30 minutes later after the escape!
Three behemoths of brass and gleaming mahogany rumbled down the cobblestones towards Minister Thorne's mansion. One of the compressed steam carriage costs a king's ransom – 200,000 Gilas apiece. Unlike the clattering horse-drawn carriages that hauled the commercial transportation, they were for private users.
A network of pipes, polished like copper serpents, snaked across the bodies, feeding compressed steam to powerful pistons that drove the large wheels. The carriages, luxuriously appointed, held six plush, velvet-upholstered seats.
A minimum ride in the horse drawn carriages for a journey of a single street costs 67 Gilas – a sum most citizens would spend on a week's worth of food.
The carriages hissed and puffed, the rhythmic chuff-chuff-chuff a deep bass counterpoint to the whirring of gears and the continuing thunk-thunk-thunk of their massive wheels on the stone road.
They halted with a hiss of escaping steam before the Minister's mansion, where six guards, their faces pale and drawn, stood rigid, their handvolves were also held loosely, heads bowed slightly.
The chill wind did little to explain their tremor; the recent robbery and their failure to apprehend the culprits had left them frozen in fear.
A guard descended from the third carriage. He wore a dark, ill-fitting uniform, the brass buttons were dulled and tarnished. His coat was quite long, reaching his knees. His trousers were frayed at the cuffs, and his boots were scuffed.
Two more guards emerged from the lead carriage, taking up positions flanking the center carriage's door as the first guard opened it with a nervous hand.
Then came Minister Thorne.
First, his highly polished, black leather boots appeared, followed by his impeccably tailored trousers.
His entire figure emerged; tall, with ramrod straight posture.
He was dressed in a flawlessly tailored dark grey morning coat, the lapels were adorned with a miniature gold crest. A crisp white shirt and a silk cravat, knotted with effortless precision, completed the ensemble. A single, heavy gold signet ring adorned his pinky finger.
His expression was unreadable, a mask of controlled composure.
He walked towards his entrance, his footsteps were measured, and the silence was broken only by the soft crunch of his boots on the cobblestones. The remaining guards trailed behind him, their boots echoing softly on the stone.
Minister Thorne noticed their pale faces and asked, "What may be the problem? Did I miss anything...?"
The guards nodded slightly in disagreement, clearly portraying their fear.
He smiled and placed a hand on one guard's shoulder, his expression quickly shifting to one of seriousness.
"Tell me the truth, if you still want to see your family by your next leave...?" Minister Thorne tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, scrunching the jacket into a squeeze that displayed creases. The guard's shoulder ached as the grip tightened.
"…Some petty thieves managed to break in and rob the mansion. However, it isn't confirmed that they took anything, sir…" The guard shivered, his words breaking as he spoke. "We…"
Minister Thorne cut in with a slight chuckle, releasing his grip on the guard's shoulder. The guard felt a weight lift off his shoulder.
"So, these "petty thieves" managed to break in, and when you figured it out, you still couldn't capture them, is that right?" His voice shifted from calm to menacing. "In other words, the security in the mansion is no better than an open gate... And where does the fault lie?"
It was clear that the question required no reply.
"Follow me to my study. The six of you, precisely."
The guards nearly peed themselves at that last sentence; their legs were shaking and they were almost paralysed as the Minister walked past them into the mansion. His hands were now settled behind him, a whistle escaping his lips as he walked through the dimly lit hallway. The guards followed him closely.
Each gaslamp casted a harsh, flickering circle of light, leaving the spaces between swallowed by an inky blackness that pressed in on the guards.
Their footsteps echoed unnaturally loud, each thud was a counterpoint to the Minister's whistling, a jaunty, almost mocking tune that grated against the growing dread in their hearts.
They walked in a silent, terrified clump, their eyes darting nervously from the flickering lamplight to the Minister's back, each hoped the Minister's gaze would linger less on them.
Arriving at the study, the Minister found the door swung wide open, its frame broken. He sighed, dismissing it as something that could be fixed in a few hours.
Stepping into the room, he noticed the curtain dragged aside and the window shattered. His eyes widened in shock as he gestured towards the broken glass. "Did the thieves do that? Are you certain they were human...? Impossible!"
Minister Thorne emphasised how improbable it was for the glass to break in such a manner.
After a few moments, he pushed the matter aside and moved to his chair.
The study was in disarray; he also spotted the vault, now exposed, with signs of someone attempting to force it open. He did not consider that any sort of ability might have been used on it. However, all of this was of no serious concern to him.
"Perhaps you're all prepared for the aftermath of letting the thieves get away, right?" He paused, his eyes meeting each of their trembling gazes. "Also, I won't need you to search for them or anything else; they escaped successfully, and that's final. Time will only reveal what comes next..."
