Middle Ground - Chapter 4

Middle Ground - Chapter 4

Chapter 4
[Bad Morning]

“Wake up, wake up, my god, this is not a test!”
-[Underoath]

It was early morning. A crimson glow had begun to spread over the eastern horizon, light filtering into the sky. The Bloodlands were still, empty, the dead air leaving a stagnant silence hanging over everything. Street lamps provided circles of light along the abandoned street, but no light could be seen inside any of the town’s buildings.

This was her hour. She liked to be awake, after the night ended but the day had not yet begun. She enjoyed the silence. In the nothingness of the pre-dawn, she felt her most alive. In the silence, all that mattered was herself. But today was an exception.

He was here.

She stood in the middle of the street, her eyes closed. She could feel his presence, like a soft breath at the back of her neck. She’d been feeling faint twinges for the past hour during her travels, but as they had grown closer her suspicions had been confirmed. He was here. There was no doubt in her mind.

“You’ve found him, you’ve found him! The news brings me glee.” A singsong voice at her side drew her back to her surroundings, and she opened her eyes. One of her partners crouched beside her, a skinny, long-limbed man. His amber eyes stared up at her, his head tilted oddly to one side. “‘Less I be mistaken, and my senses deceive me.” His voice was deep and rich, somehow cultured even though he spoke as if reciting a nursery rhyme.

She stared at him for a few quiet seconds. He made quite a horrifying sight. His face was swathed in soiled bandages, save for his eyes, nose, and mouth. The flesh around his eyes and mouth was heavily scarred and mangled, and the skin of his lips was peeled back around the edges, giving the appearance of a ghastly ever-present smile. His long, hawkish nose was missing a chunk from one side. Gray hair hung everywhere in dirty, uneven strands like coarse rope, some stained with dried blood.

It was almost strange to look upon him like this, defaced and mutilated. But she’d grown used to it. After all, it was her fault he looked like that now.

“How did you know?” she asked quietly.

He reached up to touch the brim of the tall black top hat on his head. “Twas your body what gave you away, my dear. For your breaths always deepen when he is near.”

He always had been intuitive. She hadn’t even noticed, herself. But it was something that she would make sure to correct. It was something that betrayed an aspect of her personality. It was a weakness.

“Yes,” she said. “He is here.”

Her partner’s deformed lips moved. While he didn’t look much different she recognized the expression as a genuine, sinister smile. She could just tell.

She drew her Ocksen revolver, opened the chamber to check that it was fully loaded, and then closed and holstered it again. Another habit. She was anxious. She always was whenever she drew close. But she couldn’t let it show.

Her ears detected the minute footfalls that signified the presence of her second companion, approaching from behind. She didn’t turn to look. “Staci. I take it you found somezink.”

She heard him sigh quietly. He was always trying to sneak up on her. He had yet to succeed.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice light and airy. “Three bodies. Two killed by a blade and one shot with a round caliber matching his Flyleaf. And he left this.”

She turned to face the source of his voice, but she didn’t see anything. No one saw Staci when he didn’t want them to. But then he moved, and she could see a brief shimmer in the air in the vague shape of a body, almost imperceptible unless you were paying close attention. He tossed something to her, but she already knew what it was before she’d even caught it. A coin, worth exactly one Etho.

“Just like last time,” Staci said.

She spun the coin slowly between her fingers. “Und ze time before zat. Und ze time before zat.”

“For a man on the run… he’s stupidly predictable.”

“Mayhap his reasons be quite sound… Perhaps our quarry wants to be found.” The man with the top hat slowly stood to his feet, the tallest of them all. He was extremely lanky, his limbs long and bony. He looked as if he could touch his knees without bending over. The black slacks and boots that he wore somehow seemed to match his black leather straitjacket, the sleeves torn off at his elbows. His eyes glittered dangerously. He was getting excited.

“Anyway, last night’s winds swept away some of the tracks in front of the church,” Staci continued. “I couldn’t tell if he’d moved on or if he’s still here.”

She flipped the coin into the air before slipping it into one of her coat’s many pockets. “He is here,” she said simply. “He vill be at ze inn.” She threw a hard stare towards the spot where Staci stood. “You know vhat to do. Zink you can handle it zis time?”

It was quiet for a few seconds. She couldn’t see anything. She knew he was still there, though. A few moments later, he spoke solemnly. “Yes.” She heard him quietly begin to move off, and this time she spotted light footprints that appeared on the dusty ground as he walked.

