The sign on the door said Closed, but Silas knew that didn't mean much to a man like Kain.
Inside the shop, the air was thick with the smell of grease and anticipation. Silas limped around the perimeter of his cramped showroom, his mechanical leg whirring softly. He wasn't just pacing; he was prepping.
He kicked a tripwire hidden beneath a pile of rusty coils. He adjusted the angle of a deactivated Sentry Turret disguised as a lamp. He loaded a mana-slug into his pump-action shotgun.
Then, he stopped behind the counter and looked down at Ren.
The boy was lying on a cot made of shipping pallets. He looked terrible. His skin was pale, covered in a sheen of sweat as the Grade-B Regeneration Potion forced his bones to snap back into alignment. Every few seconds, Ren would twitch, his face contorting in pain.
"You better be worth this, kid," Silas muttered, lighting a cheap cigar.
He took a drag and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. Why was he doing this? He could have just dragged Ren to the curb and let Kain turn him into confetti. The Vipers paid on time. Dead scavengers didn't pay at all.
Silas looked at the safe under the floorboards where the Mutagen was hidden.
Because he's not a Scavenger anymore, Silas thought. He's a prototype.
Silas had spent thirty years fixing broken things. He fixed radios, he fixed cyborgs, he fixed weapons. But Ren? Ren was something new. He was a weapon that was rebuilding itself. And Silas, in his old, rusty heart, wanted to see what the final product looked like.
Also, he really hated the Vipers.
Tink.
The sound was barely audible. It came from the ventilation duct above the back alley entrance.
Silas didn't look up. He didn't tense. He just calmly reached under the counter and flipped a switch labeled [PEST CONTROL].
ZZZ-ZAP.
A surge of electricity arc through the metal ductwork.
There was a muffled grunt from the ceiling, followed by the sound of something heavy sliding backward.
"Nice try," Silas grunted. "Insulated vents. I'm not an amateur."
"I see that."
The voice came from the front door.
Silas spun around, leveling the shotgun.
Standing inside the shop, leaning casually against a stack of tires, was Kain.
The Assassin hadn't come through the vent. The vent was a distraction. He had picked the mag-lock on the front shutter faster than Silas could blink.
Kain adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a grey suit that was impeccably clean, despite the rain outside. He held a silenced pistol in one hand, resting it by his side.
"You have a lovely establishment, Mr. Silas," Kain said politely. "A bit cluttered. Fire hazard, really."
"Get out," Silas growled. His mechanical eye zoomed in, tracking the pistol. "This is private property."
"I'm not here for property," Kain smiled. It was a cold, professional smile. "I'm here for the boy behind the counter. Step aside, and I'll leave you to your... tinkering."
Silas didn't move. He pumped the shotgun. Chh-chk.
"The boy is a paying customer. He's under warranty."
Kain sighed, looking disappointed. "Loyalty is expensive, Silas. Darius King pays better. Are you sure you want to die for a piece of street trash?"
"He's not trash," Silas said, his metal grip tightening on the gun. "He's an investment. And you're trespassing."
Kain's expression hardened. "Very well. Loud it is."
Kain moved.
He didn't run; he flowed. He dropped into a slide just as Silas pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The mana-slug tore a hole in the stack of tires, shredding rubber and steel. But Kain was already under the blast radius.
Kain fired three shots. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Silas twisted, his mechanical arm taking two of the bullets with a clang of sparks. The third bullet grazed his human shoulder, ripping through his shirt.
"Turret!" Silas roared.
He slammed his fist onto the counter control pad.
The "lamp" in the corner shed its shade. A rotating gatling barrel spun up.
BRRRRRRT!
Bullets chewed up the floor where Kain had been. Kain somersaulted over a display case of mana-batteries, using the chaos to vanish into the shadows of the aisles.
"Ren!" Silas shouted, ignoring the blood running down his arm. "Wake up, you lazy bastard!"
Ren didn't wake up. He groaned, thrashing on the cot. The healing potion had him in a comatose state.
Click.
The lights in the shop died. Kain had cut the power.
Total darkness.
Silas cursed. He tapped his temple, activating his Night Vision. The world turned green and grainy.
He scanned the shop. Piles of junk. Hanging wires. No sign of the grey suit.
"You're a cyborg, Silas," Kain's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. [Skill: Ventriloquism]. "Your optics are older than me. Gen-3 sensors? Slow refresh rate. I can move faster than you can process."
"Come out and see!" Silas yelled, backing up to the counter to protect Ren.
A shadow flickered to his left.
Silas fired. BOOM.
He hit a mannequin.
"Too slow."
Kain dropped from the ceiling rafters directly behind the counter.
Silas tried to turn, but Kain was faster. The Assassin drove a combat knife into the servo-joint of Silas's mechanical knee.
SPARK-CRUNCH.
Silas's leg locked up. He collapsed, slamming heavily onto the floor.
Kain kicked the shotgun out of his hand. He placed the barrel of his silenced pistol against Silas's forehead.
"Professional courtesy," Kain whispered. "I won't kill you. You're useful to the economy. Just stay down."
Kain stepped over Silas. He looked down at the cot where Ren lay.
"So this is the monster," Kain mused. "He looks... fragile."
Ren was muttering in his sleep, sweat soaking his shirt. "Hungry... so hungry..."
Kain raised his pistol, aiming at Ren's heart.
"Nothing personal, kid. Just business."
Silas, paralyzed on the floor, reached for a wrench. He wasn't going to make it.
Kain's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Wake up."
The voice didn't come from Silas. It didn't come from Kain.
It came from the boy on the cot. But it wasn't Ren's voice. It was a guttural, distorted growl that sounded like two stones grinding together.
Ren's eyes snapped open.
They weren't just glowing violet. They were burning. The pupils were gone, replaced by vertical slits of pure energy.
Kain hesitated. For the first time in his career, his instinct screamed: Danger.
Ren's hand shot up.
He didn't grab the gun. He grabbed the bullet as it left the barrel.
BANG.
Smoke curled from Ren's palm.
Kain stared. Ren had caught a high-velocity round. His hand was smoking, the skin torn, but the bullet was stopped by the sheer density of his bone.
Ren sat up. He looked at his hand, then at Kain.
"You woke me up," Ren whispered. "And I haven't finished digesting."
[Hunger: 99%]
[Frenzy State: ACTIVE]
Ren lunged.