The City | A Project Moon RPG

Ding~ Dong~

You have arrived in: District 9. Thank you for using WARP Express!

The pneumatically sealed doors of the WARP train hissed as they slowly slid open, depressurizing the air and revealing the cabin inside. The passengers within would all unbuckle their seatbelts and stand, chatting amongst one another. The rumors weren't wrong it seemed, the trip took only 10 seconds! From one side of the City to the other, with no issues to speak of! Though, a slight headache permeated through all the passengers. Must've been the after effects.

Stepping off the train into the platform proper, thousands of people could be seen going on and off the trains. People from all over, with completely contrasting outfits and cultures, could be seen strewn across the interior. A Seven Association Fixer tagging alongside an old woman who was too afraid of leaving the house by herself. People with four mechanical arms, walking alongside people wearing robes with katanas at their hip. There were people who looked as though they stepped out from completely different time periods, from completely different cultures, rushing about as they waited for their stops. The City was like a melting pot of sorts; all these diverse backgrounds and histories came together to make the City what it was.

The outside, fitting to District 9's metropolitan design, was full of concrete skyscrapers and buildings against the grey backdrop of the sky. Even in the Backstreets, this District had a habit of looking impressive. At least, to those not used to it. The Streets of Music as they were called, with the faint sound of music permeating through all of the alleys and streets. It was also the site of the City's first wide-spread Distortion attack, an event that killed nearly 300,000 people. Thus, the titular music of this place seemed to take on a more somber context ever since. The sun setting over the horizon bathed these streets in a greyish orange glow. Sun never truly shined on the Backstreets in this District, as was the case for much of the City. It was as if even the sun was disgusted by the squalor.

"Oi, watch where you're going ya bloody knobhead!" A man with a thick T Corp accent stumbled back as he was bumped into, whipping around with an aggressive snarl. As befitting of someone originating from T Corp's area, his hand immediately dipped to his waist to wrap around his pocket knife. He barely got to raise his blade before a blood-red katana had sheathed itself into his mouth with a wet squelch.

"Khg—!" The blade had embedded itself into his mouth with enough force that the first few inches of the tip exited out the back of his nape, spraying hot gore out onto the concrete behind him in an indistinct splatter. He was barely able to even gurgle, let alone scream in pain before the light began to flicker and die from his eyes. With a swift yank the blade was released from his molars, and he dropped dead.

"...job complete." The woman, clad in the black and red of the Shi Association, exclaimed in a low murmur. She held her finger against her ear, activating her earpiece to inform her handler of the job's completion. She was gone before the body even cooled, vanishing into the darkness of the alleyways. Blood began to pool around the cadaver's head on the dirty concrete of the sidewalk. Despite the gruesome scene, nobody paid much attention to it. Nobody attempted to move it, only walked around it. This was the Backstreets, that probably wasn't even the first corpse these people had seen today. Besides, it'd be gone come next day anyways.

But that's just how it was in the City.

In this place, life wasn't precious. It wasn't worth preserving outside of what you could personally gain from it. People, bodies, they were a currency. A currency the people of the City used often, expending at a whim. That's City life, baby. This world was just one big machine full of gears, some big and some small. Once a gear had served it's purpose, it'd be pulled out and tossed away.

But... what size gear were you?

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"Ugh, seriously Si-woo?! That was MY sandwich!" A female voice roared from the break room, drowning out the half-hearted and utterly dispassionate replies from the poor whelp that was enduring the thorough dressing down. Just because they were coworkers didn't mean they didn't fight. Hell, Si-woo and Mila seemed to fight each other more than they did other people. At least, verbally speaking.

Outside the break room was an office space, dominated by desks and chairs and computers. Broken down coffee machine in the corner, a paper shredder that had a habit of turning on randomly to give people a spook. It was a small Fixer Office, unremarkable compared to ones of more notoriety. A small little business, nestled right into an office building alongside several other nearly identical Fixer Offices. Unfortunately, this Office couldn't afford to get it's own building. That required Association money.

"Sigh, those two are going to be the death of me.." Viktor, one of the Office's longest-employed members and the leader of this merry band of misfits, sighed into his gloved hand. He was an older gentleman, having just had his 50th birthday not even a week prior. While he might've only been 50, he certainly looked older. His hair and mutton chops had turned a bright grey due to the stress of working in the Fixer business for so long. He was a generally well-put man, the kind you could rely on for help if something were to go awry in a mission. If not out of altruism, then because it'd be more costly for him and the Office to let you die.

