《A Rather Unfortunate Gun-Wizard》


 1. Making An Impression

    When moving to a new neighborhood, one of your first goals should be to have a little meet and greet with your neighbors. There are a few essential steps to really make a good first impression¡­


    First, politely knock and introduce yourself.


    Ahh, Monday, the dreaded date of all labourers: tired eyes move woodenly over forms and reports, the bitter smells of coffee and office workers dreams slowly being ground into dust, and the inevitable realization that life is meaningless growing in every mind like the mold in that one tupperware container of curry in the communal fridge. You know the one, that no one¡¯s touched in about three weeks and is really concerning some of the girls from the front desk, who complain constantly about it, but never actually do anything about. At this point you''re almost-sort-of keeping a personal bet with yourself about whether a brave enough intern will eventually take it out to earn brownie points or if it¡¯ll sit there like some ancient artifacts for years on end, a glimpse into the days of yore, a happy reminder of a time when you were marginally more hopeful about¡­.


    I¡¯m rambling. Sorry.


    It¡¯s somewhat of a coping mechanism to deal with some of my nervousness. Elevator rides always strike some kind of nerve in the back of my mind, even though they got rid of the cables years and years ago, I always worry something¡¯s gonna snap and I''ll plummet to my doom hundreds of feet below or some such¡­


    I¡¯m doing it again. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Damnint.


    I stomp my shoes together to focus myself a little, earning an annoyed glance from my fellow passenger who is currently trying to concentrate on keeping us from being riddled by a hail of supersonic lead slamming towards us incessantly. I mean I understand his disgruntlement, a few more moments and his shield will probably shatter into fragments of fading light, leaving this elevator with an absolutely brilliant new coat of paint that I¡¯m positive will impress the next visitors. My little nervous tics are most likely hurrying on our grisly fate by quite a large margin in all honesty.


    However, exsanguination isn¡¯t exactly on the itinerary for today. I wait for just the right time, that second when all the Mark IV¡¯s switch barrels as the first begin to overheat, to underhand my 100% organic, gluten-free, and home-made IED through a hastily created gap in the shield. Honestly, you¡¯d think Securo-Corp would¡¯ve fixed that little issue in their bots¡¯ design back with the Mark III, but eh, planned obsolescence and all that¡­


    The silent burst of light and resulting shower of shrapnel impacting against the shield once more in a flurry of ripples snap me out of my thoughts of my issues with the wasteful, yet surprisingly profitable, corporate machinations unfolding behind the scenes.


    After a moment more, the glowing shelter fades back into the aether and my boss slaps me on the shoulder in a wordless huff, face grey and drained from exertion. His meaning is clear, and the lack of grandiose statements is actually incredibly refreshing.I hurry into the still smoking room, slip my handy dandy little power-cutter across the side of the data bank, and rip out the sturdy black box full of electronics and valuable, valuable corporate secrets. In moments, I¡¯m back to his side, already dreading the incredible amount of boasting he¡¯s going to do once he gets his breath back.


    All in all, for the first day in a new city, and a monday at that, things really aren¡¯t going so bad!


    The resulting drop of some sort of smoking canister from the freshly opened vent above and the sickly sweet smell of a sedative gas bitchslap my naive positivity back into place right quick.


    Well, at least it¡¯s not raining, I suppose.

 2. The Only Clothing I Need is Plot Armor!

    I¡¯d like to say the moment I awoke, I took in all the details around me and quickly summarized exactly what was going on, already working on a brilliant plan of action¡­ But that would be a lie, considering I¡¯ve spent the last 10 minutes groggily trying to will myself back into whatever sedative induced sleep I¡¯d been placed into.


    Don¡¯t you judge me! I¡¯m a growing young man, working long, stressful night shifts as a¡­ well, aspiring criminal¡­


    Maybe I¡¯m due a little judgment, but not about my sleeping habits!


