Cassian-13

High Dominion Calendar date: day 106 of the year 237

The night’s humidity stressed every pressure point of Cassian-13’s enhancements, especially his right shoulder. Maybe the clouds would burst. That might help. As would upgrades. But hunters at the end of their lifecycle received standard policy rejections regardless of the requests. Assholes.

Pushing off his knee, he rose from his crouch with a grunt. Though the vantage point from the six-storey building’s rooftop wasn’t optimal, he preferred keeping a safe drop distance. A few blocks north, Draven-7 balanced on the balcony of an eighth-floor apartment as his hunter-eye glowed a faint green.

For a standard target, Cassian-13 scoffed at the idea of being assigned a backup; especially a cocky low-level one. Had pushing past his expiry date made the High Dominion anxious? He’d never failed them; why would they doubt him now?

Walking out of the Weldon Street train station entrance, the Crimson Order operative’s long, hurried strides gave her away. Deep within a metropolis, a Red Weaver could be hard to spot with little trace of natural Red around. Though a hunter who paid attention to details would notice the shimmer.

Draven-7, a recent addition to the Hunters Guild, didn’t appear big on details, as he scanned the streets in a chaotic pattern. No chance he’d picked up on their mark.

Back on the street, their target neared the Greyford Avenue intersection. She threw a glance over her shoulder and picked up her pace until she rounded the corner to head west down Greyford. Cassian-13 winced, rolled his shoulders, and stepped over the edge of the roof.

Halfway down the two-second free fall, a sharp hiss emitted from his knee joints as steam vents slid open, followed by a clunk of loosening cogs. When his feet met the road, the gears’ rhythm tightened as his legs bent and hot steam rushed out, providing him a soft landing. Well, soft enough. He punched the side of his right knee to pop a gear into place. Fucking hell that hurt.

Following his lead, Draven-7 hopped down from his perch, making a graceful show of his descent, touching a couple of lower balconies on his way down. He’d better enjoy it while he could; every hunter lived on borrowed time.

Muscles clenching, gears spinning, and boots finding purchase, Cassian-13 pushed into a sprint down the street mostly free of moving vehicles. An old, sputtering clockwork motorcycle that stressed its engine, not unlike his own, drove past him. The more he pressed, the more the inner wheels and levers kicked in, the more his blood pumped throughout his body, and the harder his heart worked, the less everything hurt. Adrenaline remained the only drug effective at subsiding the constant pain of existing.

Approaching the intersection, a city steam-train chugged along its track down Greyford Avenue, cutting Draven-7 from view. Hopefully, he’d recognised their target by now. With a slick manoeuvre to slip between two parked brass buggies, Cassian-13 grinned. Still a bit of grace in this broken body.

As he rounded the corner, the train’s tail passed by, returning his line of sight to Draven-7, who ran with a touch too much tempo; however, Greyford’s heavy traffic flow kept him from crossing. What were the chances he understood the long game and kept his distance from the mark? Cassian-13 had his doubts.

Still within view, the Order’s operative continued to jog west. To learn her destination, they just needed to keep pace. Far from Crimson Order territory, the bustling metropolis of concrete and steel, Blackcrow City, provided weavers a chance to hide, even though it stripped them of their power.

They thought the lack of Red and the dense crowds provided them protection. Made them feel invisible. They misunderstood what revealed itself to an experienced hunter in the heart of a large city like Blackcrow. A faint shimmer always existed around them. Their arrogance would often lead him to their havens.

The weaver leaned forward and broke into a sprint. Draven-7 crossed the road in pursuit, setting chase too early. Idiot. A high-pitched whirr escaped from Cassian-13’s hips as he increased his own speed. Pedestrians made way or were pushed aside. Muscles and gears worked together to catch Draven-7, grabbing him by the arm and bringing them to a stop.

“Let go of me, you relic,” Draven-7 snapped, trying to pull himself free. Clicks and clacks came from his right hand as it tightened and locked into place around the younger hunter’s upper arm, who released a yelp and dropped to one knee.

“Lots of fleshy bits on a seven,” Cassian-13 said, loosening the grip a touch.

“You’re letting her get away.”

A slight churn threatened to re-tighten the hold. “Let her lead. Go to the roof; I’ll stay grounded. We move when we know her destination.”

Draven-7’s eye shifted from the mechanical hand to Cassian-13. “Fine,” he replied through a clenched jaw, “just let go of me.”

Cassian-13 unlocked his grip, and following orders, Draven-7 ran to the nearest building, jumping to the second-floor balcony to start his climb. Rolling his right shoulder, Cassian-13 winced. The pursuit continued with a high-paced jog that got his blood pumping again. Letting their mark get too far ahead probably wasn’t the smartest move, but neither was catching her too early. Fucking low-levels, no wonder they never soloed assignments.

And like a pressure valve releasing in a violent burst, the sound of the rain reached Cassian-13 a fraction ahead of getting pelted by it. He pulled up the hood of his long coat without breaking his stride, dodging people who ran for cover, their cries muffled by the raindrops drumming on the cityscape.