“No more mistakes, Staci.”

“Like you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled very quietly under his breath as he left, thinking she couldn’t hear him. But she could. And she was perfect. In this line of work she couldn’t afford not to be—especially considering who she was going after.

She motioned for her other companion to follow and began walking down the street toward what looked to be a saloon or inn. Her eyes never stopped moving, roaming over the slumbering town and noting every detail. As they passed a clothing store she caught a reflection of herself in its large display window.

Physically she was a fairly unremarkable woman. She wasn’t extraordinarily beautiful or unbelievably ugly. Her dirty blonde hair was cut close to her head, short and manageable. She wore an odd outfit for one trekking through the desert: a white frilly blouse, remarkably clean given the dust-filled environment, and tight black leather pants, laced up on the sides and tucked into tall boots. Even with her long tan coat the outfit looked somewhat prim, almost dainty.

But the numerous weapons she bore served to dispel that notion. Her Ocksen hung at her left hip, while at her right hung a long saber with an ornate basket guard. These were her two main weapons; she favored them and used them the most often. But her arsenal didn’t stop there. Two 9mm handguns were strapped into a shoulder harness she wore over her shirt, holstered just under each arm. There was also a 6-inch knife buckled to her left boot. And those didn’t include her hidden weapons.

She took her time as she walked, and she could gradually feel his presence growing stronger. Soon it was enough to hone in on it, and it confirmed that he was indeed residing in the saloon. But she had to be careful, because the connection worked both ways. He could, and likely would sense her coming, which meant that they had to act fast.

She stopped outside the building and reached up to touch a small black stud in her left earlobe, activating its enchantment. “Are you in place?”

After a moment’s pause, she heard Staci’s voice in her ear, transmitted by the earring. “Yes. Which side of the building is he on?”

“Still unknown. Second floor. I’m goink in. Stay alert.”

That said, she turned to the gray-haired man. “Vait here.” She didn’t need to give any further instructions. He knew his cue.

He reached back to wrap a bandaged hand around the thick haft of the double-bladed axe on his back, freeing it from the jacket’s buckles and staring fondly at the stained blades. “Now they all have something to fear…” he whispered. “Flee! Flee! The Undertaker’s here…”

He was her backup. As long as it stayed quiet he would stay out of the way. But if things got violent (as they always did) he would come running. He was a helpful asset where violence was involved, even if he did get a bit… carried away.

Drawing her revolver, she moved to the saloon’s double doors. They were locked, but that wasn’t an issue. She reached into a pouch strapped to her thigh, drawing out a small pen-like object. She held it up to the door, emitting a thin blue beam that was able to easily slice through the lock mechanism without a sound. Then she opened the door and slipped inside.

There was no light aside from rays that filtered in from the brilliant sunrise, but it was enough. She made her way around tables and chairs, treading lightly and careful of any creaks the floor might have. She felt her quarry above her, close now. She headed for the stairs and ascended them slowly, gun raised and the hammer cocked. Upstairs she scanned the dark hall, watching for shadows beneath a door that might signify someone opening it. But it was clear. Everyone should have been asleep.

She followed her senses down the hall, turning the corner. His aura was thick now, almost suffocating. She touched her earring again, speaking almost inaudibly. “Vestern corner. Very last room. Vatch ze window.”

“Got it.”

She slunk down the hallway as quietly and slowly as she could, not daring anything overt or rushed. Even if she made no sound at all, her proximity to him would possibly be enough to alert him, even if he were asleep. The slower she closed the distance, the less alarming her presence would be.

She felt him in the far room, almost as if she were in the room with him. She could practically hear him breathing. Just three doors away, now. She was close. If he didn’t notice her she could rush in and subdue him before he knew what hit him.

But of course, things never went according to plan.

She heard a minute thump on the floorboards of his room. She recognized it as his foot briefly stomping the floor. He did that whenever he awoke with a start. He knew.

There was nothing for it now. Gun in hand, she broke into a run and reached the door in a few steps, slowing to a stop beside it. A few silent moments passed, and she didn’t move. It was a waiting game to see who would come through the door first.

“Midna.” She heard his voice from behind the door, low and calm.

“Brigg,” she answered, equally as calm.

