job isn't lucrative enough for this entire mess. And I'm sure bossman has enough to spare besides – if you want money, put a gun to his head."

Dawnkill raised one coal eyebrow, her vision kept firmly in the space between the two men. "Elaborate."

"Look, you're paid to kill us all, hm? But it's not like you can drag three corpses back into the banquet hall and allow Arlo to confirm the kills. So how about… how about we proceed as normal." Malcolm gestured his head toward the side, at one of the curtained off wings of his bunker. "I've got the explosive assembled right here. Now, if the two of you could just slooowly lower your—"

Clack-clack-clack.

Malcolm's monologue ended with two little holes in his chest. Even as he began falling back, his finger pulled the frigged and the crossbow bolt whizzed toward the keres, who was already in motion and trying to get out of the crossfire, laying down fire in both directions as she did so.

Bull had lurched forward, and the tauren's speed and velocity was not even fractionally halted by the hail of bullets tearing into his stomach. His buzzknife slashed down in a vicious arc toward Dawnkill.

The keres only managed to move away from the tauren's crushing body. The crossbow bolt and the buzzknife? Those would have hit home – if it weren't for some quick handwork.

As if a boxer practicing an uppercut, Dawnkill wrenched one arm upwards, catching the bolt with the receiver and throwing it off course, twisting the ruined blaster from her hands and making them both careen towards the side. Meanwhile, her other blaster went into a horizontal swipe, taking the buzzknife at the handle to divert its angle away from her – though not without keeping that gun intact, either. The vibrating blade separated the barrel from the rest of the gun in a neat, buttery smooth slice, and continued to shear off part of the metal garbage bin at the base of the wall.

The tauren crashed forward with murder in his eyes. The keres wriggled away like an eel, cursing as she threw the ruined husk of metal against Bull. The trigger finger of her other hand looked twisted out of place.

Roen stayed still on the pallet, ready to move at the first sign of danger. They hadn't targeted him so far, and the keres would have no reason to do so. But with Dawnkill fleeing toward the center of the hideout, she wasn't the one closest to him anymore.

Bull's bloodshot eyes looked around in a frenzy, one bloody hand steadying himself against the wall. He tore the buzzknife out of the metal bin, and without any hesitation whatsoever, lurched after his target.

After Roen.

Being shot three times in the stomach did nothing to slow the tauren down.

Roen's hand closed around the tiny object pressed into his palm, together with the miniature little hand that put it there. There was some fumbling at the inside of his pants, a loud pop echoing through the air – and then a full-size pixie burst into existence on top of him, hand in hand with the human who had brought her along for the ride.

"Die, bitch-ass cow fuck!" Flux screamed, rocketing away from him and into the oncoming tauren with her combat boots forward. The stomper-pumpers caught Bull right at the base of his wounded neck, making him tumble to the side and sending a spray of blood and red tauren flesh bits all over the couch.

Roen didn't pause to watch the fireworks. Bull was already scrambling up, gripping the edge of the pallet, his maimed side damn near looking like a volcanic eruption.

His hand steadied by the adrenaline injectors going off in his brain, Roen closed a hand around the metal tube, the one that had masqueraded as an earring previously, and the one Flux brought back to full size with her transformation. It still didn't have a great grip – welding a proper handle for it would have made the device too obvious – so he used both hands to align the end properly.

The launching port already had one little car spinning inside of it, and the rattling, electrical whir was now loud enough to bounce off the bunker walls. Almost there, but still, still needed a few more seconds.

With a grunt, Bull threw his arm with the buzzknife forward, his upper body half-propped on the pallet like a zombie crawling from the abyss. Roen rolled to the side desperately, the blade biting into the wood with a whum, narrowly missing his knee.

Wood darkened into coal as the micro-vibrations melted a straight line through the pallet, Bull pulling his arm back for another throw. This one, his frenzied eyes told, would not miss.

Seconds were eternities. Somewhere in the background Flux was still trying to arrest her momentum and circle back, but it wouldn't be quick enough – not in her larger, stronger, but slower human form.

His gaze locked with Bull's, Roen knew that the tauren didn't expect to come back out of this alive. Shots to the intestines were just as lethal as they were for any other race, regardless of size. No, he didn't fight for survival – he fought because he was a man who simply refused to lose.

It was Arlo who made all this happen. It was Arlo who, rather then trusting his once bodyguard, wanted to guarantee his silence with a gravestone. And so Bull was more than happy to repay him in kind and drag his brother along with him.

