The familiar, yet unexpected fierceness of her declaration made Broco bristle with indignation. Visibly, apparently, because his face flushed with surprise and outrage. And oh, the reaction from Traore was priceless - he let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by the show. Cleome, unable to contain herself, covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggles, which only seemed to make Broco more agitated.
"This little bitch…" he said through gritted teeth, glaring at Ratelsi.
Timoth dragged his hand down his face, the lines of stress on his forehead deepening as he groaned, muttering under his breath. "We literally just agreed not to start with that…" He shot Vesir an apologetic glance, but the blind Merc merely raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Her expression was expectant, as though she was waiting for the fireworks to begin. Rubbing his neck wearily, shifting from foot to foot, Timoth whispered to Ratelsi, who was still focused on Broco. "Come on, Ratel. Not right now. We just got here, for crying out loud."
But Ratelsi was completely tuned out to his words. She lifted her chin, taking another defiant step forward. That annoying pile of offal she had for a boss had to know she was pissed the fuck out of her mind with him! Her glare remained trained on Broco as Vesir led the runners into the spacious lounge, passing tiny fishes in a massive aquarium. They practically charged at the glass, flaring their iridescent fins in excitement at the arrival of new guests. Still glaring, Ratelsi let her fingertips brush against the glass, and the fish curiously followed her movements, darting back and forth playfully.
When their pace brought them past the couches where the clients were seated, Traore suddenly felt drawn by a force, a very particular energy in his marrow that needed no introduction. His pupils dilated so wide that they almost overtook their colourful irises when he sensed an unnatural density of arcane energy from Ratelsi. It oozed from her pores, quickly filling the room, leaving glowing footprints in her wake - footprints that only he could see, for as a Mawborn, only he could identify another of his kind. He cast a sideways glance at the woman, certain that the essence she exuded bypassed rational thought entirely and spoke directly to the survival part of his brain.
There was no doubt about it: that was her.
Ratelsi Ozias. The real reason they had come to The Basin under the guise of Exonites! The name didn't even exist. But she… she did and was exactly as Eliàna described - Strong. Incredibly so.
Yet, unbeknownst to him, Ratelsi was acutely aware of his gaze raking over her. She felt the weight of his smiling, attentive look. The way his lips lifted ever so slightly. How he focused on her with such intention made her feel like the only person in the room. Ratelsi suddenly stopped, then turned to look. Her bright, malachite eyes caught his, interrupting his thoughts. She mischievously tilted her head to the side, and he shuddered slightly at the intensity of her stare. Caught off guard, Traore immediately averted his eyes, scolding himself for being so overt and obvious with his interest.
A chuckle escaped Ratelsi's lips as she continued on, thinking that this meeting's offerings promised to be delightful.
"Here." Vesir stopped, pointing the runners to a two-seater couch wedged between Broco and the clients. Timoth started unpacking the bags onto the table, while Ratelsi settled herself comfortably, draping an arm over the backrest and crossing one leg over the other.
Traore exchanged a knowing glance with Cleome, who nodded discreetly towards the drone buzzing lazily above the verbenas. He winked at her, and Cleome fluttered her beady eyes downward, feeling a warm blush creep up her cheeks. A heavy pause stretched on until Broco broke the silence.
"About time yer showed up, Timoth," he remarked, clearly unimpressed.
Timoth's lips curved into a feigned smile. "Ah, if I knew you craved my presence this much, I would've arrived sooner."
It was all bravado, of course; the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, making him wonder what had transpired between the Monger and the clients before they arrived. Broco snorted dismissively, taking in the goods spread out before him. Silently counting what had been delivered, he took a long drag from his joint. But then, his demeanour curdled almost instantly when he noticed, with growing annoyance.
"It's incomplete."
Turning to Ratelsi for an explanation, she merely rolled her eyes. A flick of her hair threw her long, white bangs out of her face, revealing determination and barely masked frustration. Digging into her pockets, she pulled out the capsule. Still wrapped in the same inconspicuous manner they'd originally found it, she gently placed it onto the table. A web of blue light from the tabletop bathed the capsule and its components. Suddenly, five Venerite crystals projected themselves in 3D, rotating above the capsule, making it easy to inspect from every angle. Reaching into the projection, Broco began navigating the data. He swiped right, flicking through the Venerites one by one, checking their technical specs - purity levels, energy resonance, and molecular stability. He scrutinized the third crystal longer than the others, his brow furrowed, before flicking it away to reveal the final two.
