"Stormwarden: The Final Commission - Entry 4/4"

Copyright © 2022 - Cover art and written content by J.E. Maurice (unless otherwise credited) - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)

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“I’m not sure Movik would approve of this,” Eris remarked to Wendevil as they stood together outside the back door of ISA. The Imperial Surveillance Agency was a task force charged with citywide security; aside from their primary headquarters, many ISA substations littered the cityscape on nearly every street corner. Wendevil asserted that he had a mole on the inside, who was willing to trade information for a hefty fee.

("Hazy Dawn" by J.E. Maurice)

“Since when do you care what she thinks?” Wendevil asked gruffly.

“This is too risky,” she replied, avoiding his direct question. “If this guy is selling ISA information, he could just as easily be collecting and distributing information about us, too.”

“He probably is,” said Wendevil, seemingly unbothered by that prospect. “And he will be whether or not we do business with him.”

Eris’ next objection never received its opportunity to be voiced, in spite of her having it prepared. The back door of ISA Headquarters cracked open, and a figure in a dark coat covertly shambled into view from behind it. Wendevil and Eris took a step forward as the newcomer removed his hood from atop his balding head, and looked at the cyborgs with dubiety. His pale skin appeared mildly glossier than the average human’s skin, and—to the surprise of Eris—he had a single silvery eye in the center of his forehead.

“Hello, Wendevil,” the cyclops said hoarsely.

“Good to see you again, Lixim,” Wendevil replied cordially.

“I pulled those security recordings that you wanted,” Lixim continued, clearly not interested in idle pleasantries. “It’s the standard amount.”

Wendevil wordlessly retrieved a slim envelope from his trench coat’s inside pocket, and let it fall into Lixim’s outstretched hand. The cyclops warily eased the envelope open, counted the amount inside, and slipped it into his own coat pocket. He passed a hologram projector to the cyborg, who wasted no time in activating it.

“These are the security recordings of the time you specified,” Lixim continued, absentmindedly caressing the money in his pocket. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

Lixim’s device powered up with a high-pitched whine, projecting a small, three-dimensional scene into the air. Both Eris and Wendevil identified the image as the street behind Vallume; they also immediately recognized a familiar individual sluggishly making his way out of the rightmost alley.

“That’s definitely the guy we’re looking for,” Eris remarked, pointing at the holographic display. Using her finger, she operated the security recording, the device allowing her to scroll through different locations throughout the city. She tracked every step of the thief on his path into the nightclub, and his interactions with the bartender.

“So, our bandit was at that bar, just like we thought,” she murmured to Wendevil, who nodded.

“And that insectoid definitely protected him,” he remarked. “We might have to bring Movik with us to have another chat with him later to find out why.”

“He got on a bus,” said Eris, watching the holographic playback closely as it revealed the events of the past. “He was stumbling around the whole way there, just like that avian said he was. Maybe he was hurt in the scuffle?”

“Track the bus,” Wendevil said, unconcerned with this detail, and Eris obliged. The route of the bus was easily traceable with Lixim’s equipment. The cyclops was mildly curious—peering over Wendevil’s shoulder—despite his feigned lack of interest from before.

“Stole something from you, did he?” he asked. “Was it valuable?”

“We’re paying you for information,” Wendevil replied coolly. “If you want information from us, feel free to give some of that money back.”

“I was just curious,” grumbled Lixim, watching inquisitively as Eris continued tracking the public transport shuttle that their target had taken.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it was,” Wendevil grunted skeptically.

“The bus took him out the eastern side of the city,” Eris told Wendevil. “It won’t let me track it any further.”

“The security field doesn’t extend beyond the outer walls,” Lixim said, looking at Eris like she was a complete buffoon, as if this factoid was widely known.

She ignored him. “There’s only one road for several miles once you’re outside the city walls,” she carried on. “We should follow it.”

“We don’t know who he’s working with,” Wendevil answered, frustrated. “Maybe somebody picked him up once he hit the borderlands. If that’s the case, we might never find him.”

“This is the only lead we have,” Eris growled, turning and hastily making her way to their vehicle. “We have to try.”

Wendevil uncaringly tossed the hologram projector back to Lixim, and stalked after his companion. Lixim barely caught the gadget, narrowing his eye in irritation at the cyborg. He whirled around, and returned to ISA Headquarters; the dark sky slowly began to brighten as morning dawned. The doors of Wendevil’s car slammed shut right around the time the cyclops shut the back door to ISA behind him, both parties hoping they never had to see the other again.

