Ivan sat quietly beside the street band, his thoughts a tangled web. 'It wasn't my fault,' he told himself. 'What happened to Fred wasn't because of me. I didn't prescribe the morphine, and I didn't sell him the haloperidol. Everything I've done has been within the law. My goals are legal, so what crime have I committed?'
The rationalization settled uneasily in his mind as time slipped by. Afternoon light stretched shadows across the street, and the band began wrapping up their set. The lead singer, a wiry black man with a striking resemblance to Don Shirley, stepped forward and announced the final song of the day. His voice was smooth, commanding attention even as the crowd began to thin.
Just then, Ivan's ears caught something, his name, faint yet distinct. "Boss Rocky?"
His heart skipped a beat. Turning, he scanned the street and spotted a figure standing under a streetlamp across the road. The man was tall and slender, shrouded in a long coat that seemed to absorb the fading light. He wasn't familiar, but the way he stood; still, poised, and deliberate, sent a chill down Ivan's spine.
The man smiled when Ivan turned, a small, calculated smirk. Slowly, almost theatrically, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol.
The world around Ivan seemed to slow. The man's movements were like a scene from a high-speed camera; deliberate, precise, and unstoppable. Ivan's mind raced, alarm bells blaring in his head. 'He knows me. He called me Boss Rocky. Is he from the Immigrant Mutual Aid Association? Or maybe a family member? Did I make a mistake somewhere?'
But he shook the thought away. 'Now's not the time to figure that out. He's already drawing his gun!'
His eyes darted around. There was no cover nearby, no immediate escape. His usual tricks, hardener spells, rooster blood charms; would take too long to activate. He'd be an easy target. 'What do I do?'
The man raised his pistol, the muzzle black and cold. Ivan could see the flash of the trigger as it was pulled. The silent bullet tore through the air toward him.
Instinctively, Ivan's right hand shot up, palm open, and he felt a familiar sensation. A ripple, like a tear in reality itself, formed in front of his hand. In the next moment, something appeared in his grasp.
A voice echoed in his mind:
[Space material detected: rubber bullets.]
[Current space: 11/11.]
Ivan stared at his palm in disbelief. There it was; a single, unscathed rubber bullet.
He exhaled shakily. 'It worked.'
His space ability had acted as an invisible void, catching the bullet mid-flight. Relief washed over him briefly, until he realized what this meant.
'Rubber bullets?' Ivan turned the object over in his hand, his expression darkening. 'He wasn't trying to kill me. He was testing me. He knew I'd try to defend myself.'
His eyes snapped back to the man, who now stood closer, weaving effortlessly through the oblivious pedestrians. That's when Ivan noticed it: the world had gone silent. The vibrant brass jazz, the chatter of pedestrians, the clatter of carriages; all of it was gone. The world felt eerily muted, like a vivid silent film.
Even the people seemed off. They moved with unnatural calm, their expressions vacant as they passed by without sparing Ivan a glance. The only sound was the crunch of the man's boots as he crossed the cobblestones, his smile widening as he approached.
The man stopped a few steps away, calmly loading another round into his pistol. His voice broke the oppressive silence, clear and sharp. "I just wanted to test you," he said, tilting his head slightly. "And look at that, you caught the bullet. So, you're a wizard. Tell me, what's your special ability?"
Sweat trickled down Ivan's temple. He swallowed hard, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "Maybe… this is just Kung Fu?" he offered weakly, forcing a wry smile.
The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Kung Fu? Really? If Kung Fu were 'that' powerful, Asian would've ruled the world by now." His tone was mocking, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "No, this is something else. Something special."
Ivan's muscles tensed as the man raised his gun again, this time aiming directly at his chest. "Here's the deal," the man said, his voice calm but tinged with menace. "You're going to tell me what you can do. Or…" He let the threat hang in the air, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.
Ivan's thoughts churned. This man wasn't an ordinary assassin. He was prepared, calculated, and entirely too confident. And worse, he knew Ivan's secret. Or at least part of it.
"You're awfully interested in me for someone who doesn't even know my name," Ivan said, stalling for time. His tone was steady, but his mind was frantically assessing his options.
The man smirked, lowering the gun slightly. "You're right. Formal introductions are in order." He placed a hand on his chest and gave a mock bow. "Call me Alaric. Let's just say I'm in the business of finding… interesting people like you."
Ivan's pulse quickened. 'A recruiter? Or something worse?'
"Well, Alaric," Ivan said slowly, his voice laced with deliberate calm. "I'm flattered by the attention, but I'm afraid I'm not interested in whatever business you're offering."
Alaric's smile widened, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, but I think you'll find my offer very hard to refuse." He gestured around at the silent, eerie world. "You've already seen a glimpse of what I can do. And trust me, you don't want to see more."
Ivan's jaw tightened. He wasn't sure what Alaric's endgame was, but one thing was clear: this wasn't going to end peacefully.
The world felt like it was holding its breath, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second. Ivan's fingers twitched at his side, ready to act.