He stood up from the chair and walked towards the three-drawer unit, where he opened the first drawer and pulled out a revolver.
The six guards took a step back in fear, their eyes lingering on the revolver. The floor emitted a sound: Creak! as they retreated. Minister Thorne then pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the muzzle of the gun before examining it closely under the yellow light of the gas lamp.
The revolver was a weighty piece, its nickel-plated frame shone dully under the gaslight. Scratches marred its surface, hinting at a history of use, and the cylinder, slightly tarnished, rotated with a satisfying click as Thorne turned it.
The grip, however, was not wood, but smooth silver, mirroring the metallic gleam of the frame. This was no ordinary firearm; this was a Colt Peacemaker (As nicknamed due to its expensive build - Silver handle. Silver, Gold, and Diamonds are rare resources in the city) a collector's item. Its value on the open market? A hefty 9,200 Gilas, plus a significant tax of 1000 Gilas, bringing the total to 10,200 Gilas.
The exorbitant taz reflected the stringent regulations surrounding firearm ownership in Ironhaven. The high cost acted as a deterrent, limiting access to those who could truly afford the responsibility and could pass the stringent requirements for legal ownership. These included extensive background checks, a rigorous firearms safety course, and a mandatory psychological evaluation. Only upon successful completion of all these requirements would a permit be issued, granting the right to purchase and carry a regulated firearm.
Aria and her gang clearly operated outside these regulations. Their possession of this Colt Peacemaker was, therefore, illegal. Article 37, Section 4 of the Ironhaven Constitution clearly stated, "The possession and use of any firearm without the appropriate license issued by the City Bristow is punishable by a minimum fine of 5000 Gilas and a prison sentence of up to five years." The penalties, however, were significantly less stringent for those under the age of nineteen. Teenagers caught with illegal firearms were typically let off with a warning, as the city lacked the legal framework to prosecute minors under the age of 19.
Thorne produced a small, ornately carved wooden chest from the same drawer... Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay approximately twenty silver bullets. Pure miniature cylinder of gleaming metal, its tip were sharply pointed, promising a swift and lethal impact.
"This," Thorne said, his voice went low and measured, gesturing to the revolver, "is a Colt Peacemaker. Its mechanism is deceptively simple. You see this hammer? Cocking it rotates the cylinder, bringing a fresh cartridge into alignment with the barrel. Pulling the trigger releases the hammer, igniting the primer in the cartridge, which in turn explodes the gunpowder, propelling the bullet down the barrel." He paused, letting his words sink in.
"The bullet, travelling at considerable speed, impacts its target with devastating force. Its silver composition ensures it bypasses most common forms of mundane protection, leaving even those experienced in defence with little hope of survival."
He continued, addressing the guards' knowing silence, "I understand this is basic training material. You've been taught about the stopping power of firearms, the lethality of silver, the mechanics of projectile weaponry...Yet, the visceral understanding, the chilling reality of what this weapon represents, can only truly be grasped in the moment of confrontation. It is not simply a theory of impact, but the immediate finality of its application."
He then smiled.
Minister Thorne began loading the Colt Peacemaker. He carefully extracted a gleaming silver bullet from the velvet-lined chest – one of the roughly twenty nestled within. With deliberate movements, he inserted the bullet into one of the six chambers of the revolver's cylinder. Note that the barrel itself has only one hole, the path through which the bullet travels when fired. The cylinder, however, has six chambers, allowing for six shots before reloading is needed.
He continued loading, each made a click sound. His explanation regarding the price of ammunition served to underscore the disparity in access to such weaponry. "A dozen of these silver bullets," he stated, his voice remained low, "costs the equivalent of four bolts of fine silk – that's 4000 Gilas, plus a hefty 500 Gilas tax, bringing the total to 4500 Gilas.
"This means," he continued, his smile widening slightly, "that while even a middling citizen, considered poor by most standards, might scrape together enough to purchase a Colt Peacemaker itself, the ongoing cost of ammunition effectively restricts its use. The rich, however, can afford both the weapon and the bullets to make it truly lethal. It is a privilege of wealth, not simply of possession."
His eyes swept over the assembled guards, lingering on their expressions. "The gun is merely an instrument. The silver bullets are its teeth. And the true power lies in the ability to use them without constraint."
With a final, decisive click, the cylinder of the Colt Peacemaker snapped shut. The sound was sharp, metallic, and utterly final – a punctuation mark to the minister's chilling speech.
He hefted it briefly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that drew every eye in the room, he raised the weapon, the bright silver of the cylinder catching the light. The muzzle found its mark – the temple of a guard whose face had drained of all color.
