Chapter 26 Tough Interview

The ship's interior buzzed with an undercurrent of tension as I went about my task. After a lot of back-and-forth and more snarky remarks than I cared to count, I managed to convince Sharpy to work with me. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but it was clear she was too invested in rooting out the traitor to turn down the help. I asked her to dig into the Pride capes, interview them, and research them while I worked on my end, talking to the freelancers and encouraging them to drop out.

It was easier said than done.

I started with Marauder, figuring a direct approach might cut through his usual hostility. I caught up to him as he leaned against a bulkhead, his arms crossed and his expression darker than usual.

“Marauder,” I greeted casually. “How are you holding up? Seamark didn’t show up in the last fight, did they?”

He looked at me with the kind of disdain you’d give a particularly annoying insect. “Eclipse, is it? Leave me alone, or I’ll kill you.”

Well, that was clear enough. Not exactly the talkative type, though I could tell something was weighing on him. I decided not to push my luck and moved on.

Vortex was next. I found him inspecting a damaged section of his suit in a quiet corner of the ship. He glanced at me as I approached, but his expression remained neutral.

“Vortex,” I started, “how did the last fight go for you? I’m trying to get a sense of what we’re up against. Surely, that wasn’t the last we’d see the SRC ganging up on this ship.”

He sighed, adjusting a crack in his helmet. “They had a Nullifier-5 and an Enhanced-6 disguised among the SRC troopers. We lost a lot of the cannon fodder because of it. Marauder probably had a few close calls, more than he liked—that’s why he’s grumpy.”

“Thanks for the insight,” I said, filing the information away. “Say, what do you think of cancelling this mission op… You know, cut your losses.”

Vortex stifled a laugh, “In your dreams.”

The Triplets were next on my list, but trying to talk to them was like trying to converse with statues. They ignored me entirely, showing no hint of acknowledgment as I tried to strike up a conversation. I gave up after the third attempt and left them to their eerie, synchronized silence.

Finally, I found Blackout in the bar, lounging with a drink in hand. She looked up as I approached, giving me a nod.

“Blackout,” I said, sliding into the seat opposite him. “Your jamming of the enemy comms during the fight was outstanding. I don’t mean to pry, but you must be quite the talented Tinker to pull that off.”

She chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. “You flatter me, Eclipse. Jamming comms isn’t too complicated when you’ve got the right equipment—and I always have the right equipment.”

“That’s impressive,” I said, leaning back. “Still, it’s not something just anyone could pull off. You’ve got skills.”

Blackout grinned. “And don’t you forget it. But what’s with the questions? You fishing for something, or are you just bored?”

“Call it curiosity,” I said with a shrug. “We’re all stuck on this ship together. Figured it’s better to know who I’m working with. We didn’t exactly have that much of an opportunity to mingle.”

Blackout’s wiry frame seemed almost swallowed by the oversized hoodie she wore, the fabric perpetually shrouded in shadow-like holograms that obscured her features. Her electronic voice modulator made it impossible to gauge her age, though her confident demeanor hinted at someone seasoned in the game. She tilted her head slightly as I sat beside her, her gaze—or what I assumed was her gaze—turning in my direction.

“This job is quite difficult, right?” I said, keeping my tone casual. “I’m almost tempted to request a cancellation of the contract myself.”

Blackout let out a low, static-laden chuckle. “Tempted, are you? Can’t say I blame you. This gig’s a hot mess, and feels like someone’s playing us like pawns.”

I gestured to the bartender, who gave me a weary nod. “Orange juice, please,” I said, then turned back to Blackout. “The payout better be worth it, right?”

She shrugged, leaning back against the counter. “Depends on your definition of worth. For me, it’s not about the money... It’s the tech. Every mission is an opportunity to snag a new gadget or improve my arsenal. That’s what keeps me in the game.”

In my case, it would be the connections... and the rep.

I nodded, taking a sip of the juice the bartender slid my way. “Fair enough. Still, a job like this has to make you think twice. All this bloodshed for one cargo? Makes you wonder what’s so important.”

Blackout’s voice dropped an octave, her modulator warping her words into a distorted hum. “Oh, I wonder all right. But wondering too hard is how you end up dead. Some things are better left as mysteries.”

“True,” I said, swirling the juice in my glass. “Still, if someone offered you an out—say, the chance to walk away clean with a solid story for the client—would you take it?”

She turned her head slightly, the shadowy hologram around her hood flickering faintly. “That depends. Are you offering?”

I chuckled softly. “Not quite. Just curious how much this job means to you.”

Blackout surprised me by opening up, her distorted voice carrying a rare hint of candor. “This mission is frankly way above my pay grade,” she admitted, her tone tinged with irritation. “The Vanguard sending that much firepower with SRC backing them up… that doesn’t happen often. It’s not just rare... it’s damn near unprecedented.”

I leaned in slightly, keeping my expression neutral. “You’re telling me. The last time they rolled out a full roster like this?”

Her holographic hood shifted as she nodded. “About a year ago. Some terrorist bombing or other. Heard it was nasty—big casualties, big fallout. Took them weeks to clean up the mess. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, taking another sip of my juice. “About what we’re carrying, you mean?”

She let out a short, bitter laugh, her modulator glitching slightly with the sound. “Exactly. Whatever’s in that cargo, it’s got the big leagues shaking in their boots. And here we are—freelancers, mercs, and a skeleton crew of capes—left holding the bag. Not exactly inspiring confidence.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider her words carefully. “If that’s how you feel, why stick around? You could just walk away—chalk it up to a bad call and save yourself the headache.”

