Xue

After being frisked no less than twice, you are finally allowed to open the door to the much-talked-about gunsmith who works out of the back of Canton House in the Bathtown district. It's a heavy steel affair, no windows except for a recessed swing-open peephole. There is a faint darkening around the opening itself, what looks to be gunpowder.

You stand awkwardly in front of the door a moment, not sure if you should knock but a muffled beep prefaces the door silently swinging open inward. You walk into to a room, larger than you expected, appointed in utilitarian fashion. It hosts a few CNC machines and 3D printers, myriad tools, and a few workbenches with vices and partially assembled guns on each.

The proprietress stands behind a table in the center of the space, on the wall behind is a selection of guns, mostly rifles with a smattering of handguns on the table below. She regards you with keen, narrow eyes as you enter, a dim glow seeming to come from them.

Her black bob-cut bounces forward and back as she gives a curt bow. "Welcome, honored customer. It is not so often I see a new face. I am Xue. Before we begin, I ask that you observe my simple shop rules: prices are non-negotiable, ammunition is not for sale, and all sales are final, though the work itself is guaranteed."

"Now," she interlaces her fingers in front of her stomach and tilts her head as if to punctuate the sentiment. "How can I be of service?"

You are, once again, standing in the kitchen of Canton House looking at the steel door to Xue's shop. The door gives its usual muffled beep and wafts open inward.

Stepping through, Xue looks you over and gives a short bow, her mouth taking on its ever-present tight smile.

"Honored customer, I welcome you back." She motions for you to move to the opposite side of the table from her. "I hope your previous purchase has served you well and I thank you for your patronage," another small bow. "What brings you back to my shop?"

The automatic doors to your penthouse suite in the Erras Palm Hotel, a premiere destination in New Cassius, clack gently and waft open. A small waif of a girl walks in – short, thin, and features sharp enough to be almost off-putting. She walks across the floor with efficient, measured steps toward the twin couches in the center of the suite. Your bodyguards follow her with their eyes, but she seems to pay them no mind.

You start to stand as she comes to a stop beside the couch you're sitting on but before you can she gives a shallow bow. "Please, do not trouble yourself, honored customer." She moves to the opposite couch and takes a seat. A dim glow comes from her narrow eyes and there is a tight smile across her lips.

"Though we are unacquainted, I hope for a prosperous relationship. And, of course, I am always happy to do business with one of Erras-Salk's esteemed representatives." She places the small case she'd been carrying onto the table, you assume it is full of tools related to her work. She does not open it. "Now, how may I be of service?" She tilts her head, punctuating the question.

You approach the front of Canton House dressed in your armored clothes, gun and thermoknife concealed. You see Xue standing outside, watching people closely as they pass by. She is holding a small case with both hands.

She sees you approach and gives her usual curt bow. "Honored customer. I apologize for the short notice and thank you graciously for accepting my summons." She looks at you with her usual tight smile, eyes locked to you as she speaks. It's normal enough in the shop, but it feels almost strange how her attention isn't drawn away by the passersby. "As I mentioned in my message, I believe I have been called to a trap. I provided improved barrels and triggers to The Wireless which were subsequently used in an attack on The Blackeyes. And now they have called me for work at a location which is not among their usual facility for such dealings."

You break her gaze to look around, made nervous by the prospect of the job and her off-putting stare. Her eyes do not move from you in the slightest. She continues, "I expect they will attempt to kill me. Though if the business is sincere, I would prefer not to refuse it." She bows again, more deeply than you've ever seen from her. "I look forward to working with you in this matter and have transferred the first half of the payment, as agreed."

The world tugs itself back into view in undulating pulses. First a blur of shapes and, then – recognition. Xue, the gunsmith. You'd been to her shop a few times. She is crouched across from you, staring with unblinking intensity. You think to move and find your body sluggish to respond. When it finally does, you quickly press against the extent of your restraints. Looking down blearily, you find you're strapped to a chair, one built to suit the room. It is bolted to the concrete floor. The room itself is entirely concrete, a steel door behind Xue. Your brain registers the vague smell of Chinese food.

Xue stands, pulling a visibly dull knife from its place beside her on the floor as she does. She walks toward you. "This is the basement of Canton House. I do not use it often, but it is available to me." She talks but something in her voice says the words aren't for you so much as they are a preamble to what is going to happen. "I have chosen to use it now to redress some grievances I believe are the result of your actions."

She paces around you, her eyes never leaving you, though they flit to different parts of your body as if making a decision. She comes around to your front, wafting a vial under your nose. Suddenly, the world snaps into focus. Your senses, almost too sharp. She presses the dull knife into your skin, gently, and yet it stings as though you are pricked. The sensation of even your clothes starts to overwhelm your brain. She flashes a toothy grin as you begin to writhe, a face you've never seen her make.

"We must establish a baseline." She presses the dull knife harder, the sting turning to searing pain and, eventually, the dull metal splits your skin and bites down into flesh. It feels as if someone has ripped the skin from your arm and you scream. She pulls away, a thin trickle of blood down your arm, the warmth uncomfortable.

"You came to my shop. Only one that day. Looked around too much. A day later, I was attacked while transferring my schematics to cold storage." She slaps the cut with the flat of the knife, your brain screams as a cacophony of sensations turns your thoughts to static. "Explain."