Chapter 33 A Web of Offers

The Market.

When you think of a “market,” you’d picture a grocery store or something similar, not a freaking castle decked out with every vice imaginable. Brothels, fighting pits, betting arenas, casinos... if you could dream it up as a sin, the Market had it on display.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Sharpy would probably regret being on the convoy,” I muttered under my breath.

Deadend had officially proven itself as the paradise of outlaws. It had been three days since Royal gave us downtime after the abandoned factory. Surprisingly, he also handed me the rest of my pay: 5,000,000 marks in total for completing the mission complete with bonuses and an extra for killing Greyhound, Nightgard, and the SRC troopers.

I didn’t waste the cash. I stocked up on new equipment, filling my utility belt with gadgets and trinkets. Some of the stuff was borderline experimental tech... tools that could save my life or make someone else’s a nightmare.

Still, paranoia kept me from indulging too much. The brothel? Too risky. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Royal might use this break as a test to see who among us would slip.

So, here I was, killing time at an arcade station, of all places. My fingers mashed the buttons as I played an old fighting game, trying to beat the pixelated opponent on screen.

“Down. Down. Punch. Kick. Left. Right. Punch. Punch.”

The enemy crushed me in seconds.

“Ah, crap,” I groaned.

Peeking from the other side of the arcade machine was Blackout. Her hood obscured her features, and a dark hologram hid whatever expression might have been there.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said, leaning back against the machine. "Fancy meeting you here, Blackout."

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she slid a coin into the machine next to mine and selected her character. The dark hologram in her face shifted slightly, giving her an almost ghostly presence under the neon glow of the arcade.

“I didn’t think you were the type to play games,” I said, watching as she destroyed the CPU in record time.

“You don’t know me,” she replied curtly, her voice distorted through her voice modulator.

“Fair enough,” I said, turning back to my screen.

For a moment, we played in silence, the clatter of buttons and digital sound effects filling the space.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Why not?” I replied without looking at her. “It’s downtime. Better to be here than at some brothel getting my throat slit by an assassin.”

Her head tilted slightly, a motion that seemed to convey amusement despite the lack of facial expression. “Smart. Or paranoid? Though you’re still in the Market, which means you’re already taking a risk.”

“Like you aren’t?”

“I have my reasons.”

I glanced at her, curious but unwilling to pry. Blackout wasn’t exactly the chatty type, and pressing her too hard might make her shut down completely.

Instead, I focused on the game, trying to beat my previous score. The Market might have been a haven for chaos, but in this little corner, I could almost pretend things were normal. Almost.

After another crushing defeat, I leaned back and sighed. “So, any word on when Royal’s calling us back?”

Blackout paused her game and looked at me. “Soon. He doesn’t like to leave his pieces idle for too long.”

Pieces. That’s all we were to him.

“Hey, Blackout, you tinker stuff, right?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the game but stealing a glance at her hooded figure.

Blackout didn’t look up from her screen. “What about it?”

“I want to commission you to make a mask for me,” I said. “Something like my porcelain one, but better. Maybe add some tech, like a built-in map or something useful.”

Her game paused mid-fight, and she turned her hood slightly toward me. I couldn’t see her expression, but her tone was sharp. “Rookie mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“You never buy gear from someone who works in the same city as you,” she said, her voice cold and matter-of-fact. “You do know I operate in Markend too, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then you should also know that if I sabotaged your equipment and we ever came to a confrontation, you’d already be at a disadvantage.”

I leaned back against the arcade machine, crossing my arms. “Fair point. But let’s be real... if you wanted to screw me over, you wouldn’t need to tinker with a mask. You could just stab me in my sleep. Isn't that right, you tech-savvy tinker? Plant a tracker on the mask, and corner me in my home. Better yet, you won't even need to suggest sabotaging my said equipment... and just go on with the request. You know, squeeze value out of me. Scam the rookie and a hundred ways to screw me over.”

“True,” she said, turning back to her game. “But I don't mind being honest.”

“Comforting,” I muttered, half-joking.

She chuckled softly, the distortion from her modulator making it sound more sinister than it probably was. “You’re lucky I don’t take side gigs like that. Too much effort for too little reward.”

“Good to know,” I said, feeling slightly reassured but still making a mental note to tread carefully.

Blackout’s game resumed, her fingers moving with precision. “If you’re serious about getting a new mask, find someone who doesn’t work in your city. And make sure they don’t know who you are.”

“Easier said than done,” I replied.

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

Fair enough. Blackout wasn’t exactly the helpful type, but at least she was honest.

“I don’t trust ordering something custom-built here in Deadend for two very convenient reasons,” I said, leaning on the side of the arcade machine. “One: they’re shady as hell. Two: We might be leaving any time soon. Sad you won’t be able to accommodate, though. You know what I look like already... and rather than making an enemy out of you, I'd rather have a working relationship with you.”

Blackout didn’t respond immediately, focusing on her game. Her movements were fluid, precise, as if she’d done this a hundred times before.

“Just a professional question,” I continued, “How did you manage to avoid being gang-pressed? If it’s too personal, feel free to decline answering. I’m just curious. You lack offensive power… and you build stuff. That’s exactly the kind of cape gangs would want on their roster, right?”

Blackout paused her game and tilted her head slightly toward me. Her hood and the hologram over her face obscured any readable expression, but I could sense her hesitation.