"Fact is... It's tough to turn down a job from the major gangs, because it's bad for business." Blackout leaned forward, her shadowed faceplate catching the dim bar light. “Walking away means burning bridges, and I like having options. You can’t afford to get blacklisted in this business, not when the competition is this cutthroat. Besides, leaving now would make me look guilty. Last thing I need is someone like Mathilda deciding I’m the traitor just because I got spooked.”

I tapped the rim of my glass thoughtfully. “Fair point. But it also puts you in a dangerous spot, doesn’t it? Sticking around means you’re a target if someone decides to start pointing fingers.”

Her hood tilted, the motion deliberate and unnerving. “What’s your angle here, Eclipse? You're fishing for info, or are you genuinely concerned about my well-being?"

I chuckled, raising my hands in mock surrender. “A little of both, maybe. Just trying to get a read on where everyone’s head is at after the fight. You’ve been around the block—you know how this kind of thing can go south fast.”

"Listen to me, Eclipse... It's okay to be ambitious in this line of business, but too much and it will kill you.”

"I will do what I want, and if I die... I die."

Blackout was silent for a long moment, the hum of her modulator the only sound. Then she shrugged, a fluid, almost lazy gesture. “You’re not wrong. But here’s the thing—when it comes to jobs like this, there’s no safe play. You either ride the storm out or get washed away. Me? I’ve got enough tricks up my sleeve to weather it. The real question is—do you?”

“Trust me, I am unfathomable… no pun intended.” I stood up, leaving Blackout to her musings. She gave a curt nod, her distorted voice murmuring something unintelligible as I walked away.

My thoughts churned as I headed down the dimly lit corridor. Mathilda was becoming more suspicious in my eyes with each passing moment. The way she maneuvered people, orchestrated the situation, and expected me to play along—it all felt like an elaborate chess game where I was merely a knight being led into the line of fire.

It was indirect, but I could tell… the others were suspicious of me. I didn’t even do anything…

I tried to piece together the events from before the ship departed. The battle that had unfolded was as chaotic as it was revealing. Sharpy’s account replayed in my mind, her sharp words cutting through the haze.

Sword Meister and Iron Bulwark had stormed the ship’s defenses with brute force, their combined might nearly breaching the hull and allowing the SRC troopers to swarm aboard. Marauder and Berserker had taken the brunt of that clash, their strength and ferocity enough to grind the two to a stalemate, but only just.

From above, Garuda and Thunderbolt had descended, a coordinated aerial assault designed to overwhelm. Sharpy and Gladiatress had intercepted them mid-flight, their battle raging like a deadly ballet of precision and power.

Meanwhile, Lion King squared off against Iron Bulwark, the two titans locked in a clash that shook the deck with every blow. Vortex had kept Promise occupied, their confrontation a game of calculated moves and counters.

As for the Triplets and Blackout, they had faced the SRC troopers en masse, using a blend of devastating teamwork and overwhelming firepower to stem the tide. They hadn’t held back—not for a moment.

Each of them had fought to the fullest, their actions leaving little room for doubt about their loyalty. There was no hesitation, no signs of sabotage or divided allegiance. If there was a traitor among us, it wasn’t one of them—at least, not based on the evidence so far.

Still, that didn’t make the situation any less murky. The Pride capes had been thoroughly vetted, and the freelancers, myself included, had every reason to be loyal to our paychecks. So why did Mathilda keep pointing to someone in our ranks?

The pieces didn’t fit, and that only made me more uneasy. Someone was playing a deeper game here, and I was determined to figure out who. If Mathilda thought she could use me as a pawn, she was sorely mistaken.

If there was a traitor, they were most likely among the crewmates. It was a conclusion anyone else would have reached, and perhaps a line of thought Mathilda wanted me to follow blindly. Hook, line, and sinker. But deep in my gut, I knew I was being set up.

From a bird’s-eye view, I was the most suspicious one aboard this ship. No one had seen me fight—not really. Sure, there were scraps of evidence: the dead SRC troopers and the battered bodies of Greyhound and Nightgard. But that wasn’t enough. To most eyes, it looked like I had been conveniently out of sight during the chaos, reappearing only after the dust settled.

Mathilda had engineered this situation perfectly. Sending me to an isolated fight against three capes and six elite SRC troopers was a death sentence—one that I had survived by sheer skill, luck, and the tactical advantage of my abilities. But the others wouldn’t know that. All they’d see was a freelancer who walked away unscathed while everyone else bled.

In my eyes, Mathilda was the traitor. I was more convinced of that with every passing moment. Her Acoustokinesis made her dangerous in ways most people wouldn’t think to account for. She could talk to anyone aboard the ship, implant doubts, twist stories, and sow discord without anyone knowing. Whispering poison into their ears, badmouthing me to the others—it was a highly likely possibility.

Still, the question lingered: why wouldn’t she just order the others to kill me outright? If she truly believed I was a threat, why not eliminate me immediately?

The answer came to me with bitter clarity. She didn’t want to risk direct confrontation. Giving the express order to kill me might have raised eyebrows, especially with Sharpy and the others already suspicious. No, it was smarter to let doubt fester, to let my fellow freelancers turn against me on their own. If Mathilda could make me look like the traitor, it would absolve her of blame and further cement her loyalty to Royal.

I clenched my fists, the weight of the situation bearing down on me. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be caught in a trap I couldn’t escape. I needed to tread carefully, play my cards right—both figuratively and literally.

The game was rigged, but I had no intention of losing.