'Actually..this is a bad idea.' Gunn thought, stopping his own movement.
"I'm not ready." He blurted out.
Marshy and Torch looked at each other, then looked back at Gunn.
Marshy asked, "I thought you were ready for this? Eager, even."
Torch added, "Yeah you were crying about revenge this and revenge that—."
Gunn screeched, "SHUT THE HELL UP. Anyway, I can't go in with the same mindset as when I killed Ivann and his colleague. I need to level up. I was so anxious to see Rai, but I didn't think."
'I acted out of impulse again. Shit. Even when I said I would work on it.'
Marshy grinned, thinking, 'Thank goodness. He's actually not being a brat.'
Marshy replied, "Do you have any idea how you'll level up?"
"Usually when I'm around members of Constables, the system gives me a quest to kill them."
"And if it doesn't?"
"I'll just kill then out of amusement."
Torch asked, "So you're about to go on a killing spree?"
"I know where some constables are stationed, their outposts at the corners of this district. You two can go on the scouting mission on Rai's estate, and then we strike today, when we have enough detail on the place."
Torch folded his arms, "I mean—it's not a horrible idea coming from—."
Gunn dashed towards Torch, "—From who?!"
"You didn't let me finish! But, you're a walking disaster, kid. Wherever you go, death follows. They will find you if we're not around."
"I trained with my family for years when I was a kid. I never knew why, they showed me the art of combat, killing, stealth, and other shit. It's likeâ€"."
Marshy replied, "Like they knew you would get into some shit, runt."
"Mhm. And Ivann's little friend back at the theater mentioned my family believed there was some prophecy that showed Bramwell was going to destroy the world or something."
"That…is strange."
Torch began to lick his own paw, and added, "With luck, Rai can tell us things."
Gunn asked him, "If you were once a human, why are you licking yourself? Gross."
"I'm human! I just don't look like it!"
"Stop yelling! Or die."
"I'll kill you now!"
Marshy watched them, puffing on her cigarette, thinking, 'When I first met Gunn, he was on the edge, anger inside of him at all times. His entire aura seeped nothing but carnage. He doesn't know it yet, and he doesn't want to know it, but he's getting more connected with people.'
Marshy told Gunn, "So run the plan for today over. Hurry up."
Gunn responded, "You and Torch go scout Rai's estate out. I'll do what I need to do. Before we raid the estate, I want to be fully prepared. At least I need my abilities back. I can't go in there naked. The dagger I crafted with my system thing, I can't just solely depend on it. I was eager to rush in and kill, but I won't be stupid this timeâ€"not this fucking time."
"You're finally learning not to be so hasty. But there's still a risk you'll be taken down or caught, even if you're taking down a group of constables."
"The outpost they're in..I've raided before. And I watched them rebuild it with more defenses from the ground up. And before I could raid it again, the execution happened. I know the ways in and out, and since I'm skilled in stealth, if I know when shit is about to hit the fan, I'm leaving. Plus, the weird system thing that I have usually tells me things that are critical."
"Mm..alright then. Let's go Torch."
Torch saluted with his cat paw, "Let's go!"
Marshy stopped, slightly turning around to Gunn, "And Gunn.."
Gunn replied, "What?"
Marshy remembered a moment like this, to where she said "Don't die" to her son, but he ended up getting taken down by Mortimor. Marshy held her tongue to Gunn, saying, "Nothing. Good luck."
Marshy and Torch left, heading towards the estate.
Gunn stood by himself, thinking, 'Did my family really know this would happen..? I always wondered why they trained me so hard, and now I realize even deeper than this shit goes a long way. A prophecy that Bramwell would destroy the world, was it real? Was that guy speaking nonsense? Either way, I'm more involved with this than I know.'
Gunn sat down at his desk, opened his journal, he sighed, and he began to write:
"Mom, dad, family. What the hell were you all Involved in? What happened between you and Bramwell? What's the true story behind it? Why did you train me at a young age? It couldn't only just be for this, right? Was that guy right about some sort of prophecy? I miss you guys. I feel lost as hell right now. I had to stop myself from acting impulsive, which the first time almost killed me, but then Marshy saved me. Marshy, that woman. That brute who smokes cigarettes. She's not a friend, just an acquaintance I guess. She seems to be heavily concerned with my well being, I don't know what the deal behind that is. But I love you guys, and I promise to stop the Empire, and Bramwell."