Muscles pulled as he gathered strength for one final thrust.

The launching port reached its apex velocity, and Roen pressed the end of the rattling tube into the iron loop hanging from Bull's nose.

And then with a thunderous boom, the partial model of the Mega-Nexus ripped the tauren's brains all over the bunker walls.

"Roen!"

The corpse fell away from the pallet just as Flux landed on its edge, her red jacket flaring out as she leaned above Roen with a frantic look. "Did he hurt you? Gods, Roen, talk to me – are you okay?"

"No. Yes. I mean – I'm whole, Flux. He missed," Roen said. He felt warm blood dribbling down his face, covering him in long streaks. "Not mine. He missed."

Flux pawed at his suit, at his shirt underneath. There was too much blood to confirm anything simply by looking. "You need… we need to get you to a hospital, Roen. Just to check. Fuck. Just to make sure."

"Don't worry about me," Roen said, putting a hand against her cheek. She nudged her face deeper into it. It left a faint smear of red.

A pained grunt came from the other side of the hideout, along with a mechanical snap locking into place. Roen looked past Flux to see Jezau Dawnkill standing over Malcolm's unmoving body, his crossbow loaded once again, its front balanced on the keres' forearm and her good hand at the trigger.

She had the robust weapon trained in their general direction. Sweat ran down from the base of her dark hair, but she didn't blink when it reached her eyes.

Flux spun around with a growl, taking one step back and crouching low until her body was overlapping Roen's.

Roen let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a nervous laugh. "Flux," he reached out to touch one steel-cord tight leg. "She wasn't paid for us. Don't give her a reason to attack."

"Got another shot in that thing?" Flux muttered with a low voice, eyes kept on the keres.

Roen glanced at the smoking mechanism in his hand. Without the greater structure, the metal bit’s passage had bent the tube completely out of shape. When he first built the model, he never imagined he’d end up using it as an improvised gun. "No," he told Flux. "It's… bricked."

He could see the corner of her lips twitch from underneath.

Dawnkill shifted in place. Somehow she had managed to avoid her dress getting bloody. "Hgh. The… imp," she rasped.

Flux's wings slowly flapped. Otherwise, she didn't move an inch.

"Move away from the pallet," Dawnkill said.

Flux's eyes flicked down to him for a split second, then back at the keres. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

Roen recalled everything he knew about the mercenary. Every little moment and action he could gather from the past, and came to a fairly strong conclusion. "Yes. I think so," Roen said.

And it wasn't like they had too much of a choice, right now.

"Then hold onto me."

Roen put his arms around her back, hugging her close from below and wrapping his limbs around the pixie laying protectively over him. Once he was secure, her wings began buzzing, and they slowly rose.

But rather than immediately do as the keres said, the thick wooden pallet came with them. And the one under it, and the one under that.

As the pixie rose into the air, carrying her human, her arms dragged the large bundle of ribbed pallets with them, holding the solid mass out in front of them like a shield. Roen could feel her muscles strain with the effort, but she held on.

Dawnkill tilted her head slightly, but didn't otherwise react. She stepped to the side, drawing away from the central console and inside another wing of the star-shaped hideout, the crossbow never wavering.

Flux flew out of the arrival wing's corner, along the bloodied wall and the dead bodies sprawled near the billiards table. The pallets trembled once in her grip, but they remained between the two parties.

Nobody spoke in the tense standoff. Roen felt his heartbeat thunder in his chest, hating that there was nothing else he could do, and praying, praying that he had read the situation correctly.

Dawnkill had a job. Dawnkill had completed her job. And Dawnkill would always follow the letter of her job.

And to the letter only.

There was a rushing sound as the keres' gray skin went up in a dark blaze, her pores evaporating into thick black smoke. It rushed through the hideout in the blink of an eye, sweeping past Flux and Roen before dipping down to snatch up the fallen phone as if absorbing it into itself. And then she was in the corner where the pallets had stood, and there was a flash of light – and she was gone.

The crossbow dropped to the ground with a clatter.

"She's gone," Roen breathed out. "She's gone, Flux. We're safe now."

The pallet slammed down on the ground with a cloud of dust as it slipped from Flux's fingers. She righted themselves in the air, lowering them both, but it was Roen's feet that found purchase on the ground first.

He held Flux upright as she sagged in his arms, supporting her back gently so that her wings had enough room to breathe. She blinked up at him lazily, strands of her short hair plastered to her forehead.

