Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dim lights of the redstone shop flickered, casting long shadows across the unorganized shelves of repeaters and hoppers. For a shop that literally dealt in engineering, they had some pretty bad lighting.

Branzy sighed, flicking a gear across the counter. It came to a stop at the pile of other gears. He bit down on the penlight, grabbing a screwdriver, and angled the light at a piece of the music box he was working on. He’d almost finished fixing it—he just needed to close up the bottom with some screws, and it’d be back in operation.

The bell on the door chimed, indicating a customer had arrived. “Welcome to the shop, how may I help you?” Branzy said—as clearly as he could while holding a light between his teeth.

No response. Well, that was okay. Most people coming here preferred to keep quiet, since most of the time they needed components for … less-than-legal projects.

Branzy finished screwing in the last one, setting the music box down, and winding it up. The tiny ballerina on top started rotating, a metallic tune filling the air. He grinned, satisfied, and glanced up to check what the customer was doing.

A darkly hooded figure stood straight above Branzy, invisible gaze boring into him.

Branzy froze. The light dropped to the table, bouncing and landing on the floor with a tinny thunk. A wave of fear coursed over Branzy.

“H-How may I help you?” Branzy asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. He wasn’t about to let them know he was scared.

The figure didn’t say anything else. Branzy tried to subtly reach for the gun underneath the counter. It was always kept there, in case of more dangerous customers. He’d had to use it several times before.

Finally, just as Branzy’s fingers brushed against the cold metallic handle of the gun, the person spoke. “Do you offer commission work?”

Branzy flinched, accidentally knocking the gun to the ground. It clattered with a dull metallic thud, and the figure peered over the counter to see the gun. Branzy’s heart skipped a beat. Calm down , he told himself, it’s just a customer. A tall, scary customer. Calm down. Calm down.

“Am I that scary?” the customer asked, a distinct note of amusement. Their voice was smooth, and softer than Branzy had expected. A little raspy. Quiet, with a slight accent.

Yes. “No, I’m just clumsy,” Branzy said, attempting to regain his composure, “You were asking about commission work?”

“I need a redstone engineer for a project.”

Branzy grinned. He hoped it looked real. And didn’t show any of his fear. “What project?”

“Can’t say. I need someone … discreet.”

Hm. Branzy narrowed his eyes, and then remembered to keep a polite expression. He’d already crossed that job off in his mind. Non-disclosure clients usually brought too much trouble to be worth it. “Ah. Eh—how long then? And … how much?”

The figure shifted. “Four hundred diamonds. Upwards of a day, maybe to a week, depending on how quick you are.”

Branzy coughed to hide his gasp of shock. Four hundred, for a single job. That was crazy . But … still. Branzy frowned, tapping the music box absentmindedly. The song slowed to a stop. “I would take this job, as long as you could guarantee I wouldn’t be the subject of the project,” he said.

“You would not,” the customer said.

“And that I would not be in any danger of mortal harm. Or harm in general.”

“You … I would not intentionally put you in danger. I can guarantee that the project does not involve lethal redstone. However, I cannot guarantee for-sure safety. Accidents happen.”

Branzy sighed, thinking, trying to organize his thoughts. Trouble wasn’t worth anything, he always said, but maybe it was worth four hundred diamonds.

Finally, he made up his mind, searching for the right wording. “Swear that you would not intentionally harm me or put me in harm's way. And would not have me working with any lethal weapons. And on the condition that I can bring someone with me.”

“Swearing on my hearts?” the figure chuckled, “Seems a bit overkill for a repair job.”

“If you don’t plan to do any of those things, then you should be perfectly fine. Besides, I’m the best engineer in the city—it’s well worth your time!”

“Are you really?”

“Yes.”

The figure shrugged. “Fine. I swear on my hearts. As long as you don’t speak a word of this to anyone else. And also your companion of choice.”

Branzy nodded. “Yea, yea. Nondisclosure and all that. So, what’s the time and place?”

“Eight in the morning, tomorrow. Back entrance of Clownpierce’s Casino.”

Clownpierce’s Casino? “Isn’t that upper side?”

“And?”

The customer didn’t say anything else. Branzy shrugged. No questions asked. “Payment upfront.”

From their cloak, the customer pulled out a heavy black sachet. They wore black silk gloves, Branzy noticed. Expensive. The sachet dropped on the table with a clink, and Branzy opened it, peering inside.

He sucked in a breath. That was a lot of money.

“One moment,” Branzy said, and poured out the diamonds into a scale.

It checked out. Four hundred diamonds. Not one more, not one less. The sparkling sight of it was enough to make Branzy’s heart leap a little. He could buy something nice for Rek with this. Maybe even go out to get something to eat from the upper side, if any restaurants would serve them.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Branzy exclaimed cheerfully.

— —

Branzy could see small scraps of the starlit sky through the tin and tarpaulin covering most of the streets. Street vendors plied their trade under thinly lit lightbulbs. A person sat on an unfolded newspaper, asleep against the ragged brick wall. Someone almost ran into Branzy as they dashed past, the cries of “Thief!” following them.

He stopped to buy two sandwiches from a peddler, one for him and one for Rek, each for a few copper coins. After a little while traversing the narrow alleyways and crooked streets, Branzy reached their apartment. It was inconspicuous, tucked away in a corner behind a bar. The front door was in a dark alley. The only view of the outside world was the fire escape.

Branzy loved it.

“Rek! Guess what?” Branzy called, tossing the sandwiches on their only table.

“What?”

“I got a shady job, but they paid four hundred diamonds, upfront, so I took it. Are you free to go with me? I’d rather not get dragged into an alleyway and killed.”

“Don’t joke about stuff like that,” Rek said, coming into the room. Even when berating Branzy, his voice kept a light, almost joking lilt.

Ever since they’d met at the orphanage, they’d practically been brothers. Branzy shared a lot of fond memories with Rek. Also a lot of shitty memories, but that was just life. What could he do? They figured things out. They did fine now, maybe not the best, but just fine. Rek was family, by heart if not by blood.

“Tomorrow, eight in the morning, at Clownpierce’s Casino.”

“Isn’t that in upper side?”

Branzy shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, they have four hundred diamonds to burn, so maybe they are from upper side.”

Rek nodded, opening one of the packages and beginning to eat the sandwich. “Not as fantastic as four hundred, but I pulled twenty from the sugar scam,” he laughed.

“Diamonds?”

Rek nodded. Branzy clapped him on the back cheerfully, sitting down as well. “That’s good ! All that work paid off in the end!”

Not honest work, but work was work. Branzy was able to find honest work. He had his hands, his mind, his redstone. Rek didn’t have that luxury. Rek was smart, but in other ways. He did a little conning, a little thievery, a few odd jobs. And made more than Branzy at that.

They sat in silence during dinner. Afterwards, Branzy stood up, heading over to the one bedroom. “I’m going to get to bed early. I have to drop by to get my tools from the shop tomorrow morning too.”

They had a bunk bed (since it’d been cheaper than buying two separate ones), a pile of storage in the corner, and some of Branzy’s small projects. A compact mechanized mirror here, a star-cutout light there. Branzy set the music box down beside them. Most of them were fashioned from scraps that people threw away. Trash into treasure.

Branzy sat at the door to the fire escape. Sometimes they’d go out there on warmer nights. He dangled his feet over the edge, watching the people below. They were three stories up, but they still kept a gun next to the door in case of intruders.

The pristine roofs of the upper side gleamed in the distance. Branzy sighed. The only chance he’d probably ever get to be in one of those penthouses was if he was robbing it.

He sat there for a long time, before locking the door and going to bed.

— — 

“Not a fan of sculpture?” Rek asked, swinging his head around to glance at Branzy’s off-put expression.

Branzy shook his head, resuming his pace. “Not a fan of spending money where you don’t need to. Let’s keep going. We have to be there by eight, right?” he snapped—and he really wasn’t.

He sighed, adjusting the straps of his toolkit on his back. Ever since they’d started walking on cobbled streets instead of dirt ones, he'd been in a constant state of irritation. It may have had something to do with the dirty looks people were shooting them left and right.

Yea, he was even more reminded of how much he didn’t fit in when he looked at them. Polished shoes, for one. Gold lapels. Jewelry. Branzy could tell how much wealthier they were than him. He didn’t like it

“Branzy, it’s okay.”

“No, not really,” he started, and then stopped just as they rounded the corner.

Branzy was at a loss for words.

Oh. Wow.

The high parapets of Clownpierce’s Casino stretched up above the penthouses, electric lightbulbs flashing brightly even in the day. The gothic windows towered over the streets, with large panels of stained glass murals. It felt more like a palace than a casino, and maybe it was meant to.

“I’ve never actually seen it,” Rek said, for once awestruck.

“Back entrance,” Branzy reminded him, guiding them around the side of it.

Even the alleyways there were clean. Branzy kept walking around the building until he found a small maintenance door, firmly locked shut. He tried the handle, and it didn’t work. Branzy frowned. Where was his customer?

“Glad you could make it.”

He whirled around.

His first thought was, Oh no.

A man, with tousled black hair, slightly too long, stared at him with glittering red eyes. Two twin scars ran down both of his eyes. He wore a simple, plain suit, leaning against the wall of the casino. If Branzy hadn’t looked too closely, he would’ve looked like any other businessman. But the scars gave it away. This was possibly the most dangerous person in the city.

Unconsciously, Branzy stepped back.

“So, ready to get to work?” Clownpierce asked.

People talked a lot. Especially about Clownpierce. Not about his corporate empire of casinos and theaters (as well as more illegal operations), or the vast amounts of wealth he had, or even the hearts he accumulated. They talked about those things too, but one thing that practically everyone knew was this—Clownpierce is dangerous .

Very dangerous, could-end-all-your-lives-if-you-tick-him-off kind of dangerous.

I knew I shouldn’t have taken this job , Branzy sighed internally.

“Are you, um, my client?” he asked, too prideful to show that he was highly intimidated.

“Quite right, I am.”

“What—this is not what we signed up for,” Rek snapped, sounding like he was on the verge of laughing, his fingers twitching like he wanted a weapon in his hands.

Branzy hadn’t let him bring a gun (a bit too aggressive, even, considering they were going into the upper side), but he was sure Rek had much too many concealed weapons on his person.

“And … what did you sign up for?” Clownpierce said leisurely, examining Rek.

“A commission,” Branzy said, stepping forward confidently to try and defuse the tension, “so let’s go.”

Rek raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, falling behind Branzy as Clownpierce opened the door, and led them inside.

— —

They took some of the hallways that weren’t available to the public, which were red-carpeted and fancy. Beautiful lamps dotted the walls. As they walked through, Branzy could see Rek poking around, checking for traps. He really was a bit paranoid.

“So can you tell me what I’ll be repairing now?” Branzy asked.

“You’ll see,” Clownpierce said lightly.

So Branzy kept his mouth shut.

They entered a distinctly grander hall, with marble tiles polished to the point where Branzy could see his reflection in them. Diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling with reflected light. From there, Branzy could vaguely hear the chatter of the casino’s patrons in another room.

He almost thought they were going to enter the grand door, with a velvet rope to indicate it was closed, but instead, they went through a side door. After climbing some stairs and going through a narrow passageway, Clownpierce opened the door at the end, and stepped out onto a balcony.

Branzy’s eyes widened.

They stood above a giant circle of slices of red and black, glittering with diamonds embedded into the roulette wheel. It was enormous . The high ceiling stretched up to a glass dome, columns embedded in the wall supporting it, allowing the sun to cast a spotlight on the wheel.

“I have the mechanisms for spinning the wheel rigged,” Clownpierce explained as he descended a ladder through a maintenance hatch, “I tested it though, and it broke immediately.”

They landed on a small walkway around the roulette wheel, and descended through another maintenance hatch.

Branzy gasped. The roulette wheel had been impressive, sure, but this .

A stunning amount of redstone lay under the wheel, gears and cogs resting on top of pistons and circuits. Forgetting about Clownpierce briefly, Branzy landed on the stone floor, half-running over to inspect the redstone.

The circuits weren’t very effectively made. They should have just been to spin the wheel, powered by several refined redstone crystals, but it was much too complicated. The maker had even included a hopper clock circuit, which Branzy didn’t even know the purpose for. The roulette wheel didn’t seem very timing-based. He peered inside it, and realized it was connecting to copper circuits, instead of redstone ones.

Branzy paused, examining some of the other copper circuits. They seemed to be for lighting up the roulette wheel as it spun. Though it’d be much more efficient if he cut the hopper clock entirely.

Clownpierce coughed, and Branzy was suddenly reminded that he still had a job to do. “Uh—yea,” he said, “How is it meant to work?”

“When I pull the lever, the wheel spins. That’s it.”

“Does it also light up?”

“It’s meant to.”

Branzy frowned, running his hands along one of the redstone circuit pipes. “Does this connect to a lever?”

“Yes, on the other platform. The main one, I mean. We came in from the maintenance platform.”

Walking over to the ladder and scaling it again, Branzy poked his head out of the hatch to see where the platform was. It was slightly below the maintenance platform, on the other side. Curtains obscured most of it.

“How does it break?” Branzy asked, walking around and prodding at a few more of the redstone bits.

“It just won’t spin.”

“Hm. There may be a problem with the redstone connection to the lever then,” Branzy muttered, following the main circuit, “or with the gears …”

He trailed off, his mind spinning. The redstone connected to the lever with a single circuit that didn’t seem to be damaged. Then it may be with the cogs. Branzy weaved in and out of the redstone piping, trying to make heads or tails of whatever the hell the builders had made.

Finally, he stopped, sighing. “This redstone is too complicated. Whoever made this was bad at their job. I can’t fix it, but I can rework it, make it better, if you give me a week.”

Clownpierce looked at Branzy thoughtfully for a moment, before speaking. “Alright then.”

— — 

Branzy spent the next four days working on the roulette wheel. Rek didn’t accompany him every day (he had things to do as well), so most of the time it was just Branzy and the redstone. He didn’t mind—he loved it.

After stripping apart everything the previous builders had done, Branzy had plenty of new materials, and he quickly got to work putting it back together (but better). He’d always wanted to work on a large project like this, but he’d never had the materials—at least until now.

Clownpierce had given him a keycard for the casino, and it allowed him to access several of their storerooms, which had practically every component a mechanic could dream of. As well as some … other rooms.

So with all the materials, Branzy couldn’t help adding a few little touches of his own. Something to make the lights flash in a different pattern. A smoother cog mechanism for spinning. And a few more circuits, just for testing purposes.

Rek came with him on the last day of the job, waiting around in the casino as Branzy finished up the last thing to do—connecting some of the magnets.

“It looks neater,” Clownpierce commented, as Branzy snapped the wiring together to hang the magnets to the ceiling.

“It is neater,” Branzy said, grinning proudly.

Clownpierce laughed. Branzy faltered, unsure whether to be scared or laugh as well. He settled on a half-smile as he clicked the last component into place, and stepped back. “There. We should head up to the maintenance platform to test it. I have a lever connected to both the viewing platform and this one.”

Rek was waiting on the maintenance platform for the two of them.

“Alrighty,” Branzy said, turning to the wall of three levers, “Let’s try this thing out!”

He pulled one of the levers labeled with a green tag.

With a whir, the giant roulette wheel creaked to life, spinning quickly with flashing lights blurring into each other. After a few seconds, it began to slow down, and the copper ball slowly came to a stop in a black pocket.

Branzy clapped excitedly, leaning over the balcony to observe. Everything looked like it’d gone well.

“Wow. That’s great,” Clownpierce said, striding over beside Branzy to look at the wheel as well, “Try it again.”

Branzy flicked the green lever again. The wheel spun again. The ball stopped in a red pocket this time. Perfect.

“That’s … amazing,” Clownpierce said, sounding genuinely impressed.

“I know.”

“What do these levers do?” he asked, pointing to the other two levers, labeled red and black.

“Just some testing stuff,” Branzy said, shrugging uncomfortably, “I only used them to test the wheel and—”

Without warning, Clownpierce pulled the black lever.

There was a scraping sound, and slowly, the copper ball rolled over to a black pocket.

A beat.

Branzy laughed, trying to break the silence. “Um—yea—I was just adding some circuits so—”

“Wait. How does this work? Is it—can you control the ball to go in different pockets?” Clownpierce asked thoughtfully.

“Well—yea, kind of. The ball is copper-coated redstone, and, well, you know how redstone is magnetic to other redstone. Yea. There are magnets on all the slots to keep the ball from just flying off, but the levers make magnets on a certain color stronger, so, you know, it’ll probably land on one of those and …”

“Probably? What—is it just probably , or for sure?”

“For sure!” Branzy exclaimed, affronted, “I’m a better engineer than probably .”

“So the red one makes it land on red, and the black one makes it land on black.”

“Yes.”

A long silence, as Clownpierce gazed at the roulette wheel. Finally, he abruptly turned around, heading towards the door. Branzy followed awkwardly. Shit. Had he done something wrong? If he fucked up here and got assassinated, that wouldn’t look good. Where was Rek?

As they exited the staircase into one of the halls, Clownpierce turned around and smiled at Branzy. It didn’t reassure him very much. Clownpierce’s smile was gleaming sharp, much like a shark’s. 

“Good job,” Clownpierce said, tossing a black sachet to Branzy.

Branzy, surprised, almost got hit in the face with the sachet. He caught it at the last moment, stumbling a little. It was heavy .

“What is this?” Branzy asked.

“A bonus. For the two levers, which make my job a lot easier.”

“Oh—”

“And for your silence as well, of course. And his,” Clownpierce said, nodding to Rek.

“I have a name,” Rek sighed.

“Well—that was included in the order, non-disclosure of course—”

“Are you really going to pass up a hundred diamonds?” Clownpierce asked, raising an eyebrow.

Branzy stopped in the middle of his tracks. He opened the bag. Sure enough, there was the glint of hard, cold diamonds.

“Nope, I won’t,” Branzy immediately decided, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Clownpierce gave another sharp smile, and outstretched his hand. Branzy stared at it blankly, confused. Did he want to shake hands?

“The keycard,” he reminded.

Oh! Branzy mentally berated himself. He was so forgetful. He dug around in his back for the keycard. Where was it? Frowning, Branzy opened it to search for it. “Left pocket,” Rek suggested.

Branzy stuck his hand in the left pocket, and drew out the keycard. He laughed. “Thanks. Sorry, I’m so forgetful. Um—yea, here.”

He handed it to Clownpierce, whose silk-gloved hand brushed very briefly against Branzy’s, before taking the keycard. Branzy watched the card go with some disappointment. He didn’t like seeing so many resources disappear out of his grasp, but oh well.

Clownpierce led them through the halls, and back out to the back entrance of the casino. “I thank you for your service,” he said, and with a wink, he abruptly disappeared into the casino again, leaving Branzy and Rek standing in the alleyway.

Branzy took a deep breath, and exhaled, trying to calm his shot nerves.

“Well, we survived that!” Rek said, trying to make light of the situation, “And for the record, please don’t take shady commissions again.”

He laughed, but it came out as more of a sigh. “Duly noted.”

They left, traversing the streets of the upper side. Rek was strangely cheerful, no longer staring with hatred at the gilded facades and marble fountains of the area. He had a distinct bounce in his steps, and even whistled a bit. Branzy couldn’t relate. As soon as he got home, he was taking a long nap. He’d earned five hundred diamonds—he deserved to take a bit of a break.

Especially after dealing with Clownpierce, of all people , Branzy reminded himself mentally. He would definitely be following Rek’s advice in the future. Nothing good came of dealing with people like that.

As they started to enter rougher areas of the city, Branzy carefully pocketed his bag of diamonds in a secure pocket of his toolkit, where their clinking would be masked by the jangle of his tools. It’d be a shame to have made a hundred extra diamonds for practically nothing, and then get mugged.

“Hey, Rek,” Branzy said, as they unlocked the front door of their apartment.

“Hm?”

“You know the keycard I got? It’s universal.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yea,” Branzy said, more confident, “I poked around a bit with it.”

“Oh, in the storerooms?” Rek asked, confused, “Wait—Branzy—did you steal something?”

Branzy shook his head quickly, and he could see Rek visibly relax. “No, just exploring some of the other areas. They have a lot of expensive things there—I didn’t steal anything though, don’t worry. I’m not that stupid.”

He’d seen a lot of money in there. A lot . Branzy had tried not to think about it during his job, but it had remained, an itch in the back of his mind.

Rek nodded, still seeming confused.

“Yea. The keycard is a cheap kind too. So I just went and got a copy made last night.”