"Let's see how long you can keep up that calm facade," Alaric said, his grin turning predatory. "Show me what makes you special, Rocky."
Ivan's mind was a storm, but one thought cut through the chaos: 'I've faced worse than you.'
The man chuckled, a low, almost playful sound, as though he were sharing a private joke with an old friend. His relaxed demeanor belied the calculated intensity in his gaze. To him, Ivan's act of "catching" the bullet with his bare hand was extraordinary, a feat no ordinary human could accomplish. The true nature of Ivan's ability was hidden, but what the man saw was enough to mark Ivan as someone worth his attention.
Ivan stood slowly, offering a wry smile, though his mind was already working through possible outcomes. The identity of the man before him wasn't hard to guess, but the fact that he hadn't attacked outright meant there was room to maneuver, however slim.
After a pause, Ivan broke the silence. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tuner."
---
The man's grin widened, his pistol still in hand. "Rocky," he began, his tone casual but with an undertone of menace, "first, let me make something very clear. That first shot? A rubber bullet. The next one… well, that depends on you." He twirled the gun lazily, as if to underscore his point.
"I understand perfectly," Ivan replied, waving a hand in mock surrender. His heart was steady, though he was acutely aware of the man's every movement. Ivan's abilities were exceptional for tracking and ambushing targets, but in sudden encounters like this, they left him at a disadvantage. Unfortunately, most of his battles so far had been just that; unplanned, messy skirmishes.
He glanced around, motioning toward the passersby. "And them? What's happened to them?" he asked, hoping to stall for time.
The Tuner—'John C. Metallia', Ivan reminded himself, followed Ivan's gaze. "Them?" he said with an amused tilt of his head. "They're not on the same frequency as us. They can't hear us, and we can't hear them. They're in their world, and we're in ours."
Ivan frowned. "They don't notice anything strange?"
John smiled indulgently and shook his head. "You underestimate how much people rely on sound, Rocky. Sound grounds them. It tells them where they are, what's happening around them. Even their thoughts, most people think by translating their ideas into internal words. Without sound, they're like... ghosts walking through a dream. Oblivious. Unless someone makes them notice, they won't."
Ivan nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation. "Fascinating," he muttered, before shifting gears. "But I still don't understand why you've come to me. I don't recall doing anything that might've crossed you or your family."
John raised two fingers, his smile widening. "Two reasons," he said. "To win you over, or to eradicate you."
Ivan let out a dry chuckle. "That's refreshingly direct."
"We Metallias are nothing if not efficient," John replied, his grin now a thin, sharp line. He straightened slightly, his posture carrying an air of casual authority. "Nice to meet you properly. I'm John C. Metallia."
Ivan's smile tightened. "So you 'are' from the Metallia family."
"Indeed," John said with a slight incline of his head. "I assume you've heard of us?"
"Of course," Ivan replied smoothly. "Before doing business in a new city, it's only smart to know who the players are."
John's smile returned, lighter now. "Good. Then you must've heard of the Robins family too?"
Ivan nodded again. "I have."
"Have they tried to recruit you?"
Ivan hesitated for a moment, then decided on a measured truth. "They approached me. I declined. To be honest, I don't want to be tied to any faction."
"Ah, the lone wolf approach," John said with a knowing nod. "Admirable. But let me make a case for the Metallia family. We're always looking for talented individuals, especially wizards."
Ivan's expression didn't shift, but his mind sharpened at the word. 'So they know what I am.'
John continued, "If you join us, you won't lose your freedom. Quite the opposite. You'll have our protection, guaranteed. Your dealings with the Mexicans will remain undisturbed. And as for the source of your… product, we won't ask questions. As long as you're loyal to us, we'll ensure your safety and success."
Ivan allowed himself a faint smile. "You'd go to all that trouble just for a simple wizard like me?"
John chuckled, a genuine laugh this time. "Come now, Rocky. Don't sell yourself short. You're far from simple."
The Tuner's tone shifted, gaining an edge of intrigue. "But to be honest, it's not just about you. We have a… project, a vision. And to make it happen, we need more wizards. New wizards. Fresh perspectives."
Ivan raised an eyebrow. "A project?"
John's smile turned enigmatic. "I think you'll find it very compelling. But it's not something I can explain here. Join us, and you'll see. What do you say, Rocky? Will you take a step into something bigger than yourself?"
The silence between them felt heavy, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. Ivan's mind churned. Whatever this "project" was, it clearly had weight. But aligning himself with the Metallias? That was a choice that couldn't be undone.
"I'll think about it," Ivan said finally, his voice steady but noncommittal.
"Good," John said, slipping the pistol back into his coat with a satisfied smile. "Take your time. But don't take too long. Opportunities like this don't come around often."
With that, John stepped back into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the bustling cityscape as if he'd never been there. The world's sounds rushed back all at once: jazz music, clattering carriages, laughter and Ivan felt the weight of the encounter settle on him.
He stood there for a moment, considering the road ahead. The Metallias weren't just another family, they were planning something bigger. And now, Ivan had a choice: walk away and risk being a target or step forward and dive deeper into the shadows.