    Either way, despite my efforts to ignore the world around me, some things make themselves rather obvious.The cold, uncomfortable metal slab I was lying on presses into my back almost maliciously; a clinical breeze drafting through a vent somewhere, bringing the exotic and refreshing scent of stale, recycled air; and the fact I¡¯ve been stripped of all my clothes and had them replaced with some wrist manacles. All in all, not too bad of situation, I¡¯ve been held in worse prison cells.


    That¡¯s pessimistic.


    I mean, who knows? I could be in some hot, new day-spa that prides itself on brutalist architecture and making its customers feel as helpless as possible.


    ¡°Prisoner U01-685, get up and approach the door. Any sudden moves will result in termination. Any violent action will result in termination. Any attempts at escape will result in termination,¡± a buzzing, static-filled voice fills the room and shatters all my hopes for an enjoyable day at the spa.


    ¡°I was getting to it¡­¡±, I grumble, as I finally gather myself together and hop off the ¡°bed¡±. The small concrete cell I awoke to is even smaller now that I¡¯m standing, the grey ceiling almost grazing my head and the dimensions only slightly larger than my arm span; still, not the worst cell I¡¯ve been in. With a deliberate lack of hostile gestures, I make my way over to the door and await my fate. Within moments its opens, sliding upwards, with a disappointing lack of cool whooshy noises and a disappointing abundance of guns being pointed in my face. Four separate rifles held by four armored guards, their faces hidden by opaque black glass visors on their helms. I have a feeling it isn¡¯t going to take much to convince them to use those¡­The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Come with me, now.¡± Barks the rearmost guard, brimming with authority, and without the crackly loudspeaker, distinctly feminine. The armor-clad guard turns on her heel and begins to walk down a long hallway, completely assured I¡¯ll be right behind. The other three stay trained on me, obviously subservient. It¡¯s enough to almost make me jump into step behind her.


    Almost.


    ¡°You heard her, men, get to it! Are you going to ignore your superior officer?¡± I say to the guards left with me, quiet enough so she probably wouldn¡¯t hear, but with enough force to make them think I might actually know what I¡¯m talking about. It¡¯s beautiful in a way, watching someone¡¯s mental muscle memory war with their rational thought, instinctively listening to a naked man in chains all because he says an order with absolute confidence. Two freeze in a moment of hesitation, and the third doesn''t bother questioning it, already turning to follow. Luckily, one of his fellows manages to think fast enough to grab him by his shoulder and pull him back into formation.


    ¡°Idiot,¡± he growls,¡± she wasn¡¯t talking to us. And you, being a smartass will result in painful termination, you have my word on that.¡±


    He (probably) didn¡¯t have the jurisdiction to shoot me for disliking authority figures, especially ones that have imprisoned me, so I took it in stride. But his point is taken, I don¡¯t have much leeway here. I walk on, past the irate and slightly befuddled guards down the well-lit, if utilitarian, hallway. I enter into what seems to be an interrogation room, suddenly aware that the metal chair across the table from the featureless armored woman is going to be ice cold on my bare bottom¡­


    ¡°Sit.¡±


    ¡°Can I have a cushion?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t asking.¡±


    ¡°Well, I was. Honestly, this spa has been terrible so far, and this is the las-,¡± My upcoming threat to leave a bad review is suddenly interrupted by the dispassionate click of a pistol being cocked, leaving the words to die in my mouth. The sound echoes through the room for a moment, as the door closes silently behind me, leaving me alone with someone who I knew did have the jurisdiction to shoot me whenever the hell she wanted, for whatever reason. It¡¯s one thing to stare a lackey in the face and taunt them, it¡¯s an entirely different thing to look someone who has the power to make other people listen and obey, be it through fear of violence or  ¡°righteous authority¡±. Though, in my opinion, there isn''t much a difference, just a different glove for the same fist.


    And maybe it¡¯s a flaw of mine, but it only makes me want to make this woman as pissed as possible.