“What—”

“They have a lot of expensive things there. I’m sure they don’t need all of them.”

Branzy grinned, twirling something around in his fingers. It was an exact replica of the keycard. “Rek, are you free Friday night?”

Chapter Text

“We can’t do it.”

“Rek, I am literally trying to sleep.”

Branzy sighed, staring at the bottom of the upper bunk. He’d tied several small redstone globes to them, for a little bit of light. They cast red shadows across the room. Right now, the clock at Branzy’s bedside said it was 1:43.

“Yea, but you’re awake anyways,” Rek said, sitting up, and peering over the side of the bunk. Branzy rolled his eyes, grabbing several spare redstone parts. He leaned against the wall, using the redstone globes as lighting to tinker with the components.

“Why can’t we do it?” Branzy asked, brimming with confidence, glancing up to look at Rek, “It’s not like we’ll get caught.”

“Of course we’ll get caught, they’ll know if we use the keycard—”

“No they won’t, I checked, the doors don’t have any wiring outside of the lock—”

“And it’s literally owned by Clownpierce , if we get caught we are dead —”

“Well then don’t get caught.”

Branzy groaned, tossing a gear against the wall. It fell, bouncing on his bed. He picked it up, and began to try and aggressively fit it to a turning mechanism. Rek was so persistently paranoid. “There’s so much that could go wrong with, oh, I don’t know, robbing the most dangerous guy in the city . They’ll know if we stole something,” Rek continued.

“Rek. Look at me.”

“Besides, it’s not right, we can’t steal .”

“Look at me.”

Branzy stopped trying to mess with the gear, and stared at Rek. “You think it’s right that they have millions of diamonds and copper coins sitting in locked rooms? Besides, when have you cared about right anyways?”

He knew he hit home with that. Rek had loose morals.

“It’s too risky.”

“What risk is there?!” Branzy exclaimed.

Rek sat back on his own bunk. Branzy could hear him lay back down, the springs creaking. He could imagine him staring at the ceiling right now. Whenever Rek got scared, he adopted this very peculiar look on his face. Which was, quite honestly, a lot of times.

“We get caught.”

“ How would we get caught.”

“Anything could happen!”

“No it couldn’t . Listen. We go in, Friday night. That’s their busiest time. All the employees will be too preoccupied with wrangling drunk millionaires to worry about empty rooms. We get in, go through the maintenance passageways. I went there—nobody goes there, night or day. Nobody . Only mechanics, and I’m a mechanic. I have a keycard. If someone confronts us, just say you work there.”

“I can’t lie —”

“Yes, you—you know what? Fine.”

The air went dead silent. Branzy slumped against the wall with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Branzy—”

“I’m going if you’re not. I have the keycard,” Branzy said.

“Branzy, you’re going to get caught.”

“I’ve never been caught.”

“You’re not invulnerable , do you think you’re better than everyone who’s tried before?”

“Nobody has tried before. And if they did, they didn’t get caught.”

“There’s a reason nobody has tried before. It’s a casino . Nobody has ever robbed a casino. Especially not Clownpierce’s casino.”

“Just because there’s no traces doesn’t mean it wasn’t done.”

Branzy dropped whatever he’d been working on—he didn’t even know—letting it fall to pieces on the mattress. He ducked out from underneath the bunk, and stood, glaring at Rek. Rek glared right back. “You can’t,” Rek said.

“Rek, I am careful. Not as paranoid as you, but careful nonetheless,” he said, cracking a wry smile, “I won’t get caught. I know what I’m doing. We’re less likely to get caught if you go with me.”

“And how likely is that?”

“Zip, if you go.”

He could hear the uncertainty in Rek’s voice. Branzy flopped down onto the mattress again, tossing a screw into the air. It hit the redstone globe with a metal clink, and fell back down into his hand. He tossed it up again.

“Please, Rek. Do you want to live here forever?”

“We won’t. If we just work hard—”

“Hard work isn’t enough to get us out of here. You have to take a risk, Rek.”

Branzy stared at the wall for a long time. A long, long time. So long that he almost thought Rek had stopped considering.

“… are you asleep?” Branzy whispered.

“No, I’m awake you idiot.”

“… oh okay, just checking.”

They lapsed into silence again. Branzy was annoyed. Honestly. Why did Rek have to be so smart, and yet stupid at the same time. He rubbed his left arm, the rough patches of burnt skin a reminder of what happened when you didn’t take the opportunity presented to you. When the clock hand finally hit 2:00, Rek spoke. “I’ll do it.”

Branzy sighed. “Thanks.”

“But we only take a little. So little that they won’t notice. No traces.”

Branzy laughed bitterly. “Rek, we could triple our money, and they probably wouldn’t even notice. We won’t have any problem with that.”

— —

If they were going to rob a corporation, Rek wouldn’t let them go in without a plan.

Friday night. Rek, with his incredible memory of the casino, had drawn up a rough sketch of the route they’d have to take from the back door. The back door was the place where they were most likely to get caught—it had a mechanical lock, without any redstone. Branzy would have to pick it.

The plan was to pick the lock, while there was a distraction in the plaza in front of the casino. They would then hit one of the vaults, using the keycard to get in, take a little and get the hell out.

I can’t believe I’m doing this , Branzy thought as he rolled up Rek’s lock-picking kit, shoving it into an inconspicuous bag. I can’t believe I’m doing this , he thought as he put the keycard in his pocket. I can’t believe I’m doing this .

But he was doing this. He was going to go rob a casino. Branzy paused for a moment, and then began laughing hysterically. He was going to rob Clownpierce’s Casino. It sent a bit of a thrill through him, to be honest.

“What’s so funny?” Rek asked, coming into the room. He had one of his best coats on, to blend in with the higher-class population.

“I’m just—nevermind. Let’s go.”

Branzy was afraid that he would chicken out if he waited any longer, even if he was the one who had suggested they do it in the first place. He slung his bag over his shoulder, and stepped out into the cold night air.

They took side streets and alleyways all the way to the casino. Right before they entered the plaza, they split up, Rek disappearing into the crowd. Once he reached the back of a building next to the casino, Branzy tugged a mask over his face, pulled up his hood, and scaled the ladder to the side of a building. He crouched down, observing the plaza.

Buildings encircled the plaza, which had a grand marble fountain in the center, sculptures of deities holding endlessly pouring vases of water.

There were many people milling about, enjoying the night entertainment and restaurants. They were all clearly wealthy. He couldn’t catch the shine of prosthetics that dotted the lower sides (more dangerous), but he was close enough to see the glittering of gold jewelry.

And then suddenly, a yell echoed, and a fight broke out.

Immediately, Branzy took the ladder down again, landing on his feet. He tried jiggling the door handle. As expected, locked. It never hurt to try though. With a long-suffering sigh, Branzy grabbed his lock-picking tools and got to work.

It only took a couple minutes. Branzy had worked at a locksmith before, during his teenage years. He’d picked up a couple skills along the way. More often than not, customers wanted him to pick locks rather than to fix them. Relative to some of the ones he’d worked on, the casino lock was pretty simple. Considering how much money was in there, they probably should have invested in better security.

Branzy kept the door shut, standing in the shadows of the alleyway so nobody could see him, until Rek dropped down from the ladder. There was a slight bruise on his cheek. Branzy nodded to him, and opened the door.

As expected, nobody was there. Branzy pointed to an inconspicuous metal door, tucked away in the corner. He took out his keycard, scanning it at the lock. It opened with a click. He let Rek enter first, before going in as well, and shutting the door. No traces.

It was dimly lit inside. Very dusty. Cobwebbed. They were in the bones of the casino, and clearly, nobody had been in there for a very long time. Redstone wiring filled up the walls, leaving a very narrow walkway for them to walk along. Branzy flicked on his penlight, and handed it to Rek, who shone it ahead to see where they were going.

They took several turns, before reaching another metal door. It wasn’t locked from the inside. From what Branzy had seen, this one led directly into a vault. 

Branzy opened the door, and stepped out. Rek followed him. As soon as he stepped into the light, Rek had to stifle a gasp.

The entire room was filled with filing shelves. Even though they seemed to be properly organized, some of them had been left open, and Branzy could see the shine of many, many diamonds. Every time he stepped in that room, he had a bit of a shock.

“Only a little,” Rek reminded, “Two hundred.”

“Six hundred,” Branzy whispered, “You think they’ll even notice a thousand missing?”

“Probably not ” , Rek admitted, scanning the room. 

“I scanned for security when I came here earlier,” Branzy said quietly, “it’s all safe. No alarms. It’s heavily secured from the outside door, but not from the maintenance passageways.”

Branzy tossed Rek a wool-lined bag (to muffle the sound), and he got to work skimming a few diamonds off the top of drawers, just little enough to not make a noticeable difference. Branzy tied the bag of diamonds shut. He turned to tell Rek they were going, when he caught sight of a door. Small, unnoticeable, behind a wall of filing cabinets like it was meant to be hidden.

Keycard-locked, Branzy realized, noting the same kind of lock he’d seen on the maintenance doors. Carefully, Branzy stepped towards it, scanning his keycard.

The door creaked open. Branzy dropped his bag of diamonds on a shelf, and stepped in, and this time, he couldn’t stop a small gasp of shock escaping.

This room wasn’t filing-cabinet, boring, plain utility. It was clearly meant for display. It was circular, columns stretching up to a pointed ceiling, a diamond chandelier dangling in the middle. Tables encircled the room, with honeycombed glass display cases.

But what was inside each case was what really made it spectacular.

Hearts.

Glittering jewels that could have been mistaken for regular jewelry-store-grade stones, except for the distinctive shimmer of life that ran through them. The stones pulsed, beating like a heart inside the display cases.

Branzy turned around and around. There must have been at least two hundred, maybe three, hearts in all the cases. The lives of twenty or thirty people were in this room.

“Rek?” Branzy called, quiet as he could.

“What?”

“I think you should look at this.”

There was a shifting, and Rek came through the door. He sucked in a breath, awestruck.

“Are those …”

“Hearts,” Branzy finished, nodding.

Branzy moved around, careful not to touch anything. The hearts came in all shades. Emerald green. Ruby red. Translucent gold. All from different people, though there were some repeats.

His own hearts were a distinctive shade of violet. Branzy knew that, after losing two of them. One was when he got jumped in a dark alleyway, back when he was still a kid and too dumb to know better. He’d watched his attackers—whoever they were—nearly kill him.

When he’d lost his heart, the one thing that could save him from near-death experiences as such, he’d watched it spiral into the air, destined to disintegrate into the sky, before one of his attackers had plucked it out of the air. It hardened, turned to solid amethyst in his hands, and after casting one last look at Branzy, injured, but not dead, his attackers left.

That was where the scar on the side of his neck had come from.

Afterwards, it’d felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest, like something was meant to be there, but there wasn’t. Branzy could close his eyes and mentally run a finger over his line of hearts, nine remaining, one distinctly empty spot.

He’d learned to live with the ache in his hearts, before an industrial accident at the old district he worked in. The raging fire had consumed almost his entire arm, and he’d been on the brink of blacking out, fueled only by adrenaline and pain, before his eighth heart had kicked in, and he’d managed to extinguish the fire and run. The damage was done though.

Unconsciously, Branzy shook his left arm slightly. It was covered in burn scars. He regretted not running when he could have, every day. He’d been too scared. Never again, he promised himself. He’d gotten weaving tattoos on that arm, of red-and-black patterns, to distract from the scars. 

That was why there were so many metal arms, legs, eyes, prosthetics in the lower side. Hearts were easier to lose there than anywhere else. You could get away with your life, sure, but the scars and injuries would remain.

Branzy glanced over to see what Rek was doing. Rek was reaching towards a case, as if to open it. Branzy’s heart leapt into his throat. “Rek, don’t—”

The case opened with a click.

Nothing happened.

“I checked for triggers and alarms,” Rek said.

“Do not take a heart,” Branzy warned.

He knew Rek would. Rek was normally the more careful one, but he was on seven hearts, and he was willing to do more than Branzy to get them back. Or get new ones.

“They won’t notice. There are still empty cases.”

“Of course they’ll notice, do you think they don’t count the hearts they have?”

“They have hundreds, so no. It’s not exactly a valuable commodity for them.”

“Do not —”

Rek reached in, and plucked out a heart.

Immediately, a piercing alarm filled the air.

Internally, Branzy cursed, panic filling his mind. “Fucking hell. You’ve done it now,” he muttered, and grabbed Rek’s hand.

“Wait, I left the diamonds—”

“I did too! Rek, we need to get the hell out, stop thinking about that!”

Branzy slammed the door to the heart vault shut, his hands shaking so much he needed to scan his card three times to get into the maintenance door. His heart pounded, filling his ears with a rush of white noise. The siren. Shit. They’d really fucked up this time.

He shoved Rek into the door, and jumped in as well, yanking the door shut. 

Branzy took the lead. As they ran through the walls, the siren seemed even louder, echoing on the metal grating, their clanking footsteps much too loud. Branzy couldn’t breathe, the darkness suffocating. Rek suddenly grabbed his shoulder. “Wh—” he began, but Rek clamped a hand over his mouth. In the darkness, Branzy could clearly see the panic in Rek’s eyes.

“They’re right there. They’ll hear us,” Rek whispered, pointing at one of the walls.

Branzy’s hands shook. He leaned closer to the wall. Sure enough—

“What the fuck ,” the distinct voice of Clownpierce spit out, foosteps thumping on the red carpet outside (when had Branzy learned to distinguish his voice?).

“Sir, I’m not sure—”

“What happened ?”

“An alarm. Triggered from the heart vault—”

“The heart vault? Did someone break in?”

“Y-yes.”

A brief silence. Branzy felt as if Clownpierce could practically hear the beating of his eight hearts, much too loud, pumping blood and adrenaline. He tried to be as quiet as possible, slow his breathing, but it was proving pretty fucking difficult .

Branzy whirled around to look at Rek. He still had the heart in his hands, lemon-yellow, pulsating with a faint glow. Suddenly, a terrifying thought occurred to Branzy. They hadn’t closed the door to the display case. They’d know they’d taken something, they would find out, they could—

“Take me there,” Clownpierce demanded.

Footsteps receded.

Branzy ached to go back, to fix it, but he knew there wasn’t enough time. They had to go. He jabbed Rek in the ribs, pointing forward. Rek took the cue, and continued towards the exit. Branzy felt that the clanking of his footsteps matched the hammering of his heart.

They finally reached the door. Branzy fumbled with the keycard. It creaked open. The hall was empty. They exited, and shut the door.

Branzy stepped out, and opened the door to the outside. Rek followed him. Branzy could think of nothing but the fact that he needed to run, run, run.

He left the building, the pleasant night air ruined by the wailing of the alarm. Branzy quickly shut the door, and climbed up the ladder, Rek following them. Only when they reached the top of the building did Branzy finally feel somewhat safe.

He took a deep breath, turning to look at the casino.

It looked the same as ever. Regular business. Until—

Branzy caught sight of a person at the front of the casino entrance, standing still. He squinted, and then his eyes widened. He backed up, almost tripping over Rek. Clownpierce was just standing at the entrance, staring straight at him. 

“Rek?” Branzy stammered, his heart stumbling and picking up pace again.

“Yea?”

“Run.”

Rek obliged, Branzy barely keeping pace with him. They traversed several rooftops, before dropping down into an alleyway, and continuing to run. Was he close enough to see me? Branzy had been wearing a mask. Nothing but his eyes would have shown, but they were violet, and how many people did you see with violet eyes? What if he did. Branzy couldn’t think of the consequences if he had recognized them. They didn’t stop running until they reached their apartment. 

Branzy shoved open the front door, and as soon as he and Rek were in, he closed it, leaning against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He felt vaguely dizzy, maybe from running too much. He’d never been the most athletic. Maybe it was from fear.

It was oddly quiet. Branzy had gotten used to the siren echoing in his head, even when they no longer could actually hear it, but now, it was finally fading.

Rek slumped into a kitchen chair, leaving the lemon yellow heart on the table.

Slowly, Branzy got up, and began to unpack his lockpicking kit. The kitchen was silent.

“… I’m sorry,” Rek said quietly.

“Don’t be.”

“No, really. I’m—I shouldn’t—Branzy. I was just too …”

Branzy methodically wiped down all of his tools, and put them back in the way they’d been before. “Just be thankful that we escaped with our lives, Rek. I’m—yea, it was really fucking stupid to open that case, but it’s okay. Rek, next time, listen to me , okay?”

Rek raised his eyes to meet Branzy, and then looked away again. “This wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t rob it in the first place.”

Lifting his hands in defeat, Branzy sighed, dropping them again. “I can’t argue with you right now.”

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

“We do have to get rid of that,” Branzy said, changing the subject, pointing to the lemon yellow heart.

Shocked, Rek opened his mouth to argue, but Branzy shook his head. “It’s too risky. They know we took a heart. We just need to get rid of it as fast as possible, so they can’t trace it to us.”

“If I use it as one of my hearts, they won’t know—”

“We need someone we can point to when they come looking for us,” Branzy snapped, irritated, putting down his tools, “We’ll sell it to someone. They can keep it. If someone asks us about it, we have plausible deniability. We would have no involvement. No traces, remember? That’s what you said.”

Rek looked as if he still wanted to argue, but he bit his lip, and said nothing, nodding slightly. Branzy picked up the heart. He could feel it beating, warm under his hand. He could understand why Rek wanted it. To fill that gap, to finally feel alive again—it would be worth anything, wouldn’t it?

But he knew it’d only result in losing all of his other hearts. So Branzy tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t trust it anywhere else. “Tomorrow, I’ll look for a buyer,” Branzy said.

He headed upstairs, and collapsed on his bed. He couldn’t shake the image of Clownpierce, staring straight at him. His red eyes were visible, even at a distance. Branzy wondered if Clownpierce had recognized him.

… hopefully not. Branzy tended to be forgettable. It was an advantage most of the time.

He turned over, pulling out the yellow heart. It was tempting. Very, very tempting.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Branzy put it back in his pocket.

Chapter Text

Branzy sighed, leaning against the alley wall. His customer was late.

He’d worn an inconspicuous coat, with a hood to obscure his curly white hair. A mask as well, and sunglasses to cover his violet eyes. If anyone wanted to trace him, that would be the most prominent feature. The lemon yellow heart was a heavy weight in his pocket.

Two days ago, he’d headed out immediately after the disaster robbery of the casino, searching for a buyer for a heart.

Hearts were a dangerous trade. You literally held a person’s life in your hands—no wonder that many people avoided it. In fact, probably more hearts were lost in the business than were exchanged. Everyone had heard of heart lords—the truly powerful elite of the lower side. There were probably a decent few in the upper side too.

That was where it got dangerous. No matter how much the law tried to restrict it, the heart trade would flourish—legal or not. And the illegal side got a lot more dangerous. Branzy had heard horror stories about traps with unimaginable engineering, poison unspeakable, murders in back alleyways.

The lesson was always—avoid trading hearts, at all costs.

However, if you lived in the lower side, it was practically unavoidable. So it’d been pretty easy to find a trader that was able to arrange a meeting with a buyer.

If they were trustworthy … that was a different question. Branzy didn’t care. He’d taken precautions, bringing a gun and a small pocket knife, and making sure he chose a location for the exchange that was far enough away from home to not be traceable, but close enough that he could run if necessary.

He just wanted to get rid of the heart as quickly as possible. He didn’t even care if they refused to pay—he’d just toss them the heart and run.

People bustled at the mouth of the alleyway. It was just outside of one of the busiest streets in the city. Well, in the worse part of the city. Branzy didn’t want to be too far from people, in case the buyer chose to use force. The sound of movement caught Branzy’s attention.

“You’re late,” Branzy said, assuming it was the buyer.

A person, in a formless black shawl and hood appeared at the entrance of the alleyway. “Things came up. The heart?” the asked.

Their voice was tinny, like it’d been shoved through a mask, or some sort of voice modulator.

Branzy drew the heart from his pocket. “Two hundred diamonds.”

The buyer snickered. “You’re really selling yourself short, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The buyer handed a heavy bag to Branzy. Branzy didn’t even bother checking how much was in it, holding out the heart. The buyer stepped closer, reaching forward.

Instead of taking the heart, they suddenly grabbed Branzy by the collar, slamming him against the wall. Branzy choked. He reached for his knife.

With their other hand, the person plucked the sunglasses right off of his face, revealing his violet eyes. “Found you,” they said, a distinctive smirk in their voice.

Branzy fumbled with the knife, and flicked it open, driving it into the person’s abdomen. They made a slight cough of pain, their grip on his collar releasing. Branzy took the opportunity to deliver a swift kick. They barely stumbled, and their hood fell off.