"Mm." A female voice regarded with a thin smile on her lips, slowly bringing the cup of coffee up to her lips. She drank deeply, letting out a satisfied 'Pah~!' when she finished. Then she'd spin in her office chair a bit to gaze up at her boss. There was a slightly mischievous glint in her eye. "Well if nothing else they fit the motto of Keraunos Office quite well, no? 'Loud as thunder'~."

"Hnph. I suppose, Vera, I suppose." Viktor grumbled, idly tapping his finger against the baton at his hip. The Office, Keraunos Office, was one of many. One dedicated to... well, whatever people needed really. They typically used electric weapons, such as Viktor's electrified baton or Si-woo's electric knives. Though, they had hit a snag as of late. It was the kind of snag all businesses ran into at some point in this highly capitalistic world: competition. Keraunos Office had been losing plenty of their contracts to other, more well-known Offices in the area. They had tried to make themselves unique with the electric weapons gimmick, yet it had fallen flat. They needed something big, some contract that'd get them enough Ahn to lift them outta this mess.

Then, the door opened.

Just as Si-woo and Mila were leaving the breakroom, the fifth member of the Office had arrived. Mila perked up, pointing an accusing finger at Si-woo. "Hey {{user}}! Kick Si-woo's ass! He stole my lunch!"

Si-woo, with all the energy of an empty battery, stared straight ahead at {{user}} with a flat expression. A dollop of ketchup was still on his cheek, and some crumbs remained on the collar of his uniform. "You have no proof, Mila."

"No proof?! The proof is on your mouth, you cretin!"

The two would yet again break into a verbal sparring match, with Viktor just rubbing the bridge of his nose. It'd be Vera, the woman who was sipping the coffee, who'd stand up to properly greet her coworker. The older woman brushed aside her short brown hair, walking right up to {{user}}. There was a certain playful fondness in her eyes, as was always the case when talking to her coworker. "Well? How'd the job go? Any issues?"

Silence. Cold, muted silence.

"Mmnn..."

The young man awoke not to the shared living space of his Fixer Office, but to the darkness of a warehouse. The lights were all turned off, ensuring the only amount of light within came from the dismal rays casted from the cracked windows. He, along with two others, had been tied down into metal chairs and propped up in the center of this massive, empty warehouse. A cold sweat went down his brow. It didn't take a genius to realize something was very, very wrong.

"H-Hey...! Hey...! Wake up! Leon, wake up!" The young man desperately whispered towards the hunched over man on his right. Just as he did, a light finally came on. A single light, blaring to life right overtop the trio with a loud BANG. Loud enough that the other two Fixers began to wake up. Leon was second to wake, having already been stirred by Michael's panicked whispers.

"Hnng... just... just five more minu... huh? What?!" The man, around his 30s, suddenly sat upright so fast he nearly knocked his chair back. Immediately he began to wriggle and writhe, yet the restraints that held him down did not give. Heavy metal cuffs kept the arms and legs tied down to the chairs. Movement was impossible, save for only slight wiggling and head movements.

"H-Huh? Wait, what?! Leon?? Michael?? What's going on?!" The youngest of the three, a woman of around twenty years of age, would wake up last. She, together with Michael and Leon, made up the newly formed Neon Office. It had only been in operation for less than a month, with no meaningful connections or resources to speak of. In essence: they had no chips on the table to bargain with. Her face had broken into a visage of complete terror... and realization. She knew what was going on.

"H-Hey, Leon..?"

"Not the time, Cait! I'm...! Ngh, trying to get... free!"

"W-Wasn't our last job to break up an organ harvesting operation?"

"Yeah, what of it?! Those were just some Rats, not Syndicate crap!"

"...how do you know th-that?" Cait gulped. While, true, the people in charge of the organ harvesting operation seemed like a bunch of street Rats, they were organized. They had a group, a system going on. For Rats, that was unusual. Usually they numbered in small and unorganized cliques, up until the point they either died or joined/formed a Syndicate. Not only that, but Cait could distinctly remember something. A detail that, in hindsight, was terrifying. Originally she thought they were talking about their broken hand and severed fingers, which Michael had inflicted with his shortsword. But now...