"Am I really that heavy?" Roen smiled, swiping those red-tinted hairs out of her face.

"Mmm. It's the stress. I feel like I have aged five decades in the past fifteen minutes."

"I guess we can say we've grown old together, then."

Flux reached up to poke his nose. "Heh. So true, oomfie."

"Can you stand?"

"Yup."

Roen paused. "Will you stand?"

"Aaaai don't know. I'm starting to enjoy this damsely feeling in your strong fuggin arms, dude."

Roen shook his head, slipping his arms from around her. He looked around the dim bunker – ignoring the one particular wing that looked like a slaughterhouse – and scanned the large computer setup next to them. He gave Flux a gentle push on the shoulder. "Alright, hacker girl. It's time to earn your keep."

"Oh hell yeah," she said, bouncing out of her slouch and toward the army of monitors. She got out two datapads from gods know where, throwing a look back at him. "By the way, just so we have it on the record. It was real cozy in your pants. Mmmm, the smell – it's like catnip for the pixen senses."

"Um. Uuuh," Roen said eloquently.

With Flux's tools on her datapad, it took less than a couple of minutes to break all passwords and protections of Malcolm's computer wide open. Roen, in the meantime – after the shakes subsided from coming off the adrenaline – rifled through the hideout to find a pair of surgical gloves and the explosive behind one of the curtained off wings.

"Do we even need that anymore?" Flux asked from her seat, legs kicked up on the console and watching him as the data transferred over.

Roen looked around the place, with the two corpses lying in the midst of red fluids like a macabre theater setting. He slowly set the explosive down, lowering the bottle of ectoplasm Flux had smuggled in alongside the Mega-Nexus-lane turned earring. "Huh. I suppose not."

The plan had been to rig the lectern but neutralize the explosion with the wraith… material. To let a harmless public disturbance happen so the cavalry had a reason to lock the building down, and hope that in the confusion Arlo got no reason to flee.

Things, in the end, turned out a lot more simple.

Roen had seen Malcolm send packages out of his hideout, so it stood to reason there was a way to leave even without a phone. After a brief search through the bunker, they found an entire shelf filled with burner phones – each of them with the cryptic djinn-spelled number in their contacts. But the real prize was the phone they found in Malcolm's pocket, the one with a little app that sensed the last used gateway and kept an ongoing connection between them. The app, incidentally, was named 'Hide Me'.

They dragged the two dead bodies to the portal entrance, then pressed the send button, and they disappeared in a flash of light. Presumably back to the storage room. Once the people who were supposed to bring the lectern out stumbled upon the bodies, there would be panic.

Flux called in the NullCorp agents way before that.

Well, correction – she had first paid the hefty price for their services this morning, because NC in good corpo fashion never lifted a finger without the creds in their bank account. Then, once they were standing at the portal section, hands entwined, she gave them the 'go' signal as a special operator herself.

The innocents were safe, better than safe; they were never endangered. The place would be swarmed by NullCorp handlers within minutes, and maybe even the blues would get dragged into it. The bodies would be identified, the civilians caught in the crossfire of gang infighting would be hospitalized – hey, that was Roen – Flux would give her report that she found a blank paddie on one of them with all the incriminating info, pointing out Arlo and Dawnkill out as the perpetrators.

Roen stood there, marveling at the sensation of the pixie's hand against his. And thinking – how in hell could he get so damn lucky.

"Aren't you forgetting something, hero?" Flux asked, bumping his shoulder.

Oh. Of course.

Roen closed his eyes, feeling the blood on his face and the reassuring presence of the only person who mattered next to him. When he spoke, there was no hesitation and no regrets in his voice.

"I wish to be erased."

There was no explosion, no rubber banding of the world. No djinn baritone announced their spell on magical loudspeakers.

But on the phone that Flux was holding up, in a sea of contacts and numbers and family names, one lonely label called 'Roen <3 <3 <3' simply… disappeared.

Roen Travall didn't go out with a bang. He went silently, leaving all that he was behind, without a single trace in the physical world of who he was and who he used to be.

A line disappeared from a spreadsheet file. A face was erased from a high school yearbook photo collection. A father lost a son, a man lost a brother, and a mother who never gave a damn in the first place probably didn't even remember what she left behind. It was a funeral without attendants.

But it was a birthday, too.