He only allowed himself a brief moment of shock at staring straight into Clownpierce’s crimson eyes, before he turned, and scrambled out of the alleyway at that opportunity, disappearing into the crowd. He knocked against elbows and legs, people yelling at him to get out of the way, but Branzy kept going.

The siren was wailing in his mind again.

He kept running, weaving through alleys and crooked gutters and ladders, just as fast as possible, until he reached the top of a building. He slowed near the edge, and clambered over, dropping neatly onto their fire escape. Branzy banged on the door. He knew Rek was home. His heart was beating too fast to think.

In a moment, Rek opened the door. Branzy rushed inside, his mind scattered. “What—Branzy, what happened—”

“No time, no time! Oh my goodness—Rek, we have to leave. He knows. Rek, my hands are shaking, oh my goodness—”

Rek immediately caught on, and snapped to attention. “Okay. Branzy, get your toolkit and anything else you can fit in it. I’ll pack everything else. We’ll head for the fourth lane.”

The fourth lane was a street filled with temporary shelters and the homeless. So many people slept on that street that it’d be impossible to find them if they went there. Or at least, Branzy hoped.

He moved on autopilot, grabbing the toolkit. He shoved the lemon yellow heart inside, and then searched for everything else he needed, trying to cram them into the pockets.

You could pack remarkably fast when your life was on the line, Branzy learned. The clock was the last thing he grabbed. It’d only taken four minutes, and that was already four minutes too late. “Hurry, hurry!” he hissed at Rek, who took the gun by the fire escape, and then they left.

They reached the fourth lane. They set up a tent. Their neighbors were tired and resigned, and so was Branzy, with an added touch of constant panic.

That night, Branzy slept with his pocket knife under his pillow.

— — 

They kept going to work.

What else could they do? They needed to eat. They needed to get back on their feet. Find a new place. Their landlord would be pretty annoyed when they missed paying rent, and besides, that apartment wasn’t safe anymore.

Branzy shut the door to the shop, locking it. He was thankful the owner had been understanding about him not going for a day or two. He’d been too panicked to go out for a couple days, but finally, he’d forced himself to.

After a week, things were almost normal.

Almost. He was still on-edge all the time. He’d ditched the smaller pocket knife and bought a butterfly knife, which he kept on him at all times, as well as the heart. He instinctively reached for it, and found an emptiness.

Panic rolled over him. Did someone pickpocket him? No, the butterfly knife was still there. Then—oh. He’d left the heart at the tent that day.

Branzy groaned. Curse his forgetfulness. That would be the death of him someday. His nerves were shot after the week he’d had.

He headed back to the fourth lane. As he passed by a beggar, he dropped a few diamonds into their hand. He could spare more, but it was never good to draw too much attention. Besides, they seemed happy enough with that.

He reached the tent, stepping over people sleeping on the sidewalk, mattresses and blankets rolled out on the street. That was a fire hazard if he’d ever seen one.

Ducking into the tent, Branzy sighed. “Rek, you will not believe —”

He froze.

Clownpierce smiled, leaning against one of their suitcases.

He looked remarkably relaxed. He sat comfortably, legs crossed casually. He was still wearing a suit. His smile was deceptively calm. In one hand, he tossed the lemon yellow heart up and down. “Welcome home!” Clownpierce exclaimed cheerfully.

“Where’s Rek,” Branzy snapped, voice shaking.

He frowned, and then his red eyes widened. He snapped, laughing. “Ah. I didn’t kill him or something, if that’s what you were thinking. I just paid him to run some errands. Well, he didn’t know it was me , per say, but— hey . Where are you going?”

He had attempted to back out of the tent, but Clownpierce was next to him in a flash, encircling an arm around his neck and putting him in a loose chokehold. “Hear me out,” he suggested.

Branzy tried to respond, but only coughed, his airway closing. “Oops,” Clownpierce said, immediately releasing him.

He dropped to the hard floor. That would definitely leave a bruise. Branzy started running through his options. Clownpierce would definitely kill him. Was there any chance he could scream for help? Or—what about Rek? Was Rek safe?

“You caused me a lot of trouble,” Clownpierce sighed, sitting back down comfortably, “A break-in. A heart missing! I wouldn’t have been bothered, but I’ve been keeping that heart for one of my friends , so naturally I had to come find it.”

Maybe he could get his butterfly knife. Clownpierce didn’t seem to have a weapon on him.

“Honestly, stop moving . I’m not going to injure you or something,” he snapped.

Branzy, who’d just tried to reach for the knife, paused. “… you’re not?”

That elicited a low laugh from Clownpierce. He leaned forward, angular red eyes meeting Branzy’s. “Believe me, if I wanted to, I would have already,” he said quietly.

An overwhelming sense of fear ran through Branzy, before Clownpierce sat back, as cheerful as before. “So, don’t try to run. You know, it was actually quite annoying to track you here. I’d thought your little friend, whatever his name is—hey, what is your name anyways?”

“… why do you want to know?”

“Courtesy, isn’t it? You already know mine, I’m sure.”

He didn’t think it was wise to annoy the most dangerous man in the entire city, so he complied. “… Branzy.”

“Ah, yes, Branzy. And what’s your brother’s name?”

“Parker,” Branzy said, lying through his teeth. If he got out of this alive, he didn’t want to drag Rek into this as well.

“Exactly. I thought Parker would be easier to track than you, but he’s even more paranoid! I spent a week trying to follow him, but then I caught you after one day. Honestly.”

Internally, Branzy berated himself. See, this was what happened when he wasn’t careful enough. Dammit. Now he was going to get killed.

“Anyways, you shouldn’t even have tried in the first place. You can’t outsmart the clown.”

“Referring to yourself in third person?” Branzy snickered, and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Shit. He should really break the habit of trying to be funny. More often than not he wasn’t actually that funny, and ended up getting beat up. Or killed.

Clownpierce stared at him in surprise, before slowly, he smiled, teeth sharp and gleaming. “That was funny.”

Branzy didn’t trust himself to say anything else. Clownpierce apparently took it as permission to continue. “So, it’s quite impressive how you managed to break into my casino. How did you do it?”

Most likely wise to not tell him. Or was it worse to not?

“You were pretty chatty while you were fixing the wheel, why not now? Oh well. My point is, I visited you because I want to hire you.”

“You what ?” Branzy blurted out.

“Are you hard of hearing? I want to—”

“No, no, I heard you,” Branzy interrupted (just barely registering that he had interrupted Clownpierce , of all people), “I’m just—why would you want to hire me?”

“You’re smart,” Clown said, tapping the heart, “Genius is a valuable commodity. I’m a businessman. Consider it an investment.”

“I am smart,” Branzy agreed, and then pausing, “Do I have a choice?”

“Well, yes. But if you’re on my payroll, you would get a many benefits. A place to sleep, for one. Protection. A paycheck. And besides, if you’re not … well, I can’t particularly guarantee that you and Patrick—”

“Parker.”

“—won’t be collateral damage in the future.”

Clownpierce tilted his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. Now that he was closer, and Branzy wasn’t in immediate danger, he could see that his face was quite beautiful. In a scary, sharp, terrifying way.

“So, what do you say?”

Branzy’s mind slowly started to return to normal. This was a business deal. He could do that. Just a normal deal. Not with the deadliest person in the city. Nope, just a regular deal. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself.

“How much are you paying me?”

“Monthly salary of five hundred diamonds.”

He nearly wanted to take the deal then and there. Five hundred diamonds a month meant six thousand diamonds a year. That was a lot of money. But he needed to know what the hell he was getting himself into first.

“And what would the job entail?”

Clownpierce shrugged. “Just like what you did with the roulette wheel. Invention. Mechanics. Product development. I’d also include funding for any personal projects you’d want to pursue.”

And that had Branzy sold.

Well, almost.

“And how do I know you won’t try to harm me or R—Parker?”

Clownpierce rolled his eyes, running a hand through his already-tousled black hair. “I already said, if I wanted to hurt you, I could. Luckily, I don’t. So as long as you don’t try to assassinate me—believe me, it’s happened before—I won’t hurt you. Or Reparker ,” he said, exaggerating the new name Branzy had given Rek.

Sorry, Rek , Branzy silently apologized. But honestly, he was already feeling like saying yes. Five hundred diamonds monthly and personal project funding was enough to immediately have him hooked.

“… sure.”

With a small exclamation, Clownpierce clapped his hands together gleefully. “Oh, brilliant! Well, Branzy, I am glad to welcome you to Clownpierce’s Casino Corporation.”

“What in the name of …”

Branzy whirled around, to find Rek standing at the entrance to the tent, his expression completely confused. Inwardly, he sighed. Yea, he had a lot to explain.

— —

Clownpierce let out a small hiss of pain as Branzy pressed ice on his bruise. Rek had landed a few punches on him before Branzy had tackled him back, explaining that he was attacking his new employer. What was more surprising was that Clownpierce had just let him punch him. Maybe he’d been too surprised? Branzy wasn’t sure.

“I can just go back to the casino, you know,” Clownpierce said, while Branzy held a pack of ice to his cheek.

“And get mugged on the street? I’d rather not be the cause of my employer losing a heart,” Branzy said.

Clownpierce laughed, and moved Branzy’s hand away. He was very close to him. “You saw how many hearts I have, what makes you think I can’t spare a few,” he asked, with a little smile that played at the corner of his lips.

Branzy’s heartbeat sped up (whether from fear, or something else, he couldn’t tell), and he moved his hand again, pushing him back with the bag of ice. “Better safe than sorry.”

Rek had been silent the entire exchange, glaring viciously at Clownpierce from the corner of the tent. Branzy got it—Clownpierce was one scary motherfucker—but he did wish that Rek would perhaps consider that antagonizing him wasn’t the smartest move. Something was strange with Rek these days. His usual paranoia was nowhere to be seen.

“So, is his name actually Parker?” Clownpierce asked, resigning himself to sitting there with the ice pack.

“You told him my name was Parker ?!” Rek exclaimed in comical disbelief.

Branzy laughed nervously. Maybe Rek was scarier than Clown. “Yea …”

Rek opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “… Alright.”

After Clownpierce left, Branzy had a good and proper mental breakdown, asking himself what the hell he’d just gotten himself into. Rek watched on, amused. “It’s your own fault for taking the job,” he laughed.

— —

Alright! First day on the job, Branzy thought, I’m going to be the absolute best … whatever he’s hiring me for.

His optimism was wavering already. Branzy shoved all thoughts of getting assassinated out of his mind, and set off towards the casino, walking towards the upper side. He and Rek had too many bad experiences with the subway (getting stuck on it for hours because of poor maintenance, namely), and walking was just faster and easier.

Branzy entered from the back door again (which he had a legitimate key for now), and headed for the meeting room, where he was meant to meet with Clownpierce. “I’m sure you can find it yourself, seeing as you broke in,” Clownpierce had said, nevermind the fact that Branzy didn’t know where it was. He’d had to consult Rek.

Hopefully Rek’s memory proved reliable. Branzy stopped at the door he’d told him to (the one with an incredibly ugly statue of a lion), and knocked.

“Come in,” came Clownpierce’s voice from the inside, slightly muffled from the wooden door.

Branzy opened it, and stepped in. The meeting room was plainly decorated, with a mahogany table and some lamps. Clownpierce sat at the very end of it. “Hello, Mr.—uh—Clownpierce—uh—”

Branzy fumbled for words. Clownpierce laughed. “Just Clown is fine.”

“… hi Clown.”

“Hello Branzy.”

He paused. An awkward silence descended. “Well!” Clown said, breaking the sentence, “I’ve got a job for you. Do you have any experience working with casino machines?”

Branzy shrugged. “The closest I’ve gotten is fixing an arcade game.”

“Well, it’s basically the same thing. I have some games that I’d like you to rig. Come with me, I’ll show you them.”

Clown pushed himself out of his seat, striding towards the door. Branzy followed him through the halls of the casino. They exited through a door onto an indoor balcony. 

This was clearly the main hall of the casino, Branzy realized, designed to impress. No windows, but elaborate chandeliers made up for light. Several globes of light resembling planets circled in the center of the room. Casino games and card tables lined the aisles.

It was fairly strange to see it completely empty. They hadn’t opened yet, Branzy inferred, and besides, most of the gamblers would come at night anyways.

They descended the grand stairs, with swooping banisters and marble steps. Clown’s dress shoes clicked loudly at each step. Branzy suddenly became hyper-aware of his own scuffed, dirty work boots. He was probably tracking mud all over the casino, wasn’t he?

Clown gestured to a cordoned-off area, ducking underneath the red barrier. Branzy followed, entering the room.

It was smaller, with a lower ceiling. Still expensively furnished, but less grandiose. The casino games were less brightly colored, less flashy. A bar stood in the middle, the round cabinets of expensive wine the centerpiece.

“You want me to rig these games?” Branzy asked, peering over at one.

The metal cover on the side had been screwed loose, and from there, he could see the mess of wires and redstone circuits inside.

“Yes. For the player to win,” Clown added.

Branzy glanced up, curious. “To win?”

Clown nodded.

“Why would you want them to win?”

He laughed. “Ah, Branzy. I take it you’re not a businessman?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, let me teach you something about running a casino,” Clown said, sitting down on one of the bar stools, “The games that make the most money are the games that people think they can win. And if they think they can win these, who’s to say they can’t win more? So they keep raising the stakes, until it’s not copper coins but diamonds, until it’s not diamonds but hearts.”

Branzy’s eyes widened. “So that’s how you have the heart vault.”

Clown gave a lopsided smile, his teeth sharp. “When it comes to what really matters, the house always wins, love.”

Branzy nodded thoughtfully, turning back to the machine. That makes sense then. He’s never been the best businessman—Rek was the expert on that normally. And—

“Hang on,” Branzy suddenly said, turning back around, “What did you just call me?”

Clown blinked innocently.

He stared at Clown for a moment more, before abruptly turning back to the machine. Branzy poked around in the mechanical guts, trying to keep his heart from picking up speed. Had Clown been … he couldn’t have been. Could he? Was he flirting ?

Definitely not , Branzy thought. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it . He probably called everyone that. And honestly, how was he even considering it as flirting? Ridiculous.

“Any guesses as to how long it’ll take? We can only do work here in the mornings; we have clients in the afternoon,” Clown said.

Branzy glanced over the game machines in the room. “For all of them? A week, maybe longer. Or less. Are they all different game mechanisms?”

Clown shrugged. “No clue.”

“Yea. A week, I’d estimate, then.”

“Hm. Alright then. Oh, and, do you have any lunch plans?”

“… no?”

“Perfect!” Clown said, grinning, “We have an employee bonding lunch today. Well, every Tuesday, as a matter of fact. I’ll send someone down here to show you the way today.”

“… oh?”

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it! Goodbye!”

“Goodbye,” Branzy said, still confused, and then as an afterthought, added sarcastically, “Love.”

He was able to catch Clown’s shocked expression just as the door to the room shut.

Branzy turned to pull out some tools from his bag. Mentally, he berated himself. He didn’t know what he was more surprised at—that he’d called the deadliest man in the city “Love”, or that said man hosted employee bonding lunches.

— — 

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

Branzy glanced over. A guy, maybe a little younger than him, had sat down on the couch next to him. He had reddish-brown hair, amber eyes, and braces. 

The employee bonding lunch was actually pretty lowkey. Somebody had ordered some sandwiches, and there were maybe twenty or so people in the breakroom. Branzy guessed that the majority of them hadn’t come. He didn’t mind talking to new people, but he’d have appreciated knowing he could back out if he wanted.

“Um, yea. I’m new,” Branzy said, extending a hand to shake.

“Oh—sorry. I don’t do handshakes,” he explained, gesturing. Branzy looked down, and realized why. His hands were replaced with long metal claws, three on each hand.

Branzy kicked himself mentally for not realizing earlier. “Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s good. I got them modeled after pangolins, you know. They’re my favorite animals,” he explained cheerfully, flexing his claws experimentally, “I’m Pangi by the way. Business intern.”

“Branzy, it’s nice to meet you! You’re interning?” Branzy asked. That might have been why he looked so young—maybe he was still in school.

“Yep. I’m in my last year of required education, and Mr. Pierce came to our school scouting for an assistant. I’m the only one who got the position. I mean, top of my class and all,” Pangi grinned proudly.

Branzy raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Wow.”

The conversation lapsed. Branzy scanned the room. Most people there were in suits and service uniforms. He felt severely out of place. He’d already checked several times that he didn’t have any ash on his face still (a small explosion with the casino games to blame for that), but he still felt a bit on edge.

He glanced back at Pangi’s claws. They seemed to have silver plating, brightly polished, but some small clicking mechanical gears and parts were visible at the right angles. The plates were in the triangular shape of pangolin scales—very clever, Branzy considered, allowing both movement and aesthetics. He itched to take a closer look at it.

After the silence stretched a bit too long, Branzy couldn’t resist asking. “I’m sorry if this is too straightforward, but how do your claws work? I mean, I’m a mechanic, and they seem very cleverly engineered–and unique too, and I’m just curious—I mean—yea …”

He trailed off. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Was it rude? He wasn’t sure about upper side customs. Most people didn’t mind asking in the lower side (either that or they’d beat you up, depending on the context).

“Totally!” Pangi exclaimed, seeming actually excited, “I damaged my hands in a run-in with some lava—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“—Yea, it was pretty painful. So I had a lot of nerve damage, and I had to get a couple fingers amputated too. Still retained some function, so I didn’t need a full new hand—just some protection, and also some enhanced strength.”

Pangi wiggled his claws with a wry expression, and Branzy had to refrain from laughing. “So are the scales functional, or just for decoration?”

Time seemed to fly past while they discussed the mechanics. Pangi was a funny kid, and having someone to actually talk to (about non-life-threatening situations—Rek didn’t count) relieved some of Branzy’s tension about his new job. He had an acquaintance? Friend? He wasn’t sure, but something like that. 

Branzy suspected that he may actually enjoy his new job. Maybe it was just hopeless optimism on his part, or it was just … optimism, but things were looking up.

Chapter Text

“You have a client.”

That was the first thing Clown said, swiveling around in his chair, once Branzy walked into his third week of work. They’d taken their check-up meetings to his tastefully decorated office after Branzy had gotten lost trying to find the meeting room. The office was easy to find, especially considering it had a gold-inscribed plaque saying ‘Clownpierce’s Office’. A bit egotistical, Branzy thought, but it made his job easier.

Rigging the casino games had taken a bit longer than expected, since they all used different operating mechanisms. Branzy finished it midway through last week, and had just been doing some basic repairs on the lighting and sound systems for the rest of the week.

“ I have a client?” Branzy asked, briefly confused.

“We have a client,” Clown amended.

“Who?” Branzy asked, plopping into the chair across from Clown’s desk. He’d gotten a bit more used to Clown’s presence over the weeks. He didn’t seem like he was capable of murdering hundreds when he was so easily distracted by the Newton’s cradle on his desk.

And he was doing it again. Branzy observed Clown’s red eyes darting, following the clicking metal spheres, before he coughed. Clown started, quickly regaining his seriousness. “One of my business acquaintances. He is … interesting.”

Branzy frowned. “Interesting how?”

Clown coughed, averting his eyes. “You’ll see. He’s waiting in one of the conference rooms.”

They left his office, walking the short distance to a meeting room. Branzy stepped in, Clown shutting the door behind him. A man was standing by a window, back turned. Branzy could only tell that he had curly black hair, and he was wearing a violently purple suit. He was whistling.

“Ash.”

A beat. The whistling paused.

“ Ash .”

Suddenly, the man whirled around, leaping next to Clown, and hooking a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Clown! Pierce! Mister Pierce! The Clownpierce! Jesterpenetrate! Clown—”

“Er, what was that last one?” Branzy interrupted.

The blank look of shock on the man’s face told Branzy that he hadn’t registered Branzy was there. Immediately, he jumped back, shaking himself over and bowing deeply. When he stood up straight, Branzy could see that he had elfish, mischievous features, and purple eyes. He’s just like me! Branzy internally cheered.

“Pardon my rudeness, pardon my rudeness,” he sighed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. The name is Ash. Ashswag. And you are …?”

His voice, even when supposedly excited, was so low and quiet that Branzy had to strain to hear it.

“I’m Branzy,” Branzy said.

“I’m Ashswag.”

“What?”

“What?”

Branzy stared at Ashswag for a moment, before sighing. He seemed like a difficult person. Interesting , as Clown had put it. “I’m told that you are our client,” Branzy said.