“Interesting question,” she said, her voice distorted by the modulator. “You’re not wrong. Tinkers are high-value targets. Every gang wants one in their pocket. The stronger the gang, the harder they push.”

“So how’d you avoid it?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

She leaned back slightly, resting her hands on her lap. “Two reasons. First, I’m not flashy. I keep my head down, avoid drawing attention, and only take contracts from people who don’t ask too many questions. Second…” She hesitated for a beat. “I made myself expensive. Too expensive for the average gang to afford.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Expensive?”

“Time, money, materials... whatever I could use to make them second-guess themselves,” she explained. “The gangs that could afford me realized quickly that I wasn’t interested in joining their ranks. I’d take their jobs, sure, but I made it clear I was a freelancer. No loyalty. No strings. They learn the hard way that I am not to be messed with, so if you are threatening me, then don't."

I am not threatening anyone... I sighed.

“And that worked?”

“For the most part.” Her voice carried a hint of bitterness. “It helps to have backup plans, though. Contingencies in case someone gets too pushy.”

I nodded, impressed. “Smart. You’ve thought this through.”

“Had to,” she said simply. “In this line of work, you either plan ahead or you end up someone’s property. I’m not about to let that happen.”

I couldn’t argue with that. If I let my guard down around Royal, I would end up worse than merely getting used. I have a few bits of everything to learn from her. Blackout might not have been a fighter, but she was a survivor. And in a place like Deadend or Markend, that was a skill all on its own.

“Fair enough,” I said. “Thanks for sharing.”

She shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t.”

I smirked. “Got it.”

She unpaused her game and returned to the match, leaving me with a newfound respect for the hooded tinker. Everyone in this world had their own way of surviving, and Blackout’s way was as clever as it was pragmatic. However, that way would only work for her, considering her powersets. I would be able to learn from her example, but not everything.

A few minutes later... I found myself in a café.

I sat down, trying to relax after my conversation with Blackout, sipping on something that passed for coffee in this lawless place. The air smelled of grease and desperation, a fitting backdrop for the place that was Deadend.

Across from me sat Mrs. Mind, and standing just behind her was the bodyguard, Lightning. Their sudden appearance was enough to make me sit up straighter, my senses on high alert.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden visit?” I asked, keeping my tone even, trying to play the adult that I wasn't. Honestly, I’d always wanted to say that line... something about its formality felt satisfying. Besides, it wasn’t every day you found yourself sitting across from two infamous figures who regularly graced the evening news.

The identity of Mrs. Mind finally clicked in my head now that I was seeing her for the second time… I could see the resemblance. I think she was supposed to be an ‘old woman’ who went by a different name before. It was a piece of very old news, but big enough that I saw it, despite the entire thing happening in another country.

I shuddered at the thought of the ‘Witch’ in front of me.

This was a woman who toppled an entire government on her own.

Mrs. Mind’s piercing gaze locked onto me, her youthful appearance at odds with the authority she exuded. “You are a child with disillusioned expectations of villainy,” she said, her voice cold and clinical. "Tell me, is it worth it?"

Lightning, standing behind her with arms crossed, chuckled softly. “Now, now, Mind. Don’t be harsh on the kid. We walked in here to recruit him, didn’t we?”

Recruit me? I leaned back slightly, masking my unease with a casual shrug. “Recruit me? For what? You’ve got the wrong guy if you think I’m some up-and-coming mastermind.”

Mrs. Mind raised an eyebrow. “Your modesty is unbecoming, Eclipse. You’ve already made waves. Surviving Royal’s schemes, outmaneuvering Mathilda, and eliminating Greyhound? That’s not the work of a nobody.”

So they knew. Of course, they did. Mrs. Mind, formerly known as the Witch, was a powerful Telepath, advertised to be Telepath-9. “I just got lucky,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Right place, right time.” I fucking hate telepaths.

Mrs. Mind’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn’t friendly. “Luck has its place, but skill is what keeps one alive. You’ve demonstrated enough of both to catch our attention.”

“And by ‘our,’ you mean…?”

Lightning grinned, his teeth gleaming like a predator’s. “Let’s just say some people are always looking for new talent. People with ambition. People who know how to survive.”

I frowned. “And what makes you think I’d be interested?”

Mrs. Mind’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone sharp. “Because you’ve already caught the eye of Royal, and trust me, that’s not a place you want to be without protection. You’ve seen how he operates. Do you really think you can walk away unscathed?”

Scare tactics… blegh…

I didn’t answer immediately, my fingers drumming lightly on the table. They weren’t wrong. Royal wasn’t someone you just walked away from, but I didn’t like the idea of trading one leash for another. My dreams of independence and conquering my own little place in this world still held true and strongly in my heart.

Lightning leaned forward, his voice softer now. “We’re not saying you need to decide right this second. Just… think about it. We can offer resources, protection, and opportunities you won’t get working solo. You’ve got potential, kid. Don’t waste it.”

I met his gaze, then Mrs. Mind’s. They were offering a lifeline, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it came with chains way tougher to remove than the one Royal got wrapped around my neck. Still, rejecting them outright felt like a bad idea. “I’ll think about it,” I said carefully. "Who knows? Maybe, you are my kind of people."

Mrs. Mind’s smile returned, faint but victorious. “Good. We’ll be in touch.”