Meanwhile, Ratelsi could physically feel Traore and Cleome's hungry gazes. It sent shivers down her spine, holding her there, and Ratelsi could tell from the hawk-like look they threw her way that they were studying her, dissecting her from the inside out. Analysing who she was.
Oh?
They weren't even trying to hide it. Ratelsi let her gaze pass over the tendrils of Traore's runic tattoos. She didn't trust him one bit, but she couldn't look away. There was something persuasive about how effortlessly he controlled the air around him, as if he were part of it. The glow of the halo orbs carved sharp lines across his face, accentuating the cut of his cheekbones and the hardness of his jaw.
Recognition lit up Ratelsi's eyes, and a crooked grin tugged at her lips. It really was them! The tattooed dude and the stunningly beautiful woman Macaque talked about. Everything, from their attire to the way they carried themselves, spoke of where they were from. Balun. Seeing them in the flesh, and so close, made everything feel alarmingly real. At the end of this meeting, thanks to them, she and Timoth would get forty per cent of their usual total pay. Yet, with no more information, she was left to speculate. Who were they? They were clearly onto her, looking at her from time to time. What did they want? Vague suspicions and guesses of what it might be, each more terrible than the last, swirled on the edge of Ratelsi's mind, refusing to take shape, so Ratelsi pushed them away, deciding to focus on the dynamics in the room instead. She would observe how the clients reacted and try to decipher what they intended to do with the Venerites - and perhaps, with her. It was as if she'd caught their interest, and Traore in particular seemed to be expecting her presence.
Maybe one of them was EXON. If EXON were a person, that is.
However, Timoth was itching to make his exit. He bit the inside of his cheek under the pressure of his own frustration. Even here, on the brink of finalising their contract, the atmosphere felt stifling with uncertainty about the outcome. Just the way he stepped back to sit down after unwrapping the capsule spoke volumes as he stared at Broco, eyeing him with obvious distaste.
Seemingly satisfied with his gifts, Broco smirked, collapsing the holograms so they vanish. "Perfect," he muttered, nodding. "They're exactly as promised."
The runners breathed a sigh of relief. Excited, they looked at each other. This wasn't lost on Cleome, who failed to suppress another chuckle at the somewhat sentimental scene. It caused a palpable confusion in the room as everyone turned to look at the Peculiar, who began laughing out loud. It was both inappropriate and oddly light-hearted given the stakes at play.
"Apologies, your runners are quite amusing in the way they react to you," Traore said to Broco, whose upper lip curled into a sneer. The lines of his forehead creased, shadowing his expression with irritation. Was it mockery? A slap in the face? It certainly felt like it.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Broco's voice thundered through the room. He slammed his fist on the table, the force toppling two wine glasses onto the floor. Glass shards exploded in a shower around them, ice cubes skittering across the marble. The pricey whiskey pooled ominously at their feet, messy, as stunned silence fell upon the space.
Cleome's laughter eventually subsided.
Mhode immediately took to cleaning up the mess, while Vesir tended to Broco's injured hand. Bored malachite eyes almost rolled into Ratelsi's skull at the whole scene. But then, as if a light switch had been flipped, those eyes sparkled with mischief when they fell on Mhode's stapled cheek. The staples were hardly an aesthetic look for anyone, and a band-aid plastered over his smashed nose added to the overall hilarity of his condition. A week had passed since then, yet it was obvious he was still in so much pain. She'd seen him wince now and then, yet maintain a facade of nonchalance, determined not to show how much it hurt. Ratelsi followed his every move, hoping he would notice. And when he did, she smiled so cheerfully, her canines practically gleamed.
"You look nice with your little boo-boo," she said, waving.
Mhode curled his lips in a sneer and scoffed, trying to restrain his seething frustration.
"I'll get yous one way or the other, arrogant bitch..." he muttered under his breath.
It wasn't easy trying to stay professional for the sake of his boss and the company, but a disgusted glare seasoned his features, veins bulging on his temples. Oh, how she'd love to see more of that. You'd think a Peculiar like Mhode wouldn't look at his kind that way, the same way Normies do. But working with people who exhibited prejudiced traits day in and day out could change anyone's perspective. Eventually, you start to act like them.
Pathetic! To Ratelsi, that was a weakness in spirit and will. Timoth, who had been watching them, let out a loud snort before turning away. After what felt like an eternity of awkward tension, Vesir finally finished wrapping a fresh bandage on Broco's hand, where a blotch of crimson had already stained the gauze. Yet despite the pain and the unsavoury circumstances, Broco's greedy gaze remained fixated on the capsule sitting on the table before him. The mere thought of finally obtaining the Venerites filled his face with an ear-to-ear grin.