The guard's body trembled. His eyes, wide with terror, darted around wildly before finally focusing on the minister.
A strangled gasp escaped his lips. He crumpled to his knees, his voice became a broken whisper. "Please, Minister! No! I...I have only one daughter...who...who will care for her?"
Minister Thorne's smirk deepened. "Well," he said, his voice turned to a low purr, "since I am ending you, I shall take on the suffering that was yours, as karma. Consider it a… redistribution of burdens."
Tears streamed down the guard's face, mingling with the dirt on his cheeks. His pleas became increasingly desperate, but Thorne remained impassive.
Unseen, unnoticed by the petrified guards and the minister himself, Thorne's youngest daughter, Elara stood in the hallway, her small hand gripping the cold metal banister. She listened to her father's words, her expression was unchanging, revealing nothing of the turmoil that might have been raging within.
Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, she turned and quietly walked away, leaving the scene unfolding.
The first shot shattered the suffocating silence.
Bang!
The report echoed, sharp and brutal, followed swiftly by a second.
Bang!
Then a third, a fourth, a fifth.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
And finally, the sixth shot.
Bang!
The six shots rang out like a death knell, their echoes bouncing off the walls of the house and spilling out onto the street, startling the unsuspecting residents into a sudden, fearful awareness.
Elara continued walking through the hallway, with no single change in her emotion after the shots. It seemed to have been normalised to her...
"Empty drums makes the loudest noise.." Minister Thorne whispered, taking a seat back onto his chair with the revolver still in hand.
....
(Precisely 1 hour after the situations! Current time: 5:21 PM)
Lower District!
The six—Rayden, Eleanor, Griffin, Kai, Liam, and Aria—were discussing in the empty room again, after a narrow escape from the Upper District. Their bags were thrown on the table carelessly as they continued...
"...So do you actually agree that we can't continue down this path anymore? We almost got caught, and that Minister surely will not follow the Constitution in dealing with us. Just look at that bloody politician; I can imagine how he would look," Griffin argued, placing a hand on his temples as he thought deeply.
Aria sighed and gave him a long, fierce gaze. "I've realised something about you," she paused, trying to catch Griffin's attentive ears. "To put it simply: you're not street wise, but rather, book smart. Your father must have taken you down the rocky road of serious home teaching from a young age.
"Well, let me break it to you: THE STREET IS NOT YOUR ACADEMIC BOOK, AND NO, YOU CAN'T USE THE SAME LOGIC FOR CALCULATING THE DISTANCE OF A TRIP TO MEASURE HOW HARD THE STREET IS IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING WORTHY!"
Griffin let her finish before he spoke. He wanted to hear her insights about the street, to comprehend and respond. She was right; he wasn't the street wise kind like them; he was more of a nerd who knew what was likely to happen next through calculations and thinking.
In the street, there is no time for patience. Either you move fast, or you get pushed off the line; if not, you won't just be pushed off the line—you'll be obliterated from life.
The other four watched them argue continuously, listening to their exchange. They considered Griffin as the chess player[1] and Aria as the street savvy [2].
Agh.. I feel like this is going to go on for hours, let us unpack the gains! Liam protested inwardly with a distressed look.
Slowly, Griffin began, "Yes! I'm not the street nerd, but I have something that comes from the book, and only with the street may it work. It's actually more profitable and holds less risk than stealing..."
Aria crossed her arms over her chest with a huff as she fixed her gaze on Griffin.
"But first, reveal what you've been hiding from me. That's the only way we can build trust amongst ourselves..." Griffin demanded, he knew the secret but wants them to spill the beans rather.
The other four exchanged confused glances and leaned in closer to get a better view of the discussion.
"The hidden room, you mean? Okay, that's the only hidden thing... First, before I reveal this room, since I've told you about our little secret, what is this new path?"
Griffin rolled his eyes dramatically and directed a smirk towards Aria. He leaned closer to her face.
The suspense is killing me; how could they begin their "psychopathic romance" in the middle of this tough deliberation? Money is involved, you know? Rayden released a sigh.
Finally, Griffin spoke in a deep tone, "Money... laundering..."
"What!?" the five of them blurted out in unison as soon as Griffin made that statement.
What does he mean by money laundering? Is he suggesting...
[1] : This Implies someone who thinks several moves ahead, like in a game of chess.
[2] : It refers to someone who possesses practical knowledge and experience about how to move around urban environments and social situations effectively. To simply put it, they mostly have a deep understanding of the unspoken rules of the street, as well as the ability to read people and situations accurately. They are a bit similar to chess players..