“I am, indeed. Come, sit, sit, let’s discuss,” Ashswag said cheerfully, gesturing to the chairs like he was the one who owned the meeting room and not them.

He shuffled some papers that he had before him, stacking them neatly. “So, I just needed a little help. Just a bit. Teeny tiny job.”

“What is it?”

“I just want a bomb.”

Branzy blinked. Well that had been unexpected. “Uh, what kind of bomb?”

“And how much are you paying for it?” Clown added.

Ashswag waved a hand carelessly around. “I already have the explosives, so you don’t need to worry about that. I just need a contraption that will make them detonate instantly, that I can trigger from a distance. Radio signals are out of the question too—it’s too risky if someone accidentally gets the right frequency.”

He wasn’t feeling too good about this. “Explosives really aren’t my area of expertise,” Branzy mumbled, raising his hands in defense, “And I’m not too confident about working with them. I don’t want to blow an arm off.”

Ashswag cast a dry look between Branzy and Clown. Leaning over the table, he stage-whispered (so loudly, Branzy was sure it was intentional) to Clown, “Are you sure you can’t spare anyone else?”

Clown rolled his eyes. “ Yes . We have more important things to do than cater to your harebrained schemes.”

“Lots of long words,” Ashswag said, looking impressed.

“If Branzy doesn’t want to work on this job, then sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

Ashswag instantly turned to Branzy, adopting a pleading look. “ Please . Do you know how difficult it is to find a black market engineer? All of them are ridiculously expensive. I don’t even have a high enough credit score to take out a loan to pay them. Come on, please . Just an itty bitty bomb. It’s just—”

“Alright, alright,” Branzy grumbled, feeling vaguely disturbed by how quickly Ashswag seemed to change personalities, “An itty bitty bomb?”

“Yes, yes!”

Branzy felt a lot like Clown while choosing his next words. “How much are you paying, if your credit score isn’t high enough for a loan?”

Ashswag stopped, fumbled for words, and then stopped again. He glanced towards Clown, and they exchanged significant looks. Clown spoke instead. “Don’t worry about it. Consider it another part of your job, I won’t have anything for you to do if you work on it; it’ll go into your paycheck as an extra fifty diamonds for the hassle of working with bombs. Ash will pay me directly.”

“And you’re sure I won’t spontaneously combust?” Branzy asked, half-laughing—he honestly couldn’t believe he was agreeing to engineer a bomb.

“Absolutely. One hundred percent. You don’t even need to work with the explosives, just an instant distance detonation for them. Pinky promise.”

“… fine.”

Ashswag made a gleeful expression, spinning around in his chair before he accidentally banged his elbow against the table. He winced, stopping spinning. Clown stood up, snickering slightly at Ashswag’s injury. “Ash, please don’t blow up my employee. I’ll be taking my leave now. Have a nice experience working with bombs, darling.”

Branzy felt a skip in his heart. That was just the way Clown talked. Well, with him at least. Branzy always snapped back with some more extreme version (not his proudest moment, calling Clown ‘honeypie’ in retaliation to ‘pumpkin’). Branzy hadn’t seen him use those sarcastic pet names with anyone else. He assumed he didn’t want to. So he hadn’t either.

So did he just …

Branzy glanced at Ashswag. Ashswag glanced back at him. The silence stretched uncomfortably long.

Slowly, Ashswag leaned across the table until he was right next to Branzy. “I’m assuming he wasn’t talking about me ,” he stage-whispered.

Fighting to keep the flush from creeping to his cheeks out of sheer embarrassment (how Clown even had the audacity to say that—Branzy didn’t know), he sighed, slumping against the back of his chair. “Don’t mention it.”

— —

Branzy spent a week working on Ashswag’s stupid explosive project. Ashswag was, as he would begrudgingly admit, actually quite smart. Despite claiming not to know anything about engineering, he made several significant contributions to how the detonation worked.

In the end, Branzy didn’t even know how it worked. Something involving long-distance redstone crystal oscillation, chests, and cats. The cats were not harmed when the machine exploded—Branzy confirmed that at least. At best, it worked, and Branzy was completely done with the whole project.

At the end of the month, he got his paycheck, a good four hundred and fifty diamonds. It was the same as when he’d fixed the roulette wheel, but this time, it felt a lot better. Maybe because he hadn’t robbed a highly guarded building the day after.

He and Rek went out to eat at a nice restaurant, out on a terrace that overlooked most of the city. He could distinctly see the gradient of buildings getting more-and-more worn-down, but he ignored that. It wasn’t the time to think about that, because he’d just got paid!

“How’s work?” Rek asked, cracking a smile, “Must be good, because we’re eating here.”

Branzy laughed. “It is. Clown isn’t as scary as I thought he’d be.”

Rek stiffened slightly, before relaxing again, or at least appearing to. “Really?”

“Yea. He’s a pretty interesting guy.”

“I mean, killing hundreds of people does make for an interesting background.”

Branzy stilled, his knife knocking against the white china plate. Rek’s voice was light, joking, conversational. He knew better though. Light meant protective. Despite how upbeat Rek may have sounded, Branzy knew better. He chose his next words very carefully, treading lightly. “What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging, Rek gazed across the dusky view, refusing to meet Branzy’s eyes. “Just be careful, that’s all. Don’t forget that he’s dangerous.”

“Rek, I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Branzy dropped his knife and fork, leaning forward. “Not everything is a trap. People can be people . It’s—you’re too worried. Being careful is fine, but you’re just being paranoid .”

“That’s what keeps us alive,” Rek finally said, half-laughing, “You can’t afford to trust people as long as they seem like a nice person. We can’t afford to trust people, period.”

“Yes we can—”

“No, not really.”

Branzy groaned, burying his head in his hands. Arguing with Rek was futile. Sometimes it proved to be fun. Other times it was just frustrating. “I trust him, at least somewhat. Rek, I’m not scared of him. I don’t think he’s as bad as people say—”

His next words were drowned out by a deafening explosion. White light blinded Branzy, fiery reds and oranges licking at the edges. China shattered, metal clanging against the hard marble floor. He was thrown backwards, soaring through the air, weightless, until he landed on the floor as well with a sickening crunch.

Something nicked by his arm, twinging pain. “Branzy!” Rek yelled, but he seemed very, very distant.

Branzy hissed in pain, blinking to try and restore vision. The blinding light began to fade, replaced with purple smoke. Branzy staggered to his feet, looking around.

The balcony was a mess. Plates, food, and utensils all lay scattered on the ground, along with people who had been knocked back from the explosion. He found Rek, trying to get up a few feet away. Branzy stretched out an arm to help him with a wince. He stood up.

“What happened ?” Rek whispered.

Purple smoke still curled off of the broken remnants and rubble of one side of the balcony, which had been blown clean off. It was a miracle that nobody had been sitting there.

A distant popping sound alerted them, and Branzy glanced up and over the balcony.

All across the city, individual spots were exploding into plumes of purple smoke, one by one. Branzy felt a sickening feeling in his gut. Who would do this? Not just one spot, but two, four, eight, maybe even twenty. Who would—

A slight sound attracted his attention.

Branzy glanced around, searching for the source of the sound. A meow. Right next to the rubble of the balcony, he barely caught a glimpse of a cat peering around the corner, before it disappeared.

No , he thought, no. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t—

“Branzy. Are you—oh my goodness, you’re bleeding!” Rek exclaimed, laughing a little hysterically.

Branzy looked down, and vaguely realized that yes, he was indeed bleeding. Where from? He didn’t know. The world felt very unsteady around him. He tilted back, and the last thing he saw before he blacked out were the remnants of purple smoke, fading into the sky.

— —

He woke up at home, Rek winding bandages around his torso. His head was pounding, and his throat was dry. Branzy grimaced, attempted to sit up, but Rek shoved him back down. “Don’t move. I think one of your ribs is broken.”

Branzy acquiesced, staring at the bottom of the bunk, where redstone globes swayed slightly. “What happened?” he asked, even though he already knew what had happened—more than Rek might, even.

“Explosions. Someone decided to bomb several locations—for what, I don’t know. The city’s in shambles, a bit. Nobody knows who did it.”

I do, Branzy thought.

There was a fire burning its way through his mind, consuming his thoughts. He could hear Rek speaking, but the thumping of his own heart drowned him out. Branzy stayed completely still, staring at the ceiling, but his mind was focused on one single thing.

He knew who had bombed the city.

After Rek left the room, Branzy immediately tried to sit up. It pained him to even move slightly. He fell back down with a sigh.

“Rek?” he called.

“Hm?”

“Can you send a letter to the casino? Let them know I can’t get to work.”

Rek nodded, coming back into the room with a plate with bread. He stole some of Branzy’s breakfast, shoving it in his mouth, before leaving. “I’ll drop by the post office on the way to work,” he said.

The next day, Branzy was able to move and stand up slightly, with the broken rib securely set in place by bandages. Only small movements though—larger ones pained him. Rek forced him to stay in bed most of the day, while he went to work.

While Branzy was laying in bed, a knock came on the door. Immediately, alarm bells started to go off in his head. They hadn’t been expecting any deliveries. Rek shouldn’t be back yet. Were they checking if anyone was in the house? If they were planning on robbing the house, Branzy was in no condition to stop them.

With a grimace, Branzy shifted himself to sit up, getting his shotgun. “Just a moment,” he called.

He managed to make his way downstairs without too much incident, but he accidentally brushed against the table on his way to the door. His torso stung, and Branzy bit his lip, trying to keep from moving his ribs too much again.

He loaded the shotgun, and switched it to his right hand, reaching for the door with his left.

He opened it.

Internally, Branzy groaned. He lowered the shotgun, turning the safety on and leaving it on a table. “What do you want?” he asked, irritated.

Clown looked at him with an artificially shocked expression. “What, I can’t check up on my employee?”

“How do you know where I live.”

“I tracked you down, remember?”

“That’s some stalker shit,” Branzy said sarcastically, and Clown laughed.

“You look dreadful.”

“Yea, because I fractured a rib.”

He was not feeling like listening to Clown’s bullshit that day.

Clown’s surprise was real this time. “Oh, that’s terrible. I have—I can get you to a hospital if you need—”

The embers of yesterday’s anger were reigniting in Branzy’s mind.

“No, I’m good. Also, I quit,” Branzy said impulsively.

A beat.

“Pardon?”

“I quit. I’m not working for you anymore.”

“What—it’s only been a month! What did—what happened?”

Branzy leaned in closer to Clown. “You didn’t tell me I was working with a civil terrorist!” he exclaimed, staring him dead in the eyes.

It took Clown a moment to realize. “Oh—Ashswag?”

Killing hundreds of people does make for an interesting background . Branzy recalled Rek’s words. Rek had been right about Clown, about everything. He’d been a fool not to listen to him.

“Yes, Ashswag! He bombed sixteen buildings! I was in one of them!” Branzy spit out, the fire that had been building for hours finally spilling, his voice steadily growing in volume, “I didn’t know he was going to kill people. You should have told me! And—and the thing about payment too—you were in on this! You knew he was going to do that! I—if I had known, I would never have taken that job!”

“He wanted a bomb ,” Clown snapped, his voice oddly quiet, “Could you not read between the lines?”

“You should have told me!”

Clown went silent. Branzy faltered, his ribs twinging. He’d said it. Now what? What did he do now? Had he been too impulsive?

Carefully, Clown took a step back, red eyes still locked on Branzy’s. “I do hope you reconsider,” he said, almost at a whisper’s volume, “But if not, I’d like the keycard and borrowed tools back by Thursday.”

Without even a goodbye, he turned, and strode out of the alleyway, leaving Branzy standing at the front door, clinging onto the doorway because he felt like he was going to faint.

He was a bit lightheaded from the pain of his ribs. And also his anger. Branzy debated maybe stopping Clown, but then again, wasn’t this what he had wanted?

Unsure, Branzy took a step forward, wobbling slightly. He took another step, and his vision tilted to the side. Oh no, he thought, too dizzy to properly comprehend, not again.

He blacked out. The second time.

— —

Branzy woke up to see Clown and Rek glaring daggers at each other across the room.

What an annoyance. Branzy vaguely wanted to be angry at Clown making him angry enough to literally faint, but he was just too tired. 

“Get out of my house,” Branzy sighed, struggling to sit up.

“I—what?”

“You heard him,” Rek said, taking the opportunity when he saw it, “He’s injured. No time for guests.”

“I literally carried you up here and waited for four hours for Patrick—”

“ Rek .”

“—to come back.”

Branzy refused to meet Clown’s eyes. “Sure. Thanks. Can we talk about this when my ribs aren’t broken?”

Clown made a small noise, like he was about to argue more, but no words came out. With a slight sigh of defeat, he stood up, leaving the room. As soon as he left, Rek rushed over to Branzy’s side, handing him a water bottle.

Branzy took the water gratefully, gulping it down. Everything felt injured right at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep.

Rek glanced at him with concerned eyes. The dark circles under them were more noticeable than ever, and Branzy suddenly felt a stab of guilt. If he hadn’t built that bomb, if he hadn’t taken them out to eat, nothing would have happened. Rek had been right. He should’ve listened to him, but he didn’t, and now they were facing the consequences.

“You look tired,” Branzy said.

Rek turned away slightly. “Yea, sure. Listen. I agreed to go on one job this night, and I can’t exactly back out. After this job, I’ll have enough that we can wait for a couple months. You need to stay at home, and I need to take care of you.”

Branzy wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Rek was right. Money would be a little tight, but he needed to stay at home. And he didn’t want Rek to tire himself out even more.

“Okay then. Be safe,” Branzy called, Rek already leaving the room.

Rek gave him a weak smile, seeming too tired for his usual jokes. “I will.”

Once he left as well, Branzy leaned back, letting his head drop onto the pillow. He was having a difficult time staying awake. He let himself drift off, half-awake and half not.

Vaguely, he recalled a time from when he was younger. It’d been the first time he and Rek had run away from the orphanage. Rek had always been the careful one, and because of him, they’d returned twice. But the first time, Branzy had convinced him, and they’d left with freedom at the tips of their tongues.

It hadn’t been quite the freedom they were hoping for. They’d been hungry. All the time. And Rek had gotten jumped. That was how he’d lost his first heart.

After that, Rek had always been a little more … wary.

Paranoid, even.

It’d been a friend who jumped them. Branzy hadn’t been that close, but Rek had. Branzy couldn’t even remember his name. Some fellow street rat, who decided that an extra heart was worth more than Rek.

Rek never quite trusted anyone after that. Not even Branzy.

Branzy didn’t think too deeply about it, his thoughts floating around sleepily. He drifted in and out of sleep, the redstone globes above him swirling hypnotically.

And then—

A shift. A cough. A bang.

He jolted awake.

The air was still. The sound of shuffling feet.

Branzy was just about to reach for his shotgun, when the door slammed open, and Rek stumbled in. “Rek—what the fuck .”

Rek looked disheveled. A bloody cut ran along the side of his jaw. There were heavy bruises on his left shoulder. One around his eye too. Some dust had smeared along his cheek. And most of all, worst of all, his right arm was gone.

Branzy couldn’t believe his eyes, staring there in shock at where his arm would have once been, while Rek stumbled over to clean his cut, his teeth gritted.

“W—what—”

“I was injured on the job,” Rek laughed, his tone wavering, as if he was about to cry, “Nothing big. Just lost a heart and my arm.”

“Rek—”

“It’s fine. Everything is fine. I got half the money. I’m going to follow through. I’ll finish the job later, and we’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

He didn’t know what to say. The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood. Rek hissed in pain as he cleaned his cut with alcohol, his hands shaking and smearing the alcohol all over his cheek. Branzy tried not to move his torso, staring at Rek’s shoulder.

It looked old, like the arm had been lost years ago, and not just a few hours earlier. Branzy guessed that was the injury that had cost Rek the heart. Too much blood loss maybe. The heart would have saved him, and it would’ve healed his arm too.

Well, his shoulder. It would’ve healed his shoulder, without the arm.

Rek was down to six hearts now, Branzy realized.

What if this happens again?

No, it couldn’t. It couldn’t. But what if it did , five more times. Then Rek would be …

It had never felt more real. Branzy felt as if he wanted to throw up. No. It couldn’t happen again. It just couldn’t. He wouldn’t let it.

“No.”

Rek paused, setting the alcohol wipe down. “What?”

Ah. Had he said that out loud? Branzy shook his head, indicating it was nothing.

But no. He wouldn’t let Rek finish the job. Branzy would have to go back to work. They were back to square one. If Rek was going out and losing his hearts on whatever crazy jobs he was pulling, Branzy just couldn’t allow that.

No matter how he thought about it, it just kept circling back to that. They needed to eat, and they needed money to eat, and he needed that damned job for money.

He could look past his morals for a little, if it meant Rek keeping his hearts.

The day after, Branzy paid the exorbitant price for a taxi to make his way up to the casino, and personally tell Clown that he would be staying. Clown seemed to be happy. Branzy wasn’t, but what could he do?

He was back where he started. At the casino. With a job. Minus his former optimism, and minus an arm.

Chapter Text

It all started with the heart.

It went back further than that. It went back days, weeks, years, but Rek chose to start the story with the heart. If only he’d never taken it.

— —

One month ago.

Rek checked over his weaponry one more time, just to make sure that everything was in place. Two daggers sheathed in the inner cuff of his left boot, one strapped to his right shin, hidden behind the buckles of his shoes. A gun, the most prominent of his weapons, at his hip. A lockpick (even though he had less skill than Branzy, he knew the basics) in his pockets, along with an emergency multi-purpose knife. Two more knives, hidden from view by the heavy folds of his jacket. Leather gloves, so he didn’t get fingerprints on anything. He’d also removed the former buckles of his boots and replaced them with copper, so they wouldn’t get pulled or detected by magnets (he’d had several near-death experiences involving them). 

He’d planned his route very carefully. The heart-dealer’s den was in the middle of the city, hidden right in the basement of a relatively seedy bar. Bit of a cliche, but Rek didn’t mind. He chose the busiest day—Friday night—to go, to ensure that there would be enough patrons to get lost in. He’d notified several people that he didn’t quite trust to have his best interests at mind, but did trust to have their own interests. They’d be waiting in the bar, not if trouble broke out for Rek, but if they’d get an opportunity to skim some hearts. He even found some brown contacts to mask his blue eyes. Branzy may have thought he was untraceable, but Rek was the real deal. 

He knew exactly what he was there to do, and how he would do it. The lemon-yellow heart was a heavy weight in his pocket. Branzy had failed to sell it—now Rek would finish what he started.

The bar was heavy with smoke and the scent of alcohol when he arrived. Flashing lights strobed so quickly that Rek could hardly see. He wanted to laugh. It reminded him of the casino.

He slipped past the crowds, making his way to a back entrance. It was inconspicuous, devoid of guards, but Rek knew what was really down there. He found the keypad, entering the passcode (the owner’s birthday—what an idiot, honestly).

The door clicked open. He slipped inside.

Rek entered the dimly lit stairwell, shutting the door behind him, and descending the stairs. It seemed to be an entirely normal, dingy back-of-bar stairwell, until Rek reached the end, brushing aside a tattered black curtain.

The two people in the room immediately swiveled to look at him.

One of them was the dealer that Rek had been stalking (well, researching) for a week. Reddoons was his name, if his sources were trustworthy. Rek could see why now—his hair was a vibrant red, and his eyes also glowed a faint crimson behind his dark sunglasses. He wasn’t one of the heart lords of the trading network—just a small-time dealer, the first one Rek could find (that was reputed to be trustworthy).

The other, Rek had never seen before. Their face was completely covered with a porcelain mask, apart from their eyes. Rek couldn’t tell the color in the dim lighting. Their hair was white too, small strands peeking out from under their hood. Underneath their cloak, Rek caught a glimpse of a suit.

As soon as Reddoons registered Rek was there, he raised a pistol. “Hands up,” he said, his voice deep, the gun clicking.

Rek obliged, raising his hands to show there was nothing in them. “I’m here to sell,” he said.

Reddoons glanced at the masked person, who gave a slight nod, stepping back into a corner. He kept the gun trained on Rek, narrowing his eyes. “What are you selling?”

“One heart. It’s in my left pocket. I’ll get it.”

Reddoons nodded, keeping the gun up. Rek reached slowly into his pocket, drawing out the heart. “Two hundred and fifty diamonds, up front. I know you have them on you. We can make this quick.”

Slowly, he lowered the gun, but not without turning the safety off. He kept his eyes trained on Rek. “That’s a little suspicious.”