Growing impatient, Timoth spoke his next words in a clipped tone, "We're sorta in a hurry to get out of here. So, can we just wrap up this shit, get paid, and never see each other again?" His exasperation, mirrored by Ratelsi, was palpable.
But Styx wasn't having any of it. He waved an InterCell in front of him with an air of authority that put Timoth on edge. "Not so fast, sport. You know the rules. Thumbleaf test, first."
Ratelsi clicked her tongue in irritation. The Thumbleaf test, a bizarre clause in their contract. It was a safeguarding measure to authenticate the goods by a magical leaf seal embedded on the item. A normal scan would've been enough proof of authenticity, but even that can be forged nowadays. A thumbleaf seal meant the item was all clear and undamaged. No thumbleaf meant.... well, that was the fire alarm for the Mongers, giving them the right to refuse payment, confiscate the item, and even sue if the goods were legitimate.
But in this particular case, there was no thumbleaf. Ratelsi knew that. Timoth did. Maybe even Broco as well.
Now, Traore and Cleome became acutely aware of the ticking clock bearing down on them. Discovering that there wasn't a thumbleaf spoke of a quick but inevitably dangerous end to this meeting. Styx's fingers were almost grazing the capsule's surface when a soft chime from Broco's HoloSmart suddenly echoed through the stillness, forcing Styx to freeze mid-reach.
Broco's AI assistant intoned, "ALERT: Your account has been credited with Æ300,000,000. Your new balance is-"
The Monger turned it off.
Silence stretched, eerie, thick and suffocating, the only sound being the residual hum of Broco's HoloSmart shutting off. Styx straightened himself to face the wide, unblinking eyes of his employer. It suddenly felt forbidden to speak. Even Ratelsi found herself holding her breath. A stunned blink, followed by rapid fluttering as she processed what she'd just heard. Timoth sank in his seat, instinctively searching for something solid to latch onto, until his fingers found the armrest.
Sixty million Aures.
His eyes trembled in disbelief as he mouthed the words, "No way…"
Sixty…million… That was how much they would get paid. The number was obscene! It was an eye-watering sum of money! That kind of Aures could buy you a small fleet or a controlling share in a mid-level mining operation. It was a hefty price tag attached to silence, compliance, and even guaranteed death.
Oh, benevolent Liyuen… The stakes had never been higher.
Traore let a joyless smile creep across his lips. "Well, Monger, looks like we can skip the thumbleaf test and just get straight to handing over those Venerites. Such a pleasure doing business with you, truly."
The runners, feeling victorious, shared a fist bump. Double pay? Fuck yeah!! They were practically buzzing with adrenaline, thinking about the wealth that would soon be theirs.
But Broco remained oddly silent. His invocation of the thumbleaf test had been a desperate gambit. Without the seal, he could declare the whole deal void, hang on to the Aures already transferred, seize the Venerites, and eliminate witnesses. Yet, as he sat there, the rictus of surprise on his face was hardening into a mask of grim understanding. He was being outmanoeuvred. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Who in their right mind transfers three hundred million without even blinking? All to avoid the Thumbleaf test? Broco's eyes, now filled with rage, darted between the so-called "representatives" and shifted to his own runners.
Were they working together? No, they couldn't... But he couldn't prove it.
Ratelsi didn't flinch from his scrutiny. In fact, she welcomed his attention, baring her teeth in a triumphant grin. "So?" she probed. "How 'bout you pay us up so we can get the hell outta here, huh?" There was a feverish glitter in her glowing malachite eyes. Sixty million Aures? That was no laughable amount! The woman was almost salivating at the thought, so much so that she scooted even closer, those eyes never leaving him as she waited for some response.
"Oi, c'mon, what's the holdup?" she pressed, beginning to frown.
But Broco wasn't having any of it. In his mind, he frantically searched for the fault line in his immaculate plan to keep the Venerites for himself. It didn't sit right with him that three hundred million of someone else's money had just funnelled into his account without a hitch. "Yer really think 'tis da end o' the deal?" His furious voice was directed at Traore, completely ignoring Ratelsi's probing. The woman threw him a murderous, itching to explode with insults that were sure to ignite a full-blown fight. But Broco still had more to say. Pushing his whiskey aside, he pressed on. "Yer think yer can just buy yer way outta the thumbleaf test? That thing's collateral, y'know? Yer pass, yer get the stones. Yer don't, yer lose yer Aures… and yer lives."