 3. Interrogation

    The pistol was slid back into its holster with an unbothered ease, as if I wasn¡¯t just non-verbally given a death threat. The faceless officer leaned forward, fingers clasped and arms resting on the table, ¡°Now, with the shenanigans out of the way, sit. Things will go a lot smoother for you, me, and the janitorial team if you cooperate.¡±


    Begrudgingly, I take those few steps forward and place myself on the, as expected, freezing metal seat. I lean back in my chair, making a bit of distance between her intensity and waiting for her next words. Saying anything out of turn, without knowing what they know, might very well dig me into a deeper hole. Aloof, ignorant, and annoying may very well get me out of this, if I manage to convince them I¡¯m too much of a hassle to keep around, but not dangerous enough to kill or imprison outright.


    After a few moments of staring each other down, face-to-expressionless-plexiglass, waiting for me to react, she takes the initiative, ¡°Prisoner U01-685, David Yasiv, age 25, class B Tech?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question, even if she added an inflection to the end. She¡¯s confirming it to herself, and trying to make me think they more than they do.


    ¡°I plead the 5th.¡±


    She ignores me, going over some internal list of information they got off my gene record, most likely.


    ¡°6 arrest warrants from multiple cities, a few prison stints, and many, many citations for unlicensed tech.¡±


    ¡°Whoever this guy is, he¡¯s got quite an impressive track record. I¡¯d bet he¡¯s a genius, maybe stunningly handsome as well¡­¡±


    She looks me up and down for a moment, unphased by my nudity, ¡°I¡¯d disagree.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Well, ouch.


    ¡°No permanent residence, no contact with family, criminal background, etc.. In essence, low-life scum.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve gotten me confused for him? I am a model citizen, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°A model citizen found unconscious found at the scene of a crime, next to an unregistered Magi? Who, conveniently, has confirmed all of this.¡±


    Fuck. This could actually be a bad situation.


    And dammit! For a ¡°wise practitioner of the most Arcan¨¦ Magickes¡±, he¡¯s not exactly good at keeping his mouth shut when it¡¯d be smart to do so. Being known for consorting with non licensed magi is a hefty, dangerous prison sentence. At least they don¡¯t seem to know that he¡¯s been tutoring me in-


    ¡°And apparently, you¡¯ve been practitioning as well,¡± She finishes, a final tone in her voice that brooked no argument.


    This has conversation has quickly gone from bad, to worse, to fucking disastorus. Like a beautiful swan dive that spirals into a bone shattering belly flop, the kind that makes all the judges wince a little, and crushes the coach¡¯s dreams of bringing his star the gold. And, you know, results in the athlete being resigned to a life-long prison sentence, or being put on death row, or¡­


    The metaphor has fallen apart slightly, I¡¯ll admit.


    Okay, playing it cool isn¡¯t going to work. They know that I know that I¡¯m fucked. With my criminal record and the fact they know I¡¯ve been using, I''m a much, much larger threat to society. Being shot forthright and saying I looked like I was about to start incanting wouldn¡¯t even make the higher-ups bat an eye. The fact I¡¯m not dead right now means they probably have a trick up their sleeve, as ironic as it is to say.


    Or maybe I¡¯ll just be publicly executed as a PR stunt.


    ¡°You and your friend, Alexio I believe, are in deep, deep shit. But the fact you¡¯re neither dead nor in a lead lined cell means something.¡±


    ¡°While I still deny everything that¡¯s happening, I smell a deal here.¡±


    ¡°We want to strike an agreement. You do what we say, you get to live another day.¡± I can feel the smug smile in those words, as I stare into my distorted reflection in the black glass. There¡¯s anger in my eyes, hot and disgusted at the idea of being under her yoke.


    At this point, even with the bitter feeling welling up in the pit of my stomach, I know that it¡¯s time for damage control. I¡¯m caught in check, but not checkmate; there¡¯s a way out of this, somewhere.


    With a sigh, I sit up from my relaxed position, ¡°Well you could¡¯ve just said that from the start.¡±


    ¡°What, and not get such a ¡®stunningly handsome¡¯ lowlife to fear for his life for a moment?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an evil person.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, but more importantly, I¡¯m your new boss.¡±