“I just want to get rid of it. Do we have a deal?”

The air was silent. As Reddoons seemed to consider, Rek spared a glance around the room. It was barren, only a few chairs in the corner. The walls were paneled wood, an electric bulb flickering weakly in the corner. They seemed fairly worn down, with deep grooves running along them.

Rek tensed. Grooves.

Without showing Reddoons he was looking around, Rek stared at a point right next to his sunglasses, letting his vision relax and focusing on the periphery. Yes, grooves. Now that he looked closer, a slight reflective glint of bronze too. Hinges, most likely.

All of Rek’s senses were screaming at him to run. He’d heard nothing about this. Granted, maybe they weren’t used that much. Doors in the walls—what was hiding behind them? Or who ? He forced himself to remain calm, a slight smile playing on his lips. It was easier than it should’ve been—it came from practice.

He turned the heart in his hand, letting the light reflect off of it. While Reddoons was focused on the heart, he glanced around quickly again. There were scratches on the floor, most likely from the doors opening, in wide arcs of peeling wood. There were two. One on the left, one on the right. They opened in different directions, oddly enough. Rek guessed that in case of an ambush, he could slam the left door closed in time, as it opened towards him, but not the right one.

Mentally, he ran over all the weapons he had again. How many people would be behind one of those doors? No more than four, so eight in total. He’d checked around the building beforehand, and there definitely wasn’t enough space for more than a crawlway. He could take four, if he could close the left door in time. His gun wasn’t loaded, so that was out of the question. He should have enough knives on him.

Rek willed himself to relax. There was no point to staying tensed—that only would catch him the moment he was off-guard. He’d stay relaxed, but wary. There was an ambush coming. He could feel it in the air.

“Two hundred and fifty, you say?” Reddoons asked, finally speaking, his finger twitching on the gun again.

Rek nodded.

Reddoons shrugged, lowering his sunglasses slightly so he could look directly at Rek. “You’re selling it for so low because …”

“I don’t want trouble.”

He nodded, adjusting his sunglasses again. Rek kept an eye on his other hand, which had placed the gun back in the holster again. He hadn’t turned on the safety. It would be dangerous—unless the gun hadn’t been loaded in the first place.

It clicked into place. Of course the gun wasn’t loaded. It was just a bluff. He wouldn’t need a gun, if there were other people behind the walls. Reddoons’s hand was reaching behind him. A button, or some sort of lever. Rek was already reaching for the knife in his sleeve when Reddoons spoke.

“You see, I don’t want trouble either.”

A click. Rek immediately drew his knife, slamming his shoulder into the quickly opening left door. Just like he predicted. Someone cried out when their fingers jammed between the opening, drawing it back. Rek jammed it shut, and whirled around to face the attackers from the right. In the corner of his eye, he saw Reddoons slipping out of the room and heading up the stairs.

Rek ducked one’s swing, jabbing the knife into their abdomen. They fell with a yelp, and Rek turned around smoothly to throw the knife he’d just used towards another barreling towards him, before drawing the daggers from his boot.

He’d been wrong—there were only three people. Much easier than expected.

Rek knew what it was like to kill a man. He’d done so before. He did it again.

They weren’t dead, per say. They still had hearts—Rek could see that clearly, glittering jewels soaring out of their chests. They hovered in the air slightly, calling to Rek, a magnetic pull, and he plucked them out, before dropping them straight back down. He didn’t want trouble.

They solidified, falling on the ground with delicate tinkles, rolling next to their unconscious bodies.

Rek glanced down, and realized he was bleeding.

“Very good.”

He snapped back to attention again, lifting his knife. He’d been such an idiot. There was still one more person in the room—the porcelain-masked person. Their baritone voice was almost as deep as Reddoons’s had been.

They reached up, tugging back their hood. Their hair was pure white, so pale that it glowed even in the dim electric lighting. Not the kind of white that came with age, but pearlescent white, luminous.

Rek backed up, turning so he was facing the person, his back to a wall, the stairwell (the only exit—rooms with only one exit made him nervous) to his right. They made no move to attack him or pick up the hearts rolling on the ground.

“What do you want?” Rek asked, smiling slightly in what he hoped was a friendly way, to soften his tone.

“Oh, I was just impressed. I could see that you anticipated the attack. Very smart, if I do say so.”

“And?”

He was very conscious that Reddoons could still be in the stairwell, listening. No, wait. If he was going to run, he would already be long gone. That was good at least—one threat gone. One remaining.

They narrowed their eyes. They were a slight amber, almost yellowish, now that Rek could properly see them. “Tell me, are you interested in a job offer?”

Rek’s heart leapt into the throat. No. No way. A shady job offer was how they got into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t as dumb, as reckless as Branzy. He firmly shook his head, tightening his grip on the knife.

“The pay is good.”

Rek rolled his eyes. “Yea, heard that before. I don’t think I’m interested.”

The person tilted their head. They drew something from their pocket, and Rek flinched, expecting a weapon. It was nothing, just a compass, the needle wavering and then spinning to face a direction.

“Well, we could always use someone like you. Here’s this, if you ever change your mind.”

The person placed the compass pointedly on a chair.

“I’m not interested,” Rek repeated.

They lifted their hands in a surrender-like position. “Never said you were. Just if you ever reconsider, head to the old M.O.B. office, and take the elevator down to the basement. You’ll find people like you there.”

With a sweep of their cloak, the person headed up the stairs, leaving Rek in the room with three unconscious bodies and a compass.

Rek frowned, stepping over to the chair where they left the compass. The old M.O.B. office was one of the tallest buildings in the city, which had been vacated suddenly after the bankruptcy of the M.O.B. corporation. Now, it was reputedly empty.

Or maybe it wasn’t as empty as it seemed, considering what the person had said. Rek picked up the compass running a finger over it. It was a lodestone compass, with a needle that pointed northwest. At least from where Rek was now. It most likely was keyed somewhere.

Rek flipped it over, examining the back. It was too thin of a metal sheet to hide anything in it. It didn’t seem to be bugged. Steel, too, which would screw up any possible machinery that was hidden inside. So it was safe.

Suddenly, a slight shift made Rek aware that yes, he was in a room with three unconscious assailants. He pocketed the compass, the copper clinking against the heart that was still in his pocket. Best to leave before trouble came looking for him—again.

— — 

One week after the attack.

Like spray paint, the compass was permanently branded in Rek’s mind. He told himself it was too risky, too dangerous. He didn’t even know what it led to. 

But he did, didn’t he?

The person had said. You’ll find people like you. What had that meant? People like Rek? In what way? In all the wrong ways, or in all the right ones? Rek didn’t know. And that was what was so infuriating. He didn’t know, but his itching mind needed to know.

He asked around. After Branzy started his casino job, he was alone most of the time, so he dropped by shady bars and empty inns between jobs, asking them what exactly was in the basement of the M.O.B. office.

Several people seemed to know, but either they couldn’t talk, or they wouldn’t. It was all the same to Rek—annoying.

It was so bad to the point that he began to follow the compass on a late night, when he was too sleep deprived to think properly. He’d kicked himself after following the needle for a while, forcing himself to turn back, but he was sure of what he’d guessed earlier. The compass led to the basement of the M.O.B. office, just like the person had said.

If for nothing but curiosity, he needed to know.

So he decided he would.

Even more weapons this time. An emergency flare. No magnetic metal whatsoever. A few little devices Branzy had made to jam doors and stop redstone signals.

As prepared as he could be, considering he didn’t know what he was walking into. Rek didn’t tell Branzy where he was going. If it wasn’t all that dangerous, he wouldn’t need to. If it was too dangerous, then it was best Branzy didn’t know in the first place.

He followed the compass through alleyways, wending through the maze of the city, until finally, the tinted grey windows of the M.O.B. building came into view. It was right there—the compass pointed directly to it.

Rek circled the building twice. Nobody had entered. It was empty, deserted even. There were some bare bones of a side that had been knocked out, the steel beams stretching up and out like the ribcage of a whale.

Finally, he steeled his nerves, steadied his heartbeat, and headed inside.

The elevator was in perfect condition. It creaked a little, rattled a little, but it worked just fine, the door opening when Rek called it with the press of a button.

Last chance to turn back. Rek didn’t take it. He stepped straight into the elevator, checking up, down, and sideways for any machinery. Nothing that was out of the ordinary for an elevator. He pressed the button to head to the basement, which was labeled “staff only”.

The compass was spinning in circles now. Rek was right where it had pointed to.

He took a deep breath. The elevator doors creaked shut. The floor shifted, and he was headed downwards.

It was a short ride, almost too short, giving Rek no time to prepare himself mentally. The doors slid open, and Rek couldn’t help but gasp as he stepped out.

The basement was packed with people. It was a mess, a jumble of limbs and furniture and everything in between, but the place was much larger than it seemed on the surface. There was a good twenty meters at least between the floor and ceiling, like an enormous stadium. There might have once been walls, but they’d been knocked down to tunnel out further beneath the ground. Solid concrete pillars were placed at haphazard locations to support the ceiling.

The whole thing felt like a very dark, crowded, illegal night market, with some added safety regulation violations for spice. The place didn’t feel very safe—both because of the questionable support systems for the ceiling, and the dirty looks people were shooting at each other left and right.

Rek stepped into the throng, trying to find somewhere where he could properly see what was going on. Stalls were scattered chaotically around the basement—it was so large that they could fit miniature buildings inside of the building inside. Mismatched furniture, shady-looking mechanical inventions. Everything down there was most definitely illegal, which Rek could tell even from a glance.

Several people were gathered around a table with people arm-wrestling. A little bit aways, there were two people straight-up brawling in a ring of people, some who had even drawn up chairs to watch.

Rek kept an eye on his purse at all times. With the amount of people in the stadium-like area, he wouldn’t put it past them to have a few pickpockets in their midst.

Suddenly, a hand clapped on his shoulder. Rek whirled around, instinctively pressing a knife to the throat of whoever had just touched him.

“Relax!”

It was the masked person he’d met before. How he’d found Rek, Rek didn’t know. It was eerie, almost, now that he looked closer at their featureless porcelain mask.

“What—how did you find me?” Rek demanded, laughing to cover his nervousness.

“Not many people actually use the elevator entrance. It’s how we tell there’s someone new.”

Rek glanced around the stadium/basement. “What—how do they enter?”

“We’re connected to almost the entire city’s sewage.”

Rek fought down a wave of disgust at the prospect of everyone here coming through the sewers. The masked man had ditched the cloak, just wearing his suit. He gestured for Rek to follow him. Rek, deciding to cling to the one familiar thing in this unfamiliar place, obliged.

“Who’s we .”

“Well, not we . Just, this place in general.”

“And what is this place?” Rek asked, shoving past several people to catch up with the masked man, who slipped through the crowd with ease.

He didn’t quite laugh, but made a noncommittal sound that seemed close to one. “You’re in the one and only heart market in the city.”

Rek whirled around, staring at the stalls and people with wide eyes. Now that he looked closer, yes, there was the glimmer of hearts everywhere. Passing between hands, on display in stalls, so many hearts. Weapons too. It was even more shocking than when he had first seen it. The amount of hearts in this place must have been enough to light up the whole city with their glow.

“Also a market for assassins,” the man added, “and other illegal trades.”

They finally stopped at an empty table, crammed between two heart stalls. The man gestured to a chair. Rek suspiciously took it, and the masked man took the other.

“Since you’re here, I assume you’re interested in the job offer?”

No, but yes.

“… maybe.”

The man inclined his head, their eyes crinkling in what Rek assumed was a smile. “What reservations do you still have?”

“… I’m sitting in an illegal underground market. Everything is so … suspicious. I don’t want trouble.”

“I won’t give you trouble. I’ll give you what the job is, straight up. No other stipulations. No shady dealings behind the scenes. Just a job.”

Rek couldn’t lie, he was interested. He tried not to show it too much though, maintaining his everyday expression of mild amusement. He’d hear him out. Didn’t mean he had to accept the job. “Okay, then tell me what it is. Straight up.”

The masked man nodded, leaning back in his chair.

“I want you to kill someone for me.”

— —

The night before he lost his arm.

So Rek took the job.

It was what he had asked for, wasn’t it? Straight up, no other stipulations, no hidden pieces. His client wanted someone dead, or he wanted one of their hearts. Rek made it happen.

He didn’t tell Branzy, because he couldn’t imagine what Branzy would say.

Not the first time, not the second, not the third. Not even the fourth, the last job he’d told himself to take, before he took a break to help Branzy with his rib injury. He’d have stopped before—the pay was good, it was enough to support them for a while—but he’d already agreed to it, and Rek was a man of his word. He’d follow through.

The job was meant to be very simple.

The masked man—Rek had never learned his name—wanted him to take a heart from Midmystic. Rek had done his research beforehand. Midmystic was one of the richest people in the city, an entrepreneur who had clawed her way to the top of the food chain through her various patents for risky, but worthwhile projects.

While rich, she wasn’t particularly well-known. It took Rek a little while to find where she lived, a mansion on the outskirts of the city. He’d scouted around. There was only security at the front gate, nothing else around the perimeter.

The job should have been very simple.

The masked man had given him very exact, very precise instructions. Enter during the daytime through the fourth western window, between the hours of eight to ten. Poison the glass of water by the bedside—he’d even provided the poison for Rek. Wait until night. When Midmystic inevitably dropped dead because of the poison, he’d go in, collect the heart, and get out.

Simple. Easy as that.

Not for Rek.

It was too risky. Entering during the daytime—no, too risky. Night was a better cover. Poisoning the drink—and what if someone else drank it? What then? No, poison couldn’t do. Poison wasn’t surefire. Rek needed to be careful. So he formulated his own plan.

At ten o’clock, he hopped the fence. He’d only brought a gun and a knife, for the sake of stealth. The grounds were well-kept—a disadvantage for him, because it gave him less cover. The moon was high above, glowing in the dark night sky, the only thing illuminating his path. He darted between trimmed hedges, keeping close to the walkways spanning the lawns.

There was nobody around to see him, but it didn’t hurt to be too careful. Rek didn’t breathe easily until he reached the shadows of the mansion, pressing himself against a pillar to catch his breath.

He edged along the walls until he reached the fourth western window, which led to his target’s bedroom. Rek took a leap, clambering onto the first floor’s windowsill, and then maneuvering along some decorations to get to the second floor’s.

The curtains were closed, the window shut. Rek drew a lockpick from his pocket, easily jimmying open the lock. Rich people had no self-awareness—they really should have had better security. But it made Rek’s job easier.

He opened it carefully, slipping through the crack. The hinges were smooth, well-oiled, and silent. Rek took a moment behind the curtains to listen for any noise.

Nothing. Silence. He loaded his gun, muffling the sound in the fabric of the curtains. Steadying his heart rate, Rek stepped out from behind the curtains, letting his eyes adjust to the dark bedroom.

It was fairly grand. Tables and drawers with ornate dressings, a darkened chandelier (rich people were ridiculous, who in their right mind would put a chandelier in their bedroom) dangling above the bed, at the far end of the room.

Rek approached, readying his gun, his footfalls silent. There was a little whisper in the back of his mind that told him maybe he shouldn’t do this, maybe shouldn’t take yet another heart, but like every other time, he ignored it.

He reached the side of the bed, preparing to shoot, when he froze abruptly.

The bed was empty.

No sign of its occupant. His target.

“I must admit, you were better than the other ones.”

Rek had no time to think, only to move, an arc of steel slashing down where his heart once would have been. Where his arm was. Rek screamed, bone severing, crunching, unbearable pain spreading through his shoulder like fire. His arm .

He crumpled to his knees, the faintest shadow of a cat wavering in his vision, before he blacked out from the pain.

He woke up.

That, at least, Rek was grateful for. Waking up.

He woke up right outside the gates of the mansion. Immediately, running a mental finger over the gap in his chest, he could tell that he’d lost something. A heart. There was now a distinct emptiness where the seventh had been. He was down to six. He’d lost a heart.

And his arm.

Rek glanced down at where it once had been. The wound had closed neatly—that must have been what the heart had saved him from—leaving what looked like an old scar. But no more hand, elbow, arm.

The shock was too great to handle, so he didn’t. He touched the cuts on his face, stinging, from when he’d most likely been dragged out here, deposited with a missing heart.

He stared at the mansion that had cost him a heart and an arm, turned around, and ran.

He ran all the way back to the apartment, and then numbly started to treat his wounds with his left arm, the one that remained. Branzy said things, but Rek didn’t remember what Branzy said. He didn’t remember what he said either. All he could remember was the shadow of a cat, the sinking feeling of failure, and the emptiness of his seventh heart.

Rek didn’t leave the house for a week after that.

Look at them, one with a broken rib, one with a missing arm. What a mess they’d gotten themselves into.

Chapter Text

He was actually considerate this time.

Yes, Branzy was still making deadly weapons. But not for large-scale terrorism this time, at least!

Because his ribs were too injured to do any field work, Clown gave Branzy a spare office, and had him drawing up blueprints for a commission for his friend (read: business partner) Roshambo.

Roshambo was an odd guy. Well, considering Ashswag, he was relatively normal, but then again, Ashswag wasn’t the standard for anything normal. He had the gold-plated mechanical upgrades to his body typical of those who were wealthy enough to afford it, but not exactly the type you might see in the upper side too often.

Most people opted for subtler adjustments, like redstone microchips for better vision (Clown had two of those, which were why his eyes had their signature red glow), or prosthetics, or mechanical replacements for failed inner organs.

Nope. Roshambo had gotten a full third arm.

It attached to his spine, operating entirely on redstone signals, requiring no other muscle. It was the length of a regular arm, but Branzy had seen it extend up to four feet in order to reach things. The mechanical hand was less like a hand and more like a three-function swiss knife—it could form a claw to grip things, a fist, and a flat palm for high-fives (according to Clown, it could also form a middle finger, but Branzy had yet to receive that ).

Roshambo’s request was very clearly a death trap. He had given up the ballroom of his own private estate for the project. What he wanted was a trap that would kill everyone in the room except for him and select guests.

Well at least he was straightforward about it. He’d assured Branzy that the party would be very specific, invitation-only. Branzy had grudgingly agreed.

“How many people are you thinking?” Branzy asked, chewing on his pen.

He and Roshambo were meeting in his new office. Well, not his. Pangi’s actually. There’d been a shortage of rooms, but Pangi had agreed to lend Branzy his office. He was a pretty nice kid. The office was pretty plain and utilitarian, but every time Branzy opened a drawer or cabinet, there were either pangolin figurines, pangolin stickers, or sunglasses, oddly enough.

Ro frowned, tapping thoughtfully on the wood of the desk with his third hand. “I’m thinking about twenty. And it’s a pretty big ballroom too.”

He’d seen the dimensions, and it was probably the size of the casino’s main gambling hall, a little smaller. “Yea. With twenty people, I think a physical trap would be too much of a waste of space, not unless you could gather them all in one place. Lava, maybe? Something chemical.”

“Lava … feels too painful. I want them dead, but I don’t want them out for revenge. Well, too much revenge.”

Branzy stared at the wavering flame of a candle on a shelf, smoke trailing up from it in a thin stream. Something not that painful then. Hm …

A sudden idea occurred to him from the smoke. He swiveled around in his chair to face Ro. “Hey, what about a toxic gas? We can have something undetectable, or more dramatic too, if you want to make a statement. It’ll make them pass out, and then it’ll be painless.”

Roshambo’s brown eyes lit up, and he grinned. “That’s perfect!”

Branzy nodded. “Yea. We need an automatic door-locking mechanism too, so they don’t get out. Unless you want to lock the doors beforehand, but then that’s too …”

“Too obvious, yea,” Roshambo agreed, “Okay, so then we can have automatic door-locking and toxic gas. That’s perfect!”

They discussed the plan some more, before Roshambo left for the night, leaving Branzy alone in Pangi’s office. He slumped over his desk, feeling the cold wood on the side of his cheek. Planning assassinations and death traps wasn’t his thing, but he’d somehow found himself doing it anyways.

Branzy couldn’t lie that it was a little interesting. Just a little. Different from what he’d done before. Unique, intriguing. If, of course, if he could forget the fact that there were hearts at stake.

The next day, Branzy headed over to scout out the ballroom. Roshambo’s manor was obviously incredibly expensive-looking, in a way that made Branzy’s teeth itch. There were several valuable things out in the open too, but Branzy knew better than to try and pull a heist again.

The ballroom, with its marble-tiled floors and golden chandeliers, was very large, but Branzy could see vents in the ceiling, inconspicuous spots where he could hide pipes, if he looked at it with an engineer’s eye (with an assassin’s eye). The door-locking mechanisms were fairly simple too—all he had to do was connect them to a redstone circuit.