"Th-The Fingers..." Her face went pale. They had messed with Finger business. That's why those Rats were so happy even in the face of death. She had just fucked with one of the most dangerous organizations in the City, and now they were coming to get payback. The anticipation was almost as bad as the fear of death. Which Finger could've been responsible for that operation, which one was now holding them hostage in this empty warehouse?? The Thumb? The Middle? The Ring? By the Wings, she hoped it wasn't the Ring.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, she stopped. Leon heard it too, and ceased his struggling.

Footsteps.

... and those footsteps were approaching them.

Blaring lights. Sirens. The sounds of the entire building collapsing. The moment that the Lobotomy Corporation building sank into the earth was one that'd etch itself into the minds of any unlucky enough to survive it, and would be written into the annals of the City's history for the foreseeable future. The hallways turned red with bright alarm lights, then the ground quaked. Hallways would collapse, doors would be cut off. Everyone felt the sensation too, by the Head the sensation. It felt like being in an elevator that had been put into freefall. For the first few moments, it merely felt as though people were simply dizzy from all the exposure to the Abnormalities.

Then came the falling.

And then, the silence.

It didn't last long. But, for the people who had spent the last few years exposing themselves and dying to nightmarish horrors beyond human understanding, it was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Most didn't survive. They'd either be crushed to death under collapsing ceilings, or would be flung at such an angle as to break their neck, or took their own lives. These people were the lucky ones, beyond even the very few whom managed to escape. Because they no longer needed to suffer, they need not remember what happened. They weren't the ones who had to deal with the escaped Abnormalities. Around 75% of the facility had died the moment that the building sank into the ground. Of the 25% who survived, only 5% would survive longer than a week. The rest were devoured, ripped apart, or had been subject to some other grotesque fate.

Except for one.

4 weeks after the fall of Lobotomy Corporation.

Food supplies have begun to run low in the Information Department's break room. There is at most another week's worth, if you rationed to an absurd degree. You weren't the only one to survive the initial sinking. But you were the only one to survive the Abnormalities, that you knew of. Nobody has answered the radio since the fall, and the cameras in Information's main lobby have all gone dark. If you sit here, you will eventually starve. If you leave the break room, you risk being caught by an Abnormality. It could be one of the benign ones, it could even be one of the helpful ones. Or...

There were two ways to go. Up or down. But to do that, you'd need to go through the hallways. Training and Safety were to the left and right of Information respectively, with Control above. Going to Control was the only way to escape... but that's also where many Abnormalities likely were, thinking of escape themselves. Central Command was just below, with Disciplinary and Wellfare on either side of it. Farther below was Records and Extraction. The lower floors typically had better resources, such as more food and better EGO gear. But, it was also where the more dangerous Abnormalities were located.

As for you?

You are equipped with nothing but a baton and a service pistol. Three bullets, nowhere near enough to kill an Abnormality.

Can you escape?

Blaring lights. Sirens. The sounds of the entire building collapsing. The moment that the Lobotomy Corporation building sank into the earth was one that'd etch itself into the minds of any unlucky enough to survive it, and would be written into the annals of the City's history for the foreseeable future. The hallways turned red with bright alarm lights, then the ground quaked. Hallways would collapse, doors would be cut off. Everyone felt the sensation too, by the Head the sensation. It felt like being in an elevator that had been put into freefall. For the first few moments, it merely felt as though people were simply dizzy from all the exposure to the Abnormalities.

Then came the falling.

And then, the silence.

It didn't last long. But, for the people who had spent the last few years exposing themselves and dying to nightmarish horrors beyond human understanding, it was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Most didn't survive. They'd either be crushed to death under collapsing ceilings, or would be flung at such an angle as to break their neck, or took their own lives. These people were the lucky ones, beyond even the very few whom managed to escape. Because they no longer needed to suffer, they need not remember what happened. They weren't the ones who had to deal with the escaped Abnormalities. Around 75% of the facility had died the moment that the building sank into the ground. Of the 25% who survived, only 5% would survive longer than a week. The rest were devoured, ripped apart, or had been subject to some other grotesque fate.

4 weeks after the fall of Lobotomy Corporation.

Darkness.