Gunn stood up, closing his journal. He looked up at the fielding, breathing heavily, saying to himself, "Here we go."
Outside, Marshy and Torch were walking on the busy sidewalk, with Torch in his smaller cat form, and Torch asking Marshy, "So why?"
"Why what, little kitten?"
"You treat Gunn as if he's your son."
"He reminds me too much of him. And why are you paying close attention to me?"
"It's not hard to not see that you hesitate when you're about to say something to him. I remember your son, he does act a lot like Gunn. He was impulsive too, but..."
"How's your family, Torch?"
"—They're uh, fine. I guess. They seem very happy without me."
"Don't say that, you know they miss you."
"Everyday I go and check on them and watch them, they're happy."
"Would you want them to be all sad and depressed and shit? That's weird." Marshy lit up a cigarette.
"…No. You're right. Maybe I'm missing the feeling of feeling like I matter. Even though I wasn't the best dad to those kids, I still protected them no matter what."
"And so what if you ended up as a little pussy cat? You're still alive."
"QUIT SAYING THAT! I'M A HUMAN! A WARRIOR!"
Marshy kneeled down at Torch, and patted his head, "Nah. A little kitty cat to me."
Torch purred, "Ooh, this is—UNPLEASANT! STOP TOUCHING ME!"
Marshy laughed, "HAHA! Aww."
"Tch. Fool. I'm a warrior. By the way, you think we'll win?"
"Hmm. Winning, what exactly?"
"This war against the Empire. And you said you couldn't locate our other mate?"
"Yeah I couldn't. She ran off somewhere. But I think we'll lose. If we don't play our cards right. Crippling the Empire from each foundation and group is the key. If we fuck up, then everything is ruined."
"What?!"
"Everything depends on the choices Gunn makes, since he's the one driven by revenge more than any of us, while me and you only strive for peace. And the only means for peace in each district of this state is to kill off the Empire."
"He is learning. He's growing."
"Yes. He is. When I worked with him before, he would act irrationally, aiming to kill and act out of impulse with no plan. Maybe we'll see a different version of him."
…
Inside of Bramwells bedroom, laying on his bed, there laid Maid Catherine. Bramwell's daughter, Eliza, sat on the bed beside her, her head laid down on the edge as she was asleep.
Catherine looked at Eliza, and smiled, thinking, 'Oh..how perfect would it have been if I had a family of my own before. With all the failed marriages…I yearned for a moment like this.'
Eliza lifted her head, yawning, "H-Hey, you're awake?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Phew. Good. Marshys herbs really do help!"
"Yeah they do. Maybe they worked faster when you're here."
"I'm special then, Right?"
"Yes, you really are."
"Oh! And did you hear? I'm going to a private school. Father says it's the best thing for me right now, and YOU get to come with me!"
"Private school? Does that mean I can't teach you anymore? Does Bramwell not trust me? Does he not care about me anymore?!" Catherine's eyes watered, her eyes beginning to water.
Eliza shook her head, "No no no! He really likes you, Catherine! Please don't cry. You still get to be with me in school!"
"Oh oh okay. Good. Are you ready?"
"Not really. I won't be able to participate in recreation class, because of my legs."
"You won't have to because you're overqualified for it. Those who are specialâ€"."
"…No. Catherine."
"Eliza..?"
"I don't want to watch the other kids be able to run and move around. It's not fair. Why me..?"
"Eliza.."
"Sorry. Maybe I'm just nervous."
"Trust me, your father is working for help with your legs, he's determined."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, 100 percent."
Walking through the door, was Executioner Mortimor, and Eliza shook in fear.
Mortimor asked, "Are you still scared of me?"
Eliza nodded up and down.
Catherine said to Mortimor, "I'll kill you startle her again. She is fragile."
"You're lucky she's in here right now. But I've come to check on you."
"I'm okay. You?"
"What can you tell me about the man in the white robe that attacked you?"