“I’ll contact someone to get me all the supplies, so you don’t need to worry about that,” Roshambo said as they walked around, measuring various areas of the ballroom.

Branzy paused. “I have been wondering, where do you guys get all this stuff? Like, Clown has whole storerooms of redstone and things, but it's not like they had hired engineers before me.”

“He lets you call him Clown? That’s cute,” Roshambo laughed, and before Branzy could protest, steamrollered on, “Anyways, we have a bit of a network for it. Mostly run in the lower side.”

Illegal, then.

“I see.”

“Mhm. It comes with the business.”

Branzy frowned. “What … business?”

A fleeting expression of panic flitted across Roshambo’s face, like he’d said too much, before he shook his head quickly, his third arm twitching slightly. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

It felt like something Branzy should worry about, but he did as Roshambo said, and returned to safer topics of conversation.

“So, can your third arm really make a middle finger?”

Roshambo laughed. “It can , but I don’t know if I should be showing that.”

“Hm. Well, I guess Clown was right about that.”

Roshambo nodded, the third arm making vague circular gestures. “Yea. Clownpierce and I go way back. He’s the one who got me this arm, actually.”

Branzy paused, momentarily, before returning to measuring, but possibilities were already running through his mind. Clown had gotten Roshambo and arm? Maybe Clown could get Rekrap an arm too. Though how much would it cost? And arm and a leg for an arm?

As subtly as he could, Branzy began to pry. “Wow, really? How?”

He shrugged. “Owed me a favor, so I called it in for an arm. I needed some upgrades to keep up, so I got another arm.”

“But how did Clown get you one?” Branzy asked, genuinely curious, “I thought he runs a casino.”

“You don’t think Clown just runs a casino, do you?”

Branzy stopped. Stupid him. Of course Clown had more businesses. You didn’t become the most dangerous man in the city without building a veritable corporate empire. Though he hadn’t anticipated that one of them might sell arms.

“I forgot,” he laughed.

They stopped talking about the arm, but it remained in the back of Branzy’s mind for long after that conversation.

A few days later, during the weekly employee bonding lunch, Branzy was able to get ahold of Clown, who had been chatting at a table with Pangi. “Hey, Clown.”

Clown glanced over. “Yea? What’s up?”

Branzy took a deep breath. “I need an arm.”

A momentary, shocked pause. “Why do you need an—wait, no. Better question,” Clown said, smiling slightly, “Why should I get you an arm?”

“I can pay you.”

“You think I can be bought? I have more money than you could imagine,” Clown laughed, dismissing him easily.

Branzy’s eye twitched. Clown was annoying, but right. He hadn’t had any plan whatsoever. He’d need to think of something. Hopefully soon. He didn’t know how well Rek would be doing without an arm.

Clown paused slightly. “Actually. There is something I need help with.”

“What?”

“Branzy, how good are you with a gun?”

— —

So that was how Branzy found himself sitting in on one of Clown’s business meetings. Clown had assured him that there was a very high chance of mild injury but a very low chance of death. Branzy guessed that it was the best deal he’d get, so he took it. His job was to get the two of them out safely if anything happened.

They were in the meeting room of a luxury hotel, with two other people.

One was a man with vibrant red hair and sunglasses. The other was Ashswag.

Branzy gritted his teeth, taking a seat in one of the chairs at the side. Ashswag waved at him cheerfully. Branzy returned it with a tired glare. And he’d thought they were over Ashswag’s bullshit at this point.

“Gentlemen,” Clown said, stretching his arms out to gesture to the room, “I’ve requested this meeting to make a deal.”

Sitting back, Branzy kept a hand on his pistol at all times. Clown had warned him that Reddoons, the red-haired man, had a tendency to plan ambushes in advance. Ashswag was … Ashswag. He was sure that their business meeting would be beyond boring, but his nerves were too shot, and he had no choice but to pay attention.

“What deal?” Reddoons asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“As I’ve heard, both of your businesses have recently been offered a deal by one of my associates.”

“Leowook,” Ashswag said.

Clown nodded. “And I’d like to make a counteroffer.”

“Are you going to threaten us?” Reddoons scoffed, “If so, it’s not going to work. Leowook tried to do that, and we’re ready to protect our interests.”

With a smile, Clown shook his head. He was distractingly beautiful, Branzy had realized, in a terrifying kind of way. “No, no. No threats here. Unlike Leowook, I see the value in your business. I’m offering my resources and protection, in exchange for twenty percent.”

“Twenty percent? You’re joking,” Ashswag laughed, his voice quiet.

“I’m offering funding, employees, legal protection, non-legal protection. Are you really going to turn that down?”

Reddoons sighed. “Listen, Clownpierce. We want sovereignty. We’re not becoming part of your casino empire or whatnot.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Clown said, raising his hands placatingly, “I’m just asking for twenty percent in sales.”

“Diamonds or hearts?”

Branzy had to stifle a gasp. He’d had his suspicions but this confirmed it. Were Reddoons and Ashswag heart dealers?

Clown gave Ashswag and Reddoons each a piercing stare. “I have no use for diamonds. Hearts, of course.”

“No way,” Ashswag immediately said, raising his voice for once.

They continued to go back and forth, debating, their voices growing steadily louder. Branzy shifted, biting his lip. From what he’d seen, Clown had no need for hearts either. It was strange. He really couldn’t understand him sometimes. He didn’t understand any of the business terms they were firing at each other either. Was this all Clown had wanted him there for? From what it looked like, there was a very low possibility of any sort of violence.

Finally, there was a lull in the conversation, and Reddoons made a counter-offer. “Three percent for legal protection.”

“Six percent for legal protection and loans. Low-interest.”

“Five percent.”

“For only legal protection.”

Reddoons and Ashswag traded glances, and Ashswag shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Just take the six percent,” he said quietly.

Reddoons turned his gaze back to Clown. “Fine. Six percent, but no-interest loans.”

“Deal,” Clown said, his face breaking into a careful smile.

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up some documents!” Ashswag said cheerfully.

Clown and Reddoons both looked at him. “Your lawyer couldn’t get you out of a traffic fine,” Reddoons said witheringly.

Ashswag grinned with all his teeth. “They’re the best lawyers in the city!”

From the way Clown and Reddoons kept looking at Ashswag, Branzy doubted that as well. There were no further comments though, and Branzy accompanied Clown out the room, not letting go of his gun until they were safely in the elevator.

Clown pressed one of the polished copper buttons. The reflective doors slid shut, and they were left alone in the quiet elevator box, which started to slowly move down.

“Should’ve brought Pangi,” Branzy said, leaning against one of the smooth metal walls.

Clown laughed slightly, his red eyes crinkling at the corners. “Why?”

Branzy shrugged. “Could’ve gotten you a better deal. That kid is very convincing.”

“I’m quite happy with the deal I got. Besides, I needed you there for protection. My knight in shining armor,” Clown said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“What do you mean by that?” Clown asked, tilting his head and moving closer.

Branzy flipped his gun around, taking out the bullets carefully and putting them back in his bag. “Seemed very unlikely that we were going to get attacked there.”

Clown made a vague gesture with his hands. “You never know. It’s a risky business.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You work in the heart trade?”

With a self-deprecating smile, Clown nodded. “I thought you should’ve known by now, seeing as you stole mine,” he said, winking.

Branzy choked, laughter spilling out. Clown constantly toed the line between vaguely threatening and flirtatious, and he had yet to decide whether he liked it or not. He didn’t entirely trust him after the incident with the cat bombs, but sometimes, just sometimes, he found that he kind of liked Clown’s company. “So you’re a heart trader?” he asked, moving the conversation back on track.

“Not quite,” Clown said, his expression amused, “I have deals with several traders though. I’ve been trying to diversify my investments.”

Branzy nodded, like he knew what the hell that meant. The elevator doors slid open, and they walked out into the lobby. It was fairly empty, considering the early hour.

“Are you going to get me an arm now?”

Clown studied Branzy for a moment, before nodding amicably. “Sure, why not.”

— —

Clown knocked on the door of a small townhouse, crammed into the space between two others much like it. It was rather compact, but clearly expensive. All the curtains on the windows were drawn, and Branzy could’ve sworn it was empty.

Nobody answered. With a sigh, Clown reached for the doorbell. As soon as he pressed it, the most unpleasant shrieking, scraping noise echoed out from inside the townhouse. Branzy flinched. “ Why does it sound like that?”

“One of his inventions,” Clown said, without elaborating further.

Branzy was just about to ask who on earth would invent something like that, when the door flung open.

A guy, maybe a little younger than him, with vibrant green hair and green eyes stared curiously and Clown and Branzy. His hair and eyes were so bright, they seemed to almost glow in the morning sunlight. He was dressed in a smudged, stained lab coat, with lab goggles slightly askew on his forehead. Several strands of his hair were crimped and charred, like something had burnt them.

“Cube. Good to see you,” Clown greeted, shaking the person’s hand, “This is Branzy. We have a request.”

Cube’s eyes darted back and forth between Clown and Branzy. “Did you finally get a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

Branzy coughed, flushing. Where had he gotten that idea?

Clown shook his head quickly, a slight pink tinting his cheeks. “No. Why would you think that.”

Cube shrugged. “Don’t know. Vibes.”

“Okay, anyways, could we come in please?” Clown asked, seeming flustered for the first time Branzy had ever seen him.

“Watch your head,” Cube warned, stepping aside to let them in.

Branzy was about to ask what for, before immediately ducking as a mechanical train rolled across the ceiling, upside-down. He looked around with wide eyes.

The room, which might have once been a foyer of some sort, was crammed with redstone bits and bobs, moving parts, gears, and machines. The train ran on a complicated track on the ceiling, puffing smoke every few moments. A curious invention stood in the corner, consisting of what looked like mechanical puzzle pieces that kept disassembling and reassembling themselves. There was a miniature model in the corner for what looked like a store that sank into the ground. 

Several neon lights and experimental signs littered the room as well, with everything dimly lit in the neon glows of green, blue, and red. It was a redstoner’s dream .

Cube guided them over to a couch, which was somehow squeezed into the corner of the room. Branzy took a seat, and then almost fell off as the couch jolted with the force of an explosion.

“Oops,” Cube said, poking his head under the couch, “Sorry about that. Trying to give it sentience, but the wiring keeps exploding for some reason. I’ll fix it later.”

Branzy shuddered at the thought of a sentient couch (though it did intrigue him). Clown seemed perfectly unbothered. “So, Cube, Branzy here is looking for an arm.”

“An arm?” Suddenly, Cube was darting around Branzy, poking at his arms, lifting them up and examining them. “You don’t look like you need an arm.”

“It’s not for me,” Branzy explained, “For my brother.”

“ Patrick ?” Clown cut in with disbelief, sitting up straight.

“His name is Rek,” Branzy sighed.

“Hm. Last time I saw him he still had all limbs attached.”

“Yeah, well things change,” he snapped, suddenly irritated. It had been Clown’s fault, hadn’t it? That he was injured? That Rek had to run jobs while he was injured? That he’d lost a heart and an arm?

Clown opened his mouth, like he wanted to argue more, but abruptly snapped it shut, leaning back into the couch silently.

“You two can have a lover’s quarrel later—”

“We’re not —”

“—but if you want an arm for Patrick—”

“His name is Rek —”

“—then I need to see Rek myself, to get measurements. And customization. Oh, I can add customization, right?” Cube asked, turning to Clown.

Clown shrugged, still sulking. “Whatever the client wants.”

Cube’s eyes lit up—and by that, Branzy meant they literally lit up, with a neon-green glow. “Yes!”

“I guess I can arrange a visit,” Branzy said, thinking back to Rek’s schedule, “Can we just drop by whenever?”

Cube nodded, with a wide grin on his face. “Convince him to add customization, please! Oh my god, the last time I made a hand for someone, they were so boring; it was only four-function, can you believe that?”

“Was it for Roshambo?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yea. And I could’ve done so much more too! I didn’t quite learn how to get full finger-flexibility at the time, but I know how to do it now, so if he’d just let me update it—”

“I know right!” Branzy exclaimed, “But it was really good too. The work on the joints was so subtle, and I almost didn’t see the expansion mechanism.”

They kept talking about various redstone things, while Clown sat in the corner looking like a wet cat. After a little while, Branzy realized that they probably should get back to the casino. He didn’t want to waste too much of Clown’s time.

“I’ll bring Rek and drop by some time,” Branzy promised, waving goodbye to Cube, who waved back enthusiastically.

“Tell him to let me add customization!” Cube called as he shut the door.

Branzy walked quickly to catch up with Clown, who seemed fairly disgruntled. “Is Cube one of your employees too?” Branzy asked curiously.

Clown shook his head, still looking a little annoyed. “No, I paid his way through engineering college, and now he owes me a lot of favors.”

“That’s—that’s a lot of money. Why would you do that?”

“Remember what I said? Genius is an investment. Like you.”

“Oh, so I’m just an investment now?”

Clown gave Branzy a strange look. Clearly still annoyed. “Do you really think so?”

Branzy held his gaze for an uncomfortable moment, before looking away, casting his gaze over the expensive townhouses on the street. There was something curious about Clown’s tone of voice, something Branzy couldn’t quite place. It was strange, to have his entire attention on him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just ate a lemon.”

“I do eat lemons.”

“What the fuck.”

“They taste good.”

“You are clinically insane.”

“Thank you.”

— —

“Branzy! Branzy!”

Branzy glanced up from the watch he was taking apart from his desk. Rek burst into the room, grinning widely with glee. “I cannot believe you somehow pulled a favor to get me an arm!”

Branzy smiled, standing up to inspect Rek’s new arm. It was copper and brass, with some silver rivets. Rek wiggled his fingers to demonstrate. Cube really had figured out full function. “It’s a lot sturdier than my actual arm,” Rek explained, “And also a lot stronger.”

“That’s amazing. Did you get any upgrades?”

Rek nodded, and with a flick of his fingers, a knife blade shot out from a hatch in the center of his palm. He retracted it, and opened another panel near his shoulder, the hinges creaking to reveal an empty glass tube. “For potions,” he explained, “I can prep them ahead of time, and use them in combat.”

He tapped a finger against the glass, showing how strong it was. Branzy sat back in his seat, fiddling with the watch happily. “That was so worth it. That looks really good. I’m—I’m so glad I asked him for the favor.”

Rek went around, picking up things to test his new arm, almost giddy with excitement. Branzy was too.

He still had his reservations about Clown. Yes, he was the deadliest man in the city, but maybe working for him was worth it, just to see Rek so happy. For maybe the first time in his life, Branzy had a real sense of hope about their future.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Branzy?”

Branzy glanced up from the multi-faceted rubix dodecahedron that Cube had lent him. He’d been obsessed with trying to solve it lately. “Yea, what’s up?” he asked.

Pangi stood at the doorway to his office, tapping his claws nervously against the door. Because it’d been his finals week and he wasn’t in office basically the entire month, Branzy had taken over his office. 

“So … I need a favor. Before you—”

“Oh, yea, totally!” Branzy said, pushing his swivel chair (well, Pangi’s swivel chair) back, “What can I do for you?”

Pangi halted in the middle of his sentence, his eyes wide with slight surprise. “Wow. I thought I’d have to convince you more. I even wrote a whole presentation.”

He gestured to the thick sheaf of paper he was holding in the other claw. Branzy shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“People normally don’t do that around here,” Pangi said wryly, glancing at Branzy over the tops of his sunglasses.

Branzy had noticed that. Maybe it was just from working in a casino, but everyone traded in favors and hearts and money, all business deals. He knew what it was like to not have much, and so he helped others without much either. It seemed like it went the other way with rich people.

“Chalk it up to a culture difference. Anyways, what do you need help with?”

Pangi tossed the papers onto the desk, a stray paper fluttering down. Branzy spared a glance at it. Pangi really had written a full presentation. He had speaking points, infographics, and everything.

“So, basically, we have a trip at the end of the year for our graduating class. We needed some extra adult chaperones, and I volunteered my parents. Well, they can’t go. Can you?”

Huh. Out of everything, this was the least expected thing for Pangi to say. He spent so much time hanging around meeting rooms and working in business that Branzy sometimes forgot Pangi was still a student. “Totally. When is it?”

“This weekend. It’s just a four-day retreat, we’re heading on a train to a seaside town, staying for two days, and then back. It’s really not that much work—you just have to give people directions and pretend you don’t see all the alcohol people smuggle in and stuff like that.”

Branzy mentally checked his schedule. He’d recently been busy with fixing up the lighting in the casino (there’d been this one light in Clown’s office that was always bugging him because it flickered, and then he’d ended up starting to rewire an entire wing’s lighting), but Clown never asked him to work weekends. And besides, Branzy technically set his own hours, so it wouldn’t be too bad if he skipped two days.

“Sure, why not!”

Pangi’s face broke out into a brace-filled smile. “Thank you so much! Oh—also, this isn’t as important, but if you could find another adult to chaperone that’d be great. It’s not top priority, but if you could, it’d be really convenient.”

Branzy shook his head. Rek was definitely busy that weekend. He seemed to always be busy—off on odd jobs and whatever he did to get paid. Branzy didn’t complain though—with both of them earning higher salaries, they’d finally been able to move to an apartment in a more convenient part of the city. It was a little annoying (Rek was practically nocturnal, doing all his work during the night and sleeping during the day) to not be able to talk to him as much, but what worked worked.

“Oh well. We’ll find someone. Pack sunscreen! The train tickets and info are all in the papers by the way. Seeya!”

“Wait, which one—” Branzy began, looking at the pile of papers, but Pangi was already long gone.

He sighed. Kids these days.

— —

Branzy glared at the blazing sunlight. Right at the edge of the city, the smog wasn’t so thick, which lent itself to clearer skies and brighter sun.

The train had stopped in the station, which was in the middle of a sunflower field. Branzy was in the process of herding high school seniors into a train, which was a more arduous process than chasing rats through a maze. Not that Branzy had experience with the latter.

He caught a glance of Pangi chatting with another person, with their back turned so that Branzy could only make out their blonde hair and school uniform, before his attention was diverted by another student who had lost their luggage. Branzy was only a couple of years older than the students, but being around them just made him feel old.

Finally, once everyone got settled in the train, and it began to roll down the tracks, Branzy headed to his compartment. The trains were fairly nice, clearly expensive, with two seats to each row on each side of the aisle. Branzy was meant to be overseeing car #4, wherever that was.

It took him a little while to get there, but he made it to the train car, taking his seat at the front, where he’d left his suitcase stowed up ahead. He’d barely sat down when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He glanced up.

A polite-looking guy with ginger hair and mechanical fox ears smiled at him awkwardly. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark it almost appeared purple. “Hi. Um—I think I’m overseeing car #4 too.”

Branzy nodded and shifted over on the seat. “Kids these days,” he said jokingly.

The guy laughed. “Um. Yeah. They’re crazy. I’m Vitalasy, and you are …?”

“Branzy. Are you a teacher?”

Vitalasy shook his head. “No, alumni. I was in town. You?”

“Just a regular guy. I owed a kid a favor,” Branzy said, shrugging.

Branzy chatted with Vitalasy throughout most of the train ride. Apparently he was a successful professor in the area of heart research. Branzy didn’t understand half the things Vitalasy talked about (he tended to ramble), but it sounded pretty cool.

As the train carried on through the countryside, Branzy briefly caught a glimpse of the ocean. He had never been to the seaside before. It was only a slight smear of blue against a paler blue skyline, but it was beautiful to Branzy. He found that he was actually excited to see more of the ocean.

Once the train stopped, Branzy and Vitalasy helped the students in their car to find all their luggage and herd them towards the hotel. As they passed, Branzy caught sight of the kid Pangi had been chatting with earlier. His gleaming blonde hair matched his similarly yellow eyes. As he turned, Branzy swore he saw a hint of a tattoo peeking out from his wrist. Kids these days.

Though that might be hypocritical, considering that Branzy had gotten a full sleeve when he was even younger to cover up an injury. Mentally, he rescinded that statement.

The hotel they were staying in was honestly the nicest place Branzy had ever slept. The bar was pretty low. Vitalasy, who also turned out to be his roommate, didn’t seem as impressed. Branzy schooled his features into a mild expression.

Once they dropped off their own luggage, they headed down to a chaperone meeting, where one of the teachers was presiding. They were given strict ‘dos and don'ts’, and Branzy noted that the list of banned items was surprisingly short, only encompassing weapons and some cooking devices. Maybe what Pangi had said about turning a blind eye to students sneaking in alcohol had more truth than Branzy thought.

