My hands parse over her lifeless body until I find it. The source of her wealth.
A pouch small enough to fit into the palm of my hand tied with a small pink drawstring was hidden inside her coat pocket. This is,
Antique #37: Pixie Dust
A pink dust that puts whoever has inhaled it in a dreamlike stupor.
In this small bag, she built an empire. This dust crippled my entire city, corrupting so many people inside. This pouch must be able to duplicate its contents or replenish itself when it's empty. Not that figuring out the inner workings of this thing matters.
I won't need it. It was her crutch. I won't make it mine.
I shove the bag inside my pocket, never intending to use it.
"Arthuuuuurrrr!" Somehow Vilma, the hulking bucket of iron she is, sneaks up on me. Partially because I expected it to be impossible to get up here.
"How did you get here when the elevator is..." On the wall directly next to the platform, a trail of hand-sized craters sprouted from the floor to where Vilma had appeared. She punched holes in the wall and climbed up them... "Never mind."
"Are you alright? I saw Bianca standing over you so I threw a gun at her."
So it was Vilma. "I'm fine thanks to you. You did a good job."
"Well, I couldn't let my bestie die! Also, why are your eyes pink?"
"A side effect of the drug Bianca sprayed me with."
"Oh, where is she by the way? I still need to get this little guy here to kill her!" She eagerly scans the small platform and finds Bianca's corpse lying on the edge next to the railing. Her eyes turn to glazed marbles. She rushes to Bianca for a closer look at the work I'd done, then turns back to me with a gaze that demands answers.
"You killed Bianca!?"
"That's what we came here to do."
"B- But Miss Melanie told me to have the boy do it!"
"I'm not going to traumatize a child. He's been through enough already."
"But now she'll punish me for not following directions! This was my one chance to get her to love me!"
She abandons Bianca's corpse, now casting a shadow over me. An air of metallic sweat wafting off her hits me in the face. The moon traces a halo of silver around her crimson-stained body. Looking up to her like this, if you didn't already know her, you'd think she was a monster. An invincible, all-powerful, and unfeeling demon.
But to me, someone who has had the privilege and occasionally, misfortune of knowing her for as long as I have, I see someone who's terrified. Despite her dwarfing me, it feels like she's looking up to me for some kind of solution to fix what's been done. But there is no way to fix this. This is the best outcome I could have made for everyone.
"How you deal with Melanie after this isn't my problem."
"Arthur!" She whines.
"How will she even know, Vilma? The only people who can really say how she died are the two of us. Everyone else is dead."
"But..."
"If she asks who did it say the boy did. And since I know you're an awful liar, if it doesn't go well then say I disobeyed her orders on purpose. That way at least you won't be blamed for it."
"...Ok."
For her sake, I hope she listens to me. Melanie is a cold-hearted woman. If she finds out Vilma failed or figures out she's lying, Vilma's life will be in danger. But Vilma can handle herself, and it's better than mentally scaring the kid.
Now with that done, is there anything else I'm forgetting? Bianca's dead, her followers shouldn't call the police unless they want to be raided in the process. There's guaranteed to be a few things in the tower the cops couldn't turn a blind eye to. And even if they do try to take me down with them, I can just show the police that Bianca is the cause for all the Pixie Dust that's been running through the streets, and they'll look over anything I did tonight. All that's left to do is grab the kid and-
If it's not one thing it's another. Today was not supposed to go like this.
My eyes finally put into focus what was just out of my field of vision. The kid must have picked up the gun Bianca's dead bodyguard had dropped while we weren't looking. And now his shaky hands have the pistol trained at my head.
"Kid, think about what you're doing." He's upset, scared, and probably just wants to see his parents.
I can't blame him for wanting to shoot something, I probably would have done the same thing at his age. But I'm not in the best position to block a bullet when I can hardly see him, and just turning my head might be enough to set him off.
Being caught off guard like this doesn't leave my mind with many options. Honestly for the first time tonight, I'm backed against a wall, by a kid no less, and my body is involuntarily reacting in turn.
My heart is becoming motionless, unmoving, and unfeeling. The sword and my hands become glued together, melding into my body. The chilling blood seeps down my arm, courses into the tip of The King's Edge, and cycles back into me.
My eyes are blocking out every reflected star, Vilma, and the very platform we're standing on until all there is is him and I in a calm dark void. My life freezes solid in my veins and my lungs are content with starving themselves of air long enough for me to diffuse the situation.
This dead calm in the face of uncertainty, the ability to become a corpse for survival. I never disliked it before, and under different circumstances, I'd be glad to welcome it back after a year of drought. I just wish it hadn't returned now.
If he doesn't shoot and puts the gun down, I can breathe easy, and we both can go home. But if he does pull that trigger and my body instinctively moves to remove the danger, the only person I can blame for what happens next is Melanie.
But for now, we stand at an impasse, waiting for the other to make their move.
His hands tremble the longer he looks at my cold stone body, and tears slowly well up from his eyes.
But he doesn't turn away. He continues staring, desperation rolling down his bright red cheeks.
My cruel black sun's scorching vision. He draws his eyelids closer together, squinting to regulate the stony sunshine, but even trace amounts are getting to him.
And when the burn he must be feeling in his eyes becomes too much to bear, he shuts them and I can tell what's coming next. It's either him or me, and I'm not benevolent enough to let it be me.
The gun goes off and sends the bullet towards me, a bullet my sword is fully prepared to block, with a slice meant to cut the kid before he can shoot another.
But thankfully it never gets to that point. Because even if she is as dumb as a bag of bricks, Vilma's always there when you need her most.
Vilma places her body in between mine and the bullet, and grips her hand around my cleaving wrist, snapping me out of my trance and protecting the boy from what would have been his death.
Only one shot explodes into the stars. His trigger finger sits ready, but something petrifies his movements. Short chest expansions are all he can do. He's paralyzed, probably overwhelmed by the emotions of what he was about to do at such a young age.
While his mind is still being consumed, Vilma strips him of his gun. She then hooks the front of his shirt and reels him up to her face. The two look at each other at eye level and her head retreats backward.
"Wait, Vilma." She pauses, and I signal to let him down.
I grab the boy and drape him under my shoulder in a constricting bind. It's probably uncomfortable, but it's better than Vilma knocking you out.
"You could have caused him serious brain damage if you hit him with your thick skull."
"I would've been gentle."
"Sure. You're notorious for your graceful and tender touch." A few silent tears fall down his cheeks, but he doesn't struggle away from me.
I'm sorry kid. Our job's done here. You can go home, say hi to your mom, do your homework, and forget any of this happened. You'll probably wake up tomorrow and think of this all as some bad dream. We just gotta get out of here.