Traore looked at the Monger with such a dull gaze that the man faltered a bit. Then, letting go of Cleome, he arrogantly crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. "Ah, Monger. Still clinging to the script, I see? How quaint." Casually nodding toward the capsule, Traore said. "We know there's no Thumbleaf. Quite obvious it was from the start that you'd use that absence as a justification to seize the funds and the Venerites. That was the play all along, wasn't it?"
Ha! I knew it! Ratelsi's eyebrows shot up with a fleeting smirk. This was all Broco's plan from the get-go.
But in truth, she was off the mark.
Traore was well aware that Broco had been suspicious of the Venerites' authenticity from the start. After all, the Wing Quill and their arrival as representatives were too much of a coincidence to ignore. But no matter. At this point, his suspicion was irrelevant; this meeting was unfolding just as they had planned. The Mawborn was present, and tangible evidence of Broco's clandestine dealings were being caught on camera. They would take the girl, and the curtains would drop on this whole charade. Yet for that to truly happen, Broco had to be painted as the mastermind scheming to claim everything for himself. It just so happened that he actually wanted to, which played right into their hands.
They were getting close to the final act in Eliàna's plan.
Cleome slid a data plate across the table, not to Broco, but to Styx, finally breaking her silence in a soft, aristocratic accent as the Merc caught it. "Read it, Styx," She ordered. "What you're looking at is a legally binding, encrypted contract, and it's not something you should take lightly."
Styx flicked the plate on, and a holographic display sprang to life, projecting a matrix of clauses and sub-clauses written in an annoyingly minute script. The Merc squinted, quickly scrolling to the execution summary, his eyes widening as he read the key provisions. "Boss," Styx stated with an edge of tension in his voice.
"Go on..." ordered Broco.
Styx nodded and read aloud. "The transfer of Æ300,000,000 Aures was the agreed-upon activation fee for an immediate transfer of ownership and physical release of the Venerites from their escrow location. Furthermore, this contract stipulates that in the absence of the 'Thumbleaf Collateral', which it correctly identifies as missing," Styx turned to his master in disbelief, "Broco Aqqa forfeits all claims to the stones and waives any right to harm the buyers physically."
Ratelsi let out a loud, amused laugh, clearly entertained by Broco's predicament. Timoth just watched the scene unfold thoughtfully. Broco's complexion went from florid rage to an ashen grey. A meticulously rewritten contract was being used to checkmate him. These Peculiars were sleazy bastards like him who had effortlessly exploited his own greed. The Æ300,000,000 was basically a legally mandated transaction fee that activated the immediate release of the Venerites and protected the buyers.
How did I not see that coming!?? Broco fumed internally.
"Aw, look at the bright side, Monger," Traore chimed in with a wicked grin. "The money is non-refundable. You get to keep all the Aures, but we walk away with the merchandise. A pleasure doing business, indeed."
Broco could only stare in disgust. Frustrated, his face contorted, making him look a bit unhinged. His eyes darted around wildly, and all his sophisticated calm had completely shattered like glass. The unthinkable was unfolding before him. The thought of Traore and Cleome walking away with the Venerites - the ultimate goal he was willing to risk everything for - was too much to stomach. Regardless of the ridiculous number of Aures in his suddenly worthless account!
"Fucking circus animals," he spat venomously, bitterly, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, weapons were drawn in a blink, aimed at the bewildered clients and runners.
"Circus animals, you say?" Traore's grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. It was as if the Mercs were merely holding toys, not pointing heavy-calibre pistols straight at him, Cleome and, surprisingly, even the runners.
Broco's instinct for dominance and retribution had clearly overtaken any sense of profit or self-preservation. Ratelsi was first to react. Narrowing her eyes, she followed the laser dot from Vesir's gun to Timoth's forehead.
He whispered to Ratelsi, his heart racing a little faster. "Uh, Rat... I don't like this one bit."
"No shit. Just stay alert. Anything can happen now," she whispered back.
"Monger," Cleome warned in a dangerous tone. "You just took three hundred million Aures. Forcing this confrontation will result in a fallout that will make you lose everything you've worked for. We have the crystals. Let us walk."
Broco sat up straighter, leaning forward with feverish intensity. The outcome of the transaction was blinding him, wrapping him in a cloak of rage, making him almost foam at the mouth. "I don't give two fuckin' shits about the money!" he roared. "Yer embarrassed me! Yer rewrote the contract and stole my prize from under my nose! I want that capsule, and I'm gonna get it! Fuck yer!"
Turning to his Mercs, he yelled hysterically, "Kill 'em! Every single one of 'em, KILL 'EM ALL!"