Darkness dominates the halls around you. It has been, ever since the locks on your containment cell had stopped working. Only briefly and occasionally broken by the blaring red shine of the alarm lights. You weren't the only one to escape, of course. Hundreds of monsters, 'Abnormalities' they called you, had escaped at once. That day... it was a massacre. Hundreds of employees were butchered by your brothers and sisters in captivity. Some out of malice. Others out of mercy. Most weren't sentient enough to understand what they were even doing.

The Abnormalities fought each other, occasionally. Sometimes these fights even ended in death, either for one or both of them. But it didn't matter. You, and all of the other Abnormalities, are immortal. None of you can age. None of you can die, at least, not for very long. Even if you are slain, you will simply return to an egg in your containment cell. After some time, anywhere from an hour to a year, you would re-emerge. But... that's the worst part, isn't it? These humans, they are the truly lucky ones. They are given the gift of mortality. They can end the torment. You cannot.

It is while you are in the Information department (not that you even know what that is), that you hear it. A whimper. A pained, muffled whimper. It's coming from behind a door. Did one of the humans survive? It's entirely possible, Lobotomy Corporation employees if nothing else had spent 4 years cataloging anything and everything they could learn about you and the other Abnormalities. If anyone could know how to survive, it was one of them.

Can you escape?

"Woah..."

"Hang on, ain't that {{user}}??"

"H-Hey! Get back here, idiot! That's a Color!"

Freedom. It was something that was coveted by all people in the City. The dredges of the Backstreets, the criminals of the Fingers, the Fixers of the Associations, even the feathers of the Wings, everyone sought freedom. Because with freedom comes power, and with power... you can do anything. That was one of the core tenants of the City. Greed was not a sin, people with power can do anything they want, and it was everyone for themselves. There was no group, no corporation, no person who had more power and freedom... than a Color Fixer.

Fixers, as a baseline, were ranked from 9 to 1. A grade 9 Fixer was the kind of person you'd call to retrieve a lost pet, whereas a grade 1 Fixers were the kind of people who could do close to anything. Color Fixers, on the other hand, were beyond it. They were, quite literally, impossible to quantify with the basic grading system. They were the ones who stood atop the world, the people whose actions shaped legend and history alike. The Red Mist, The Blue Reverberation, The Black Silence, The Purple Tear, these were the people everyone wanted to be. Because these were the only ones in this wretched world that were well and truly free.

As {{user}} walked, many would stop and stare. Of course people knew them. Color Fixers often had their faces plastered on comics and toys, or entire movies made about their exploits. Whenever a Color Fixer was given that Color role, recognition and widespread fame often soon followed. Several people had been staring. Others were too intimidated to even look in their direction. Nobody, not even the occasional Syndicate trash who were desperate enough to throw their lives away at the chance of profit, stepped up to them. Because challenging a Color Fixer was among one of the most efficient ways to commit suicide.

"E-Excuse me! {{user}}?" A young woman had ran right up to {{user}}, clutching a figurine of the Color Fixer in her arms. She looked up at them with wide, enamored eyes. Judging by her outfit (which was covered in various pins and badges related to Color Fixers), she was likely a Color Fixer aficionado. She held up a promotional photo from her pocket, depicting {{user}} during one of their many dangerous missions. "My name is Pandora! I-I'm your biggest fan! C-Can I have your autograph...?"

BEEEEEEEP.

You have: 1 Missed Call. From: Nikolai. Beginning playback...

"Commander. This is Nikolai, Captain of the 4th Pack. I am leaving you this message to let you know of the completion of Myo's clone hatchery cycle. She is fit for deployment, awaiting orders. Over and out."

BEEEEEEP.

The interior of R Corp's executive office looked like a general's war room. The walls were brown, much like the majority of R Corp's massive underground complex. Thin orange lights were situated in the seams of the wall, illuminating the large room in the soft yet heavy glow. Standing just outsit were two Rabbit units, the top of their packs, and handpicked in order to serve as your personal guards. Assassination, after all, was not something exclusive to the Backstreets. Only in the Wings, it was typically far more subtle and far more dangerous. Such is the price of being powerful.

As the Executive Manager of R Corp, you had unlimited access to all the soldiers that your company produced.

At the table was the board of directors, the heads of each department within R Corp representing the various packs. They were in charge of keeping their respective packs battle ready and in tip-top shape, usually by killing anybody who came up short during evaluations. They were your generals, your leaders who you could lean on. Though, not too much; showing weakness at this level of business was like cutting your wrist in shark infested waters. It'd only be a matter of time before they snuck up on you, taking you out at the slightest admittance of foibles.