“Do ya always gotta ambush me so damn early? Wait ‘till noon, that’s all I’m askin’.”As usual, he was ever the smartass. He wasn’t worried in the least. He never was.

“Ze early bird gets ze vorm,” Midna replied, silently shifting to the opposite side of the door, one hand on her sword. Judging from his voice he was just behind the door. Like her, he was likely adjusting his position so she couldn’t get a bead on him.

“Yeah, how’s that workin’ out for ya?”

She slowly drew her saber. Its blade was straight and double-edged, with a long, deadly point. She stared at the reflective steel in the dim hallway and swiped it through the air. “I’ll tell you in a second.”

Midna whirled into the doorway and slammed a foot into the door near the knob. At the same time Brigg’s foot slammed into the door next to the hinges. The wood shattered under their combined strength, and the door came off the hinges and collapsed into pieces, leaving the two of them face-to-face with each other.

In an instant both had a gun to the other’s face, and their swords clanged together loudly. Midna met Brigg’s golden eyes, glowing beneath the low brim of his hat. She noted that he hadn’t bothered trying to hide his arm this time. He’d nearly gotten her with that trick when he first came up with it, but it wouldn’t work twice.

“Are you goink to fight back zis time?” she asked him. His sword was still sheathed in its scabbard.

Brigg shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

They both snapped into motion at the same time, their swords darting to knock each other’s gun away with the flat of the blade just as they went off, the bullets hitting the ceiling. Brigg blocked a second cut from Midna’s saber and quickly stepped aside to avoid her next shot, holstering his revolver. She tried to get a bead on him but he caught her arm and stopped it. With a swift kick to the stomach he sent her skidding back to slam into the wall opposite the doorway.

She’d barely hit the wall before her gun was up again, fixed squarely on his chest as she fired another shot. This time, however, Brigg lifted his free hand and a glowing spell circle appeared in the air before it. The shot was deflected by a shimmering ethereal barrier that manifested for a split second before disappearing along with the circle.

They stared at each other again in silence, Midna’s mind working. After those gunshots, the Undertaker should have been on his way up. He wasn’t always as punctual as she’d like, but he’d get here. She was mainly worried about whether Brigg had backup of his own, in the form of unexpected comrades or just local law enforcement.

A few doors opened down the hall as a few guests woke and poked their heads out in muddled confusion. Midna shot a very direct look in their direction and fired a shot toward the closest one. It hit the doorframe and gave the man a face full of flying splinters. As he yelled and fell back the other guests seemed to get the hint, as they hurriedly vacated their rooms and ran for the stairs.

“Leave them outta this,” Brigg said.

“I vas just makink sure ve vill not be interrupted.”

“Said it before. Say it again: I don’ wanna fight you, Midna.”

Midna shrugged. “Suit yourself. Makes zings easier for me zen.” She holstered her Ocksen, shifting her sword to her left hand. She’d fired at him with the hope of wounding him and putting him down, but she didn’t want to kill him. He was worth more alive.

Rushing in would get her nowhere, so she calmly strode into the room to meet him. Her saber began to flash in swift, precise arcs, slashing a dozen deadly strokes at Brigg’s head and torso. He expertly deflected each one, barely moving except to take a few steps backward. Despite her proficient swordsmanship he matched her evenly.

As he parried a cut at his neck she attempted to grab his shirt and pull him in, but he grabbed her arm by the wrist and stopped her cold. Narrowing her eyes, she whipped her sword at his arm but he blocked it, their blades straining against each other. Midna kicked him in the midriff as he had done to her, half expecting him to avoid that too. But he took the full brunt of the hit and moved with it, hopping back onto a chair behind him and skidding backward on it until it toppled over.

Midna pursued him, lunging forward into a swift thrust, but Brigg stepped smoothly to her right, letting her saber embed into the back wall. He kicked the chair at his feet, sending it straight up and forcing Midna to lean back lest she be hit with it. Midna batted it aside in midair with one hand and swung a backhand at him with the other, but he leaned out of the way and took a step back.

“Tired yet?” he asked innocently.

Midna wrenched her blade from the wall and faced him, her face betraying no emotion. “You should know me better zen zat.” He was stubbornly determined not to attack her. He always was. She couldn’t understand why. Not after what he’d done. But they had always been very evenly matched in skill. If he were to fight back, she would need backup on her side to ensure his capture. Not that she couldn’t win by herself, of course, but it would be difficult to do without killing him in the process.