. . . . . . . .

The sky wept sullenly as daybreak began to lighten it, its torrent of frigid tears pummeling every inch of the landscape beyond my window. Ensconced up on the sill, I rested my forehead on the glass, watching the raindrops streak down its glossy surface. With every exhale, I fogged the window in a small plume, letting it fade away before it was renewed again. I lost my sense of time as I pensively observed the fearsome storm, contemplating my present plight. The rainfall helped me think; I had always been something of a pluviophile, but I was experiencing difficulty with finding peace in my current conundrum.

("Glasshouse In The Rain" by J.E. Maurice)

What can I do? I thought. After all this time, I had come to no accommodating conclusions. Every potential solution seemed afflicted with numerous shortcomings, and I was wracked with a sense of urgency that I could not rid myself of. But there had to be something I could do about my situation, and to expel this vague feeling of some imminent peril. I could not quite put my finger on it. By and by, Lukuta joined me at the greenhouse again. I recognized his vehicle as it approached, and he broke into a smile upon entering the room moments later.

“Maybe I should bring some chairs for you,” he commented, eyeing me with amusement. “That way you wouldn’t have to perch up on the windowsill like that.”

I knitted my eyebrows together, and sighed, keeping my gaze locked on the rain. I was hardly perched.

“I like watching the rain,” I said. “And the view from right here is nice.”

“Well, if you like the rain,” Lukuta chuckled. “You definitely live in the right place. It’s nonstop around here. Can you imagine living around here, and hating the rain? What a nightmare.”

I blinked at him. I could not imagine hating the rain at all. Though, an argument could be made about its recurrence. Lukuta kept his promise from the day previous, having returned with extra food for the two of us; I wolfed down my portion with as much dignity as I could muster, which was not much.

“It’s still amazing to me that you were able to open that thing,” Lukuta mused, referring to the Qornox. “It’s history in the making. People have been trying to do what you did for hundreds of years.”

("Within The Greenhouse" by J.E. Maurice)

I did not really know if this was true—and being focused primarily on my food—nor did I particularly care. However, I chose to be kind, and not say that part out loud. We drifted into a thoughtful silence for several minutes, listening to the distant thunder.

“Y’know,” said Lukuta after the moment had passed. “I would be upset that you stole the Qornox from the temple, but the fact that you opened it is really something.”

I coughed loudly against the sudden lump in my throat, its unexpected formation making my eyes water slightly. After the initial surprise of his remark wore away, I could not be particularly surprised that he had deduced that information.

“Yeah,” I answered slowly, still unsure of how to interpret the implications of his statement. “Why else would a non-cyborg be hiding out with a cyborg artifact on the outskirts of the city?”

“I’ve never claimed to have an overabundance of brains,” Lukuta replied humorously. “But it wasn’t that hard to figure out. I think you were meant to find it. What are the odds that the one person who could open it was the one to successfully steal it?”

I immediately felt the need to point out that there was no way of knowing if I was the only one who had the ability to unlock it, but something halted me. I sat up straighter, listening intently.

“Do you hear that?” I asked, detecting a thrumming that was drawing closer, and it was not the susurration of the breeze. It was a machine. My stomach dropped. It was an approaching car. Lukuta followed me as I stood briskly, and walked to the nearest window.

“What is it?” Lukuta questioned, unnerved by my abrupt change in demeanor.

“Someone’s here,” I said, watching through the streaky glass as a large automobile slowed to a stop just outside the greenhouse. The engine powered down with a click, and two very familiar cyborgs stepped out of the vehicle. My heart rate doubled.

“Oh, shit,” I hissed.

“Cyborgs?” Lukuta quizzed anxiously. “They’re from the temple, aren’t they? How’d they find you?”

“I-I don’t know,” I fumbled for words. “I have no idea. What’re we going to do?”

“Okay,” Lukuta grabbed my shoulder, meeting my eyes. “Don’t panic. I’ll just tell them there’s no one here except me.”

“Are you sure that’ll work?” I asked, dread threatening to claw all the way through me.

“No,” Lukuta answered with a peculiar level of confidence for someone in his position. “But I’m a cyborg, just like them. That should lend me some credence in their view. Find somewhere to hide.”