"We're not talking about this in front of Eliza."
"But we are. I'm on short time."
Eliza stood up, grabbing her wooden crutches, smiling, "It's okay, i'm gonna go make myself scarce."
Eliza walked out on the wooden crutches, and Mortimor and Eliza were back on track.
"He was using some sort of gravity abilities. It easily overpowered me."
"And he's looking for Gunn. What else stood out?"
"He placed the dolls out there at my dear love Bramwell's statue. It resonated with some dark energy surrounding the man. He wandered off after beating me, it was odd."
"Do you think his power compares to Bramwell?"
"Do NOT. Do not mention that psychopath with Bramwell again."
"Shut it, crazy bitch. Put that love you have for Bramwell aside and answer my questions. The danger I feel from the dolls that was placed outside, its otherworldly."
"You need love in your life. I'm not 100% right now, but if I was, I'd cave your face in…hehe.." Catherine smiled.
"Love? My love is being able to set things right and rid the world of enemies that destroy the joys of those who enjoy life."
"How fucking noble. Don't you have some investigating to do?"
"..Goodbye. I will return. Get well."
"Cursing me out then telling me to get well. You're an odd man."
…
Wrapped in swathes of dark cloth resembling a makeshift mummy, straps flapping silently from the back of his head in a spectral dance through the cold air, Gunn cut a ghostly figure. His eyes, glowing a fearsome, fiery red beneath the bandages, pierced the foggy afternoon that hung low over the cobblestone streets of Thornville. The town, set in the Victorian era with its steely skies and towering gables, was punctuated by the sharp clatter of horses' hooves and the distant murmurs of townsfolk going about their wary business.
'Changing my appearance every outing is crucial, when witnesses say they saw me as this after I get away, they'll be looking for this outfit, but I'll already be out of it with the outfit burned to the ground.'
Gunn crept silently along the narrow alleys, his movements as fluid and precise as water flowing over stones. He darted from shadow to shadow, beneath the overhang of wrought-iron balconies and through the narrow spaces between brick buildings overgrown with ivy. His agility was his silent confidant, each footfall a whisper against the cobbles, each leap from rooftop to rooftop a breath held in the city's lungs.
Thornville was heavily patrolled; the constables grim and dutiful servants of the Empireâ€"marched the streets in pairs or rode upon robust steeds. Approaching a wide boulevard that housed several important municipal buildings, Gunn paused. Above him, the ornate hands of a public clock loomed, their shadows slicing through the time-worn patina of the clock face. He assessed the pattern of the constables' routes, noting the regularity of their patrols and timed his movements with precision.
As a duo of constables turned at the far end of the boulevard, their boots echoing off the stone like the distant beats of a wardrum, Gunn seized his moment. He sprinted, low and fast, across the open street, his figure nothing more than a blur, a specter of vengeance and resolve. He slid beneath a parked carriage just as another group of constables appeared from a side street.
Catching his breath in the dim underbelly of the carriage, Gunn listened as their conversation drifted past. Words on trivial duties and the chill in the air were peppered with unease about whispers of rebellion in the Empire.
"So you've heard about that doll situation at Bramwell's monument?"
"Those different colored ones? Me and my squad walked past it and the black crystals we had started shaking."
Once their voices faded, Gunn emerged, scaling the side of a nearby building with the ease of a creature born to climb. From his elevated perch, he traced the outline of his destination a stout, grey-stoned building identified by the distinct crest of the Empire, embossed over its wide double doors: the constable outpost.
Gunn surveyed the outpost from his aerial viewpoint, noting the ingress and egress points, the shift change of the guards, and the lazy smoke that meandered from the building's several chimneys, polluting the already somber skies.
'There it is.'
As the afternoon waned into early dusk, shadows stretching like dark fingers across the town's architecture, Gunn descended from his perch as silently as he had ascended. He slipped through the thicket of alleys and backstreets, emerging close to his target. His preparations thorough, his mind as sharp as the daggers he concealed, Gunn crouched in the shadows of the constable outpost, ready for whatever would come next. The stage was set, the pieces in motion; in the heart of the Empire's rule, the dance of shadows began. He was inside of the outpost.