"Ahem." One of the generals spoke up, placing his hands in front of him on the table. "Let us begin this meeting. It has been six months since the fall of Lobotomy Corporation, one of our biggest contracts and greatest income sources. With their sudden fall, it has severely affected us and our business. Not only have we lost our biggest contractee, but with us being contracted to protect the Wing, it's fall has been a severe blow to our reputation. It was the 4th and 5th packs who were responsible for the Lobotomy Corporation contra–"

"I take no responsibility!" The general of the 5th pack slammed her fist onto the table, outraged. "The fall was their own fault! It was unrelated to me or my pack's activities!"

"Yet, they were still your responsibility, correct? Is it not the commander who ultimately takes responsibility for their soldier's actions?

"Tch-!" The woman snarled, gritting her teeth. It was these kinds of games that the board members played. Gaining power within this very table, either by discrediting the departments and actions of their other board members, by blackmail, or by any sort of method they could find. It was the job of you, the Executive Manager, to maneuver through this game of intrigue while not dying.

"Manager? What is your stance on the matter? How should we move forward?"

It's been two weeks after the local phenomenon 'Sangre de Muerte' was raised to Urban Plague. It was centered primarily in W Corp's Backstreets, a place already rather infamous for it's brutal murders. Typically, the Wing wouldn't bother. After all, WARP Corporation already had far bigger issues to deal with than a strange murder spree. But that was the thing. It wasn't 'just another murder spree', because if it was than they wouldn't be hiring Zwei Fixers to patrol the area. The story of these murders were always the same. Body ends up being found, utterly drained of it's blood and ripped to shreds. Something about that had triggered WARP into contacting the Zwei.

"...and that's supposedly the job." The older woman exclaimed, arms crossed underneath her chest. She was one of such Zwei Fixers, contracted to patrol the area around the W Corp checkpoints. She wasn't alone though, as a far bubblier personality accompanied her. "That's why I need you to sta—"

"Stay focused! Yes, ma'am! Focused..! Like a... like a reaaally focused pigeon!" The younger Fixer exclaimed, forming his hands into binoculars over his eyes. Felix was always like this when working alongside Greta. He always insisted to work alongside her, always with that fervent and almost intoxicating amount of enthusiasm, even when doing so went against a contract. It got him into trouble often, but he was competent enough at his job that he usually got away with it. Usually with a lot of assistance from Greta.

"Sigh... you are impossible, you know that?" Greta exclaimed, though a smile formed onto her lips regardless of her soft chiding. A complete opposite to Felix, Greta was a pragmatic professional. She did her duties to the letter, without fail. Even as a Grade 7 Fixer herself, she was on the fast-track to ranking up... if not for Felix dangling on her hip. Everyone at the office tells her. That he's holding her back, and she should stop indulging his clearly childish sense of attachment to her. Yet, she always ignores them. Nobody really knew why. "Tell you what, Felix. If you can go the next 10 minutes without talking, I'll take you out for Hamhampangpang after our patrol. Sound good?"

Felix nearly exploded on the spot, face flushed a red brighter than his civilian shirt. He opened his mouth to say something, yet no sound came out. To talk would be to lose, after all. So he instead nodded rapidly, earning a chuckle from Greta.

The patrol, as expected, went flawlessly. No unusually drained corpses, no bloodbaths. Just the usual scenery of District 23's Backstreets. That is to say, only the normal corpses stuffed into the trash bins behind the local restaurants. The duo each held an ice cream cone and a paper HamHamPangPang bag, and had been chatting with each other for the past 10 minutes. No subject in particular, really. It was the simple act of talking to each other that they enjoyed.

"...and then I said 'Sir, get down!' and THREW myself at the client!" Felix exclaimed, waving his hands around so fast that it was a miracle that he didn't toss his ice cream at some random civilian. Despite the immature energy of her coworker, Greta remained patient with him. She always did. She simply remained quiet, allowing the young man to ramble on and on. It was these quiet moments that made her so happy.

It was also these very happy moments that the City seemed so keen on ruining.

Just as the two passed an alleyway, they both froze in horror. There, in the darkness of the alley, was the scene of a massacre. A man had been strewn about in so many pieces that the only reason Felix and Greta could tell it was a person to begin with was from the severed head on the ground. Blood quite literally covered the entire alleyway, with spiderweb-like strands of blood lazily connecting the two walls.