He neared the next intersection, the cross-traffic dashing by. Above him, Draven-7 signalled he had eyes on their woman. Impressive. The downpour made it hard to see hand signals, but Cassian-13 understood the gist: a quick turn south past the crossroads.

The traffic direction hadn’t changed, and he didn’t want to slow down, so against his better judgement and the protest of varied gears, when Cassian-13 reached the corner, he leapt over the moving vehicles. Landing on wet cement caused his balance to falter by a fraction. Fuck. The snap came from the ankle pin he’d fixed after his last hunt. No more stupid tricks.

The alley where the operative disappeared had no light reaching it. When Cassian-13 switched his hunter-eye to night vision, the path still gave nothing away. He freed his long bronze dagger from its leg sheath. A quick tuck of the blade under his forearm and an aggressive inhale through the nose settled his mind. The tingles flowing across his flesh as his metals buzzed, preparing for action, was what he lived for.

A door shape at the end of the alley was barely visible. And it had no clear handle or opening mechanism. This was more than a simple hideout. His unaltered left hand hovered around the thin gap within the cold metal. Although it remained difficult to see, the touch didn’t lie; an entrance existed, and he would find a way in.

The rain’s steady rhythm broke with the stomping of boots nearing.

“Where’d she go?” Draven-7 asked, “I was sure she came here.”

“She did.”

“What do you mean? Where is she?”

“The door.”

“What door? I don’t see anything.”

Cassian-13 sighed. “Night vision.” And there it was, those sneaky bastards.

“Oh! There it is!”

“Fuck. Quiet.” The handle at the bottom right corner was a tricky one. It would require a human right hand. Holding the grunt deep in his throat, he pushed himself up and asked the younger hunter, “Is your right hand still original?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“At the bottom of the… Wait. Your blade. Is that Red-glass?”

A crooked grin flashed on Draven-7’s face as he brought up his dagger to show it off. “Yeah. Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Where’s your issued bronze blade?”

“Why? This is…”

“Throw that blade away,” Cassian-13 growled. “No, keep your mouth shut. You need to stick that thing deep into the fucker who convinced you to carry it.” Damn, where did they find these idiots?

“I, uh…”

“I will not say it again. Chuck it now!”

Draven-7 did as he was told. The dagger’s clank as it hit the end of the small alley barely reached them through the pounding rain.

“Good. Now the bottom of the door. Use your right hand to open it.”

Once more, Draven-7 followed the commands of the senior hunter and crouched near the invisible entrance. After a minute of grunts and groans, sparks exploded in all directions, leaving Draven-7 screaming as his body convulsed, still holding on to the door.

“Fuck!” Cassian-13 cried out, blinded until he switched the night vision off. Pissed, he inhaled deeply through his mouth as loud whirs and spins emitted from his hips and knees as steam surged from his joints. The rush of agony throughout his every muscle fibre came out in a guttural roar. With three quick steps, he launched himself, shoulder first, into the door, sending a fresh jolt of pain down his spine. The door buckled, cutting off the current and freeing Draven-7 from his electric prison.

His inner gears continued to strain in loud protest as Cassian-13 lifted his right leg and kicked with as much force as his mechanised body would allow. The impact broke something or possibly everything in the ankle; however, the door stopped resisting, twisting off its hinges, providing the hunter enough space to squeeze through.

Once inside, his enhancements eased, the smell of grinding metal lingering. His pain returned to its more manageable, numbing level, though his breathing remained a touch heavy.

The front room wasn’t much brighter than the wet alley he’d just escaped, lit by a single brass oil lamp on the right wall. Nothing fancy about its contents, only a few wooden chairs and a large metal table. In the far-right corner, several exposed brass and copper pipes intertwined over a stove and workshop, as tools hung from pegs above.

A hallway extended from the rear wall’s left side, continuing deeper into the safe-house. A quick check towards the front entrance, Draven-7 lay immobile, getting pelted by the still pouring rain. The younger hunter drew slow breaths, so he was alive. Lucky for him, the lengthy shock didn’t pop his internal detonator. At least he ended up being useful.

The hallway was dark. Losing the ability to read Red brought hesitation to turning back to night vision. Maybe his sight would adjust. With a heavy limp, Cassian-13 moved forward. Whether he’d see another hunt was a thought he needed to push back. It wasn’t the time. He shifted the dagger to his left hand, freeing his mechanical one. Damn, it was dark. A low growl of frustration rumbled in his throat as he flipped to night vision.

A dim glow wavered at the far end of the long, narrow corridor. Midway down the left wall, a closed door waited, void of light. One room at a time. No reason to allow someone to sneak up on him.

Its soft lock never stood a chance as he busted through. Upon entering, a pipe rushed down at his head. His left arm blocked the attack, the flat of his blade absorbing the brunt of the strike. The attacker swung again, with an echoing shout. It was their mark. The weaver. Cassian-13 caught the second attack with his right hand and ripped the weapon from the woman’s grasp.

She reeled back into a counter. They were in a small lavatory. She reached behind her to find something else. No fear lived on her face; she was ready for a fight. Fucking heroes.