Speaking of backup, where the hell was the Undertaker?

But she also had help posted outside. She noted that Brigg was in full view of the window. Staci was the best shot Midna had ever seen, even better than she was. Now was as good a chance as ever to catch him off guard. Midna focused on Brigg’s eyes and reached up to touch her earring. “Staci.”

The sound wasn’t even fully out of her mouth before two things happened. First, Brigg’s eyes darted to the window and he flung himself backward, and then a bullet sped through the window and into the far wall, travelling through the space where he’d been half a second before. A second shot followed immediately after the first, this one traveling through the wall and narrowly missing Brigg’s leg.

He landed on the bed, sprawled on his back. Before he could jump to his feet Midna hurried over and leaped onto the foot of the bed. Brigg kicked a foot at her stomach but she anticipated it and sidestepped, locking his leg under her arm. She figured she might as well break it, and was about to do just that when Brigg lashed out with his other foot and kicked her own leg out from under her.

As she fell to her knee Midna slashed her saber at him, but Brigg blocked it, wrenching his leg from her grasp and rolling off the bed. Midna scowled. This game of cat-and-mouse was beginning to grow irritating. But in this instance it was the mouse toying with the cat.

She pulled a sideways aerial flip off of the bed, landing in front of Brigg and immediately dropping low. Staci’s help had put him on the defensive now, and he would retaliate to regain some footing. Indeed his sheathed katana passed barely an inch over her head, just as she’d anticipated, and she snapped out a foot to kick in Brigg’s kneecap. He saw it coming and managed to avoid a shattered kneecap, but though he shifted his leg her foot still glanced off of his shin, causing him to lose his balance and stumble for a precious moment. She saw her opening.

Midna surged forward and drove her saber into Brigg’s right shoulder, shoving the blade between the minute gap of the spaulder and the mail shirt she knew he wore, and then through the same gap in the back. She shoved him back into the wall behind him and impaled him to it. Brigg yelled in surprise and pain, dropping his sword and grimacing. Midna drew the long combat knife from her boot and paused to lift his chin with the flat of the blade, staring straight into his eyes as she drew back and spitefully thrust the knife through his other shoulder with exact precision. He started to scream but she swung a hard right into his jaw, and then a left until his head slumped forward dazedly. He wasn’t going to be going anywhere, if she had anything to say about it.

Finally. After weeks of fruitless pursuit, her quarry was at last within her grasp. She had captured the Arsonist, Brigadier Mortensen.

Not taking any chances, she drew her Ocksen and kept it trained on him, reaching for her earring. “He has been neutralized. Standby.” She had half a mind to shoot his kneecaps out too. Just to be safe. But she decided to be lenient. For now. There’d be plenty of time for that later, once he was more secure.

“...Oh. My. God! Really? Well Christ, it’s about time.”

“Undertaker. Come in.” She was met with silence. “Staci, do you haff eyes on him?”

“Looks like he’s fighting someone. I can’t see much except destroyed furniture and the occasional blur.”

Midna muttered a brief curse in German. A fat lot of help he’d been. Oh well. She’d managed without him, so she’d let him have his fun for now. His opponent must have been fairly skilled, to have kept the Undertaker occupied for this long.

“Got people headin’ your way. Local lawmen, looks like. Awful slow responses, though. Must be tired. I know I'm fuckin' tired.”

“Take zem out.”

“… Got it.”

There was a pause in his voice that Midna didn’t like. They’d had problems regarding this before, and it wasn’t something she wished to discuss twice. Her orders were absolute. “Staci…”

“I said ‘got it’.”

“I vill haff no insubordination from you.”

“Just shut the fuck up ‘n lemme shoot, Midna. I gotta concentrate.”

Midna’s lips drew into a thin line. She would have to “discuss” that particular comment with him later. But for now she acquiesced and let him work. She would have to carry Brigg out of here and she’d rather not do it under fire. She couldn’t hear her partner’s silenced rifle, but soon enough there came shouts from outside and a few random shots from the lawmen at their unseen adversary. They would be taken care of in short order.

“Hey…” She turned as Brigg spoke quietly. He raised his head, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. “Back in Argyle… Refresh my memory. How many of yer family members was it you said I burned alive? I fergot…” The corner of his lip turned up into a smug smile.