Roen watched as Flux pressed the little plus button in her contacts – and wrote in his new name, his new identity, upon the empty field. She then scrolled down and added to the bottom:

My Roen <3 <3 <3

Always

In the dusty bunker lights, and held each other. Flux ran a gentle hand under his eye, her gaze dropping down to his lips, then back up. And then, that damned smirk again.

She said, "You look good in red."

31: Flux

>Date: 2089. 07. 21.

>Location: Sirrej

>Title: idk just rambling gimme a break

Sooo… turns out that Malcolm guy survived.

I know, right? The keres curse is a bitch, and those bullets she put through his chest just barely missed the vitals. When the NC medics swooped in, they managed to stop the bleeding and stabilize him just enough to give him a fighting chance. He’s still in the hospital, but probably not for long. After all, he’s got a nice, comfy prison cell waiting for him – spray-painted with his name and all.

And hooo boy, let me tell you – getting a peek into the middleman’s computer landed us a goddamn treasure trove. The guy had contacts all over the place, spanning an absurd number of cities. Gangs, crime syndicates, corrupt politicians, individual mercs; you name it. NullCorp is still combing through the records, but you can feel it in the air. A reckoning is coming. And doubly so if NC decides to share the intel with the blues.

(Which is, ummmm, let’s be real… it's probably not happening any time soon. They’ll sell to the other sec-corps first.)

The infamous Jezau Dawnkill managed to slip away. Apparently, she was already on the radar of several security outfits, mostly operating up in Volley & Furund United territory these past few years. That little magic trick of hers – turning into literal smoke – makes for a damn effective escape plan during the night. Figures. But whatever. Didn't really have strong feelings about the bitch either way.

Arlo was among the people who got clapped instantly. He didn't resist, and there won't even be a trial. Two dead bodies and several years of near-public hits were more than enough to bury him for the rest of his life – and maybe I'm repeating myself, but good. Fucking. Riddance. The fucker ruined the life of his brother and caused him enough trauma to toss with nightmares every other day. Rot in the deepest fucking gods-cursed pits for what you've done to him, you megalomaniac piece of shit.

Sorry.

Sorry.

I just... It was one of those nights yesterday. We're cuddling and it's all soooo nice, and then he starts sweating and tossing, and I start hugging him and saying it's okay babe and I'm here and I'm trying to wake him and it's… it's…

It's hard for him.

But he's got me now. And he’s worth every damn bit of me to be there for him.

Roen had a few abrasions from that night, underneath all the grime and blood splatters, but nothing serious. I think the worst of it is mental, with, ya know, exploding the tauren's head point-fuckin-blank with that little repurposed gadget of his. We talked about it a bit, but he claims he's not all that shaken up about offing Bull. It's the innocents of his past he mourns the most.

So yeah. Even though his brother is now prison chow, Roen is content with the outcome. Big bad shareholder guy won’t be hurting anyone ever again.

The djinn magic worked wonders. Not a single trace of him remains anywhere on this whole wide world, and no matter how much that demented bastard screams about a brother he supposedly had to the prison guards, there isn’t a single record of such a person in the meticulously documented databases of Sirrej.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, though. Roen’s a little bummed about having to steer clear of his old university, especially his professor – Newlock? New… something. He would’ve liked a proper goodbye before vanishing. We also won’t be going back to Vinny’s. 

But eh. Sirrej is a big fuggin city. They don’t put the mega inside the megacity for nothing. A guy could live out his entire life in a single quarter of that neon-streaked corpo anthill. He'll make some new friends. I'll make sure of it. (And yes, online friends totally count.)

Oh, and get this! Roen's official name is now…

Pffffffffffft hahaha I can't hold it…

DANIEL.

AHAHAHAH!

His paddie says fucking Daniel Stillhouse in his bio, and I swear, aaaah, I just can't sit with a straight face any time someone says it out loud in voice chat. It’s even funnier when he just keeps on mashing the buttons and the cutiepie doesn't realize that the girls are talking to him. (We've had a couple of raid wipes because of it xd)

Man. Daniel.

I'll have to build up some resistance before I introduce him to Mom and Dad and the others. Between the sudden surge of activity within the NullCorp headquarters, between him fishing for a legit job, and between us having seggs like rabbits day in and day out, we've got our hands full for the foreseeable future.

So. You know.

It all worked out in the end.

:3

>Logs unsaved

>Save changes? (Y/N)

>fuck no

>k buhhbye i gotta run hes almost awake

>kisses aint gonna plant themselves

>and my hummie – he deserves a whole lot of em