They were also given agendas for the next few days. Branzy would be overseeing a boat excursion the next day, and then staying at the beach for the other two in order to watch over the students who were doing activities there.

They had arrived a little later than noon, so after a quick lunch, the students were set to have unscheduled time. Branzy ended up sitting on a balcony walkway above the shaded courtyard of the hotel, where some of the less outdoorsy-inclined kids had chosen to sit and read or do other things, instead of heading to the beach.

He flicked the rubix dodecahedron back and forth aimlessly. He really should have brought more to do, if all the days would be as boring as this.

“Branzy!”

He glanced up. Pangi waved at him cheerfully from the opposite side of the walkway. His blonde friend leaned over, peering curiously down at the courtyard.

“Who’s your friend?” Branzy called back.

Pangi signaled to him that he was coming over, and disappeared. A few moments later, he plopped down on a chair next to Branzy, his friend perching on a table like a cat.

“This is Zam.”

Branzy glanced at Zam. He felt like he recognized that name. Zam had rolled up his sleeve, letting Bram see the tattoo on his wrist, which marked the letters M.O.B. in dark ink.

“Prince Zam?” Branzy exclaimed.

Zam blinked. “Wow. People usually don’t recognize me that quickly.”

Branzy scoffed. How could he not? Not only was he a literal prince , he’d also been the junior member of the M.O.B. corporation, a bit of a prodigy. Clown had told him various stories about his time there. The M.O.B. had been run by three people—Clown himself, Prince Zam, and a mysterious man named Leowook. Thanks to their various talents, it quickly obtained a near-monopoly on the business of redstone and hearts, before abruptly going bankrupt a few years ago. According to Clown, Prince Zam was the business genius behind their machinations, he himself did all the practical work, and Leowook was simply the greatest swindler in the city, pulling off nearly all their public relations stunts.

“The tattoo gave it away,” Branzy said. “Anyways, why are you still in school? Didn’t you start a business empire or something when you were twelve?”

Zam laughed. “Maybe. School’s still required though.”

Branzy shrugged. Upper-side people were pretty uptight about that kind of thing, huh? He’d started skipping as soon as he learned how to read; his education had been more hardscrabble. “Well, that’s good too. How are you enjoying the trip so far? Excited for anything?”

Pangi and Zam traded conspiratorial looks. "You should know that we trust you very much,” Pangi said seriously, “especially not to rat us out.”

Branzy narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning to do?”

Pangi opened his mouth to talk, but Zam punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Top secret. All you need to know is that it’ll be on the last night, and you can see it from your room,” he grinned.

Branzy raised his hands in surrender. “If you say so.”

He was actually quite curious, but he trusted Pangi to not do anything too disastrous. It sounded exciting; Branzy looked forward to seeing what they came up with. 

Later that night, Branzy slept easier than he had in ages. The gentle wash of the tide could be heard out of the window, seaside trees rustling in the breeze. Their room was lit by the faint glow of a lamp (Vitalasy was hunched over the desk, working on something). Outside, Branzy could see the dark outline of the coast against a midnight-blue sky.

As he was drifting off, half-asleep and half-awake, a light blinked in the distance.

Branzy started, blinking, unsure if he had dreamt that up or if it was real. A second later, it blinked again, twice this time.

He glanced over at Vitalasy. He was still hunched over his work, but he had gone as still as a stone.

The light blinked twice again, and then stopped.

Weird, Branzy thought.

There was no sign of the blinking light again. Branzy shifted in his bed, trying to go to sleep. His hearts felt just a little more uneasy after that.

Chapter Text

“Seems like a nice guy,” Vitalasy sighed. “It’s going to be a shame to kidnap him.”

He shuffled through the papers their client had delivered them, drawing out the one profiling their target. A young man stared at the camera, with curly white hair and purple eyes. He wore a friendly grin despite the dark circles under his eyes. The picture was several years out of date; Vitalasy had watched him from afar on a brief scouting mission yesterday, and he looked a lot more stressed now. The paper read: Branzy Craft , his age, address, and known history laid out beneath.

Subz shrugged. “You say that every time.”

The two of them were in their shop, the windows shuttered. The sounds of the underground heart market filtered through the cracks, muffled by the papers and fabric hanging from the walls. On one side, Subz had tacked various arrest warrants to the wall, as a badge of honor of some sort. Wanted, the purple mercenaries. Reward: 1,000 diamonds. Have you seen this man? Wanted, Vi, dead or alive. Wanted, Subz, dead or alive. On and on. Vitalasy thought the best, personally, was a newspaper warrant for Subz’s arrest where they’d captured a picture of him with cat ears on. On the other walls, various disguises and weapons hung.

Vitalasy plopped down in a creaky wooden chair, tipping back until it was balanced on two legs. “Wonder why Leo wants him , of all people,” he commented thoughtfully. “Seems like an ordinary guy.”

“I don’t care, as long as we’re paid,” Subz said shortly.

Vitalasy tossed the paper back onto the table. “True, true. Your turn for reconnaissance by the way.”

Subz shook his head, drawing a hood over his head and obscuring his pale brown hair. He was in plain combat gear, in muted shades that would blend right into a crowd. Even from beneath his hood, his artificial eye glowed a vibrant purple while the other remained in shadow. “Can’t. I’ve got a mission on my own.”

“What?!”

Subz grinned. “Have fun stalking that guy again. Seeya.”

“No fair!” Vitalasy called. Subz slipped out of their shop without another word.

Vitalasy groaned, kicking the chair forward again and flopping onto the table, papers scattering everywhere. Would it kill Subz to do some of the boring work, for once?

Well, whatever. Vitalasy had no time to mope—he had a job to do.

He and Subz had been watching this Branzy fellow for a couple days now. They’d only traced his steps through the lower side, but Vitalasy had noticed that every day, Branzy headed towards the upper side along the same route. Today, he’d be finding out exactly where he went. The crux of any good job was information , and a lot of it.

Vitalasy carefully chose a disguise that would blend right into the upper side, with a neat dress shirt, slacks, and a trench coat that was currently in fashion (thanks to some wildly famous celebrity detective named Jaron). As an afterthought, he added a spyglass, some ender pearls, and a pistol to the ensemble. With that, he was all ready to go.

He slipped out into the hubbub of the heart market, taking a side exit that let him out into a narrow alleyway right in between upper side and lower side. Vitalasy drew the brim of his bowler hat low to obscure his face (as well as to obscure his mechanical fox ears, which were a dead giveaway). He’d also chosen a simple face mask, like the kind you wore when you were sick, to hide his identity. Though law enforcement had basically given up on doing anything around lower side, they were notoriously uptight in upper side, and Vitalasy stood a real chance of being recognized there.

He took side streets until he reached a busy fruit market which Branzy passed through every day, glancing at a clock tower in the distance. It’d only take a few minutes. Vitalasy pretended to examine several apples, keeping an eye on the road.

Sure enough, a familiar white-haired man passed by right on time. Vitalasy quickly merged into the walking crowd, copying Branzy’s pace. He remained a good few meters behind Branzy at all times—enough to avoid being seen, but enough to keep an eye on him at the same time.

They headed even further into upper side. Vitalasy wondered where Branzy was heading.

He received his answer only a few minutes later when Branzy stepped into the main plaza of the city, making a beeline for Clownpierce’s Casino. With some trepidation, Vitalasy followed. When Branzy came too near the casino for his comfort, Vitalasy circled around to the side and carefully watched where he was heading. To his surprise, Branzy headed straight for the side door of the casino, unlocked it, and entered.

According to his previous observations, Branzy tended not to return to lower side until late in the afternoon. Vitalasy glanced at the casino once more. Clownpierce was a scary scary man, who he’d really rather not be entangled with. Well, he had his answer about where Branzy was going—that was good enough for him. He wouldn’t risk entering the casino. His last experience with Clownpierce had been an armed chase, and he didn’t want to repeat that.

He headed back to their shop.

Subz wasn’t back when Vitalasy arrived at their market stall. He opened the shutters of the stall for some fresh air (well, as fresh as you got down in the heart market) and shuffled through the papers Leo had provided them aimlessly.

Suddenly, there was a polite knock on the side of their stall. Vitalasy glanced up.

“Speak of the devil!” he exclaimed.

A man in a suit leaned against the window of their stall, wavy white hair falling over his porcelain mask. His yellow eyes glinted from behind the mask. “I didn’t hear you say anything,” Leowook said jokingly.

“Said it in my head. How can I help you on this fine day, Leo?”

Leo inclined his head. Vitalasy couldn’t see his expression from behind the mask, but his eyes were slightly crinkled, which probably indicated that he was smiling. “Came to drop off some more info about that commission. Where’s Subz?”

“Out,” Vitalasy said, waving his hand. “What about it?”

Leo slid a few papers across the window counter. “Thought this might make your job easier.”

Vitalasy stood up, nearly falling as he tripped over the chair leg. Leo snickered, and Vitalasy silenced him with a glare. He picked up the papers Leo had slid over, glancing at them. They were information forms for the academy’s end-of-the-year graduation trip, which they held every year as an excuse for rich kids to go have fun. “Eh … why would I need these?”

“I recently found out that the target has agreed to attend this trip as a chaperone. Seeing as he’s not an actual faculty member, nobody would probably notice if he went missing at the end of it, at least for a few days. Except for the people we want to notice, but that’s a different story.”

Vitalasy nodded slowly. “Ah. But …”

“I pulled some strings. There’s an empty spot as a chaperone on that trip, for either you or Subz. Those papers are all the pertinent forms. Best of luck.”

“Hold on!” Vitalasy exclaimed. “I’ve got questions.”

“Shoot.”

“I followed this guy, and he works for Clownpierce. Clownpierce . You’re not messing with Clownpierce , are you?”

Leo shrugged. “It’s none of your concern. All you need to do is give me the target. I’ll handle the rest.”

Still, Vitalasy resisted. “I don’t want to get caught up with Clownpierce.”

“You won’t be. Anything beyond is my responsibility. Don’t worry about it so much, Vitalasy.”

Leo left as quickly as he came, melting into the crowd. Vitalasy glanced down at the papers, still slightly uneasy.

Hm. A school trip. He’d never been on one of those.

— —

Branzy really was quite a nice fellow, Vitalasy had learned. He sat now over the desk of their shared hotel room, casting glances at Branzy to check if he was really asleep. He was quite trusting, and quite friendly, and quite down-to-earth as well. Vitalasy had the feeling that they’d get along quite well—at least for four days. After those four days, Branzy would probably be permanently traumatized by him, but oh well!

Vitalasy checked his pocket-watch. He’d brought several things on this trip, though not as many weapons as he would have liked, since he hadn’t known if their bags would be searched or not. After he’d convinced Subz to let him do the fun stuff for once, he’d spent the rest of the time preparing. He’d dyed his hair orange, as opposed to its previous blonde (his real hair was black, but he’d dyed it countless times for disguises). There was nothing he could do about his fox ears, but prosthetics like those were common enough, so hopefully people would just assume that they were cat ears or something. Nobody had called him out on being a highly wanted mercenary yet, so it seemed to be working.

It was currently around midnight. Vitalasy’s cover story was that he was a heart researcher thinking of applying to teach at the academy, so he’d brought the papers to prove it. He had pretended to be making notes on them, but really, he was reviewing the plan in his mind.

Subz had traveled to the town ahead of time. On the final night of the trip, Vitalasy would casually abduct Branzy and take him over to the agreed meeting spot, a cave that bootleggers had used in olden times. Leo would convene with them there. Subz was meant to send light signals from the promontory every night. If Vitalasy didn’t respond, it was assumed there would be no changes to the plan.

In a moment, the clock hand switched to 12:00. Vitalasy glanced at a tiny pocket mirror, which he’d set up to see out the window. A light blinked three times. It meant all was well.

After a few more minutes, Vitalasy switched off his lamp and went to bed. He had to chaperone teenagers tomorrow, and he needed as much rest as he could get for that task.

The morning dawned bright and early. Branzy seemed to be dead asleep so Vitalasy went and got some croissants for him so he didn’t miss breakfast. “Thanks,” Branzy mumbled, his eyes still weary with sleep.

“No problem!” Vitalasy exclaimed cheerfully. Branzy should probably get a chance to enjoy the croissants before he got kidnapped.

The next three days passed fairly easily. The teenagers were annoying as hell, and also weird (this strange blonde-haired kid told Vitalasy that he felt like he might have betrayed Vitalasy in a past life, to which Vitalasy had responded, “Stop breaking the fourth wall”), but all in all the trip was quite relaxing. Vitalasy enjoyed it—he never got vacations while on mercenary work.

Only on the fourth night did Vitalasy begin to panic.

Why?

Because Branzy was nowhere to be found.

Vitalasy immediately began searching for him. He was supposed to kidnap him now, they were leaving the next morning! Where was this guy?

He asked a teacher who said that they saw Branzy leaving the hotel, and then asked a student he caught sneaking out who said that they Branzy with Pangi and Zam (the yellow-haired kid who told Vitalasy about betraying him in a past life), and then Vitalasy searched the beach up and down for those three until finally, he caught Pangi with a lighter.

“Uh—Mr.—uh—what’s your name? Uh—I can explain!” Pangi exclaimed, hurriedly dropping the lighter in the sand and hiding his pangolin claws behind his back.

Vitalasy sighed. “Why are you out here?”

Pangi glanced back and forth, as if debating. Finally, he seemed to settle on something. “Mr.—uh—who are you?”

“Vitalasy.” He was using his real name for this mission, since most of law enforcement only knew him as Vi , and using his own name just eliminated confusion.

“Vitalasay, gotcha. You’re cool, right? You’re chill. Right?”

“The coolest and the chillest,” Vitalasy agreed.

“Yeah! So please don’t snitch on us. You can see it from here. It’ll be so cool.”

“I believe you, but where’s Branzy?”

“Oh! Um … he’s watching too. See! That’s why you shouldn’t snitch!”

Vitalasy laughed, relief washing over him. He could just sneak Branzy away after whatever they had planned. “Sure, sure, I won’t snitch. Where’s Branzy? Can I watch too?”

Pangi grinned, nodding. He picked up the lighter again, flicking it in between his long claws, and led Vitalasy along the beach with a skip in his step. They walked halfway down the beach, arriving at a small bend in the cliff which wasn’t visible from the hotel. As they rounded the bend, Vitalasy caught sight of Zam and Branzy, and also a pile of …

“Fireworks?” Vitalasy said in disbelief. “How did you sneak those in?”

“Magic!” Zam exclaimed.

“You found out about this too?” Branzy asked, laughing.

“What can I say, I’m no snitch,” Vitalasy said, shrugging.

Pangi and Zam managed to stick the fireworks into the sand and weave a wire between all of them. Branzy did the honors of lighting them. As they watched the fireworks explode into the sky, Vitalasy glanced over at Branzy. The colors raining down from the midnight sky and Branzy’s open smile made him feel a little guilty about kidnapping the guy.

… well, what could he do? Business was business.

Vitalasy convinced Pangi and Zam to head back to their dorms first, so they wouldn’t get caught. After they left, Branzy grinned at him. “Let’s head back now, yeah?”

Vitalasy grinned back, and promptly slammed his fist into Branzy’s head.

Branzy stared at him in openmouthed shock, slumping backwards. Vitalasy quickly caught his limp and unconscious body before he hit the sand, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He whistled as he strolled down the beach, heading for the end.

At the end of the beach, where it transformed into clusters of jagged rocks with waves breaking over them, Vitalasy took a sharp turn, entering a dimly lit cave. Chunks of obsidian were scattered around, empty crates piled up in corners. Subz sat perched on one of them, his arms crossed.

“About time,” he snapped.

Vitalasy stuck out his tongue. “I had to watch a firework show.”

“I saw that too,” a voice said—Leo, coming out of the shadows, “and it’s quite impressive really.”

Vitalasy laid down Branzy gingerly on several crates spread out. Subz tossed him some rope, and Vitalasy tied him neatly to a rock. “Are we good now?” Vitalasy asked Leo once he stood up. He was quite anxious to leave now that they’d gotten the job done.

“You can leave.”

Vitalasy began to head to the door, and then realized that Subz hadn’t moved. “Subz?”

“I’m staying,” Subz said. “Not like I have anything more exciting to do tonight.”

Vitalasy raised an eyebrow. “You know he’s involved with Clownpierce , right?” he said, jerking a head towards Branzy’s unconscious form. “I don’t want to be around here if that guy shows up.”

Subz shrugged. “I’m not as scared of Clownpierce as you are. I’ll stay.”

Vitalasy hesitated, then sighed, turning on his heel. He dusted off a crate, plopping himself down right next to Subz. “Fine. If you’re staying, I am too.”

In hindsight, that was probably a big mistake.

Chapter Text

The first thing Branzy thought when he woke up was: Holy shit .

Holy shit! Had Vitalasy kidnapped him? The last thing he remembered was waiting for Pangi and Zam to head back to their dorms separately and then Vitalasy had turned to him with a smile and punched him in the head .

Branzy’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately tried to struggle to his feet. Unfortunately for him, a rope constricted his arms and bound him to a very uncomfortable rock.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice said cheerfully.

Branzy looked around for the source of the voice.

Vitalasy perched on the edge of a crate, looking very nervous but cheerful nonetheless. He was still wearing what he had been when they went to watch the fireworks—a ridiculous and garish purple floral shirt and the ugliest bermuda shorts Branzy had ever seen.

To his left, a different person relaxed, comfortably propped up against the wall. They had light brown hair, slightly windswept, and one mechanical purple eye, which seemed to bore into Branzy with an intensity only comparable to Clownpierce’s gaze. They wore mostly black combat gear, with purple accents, and a notable purple pistol holster strapped to their leg.

Branzy felt like he’d seen these two before. Somewhere. He wasn’t sure where. But definitely … oh. He cursed inside his head. That was where he’d seen them. Vitalasy, Vi. The fox ears. Those wanted posters that cropped up around the city every so often …

“The purple mercenaries?” Branzy muttered.

“Right-o,” Vitalasy, or rather, Vi, one of the most dangerous mercenaries in the city, said.

That meant the other one must be …

Branzy stared stupidly at the brown-haired one. “I thought you had cat ears?” he said.

Vi burst out cackling. Subz had a very displeased expression. “I do not have cat ears,” Subz snapped irritatedly. “It’s—that was one time!”

“Gentlemen,” a third voice cut in. “If you talk any louder, you could be heard from the other end of the city.”

Branzy immediately turned, straining to see who the third person was. From this angle, he barely made out a neat three-piece suit, the person’s face in shadow.

“Now,” the person continued. Their voice rang out and echoed in the cave. “I have a meeting with our client. None of you should speak, so much as breathe loudly. Got it?”

They stepped out of shadow, heading towards the door. Their white hair gleamed in the dim light.

Branzy wanted to ask who the client was. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, considering how he was tied up and he had no idea where he was and he was sitting in a room with two armed mercenaries . But he also really wanted to know who the client was. And like, why exactly had they kidnapped him anyways? “Who’s the client?” Branzy asked.

The person turned, just barely enough to let Branzy catch a glimpse of a yellow eye, glowing like a cat’s. They smiled. “The almighty Clownpierce. And if he doesn’t comply with what we want, we’re taking all your hearts.”

They left.

Branzy stared at where they had been, his mind whirring. They wanted to threaten Clownpierce ? With him ?

First, he wondered why they thought that would work. Clownpierce was Clownpierce . Branzy was pretty sure he’d made some sacrifices to get to where he was.

Secondly, he realized that in this case he was the sacrifice.

“You really should’ve chosen a better hostage,” Branzy said aloud. Ah, there he went. Running his mouth again. He really had to fix that habit.

“Well I don’t know anything about you, but Leo suggested it,” Vi said idly. “So I’m sure you were the best option.”

“Who’s Leo?”

“Leo’s—”

Suddenly, Subz hit Vi in the leg. Vi looked at Subz reproachfully, and Subz glared back at him. “Quit it,” Subz snapped.

“I was just explaining!”

“Well stop explaining!”

Branzy glanced back and forth between the two. They way they talked, they way they bantered …

“Are you guys, like,” Branzy began. “Together? Like, together together?”

Subz and Vi both froze, turning to look at him.

“Nevermind,” Branzy muttered.

Vi broke the silence, oddly cheerful, seeming to want to move onto other subjects. “Well! How were the croissants?”

Branzy glared at him, wondering how to respond to that. “You kidnapped me.”

“But you got to try the croissants, at least?”