Midna’s eyes narrowed into slits. In an uncharacteristic burst of anger she kicked Brigg in the chest as hard as she could. She expected to knock the wind out of him and hopefully break some ribs.

What she wasn’t expecting was to shatter a section of the wall and kick him completely through the entire thing.

Too late she noticed the small rune circle he’d traced on the wall, partially hidden by his body. He must have weakened that part of the wall with magic, eroding its structural stability. Then he’d goaded her with that last comment. He’d wanted her to hit him, to create some space between them. And she’d played right into it. A single imperfection, exploited.

She should’ve just shot his kneecaps after all.

The wall shattered into rubble and dust, Brigg disappearing into the next room. Midna waved dust away from her face and headed through after him before he would be able to get his bearings. Even if he wasn’t pinned down anymore he wasn’t going to be going anywhere fast. She wasn’t going to let him escape her again, not this time. His effort would be futile.

Once she cleared the haze, however, she found herself face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. She pulled up sharply and lifted her revolver with lightning speed, but a strong hand grabbed her arm and forced the barrel of her Ocksen aside, the other gun jabbing forward against her throat.

“Don’ you fuckin’ move, salope.” A very tall blonde man stood over her, his face grim. Midna noted that his gun hand wavered every now and then, and he looked on edge. He was nervous, and she could tell he wasn’t used to this sort of thing. She kept very still and tried not to alarm him.

The young man glanced away for a moment, over his shoulder where Brigg lay on the floor on his side, barely moving. It wasn’t a long enough lapse to take advantage of, though. But Midna was patient. She would wait for her chance.

“Ma’, check on ‘im, would ya?” the man asked. Something moved in Midna’s peripheral vision, and a brunette stepped forward cautiously, giving nervous glances at both Brigg and Midna. She hesitated, her posture stiff and tense.

“Dépêche-toi!”

“A’right, jeez!” the girl yelled. She knelt by Brigg’s side, grimacing at the blades in his shoulders. When he groaned and began to sit up she nearly jumped across the room. “Hey… Hey! You crazy?? Don’ move, you all tore up! What d’ hell’s goin’ on?”

The man holding Midna at gunpoint twitched his head a bit, as if he were about to glance away again, but he didn’t. “Hey podna, you doin’ okay?”

“Ugh… Been better,” was the answer. Brigg started to weakly lift one arm, but winced and quickly gave up that idea. “You jus’ keep that gun on ‘er like that, an’ whatever ya do, don’t fuckin’ look away.”

The blonde licked his lips and set his face in determination. He was much larger than Midna, and from the strength of his grip she was guessing he was Inhuman. She wouldn’t be able to jump away, and no matter how fast her reflexes she couldn’t dodge a bullet at this range. Even if the man was inexperienced there was no way he would miss with the barrel against her neck. She just waited, staring the man down in silence. Her chance would come.

“Hey, uh… miss,” Brigg said to the girl next to him. “Think ya could help me pull these things out? I’d ‘ppreciate it.”

The girl looked unsure. “Won’ d’at hurt? Mebbe we should jus’ leave ‘em--”

“You let me worry ‘bout that. Jus’ grab ‘n yank, darlin’, it’s easy.”

The girl looked like she was going to be sick. But she took hold of the hilt of Midna’s saber, taking a deep breath. And then another.

“Sometime ‘fore lunch would be nice, now.”

The girl shot Brigg a hard look and then abruptly pulled the sword out of his shoulder. Judging from Brigg’s strained groan through gritted teeth, it didn’t feel very nice.

“…Thanks…”

“So what ‘xactly’s goin’ on here?” the blonde man asked.

“Hell of a damn wakeup call, that’s what,” Brigg replied. “That’s a dangerous woman ya got at point, there. Give ‘er an inch--” He paused as the brunette removed the knife from his other shoulder, thudding his heel on the floor with another gasp of pain. “Agh, Jesus… Hell, give ‘er a centimeter, she’ll kill all of us in ten seconds. Well… y’all two, at least. She wants me alive.”

“How lucky fer you,” the girl muttered. “I tol’ you we shoulda lef’, Riri.” She said something in French, which Midna wasn’t familiar with.

“I wanted t’ help,” the man said. “An’ I’s helpin’, ain’ I? She ain’ killed no one yet.”

Brigg lifted an arm a bit, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. “Little help ‘ere… An’ could ya fetch me my hat over there, darlin’? Thanks.”