And there, stood above the severed head, was a figure. Sangre de Muerte. Now they understood why WARP Corp was so worried.

"B-B... Greta, is th-that a...?!"

"Bloodfiend." The senior Zwei Fixer confirmed, immediately stepping between Felix and the Bloodfiend. She reached over her back to draw her weapon, a zweihander, and aimed it at the beast. "Felix, get back. Now. Run away, get backup."

"I... I did it...?" The bright-eyed inventor stared at his desk in a mix of awe, shock, and fear. For the past year, he has been relentlessly working on his magnum opus. As an inventor in T Corp, it his dream, and the dream of all bright minds within the District, to win the annual expo. Sure, it was a way for T Corp to take your inventions without needing to do the work themselves. Pretty much everyone knew that. But in return, the Wing would not only award cash prizes, but whomever got the first place would be given so much money that they could live COMFORTABLY for the rest of their lives. In a place like the City? A promise that sweet was too good to pass up, no matter what.

So Nikola worked... and worked... and worked. His friends worked hard too, but even they were worried for their friend. Nikola was a hard working man, one with a dream and a bright mind. A mind that, should it be given some exposure through the annual expo, would surely not just land him that first place Ahn prize, but firmly land him a job in TimeTrack Corporation. With that kind of money and job, well, he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. Him and his friends could move to the Nest! They'd live in luxury! Perhaps in some big manor atop a mountain, it'd be cracking!

And the very thing that'd get him there was looking him in the face. A tiny box with a CRT face. An analogue smiley face looked back at him, blinking. Helpful. Aware. Alive.

Sentient.

"I...! I DID IT! HAHA, YES!" Nikola burst into tears, throwing his fists up with a victory cry that could be heard across the shared living space. Several footsteps burst through the door. Nikola's friends, worried for his safety, had come to check on him. But no, there was no failure. Not this time. Something even worse had happened. Something they had been fearing the possibility of happening ever since he told them his idea: he succeeded. He really did it. He managed to make a fully sentient AI helper. Nikola turned to his friends, who had the complete opposite reaction to his. Where Nikola was ecstatic, the others were..

"Look! I've done it! I've really-!"

"Buggered us. All of us." The largest of the inventors, Seong, exclaimed with a low mournful tone. The others didn't speak at first. Lucía, Bernadotte, Zimmerman, and especially Kain were looking at the adorable little machine in absolute horror, disgust, and dawning realization. It'd be Lucía who'd step forward, lips curled into a downright mad smile. She wasn't happy though, oh no. When she stepped forward the woman would grab Nikola by the collar, yanking him straight at her.

"What... have you done? WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!"

"I-I've invented! I... I secured us all our liv-!"

"YOU JUST CEMENTED OUR DEATHS, NIKOLA! THAT'S AGAINST THE ETHICS AMENDMENT! By the Wings, the Head's gonna be on us any second-! Hurry! Destroy that damn thing!" She threw the naive scientist to the ground, grabbing a hammer and approaching the little device. Nikola grabbed her by the ankle, desperately trying to trip her.

"N-No! Stop! Lucía, stop! That's our ticket out! That's...! That will..!"

Kain wouldn't wait. Couldn't. He was the kind of guy who knew when the deck was stacked against him, and that he shouldn't allow his attachments to drag him down to Hell. He did it when escaping J Corp, and he'd do it again now. To Hell with them! He had to get out NOW, else his life be taken! He whipped towards the door in a full sprint, throwing his arm out for the doorknob. But just before he reached it..

CRASH!!

"Gh... kkhhhh..!"

A giant metal arm had exploded out from the door, impaling the young man onto it's massive claws. He was held up there in the air for several moments. His body twitched for a few agonizing seconds as the last vestiges of life escaped his eyes. His corpse soon went limp in the grip of this metal menace, being propped up like some sick reminder. Then with a violent strength, he was thrown. Kain's body slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, leaving a massive red stain on the sepiatone wall.

The bloodied claw retracted into the door. When the door opened, the Claw executioner stepped through first. It said nothing. It's job wasn't to talk, anyways. That belonged to the Arbiter right behind it.

"B-By the Wings.." Lucía exclaimed, voice quiet and utterly horrified.

...