I yieldingly ducked down behind a table, out of sight. Lukuta took a deep breath to steady himself just as there was a rapping at the door. From my hiding place, I was incapable of seeing what was happening, and instead concentrated on the sounds. The noise of the greenhouse door opening was audible, breaking the seal between the interior and exterior, which drastically increased the volume of the downpour outside.

“Hello,” said Lukuta. “Can I help you two with something?”

I cringed. Even from where I was concealed, I detected nervousness in his voice, which meant Eris and Wendevil likely did as well.

“We’re looking for someone,” Eris replied. “We have reason to believe he’s passed through here within the last day.”

“I haven’t seen anyone out here for weeks,” Lukuta fibbed. “These are the borderlands, friend, there’s rarely anyone out here. It’s a wasteland.”

“We’re aware of where we are,” said Wendevil brusquely. “The person we’re looking for took something very important from Vallume, from our temple. Are you sure you haven’t seen anyone?”

“That’s awful,” Lukuta said, his feigned gasp of surprise was enough to make me roll my eyes, and mouth the words “oh my god” to myself; his poor acting left me in a state of bewildered frustration.

“I haven’t seen anyone, no,” Lukuta continued. “But is there a way to contact you if I do see someone?”

This guy couldn’t bluff to save his life, I thought dejectedly. Or mine, apparently.

There was a long period of silence before Lukuta cried out in alarm, and I detected a clatter of urns colliding with one another.

“Out of the way, you prat,” Wendevil rumbled. “We know you’re in here, thief. Come out before we tear this place apart.”

Unsurprisingly, Lukuta’s ruse had misfired spectacularly, and—because of me—his life was in jeopardy. Lukuta may have voluntarily put himself at risk, but I felt blameworthy nonetheless. I shot to my feet, and found Eris and Wendevil already training their firearms on me. Wendevil gripped a large handgun, while Eris held a short-barreled rifle of some sort. With their weapons aimed in my direction, they pushed Lukuta to one side, who collided with the wall near the door, grunting in discomfort.

“Where’s the Qornox?” Eris demanded of me, her eyes glinting with unnerving malice.

Before I could respond, Lukuta bravely stepped into the fray, putting his hands on the barrel of Eris’ gun, attempting to wrench it from her grasp.

“There’s no need for things to escalate this far,” he shouted. “If you’d give us a moment, we could-”

Eris struggled to wrestle the weapon back into her control, using her elbow to strike Lukuta across the mouth, silencing his entreaty. Wendevil’s sights never wavered from me, regardless of his ally’s scuffle with the other cyborg; my instinct was to assist Lukuta, but I could not move under Wendevil’s watchful gaze.

“It’s not what you think,” Lukuta began again. “You’ve got to-”

Eris savagely pummeled Lukuta across the head with the butt of her rifle several times, causing him to withdraw from the tussle. In spite of the younger cyborg’s surrender, Eris continued remorselessly raining blows on him, and white hot rage flared within me at her barbarism towards my friend. I took a step forward, and several things happened all at once. Wendevil leveled his weapon at me, and I reflexively raised my hands in front of my face in defense, irrespective of whether or not that would deflect a bullet. However, instead of feeling a bullet slash through me, I perceived a surge of potent energy race across my body, and the air around me tingled.

A blast of ice erupted out of my outstretched palm in a bulky sheet, spiraling towards Wendevil. The cyborg had no spare moment to move before the ice sent him tumbling to the ground, both his gun and his robotic arm frozen solid. A sharp hiss of electricity burst to life in my other hand, making me flinch in alarm. I was not the only one. Eris and Lukuta locked eyes with me, their faces masks of disbelief and astonishment. A growing bolt of lightning coiled around my wrist, crackling with explosive energy, before careening towards Eris with imperceivable speed. She was flung backwards by the blast, colliding violently with the ground, and barely retaining consciousness from the destructive discharge. Lukuta remained stationary where he had been standing, not even noticing the trail of blood that was slowly leaking from his nose; he was seemingly unharmed by the shockwave, though he looked battered from his struggle with Eris. In the deafening silence that followed my attack, all three cyborgs gaped at me in awe, and I stared back at them, equally as mystified as they were.

“What I was trying to tell you guys,” said Lukuta, panting and wiping his bleeding nostril. “Is that Jayden… is the Qornox.”

. . . . . . . .