As the brunette started to help Brigg to his feet, Midna decided that this was taking too long. She would make her own damn opening. Very slowly she began to reach her free hand toward her ear.

“Ah ah ah ah!” The man Riri noticed and thrust the gun even more firmly under her chin.

Midna arched an eyebrow at him and spoke softly, so that only he could hear. “Mein ear itches…”

The man narrowed his eyes at her and sized her up for a few seconds, but eventually nodded his consent.

She reached to scratch behind her ear, glancing around the room and doing some calculating in her head. Then she touched her earring. “Next room over. Four feet from the left wall,” she whispered. “Take it.”

Staci came through for her yet again. A shot came flying through the wall with remarkable accuracy, whizzing a few inches past the blonde man. Even Midna hadn’t expected him to come that close. She’d only wanted a distraction.

In any case, she got her opening. The man started in surprise and ducked low, and Midna batted his gun arm away and moved aside just as it went off, just missing her head. As she’d suspected, he had an itchy trigger finger.

As his grip on her arm loosened she grabbed his gun arm in turn, whirling around and hurling him behind her into Brigg’s room. He stumbled and crashed into the bed, knocking it aside. Midna held her Ocksen on the blonde and then drew one of her 9mm pistols and aimed it at Brigg and the girl, who had her hands full supporting him, turning to one side so she could keep both guns trained.

As she glanced between them she noticed a glowing light on the floor of Brigg’s room. She saw that it was a spell circle, and a familiar one at that. Brigg had used it to escape her many times before. It spelled bad news.

First things first. The circle needed to go. She was a Natural, not an Ethereal, so she couldn’t utilize the magic needed to dispel the circle. She’d just have to destroy the floor itself, then.

The man was lying on the floor, the gun beside him. Midna shot him in the thigh to keep him occupied, ignoring his scream and the rapid French the other woman began to shout at her, most of them undoubtedly curses. Midna glanced Brigg’s way to make sure he wasn’t trying anything and turned her revolver on him, and then put away her 9mm, and reached into her coat to pull out a grenade. It ought to do the job just fine.

As she lifted it to her mouth and yanked the pin, turning to the circle, there was a loud thud at the door to Brigg’s room. In a heartbeat she whirled toward the sound. But other than a book falling to the floor from where it had hit the wall, there was no one there.

Too late she heard footsteps behind her, and she turned around just in time to see Brigg flying through the air at her. With both feet he dropkicked her full in the face, sending her flying back through the hole in the wall and across the other room, rolling across the floor and hitting the wall. She dropped the grenade.

Midna’s head swam, and she struggled to regain her senses. Blood trickled down her face from where the pin in her teeth had cut into her lip. She shook her head to clear her vision, hearing raised voices across the room.

“Merde alors, dat’s a fuckin’ ‘nade!”

“Grab hold of me!”

There was a rushing sound, and then the thunder of an explosion. The grenade rocked the floor, showering her with wooden shrapnel from the bed and floor. Midna huddled down with her arms covering her head until the clamor subsided. And then there was nothing.

She lifted her head and blinked, waiting for blurs to focus into shapes. A bit of hazy smoke drifted through the air, and both rooms were completely trashed. There was a hole in the floor where the circle had been, but there was no one in sight. Brigg had gotten away, and by the looks of things he’d taken the others with him.

“Scheiße…”

She stood to her feet and grabbed her revolver, keeping it at the ready just in case. She waited until she was sure she was steady, and then strode carefully over to the hole and peered in. It went straight through down to the first floor, and there was a chance that they may have just fallen through, but she didn’t see anyone. She could, however, hear sounds of battle, the clanging of blades and footsteps.

Kicking a leg of the shattered bed in frustration, she hopped over the hole and went to retrieve her blades, wiping the blood off before sheathing them. She’d been so close… But again she met with failure. She was starting to become used to it, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Not one bit. It was unacceptable. She would catch Brigadier Mortensen.

“Staci, he’s gone.”

“Whadda you mean, ‘he’s gone’?”

“He escaped.”

“I thought you said you had him!”

“Vell obviously I lost him.”

“Guess you’re not so perfect after all.”

“Just keep ze streets clear for us until ve come out.”

“Whatever. I can do my job right, at least.”