Cassian-13 limped closer as she moved her arms in a rhythm he’d seen many times before. There had to be Red here. He flipped the night vision off, and the pipe he held had heavy traces of it. Enough to give a weaver false hope. He wanted to stab her and be done with it, but he needed answers.

Releasing the pipe, his right hand shot out, grabbing the operative by the throat. Her weaving stopped as she clutched his metallic wrist.

Click. Clack.

“What are you hiding?” He demanded. “Who… are you hiding?”

The woman murmured nonsense and waved her hand in a circular motion.

“Please,” Cassian-13 scoffed. “I’ve killed your best on the beaches of Azrelda.”

Click. Clack.

Snap.

The Red Weaver’s arms flopped to her side and her breathing stopped. Upon releasing his grip, the body slumped to the ground. They never talked. Fucking heroes. He’d have to search her later, but first, he needed to clear the rest of the safe-house.

When he returned to the hallway, a faint sound came from the front room. Probably Draven-7 getting back to his senses. With a couple of laboured steps down the dark hall, Cassian-13 reached the other door and rammed into it. With some difficulty, he broke through.

Fluorescent light flooded the basic sleeping quarters. A double bunk bed climbed the far wall, while large cabinets covered the rest, one of which had its doors swung open with a young boy, no older than six years old, standing in front of it.

In a relaxed posture, his gaze studied the intruder, while his veins glowed of Red through his clothes and skin. His short but thick blond hair and small rounded nose brought a fleeting image of a past Cassian-13 had long ago forced himself to forget.

“Who… who are you?”

“Did you come to hurt me?” the boy asked, his expression calm.

The hunter shook his head. Everything throbbed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the Red coursing through the boy. Believing them to be extinct generations ago, he’d never even seen…

“A scarlet?” Draven-7 cried out. “I’m going to be famous.” He rounded Cassian-13, who put his arm up and blocked his way.

“Don’t.”

“Stop touching me, old man.” Draven-7 shoved Cassian-13, who stepped back, his ankle giving in, but somehow he stayed up. Draven-7 moved towards the boy, who backed towards the beds.

Not this time. Cassian-13 was tired of the arrogance of these new hunters. If this was last hunt, he’d retire on his own terms. Vibrations ran through his body as loud hisses and whirrs resonated throughout the room. “No!” Cassian-13 barked and lunged at Draven-7. His mechanical hand grabbed hold of the other hunter’s coat, yanked back hard, sending Draven-7 flying into the wall. The impact shook him, but he rose quickly and touched his hunter-eye.

Fuck, he was about to broadcast.

Cassian-13 needed time. This couldn’t reach the High Dominion; they wouldn’t hesitate to flip his switch. He sent his dagger sailing with the flick of his wrist; the blade penetrating the green glowing eye, which dimmed to black on impact. A howl escaped from Draven-7.

After a few wobbling steps towards his younger counterpart, Cassian-13 threw a straight punch, metal fracturing the bony face of Draven-7, ending the howling scream. A few gears spun in his shoulder, and with a final push, his fist completely crushed Draven-7’s skull. He pulled back and let the bloodied body fall to the floor. His laboured breathing turned into a chuckle. They really don’t make them like they used to.

Steam escaped from his every vent as the cogs slowed down and his adrenaline faded, leaving only the burning smell of hot steel. The numbing pain returned, and dropping to his knees, Cassian-13 struggled to turn to face the boy, his veins glowing brighter, hand held out to his side, waiting for something.

A scraping noise raced down the hallway towards them, and then an object skimmed past his cheek and into the boy’s grip. It was Draven-7’s Red-glass dagger. A couple of drops of blood fell from the boy onto the floor. An impressive trick, but the catch needed work.

“Wait,” Cassian-13 said, holding out his human palm up, mesmerised by the ever-glowing veins.

“Why did you hurt your friend?” he asked, lowering the blade. He took a step towards the hunter, whose head hung low.

“Who are you?” Cassian-13 murmured. More fleeting images flooded his mind when a thud came from inside his chest, right below his heart. Why didn’t he feel it? All of his strength evaporated, and he fell on his back. Above him, the boy’s eyes shifted between him and over his shoulder to where the dead body of Draven-7 lay. Cassian-13 had encountered grown men show more fear with less at stake than this young boy. The Red flowing through him was so beautiful.

The boy brought up the blade and his eyes glowed a deep shade of red Cassian-13 had never seen. The Red-glass knife hovered on its own and slowly it lost its shape, the glass turning to sand. Turning into pure Red. The steel handle fell to the floor as the Red spun faster and faster above him. The boy let out a powerful yell Cassian-13 would have believed impossible for those small lungs, and he threw his little hands onto the hunter’s chest, the Red following the movement, each grain passing through the clothing and penetrating the skin, moving deep within.

His heart burned as if he’d been stabbed with a white-hot iron blade. The boy’s eyes narrowed with concentration as he waved his hands above Cassian-13.

Rapid footsteps echoed down the hall, and a woman’s voice called out, “Alex! No!” She pulled him away and knelt down to check on him.

Alex.

His glowing veins were harder to see now. Everything was harder to see. The room’s light faded until he found himself in darkness. Then the silence also found him.