Midna clenched a fist and dug her nails into her palm, her temper snapping. She’d had quite enough of this. “Staci, if you mouth off to me one more time, I am goink to come out zere und shoot you in ze head. Are ve clear?”

“Not if I shoot you first,” was the almost inaudible reply.

“… Vhat vas zat?”

“Nosink, Mein Fuhrer,” Staci said mockingly, mimicking her accent. “I vill be vaitink for you ven you come out.”

Midna wasn’t exactly sure if that was an assurance or a threat. And what he’d said about shooting first was probably true. Despite her threat, it would be next to impossible to spot Staci if he kept his distance and remained cloaked. And he was a damn good shot. She’d seen that firsthand.

She muttered curses in a few different languages and kicked over a metal briefcase sitting nearby. This was just not her day.

The briefcase, cracked and blackened from the explosion, bore an Ethric symbol on its side that flickered and dimmed weakly, and then faded away. As it did the latches on the case opened with a loud clack. Midna regarded it with a blank look. If that was some kind of bomb, she was going to be very irritated.

Approaching it cautiously, she knelt down and pried the lid open an inch, peering under. All she saw where a myriad of glowing Ethric numbers, which only meant one thing. Money. She flipped the lid all the way open and was greeted with the sight of dozens of Etho cards packed into the case, placed in neat stacks. There had to be ten thousand Ethos there. At least.

Maybe the day wasn’t completely bad after all.

“Staci. I’ve found somezink zat might cheer you up a bit.”

“Yeah? What? Something that’ll get me paid? I don’t work for free, y’ know, and I didn’t join this outfit to see the sights, yeah? And certainly not for the company.”

Midna closed the case with a twitch at the corners of her mouth. “…I’ll show you ven I come out.”

“Well, hurry up. With most of the lawmen dead, the townsfolk are all staying indoors, but I’m tired of sitting up here.”

She picked the case up and took it with her. At least they’d gotten something out of all of this. Maybe this would keep Staci happy for a while. She’d had enough of his attitude.

She hopped down through the hole with revolver in hand. It, like Brigg’s room, was wrecked, broken tables and chairs strewn everywhere, bottles of liquor leaking here and there. The Undertaker stood amidst the wreckage, the morning light casting eerie shadows over his scarred face. Another man stood across from him, a lanky man with dark, slightly graying hair. Perhaps this was the innkeeper, defending his establishment.

He held a naked broadsword, clad in only a pair of slacks and suspenders. He was bleeding from a shallow cut on his chest, but other than that he looked none the worse for wear. He must have been skilled, indeed. The Undertaker was a deadly fighter, and the fact that he hadn’t killed this man yet was surprising.

At the sound of her arrival both men turned their attention to her. Wasting no time, she aimed her Ocksen at the stranger and pulled the trigger. He stepped a few inches to the side, avoiding the shot with surprisingly little effort, and kicked a chair at his feet. It shot through the air at Midna with startling speed, and she jumped aside to avoid it. No mere human could have sent the chair that far, that fast.

The Undertaker gripped his battleaxe, prying the handle apart and splitting it into two separate axes with one blade each. He hurled one through the air at the innkeeper, despite the fact that its haft was over three feet long, but the man just stepped aside again, allowing it to embed itself in the wall behind him.

Midna took the brief chance to rush toward him, moving in closer so that he wouldn’t be able to dodge her next shot. He saw her coming with ample time to react, but he simply stood there and watched her. Something wasn’t right about that. She slowed when she was only a few feet away, raising her gun again and centering it on his forehead.

He looked at her with sharp, calculating eyes, and then at her gun, seeming entirely unconcerned. “You’re empty.”

Midna blinked at him, and then pulled the trigger again. But the gun’s hammer came down with an empty click. She really was empty. Damn… How had he known that?

The man lifted his sword, holding its tip not an inch from her throat, and scratched at his tousled hair. “Get the hell out.”

Midna lifted her eyebrows a bit, meeting his eyes. She was actually kind of impressed. She didn’t let it show, though. There was definitely something about this man that reminded her of someone. If she didn’t know better she would have said he was an Arcanus.

She holstered her gun compliantly and walked over to pull the Undertaker’s axe from the wall, and then brushed past the innkeeper and tossed the weapon back to her partner. Their business was done here, and she had no reason to continue attacking this man. He was not her target. She glanced over her shoulder at the man and their eyes met again, a look of mutual respect. “Come, Taker. Ve are leavink.”