“Why did you kidnap me?”

Vi waved his hands airily. “Oh, you know. Didn’t Leo already tell you? Hostage situation, all that jazz. Clown and Leo are meeting right now, and I think Leo wants some business concessions … anyways, if Clown doesn’t agree, you die. Simple as that. So, you know. Better hope that he— ow! ”

Subz had elbowed Vi much more forcefully.

Branzy tried to connect the dots. So he was probably going to die? Was he? What were the odds that Clown agreed to some crazy business thing if Branzy was held hostage? He was just … Branzy. Some random mechanic. If Branzy was Clown, he’d flip the bird in this Leo fellow’s face and walk away, to hell with whoever died.

That’s concerning . The fact that Branzy was having those thoughts (Clown must have influenced him) and the fact that that was Branzy’s exact situation right now. About to die.

Unless he got out of here somehow.

Branzy began to look around the room for anything he could use. There was what seemed to be the entrance to his left, and Vi and Subz sat on the other side; he might be able to make a break for it. That was, of course, if he didn’t have these stupid ropes tying him to a rock. He’d need to get those off first, and he had no idea how …

“You’re not smooth, dipshit,” Subz said amusedly. “I can see you looking all over the place. You’re not getting out of here.”

Branzy ignored him. “Was Leo that white-haired guy?” he asked.

“Duh,” Vi answered, looking at Branzy like he was dumb.

Okay, Branzy might be a little dumb. Really dumb, judging from how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. But if that Leo guy had been in here just a while ago and was going to a meeting with Clown right now, that meant they had to be nearby, right? And the acoustics of this place seemed pretty good, honestly. So, Branzy decided on an impulse to do the dumbest thing he’d ever done, because there was simply no way he was getting out of this alive otherwise.

Branzy inhaled. Subz, seeming to be the smarter one in the duo, must’ve realized what he was doing, because he jolted up, moving to stop Branzy.

“ Help! ” Branzy yelled at the top of his lungs. “ Some crazy catboy kidnapped me and I’m in a cave right now and I swear to god— ”

Subz clamped a hand over Branzy’s mouth, but Branzy bit down hard and lashed out with his legs, which had been left free, knocking Subz back. “ I’m pretty sure they’re the purple mercenaries and they’re trying to blackmail Clownpie— ”

At the mention of Clownpierce, Vi leapt up from his seat and drew a small, shining dagger and pressed it to Branzy’s throat. “Not a word ,” he hissed, “or else you lose one of your hearts right here.”

Branzy stopped, the words catching in his throat.

Strangely though, Vi seemed … more scared than Branzy. His mechanical fox ears had gone flat against his bright orange hair, his eyes wide—but not in alarm, or anger—more like panic . More like fear.

“Are you scared of Clownpierce?” Branzy whispered, hoping to goad Vi into doing … well, something stupid, preferably in Branzy’s favor. “Is that what this is?”

Vi glared at him. “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Branzy grinned wickedly. “Oh no, the big bad Clownpierce is coming to get y—”

In a flash, before Branzy even knew what was happening, Vi grabbed a pistol and fired.

Branzy had died before. Twice. Once, it’d been blunt force trauma. He’d been slipping in and out of consciousness. It’d hurt, but it hadn’t hurt as much as it might have if he was fully awake. The second time, it was fire.

That hurt.

Getting shot was new.

Branzy reeled back, his head knocking against the rock. Where had the bullet gone through? His neck? His head? Oh, well probably his head.

Then he blacked out.

When he awoke again, he came to life with a gasping breath, feeling everything tenfold. The jagged rock behind his back. The ropes on his arms. The dim light. The … no. No wound. It must’ve been instant then; the heart must have healed it.

Branzy looked up.

He couldn’t have been out that long, because Vi was still examining a shimmering violet crystal heart, which he had plucked from Branzy.

Vi looked down at Branzy. “Don’t talk, unless you want to lose another,” he warned.

He slipped the heart in his pocket and sat back down.

Branzy began to breathe. Slowly, getting used to being alive again. Then quicker, because his remaining hearts were pulsing in tandem at an erratic tempo. Then quicker. He couldn’t slow down. He was hyperventilating. Was he? He’d read about hyperventilation once, but he couldn’t remember how to stop it. He couldn’t—

Bang .

Branzy stared, momentarily forgetting to breathe as he watched Vi slump backwards, a deeper purple crystal heart rising from his chest.

A hand snatched it. Subz’s. He looked down at the heart, then looked to the entrance.

Abruptly, Subz ducked, another gunshot ricocheting off the obsidian walls just above him.

He grabbed his pistol, firing two shots off into the night, but Branzy didn’t hear them hit anything. Then, something glinting and metal blurred past Branzy. It struck Subz directly in his shoulder, embedding itself into unprotected flesh with a thwack . Subz hissed in pain, stumbling backwards.

Something moved from the entrance, a dark shadow rippling across the wall.

Two shots.

This time, they were too close for Subz to dodge. Both hit him. Subz crumpled to his knees. Branzy watched, unable to move, as someone placed a pistol directly to his head, and fired.

A lighter lavender heart rose into the air.

This time, someone else took it.

Clown immediately kneeled, pulling the knife out of Subz’s shoulder and beginning to cut at the ropes binding Branzy. He looked slightly out of breath, his black hair messy and his dress shirt slightly torn along the arm. 

“… Clown,” Branzy said faintly, not believing that he was really there.

Clown looked up at Branzy. His red eyes, ordinarily sharp and calculating, had gone wide and stared at Branzy with—was that concern? “Are you alright?” Clown asked, momentarily forgetting the ropes and grabbing Branzy by the shoulders.

“I—yeah,” Branzy said, even though he wasn’t.

With a final slice, the ropes fell away, finally freeing Branzy’s arms. Branzy barely had time to think before Clown was hauling him to his feet, nearly supporting his entire weight. Clown’s heart was racing, Branzy realized, and he could almost feel it staccato when they were like this. He didn’t look deadly or like he’d just taken two hearts. He looked like …

Like he cared.

“Oh,” Clown said, his fingers brushing against Branzy’s forehead slightly.

Branzy reached up to touch it self-consciously. “What?”

“They shot you,” Clown realized. “Where’s the heart?”

“Vitalasy had it,” Branzy mumbled.

Clown didn’t let go of Branzy for a second, reaching down and rummaging through Vitalasy’s pockets until he had the violet heart. Branzy’s heart.

He handed it to Branzy. It was warm, beating in sync with Branzy’s own rapid-fire heartbeat. Branzy closed his eyes, beginning to integrate it back into his own line of hearts, feeling the three empty spaces distinctively.

Then, Clown added Subz and Vi’s to the pile, closing Branzy’s fingers around the one familiar heart and two foreign ones. They were cool, unfamiliar. Branzy’s eyes shot open, but before he could stop (because you weren’t supposed to take others' hearts, not unless you were a murderer, a thief, someone bad , a mercenary), the three hearts disappeared, flooding his chest with warmth.

Branzy felt complete , a full ten.

He reached out and—yes, there they were, the same violet as his own hearts.

He looked at Clown.

“Feel better?” Clown asked, a slight grin playing on his face.

“Yeah,” Branzy said, and really meant it this time.

Chapter Text

“You’re not going back home.”

Branzy looked over at Clown, not comprehending. “What?”

Clown looked him dead in the eyes. It made Branzy shiver. “I said what I said. These people—they want to hurt me. And you’re not safe. I’ll arrange for a room somewhere safe. Don’t go out on your own. I’ll find someone to be your guard. Keep a gun on you.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence. The only sound was the click-clack of the train over railroad tracks as they sped across miles of dark but idyllic scenery. After the confrontation, Clown had gone straight for the train, getting them on the next one without so much as a ticket. And now … they were going back to the city. Back to work. It was the middle of the night. The rest of the school were probably still asleep.

Branzy couldn’t help but keep glancing at Clown. Clown didn’t say much, looking out the window, but Branzy couldn’t help but feel his breath catch in his throat every time Clown met his eyes.

Stop thinking weird things, Branzy told himself. It didn’t work.

“Why did that Leo guy want to talk to you?” Branzy asked, in an attempt to distract himself.

Clown looked at him. The first two buttons of his dress shirt were loosened, exposing his throat. “Business,” he said, not elaborating.

“What business?” Branzy pressed.

Clown sighed, shifting. “You know how the heart trade is. Leo … Leo used to be a business partner. You know M.O.B. We used to run that together … well, we also had a third business partner. But things fall apart. Leo betrayed us. He’d had plans for his own heart empire for a long, long time. And now that I’m trying to enter the market …”

“He doesn’t want you in his territory,” Branzy guessed.

“Yeah. Reddoons and Ashswag—they wanted my protection, because Leo’s been trying to start a monopoly. I saw an opportunity, so I took it. And I’m not backing down.”

Branzy nodded. “Um … yeah. Also, I’m going back home.”

Clown turned his head sharply. “Are you serious? I just told you—”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t think I don’t know how to survive around lower side. I can’t just turn my life upside-down to get wrapped up in your business.”

“They know where you live .”

“Who, the purple mercenaries?”

“Exactly.”

Branzy shrugged. He doubted they’d try to touch him after Clown took their hearts. And besides—he wasn’t totally helpless on his own. He didn’t like the idea of relying on Clown too much. He didn’t like the idea of relying on anyone . And besides, what would Rek say? “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Clown stared at him for a long, long time, his red gaze boring into Branzy. His expression was inscrutable. “You know,” Clown said, his voice low, “that wasn’t a request.”

“You’re my boss. You can’t interfere in my personal life,” Branzy laughed.

“I will interfere if it is necessary.”

“No,” Branzy said firmly.

Clown leaned forward. All of a sudden, he was very, very close. Branzy’s heart picked up pace. “You should follow my orders,” Clown said softly. Branzy was suddenly reminded of who he was talking to. Clown the killer, the epitome of danger. His voice was quiet and calm, but dangerously so—like a storm beneath flat ice.

Branzy tried not to lose his nerve. “You don’t scare me,” he told Clown. “I’ve seen you trip while walking too many times for that.”

Clown held his gaze for a moment longer. Then he broke away, leaning back. “I suppose so,” he said, laughing a little. “Fine. Fine, have it your way. But—one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t go back yet. I’m going to get you something for self defense. How do you feel about weaponized body modifications?”

Branzy stared at Clown, his mind whirring. Anything mechanical? Hell yes. “Love ‘em,” Branzy said, grinning.

— —

“Holy shit,” Branzy whispered, staring at the place Clown had taken him to.

This was the most upper side house he’d ever seen. It wasn’t even a house at this point. It was a mansion. Or maybe a manor or a palace. It certainly was imposing enough to be one.

Trimmed hedges lined a walkway paved with pale white stones. The lawns were carefully manicured. Branzy doubted he would find so much as a grass blade out of place. The mansion itself was grand and symmetrical, with a colonnade spanning the perimeter. High, elaborately carved windows looked out across the grounds. It was such a rich-person place to live.

They didn’t even have a doorbell. The moment Clown and Branzy showed up at the front gate, a butler had greeted them and led them down the walkway towards the front door of the house.

As they got closer, Branzy saw someone standing on the steps of a house. A woman with honey-blonde hair. She was nearly half metal. Her cat-like ears were clearly engineered; her arms, coated in thin metal plating, had been elegantly manufactured to give her cat-like claws. A cat-like tail trailed along the ground, but it seemed almost more like a scorpion’s stinger, capable of delivering poison from a glass vial that Branzy caught sight of. Her eyes were redstone, like Clown’s. She wore this over-the-top purple ball gown that Branzy felt was ridiculous for just staying at home, but she made it work.

“Clownpierce! My favorite casino owner! How are you doing?” the woman exclaimed.

“I’m the only casino owner you know,” Clown muttered. “Branzy, this is Midmystic. Midmystic, this is Branzy.”

Branzy gasped. He knew that name. “Midmystic? Like the inventor? I love your RD NAND Latch-powered light circuit. I use it in everything !”

Midmystic laughed, waving one of her clawed hands. “You give me too much credit. I don’t do the inventing, I just do the selling. Well, come in, come in. What can I do for you today?”

Branzy followed Midmystic and Clown into the mansion. He couldn’t help gaping—it was probably the richest rich-person place he’d ever seen. The entrance hall itself had an enormous chandelier, reflecting bright light onto the smooth obsidian-black floor tiles. Midmystic led them into a parlor, snapping her finger at one of the house staff to call for tea.

“We actually wanted to know if you had any weaponized mods for sale,” Clown said once they had settled down with a pleasant cup of earl grey.

Midmystic grinned. Her teeth were very sharp. “Ah, my favorite! Why don’t you ask your little assistant Cube to do it for you though?”

Clown waved it off. “Cube’s not specialized in combat gear. We want something for self-defense. Preferably subtle.”

Midmystic set down her cup of tea with a clink, tapping her chin with a long claw. “Well, now that you mention it, I have something that might just fit the bill. Who is it for?”

Clown jerked a thumb at Branzy.

“Are you sure?” Midmystic asked, raising an eyebrow. “I only have one model of this so far. And it is … quite expensive.”

“What is it?” Branzy jumped in.

“I suppose it’s better to show you. Would you bring in the newest contraption dear?” Midmystic called to a servant.

There was a brief silence. Branzy stared down at his cup of tea. It was so dark he could see his reflection in it. He must look a mess to the others. His hair was scraggly and he looked so lower-side right now—completely out of place in this mansion.

He heard footsteps, and a servant set down a glass case on the table. Branzy leaned forward, immediately interested in whatever kind of mechanical monstrosity he was seeing. It appeared to be an armored glove of some kind, but very delicately welded—almost as thin as fabric. It gleamed with a dark indigo sheen, seeming diamond-hard yet flexible at the same time. Along the side, small red jewels were embedded into the glove. Branzy counted ten.

“Everyone knows the maximum amount of hearts you can hold is ten,” Midmystic said, her voice as low as a whisper, “but we’ve found a way to extend that, up to twenty . Netherite coating, compressed hearts—it’s a little invasive, if you look inside the glove—but if you lose a heart, it will immediately replenish it for you.”

Branzy stared at the glove with wide eyes. That meant the glove not only was netherite , one of the most expensive materials in the world, but also came with an entire person’s life.

“We’ll buy it,” Clown said.

Branzy whipped around to look at Clown. “What? No—”

“There is only one model so far,” Midmystic said, leaning back in her chair and looking at Clown through slitted eyes. She seemed to be in the mood for negotiation. Or profit. “And though we’re making more, it does take quite a while to source the necessary materials. So the price would be quite steep. Are you buying for yourself, or the gentleman?”

“Branzy.”

“No way,” Branzy said fiercely, standing up. “This is too much. Like, I know you’re concerned but—”

“Sit down, Branzy,” Clown said, his voice dangerous.

“I’ll be taking a walk in the garden,” Branzy announced, and promptly left the room.

Once he was out in the fresh air, among the trimmed topiary, a little sense returned to him. Okay, he probably shouldn’t have said that to Clownpierce . He could literally kill Branzy, and yet he was offering to save his life? It was too generous for words, and that was the exact thing Branzy hated about it. He already owed Clown so much, he didn’t know how he’d ever balance the scale. He didn’t like the idea of Clown having any more power over him.

And not just in the sense that he was Branzy’s boss. Branzy thought back to Clown slicing the ropes of his bonds, Clown handing him Subz and Vi’s hearts, Clown nursing a bruise from Rek punching him, Clown’s red eyes staring at Branzy’s own.

He had a vice-grip on Branzy’s mind, and it was bad .

Some time later, someone tapped Branzy on the shoulder. Branzy whirled around. He realized it was just Clown. Then he realized that wasn’t much better.

“I bought it,” Clown said, looking amused at Branzy’s nerves. “Not for you, because you’re such a stubborn bastard, but for myself. Like it?”

He lifted his right hand, flexing his fingers in the smooth metal plating. The red hearts winked in the sunlight.

Branzy glanced at Clown, his mouth going a little dry. Why was he thinking about Clown like this? What the hell was wrong with him?

Seeing Branzy’s hesitance, Clown’s expression fell a little. “Is it not—”

“No!” Branzy yelped hurriedly. “I mean—it’s great. It looks really nice. Can you take it off, or is it …?”

A grin spread across Clown’s face. Much too cheerful for the occasion. Branzy found it odd that Clown had such a wide smile, just from Branzy complimenting him. What was so special about that? Clown was just … him. “No, I did the procedure to implant it right then and there. I can take it off, but it’ll be annoying and leave open wounds in my hand. So no.”

Branzy nodded. He could feel Clown’s gaze, unusually intent on him.

“Why the sad look?” Clown teased. “Disappointed you can’t hold my hand now?”

Branzy flushed, then immediately slapped himself mentally. This was impossible. “You have two hands,” he pointed out.

Clown lifted an eyebrow, looking at Branzy with darkened eyes and an impossibly smug look. “Oh? So you do want to hold my hand?”

Branzy had to physically turn away. His heart was racing way too quickly. “You’re stupid.”

He heard Clown laugh. “Ah, never stop being you. Also, I bought you a gun.”

Branzy whirled around again, glad for a distraction. He grabbed the gun—it seemed to be some special, over-engineered model—hoping that his face wasn’t too red. “Really? I love it!”

— —

Branzy chewed on the end of his pencil, examining the blueprints. They seemed to all be in order. He had come up with a convenient design for Ro’s little ballroom which maintained air flow, but could block it at a second’s notice in order to release the poisonous gas. It’d take less than a minute, and hopefully people wouldn’t be able to escape in that time.

He heard the front door open, with the sound of metal clanking. That must be Rek. Branzy dropped his pencil, grabbing his gun instead. It was a revolver that had improved aiming. He wanted to show Rek it—he knew Rek would love it.

When he bounded down the stairs, he found Rek washing what looked like blood off his mechanical arm in the sink. Branzy hesitated for a moment. Rek had been a little … odd lately, but who was Branzy to question it? He was working for Clown, wasn’t he? Shoving down his unease, Branzy plopped down on a seat beside the kitchen table, smiling. “Rek! Look what I’ve got!”

Rek turned around. Oh—wow. Branzy hadn’t really looked at him lately, but now that he did, he could see that Rek looked almost ill. He was quite pale, and had a sickly complexion. “Are you okay?” Branzy asked before Rek could respond to the revolver.

Rek blinked. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just … some stuff happened today. It’s nothing. What’s that?” he asked quickly, trying to change the topic.

Branzy frowned. He was a little worried. And what if Rek was involved in dangerous shit again, like the time he had lost his arm? What if he was involved with dangerous people? What if he got kidnapped like Branzy had?

“Woah,” Rek said, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“No—I—yeah,” Branzy muttered, losing a little of his will to argue. “Ah, whatever. So this revolver has an auto-aim function. And it’s pretty effective. And it can hold a lot of bullets.”

Rek nodded absentmindedly, looking everywhere but at Branzy’s eyes. Branzy could tell that his attention wasn’t on the gun. He half-turned back towards the sink, running a thumb along the bloodstain on his metal arm. “Where’d you get it?”

Branzy forced a weak smile on his face, trying to keep up a cheerful attitude. “Oh, Clown introduced me to someone. Entrepreneur. Her name’s Midmystic. I feel like you—”

Rek whirled around, slamming his hands on the table. “Midmystic?!” he exclaimed, staring at Branzy.

Branzy started, staring at Rek. Oh. This is … fear?

Rek paused, seeming to realize that he’d scared Branzy. He lifted his hands, standing back awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Branzy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you have against Midmystic?” he asked.

Rek bit his lip, seeming to wage an internal war. Then, he spoke, his face all scrunched-up like it pained him to say. “She cut off my arm.”

Branzy dropped his revolver, his mouth opening in shock. “… what?”

After a moment of hesitation, Rek shook his head vigorously and turned back to the sink. He turned the faucet back on. “It’s nothing.”

“Wait,” Branzy said, standing up from his chair. “Wait, Rek. How—why did she cut off your arm?”

Rek remained silent.

Branzy paused, thoughts running through his mind. Why would Midmystic cut off Rek’s arm? She was an entrepreneur ! Why— how ? “Rek, how ?” Branzy pressed. He moved, grabbing Rek’s shoulder to turn him around.

Rek grabbed Branzy’s hand, shoving him back. “Don’t touch me,” Rek snarled.

Branzy’s arm stung where Rek had touched him. His metal hand was stronger than it looked. “What—Rek, how?” Branzy protested. “You’re scaring me. Rek, just tell me how it happened.”

He remained stolidly silent for a moment, then exhaled. “I—work. It’s nothing.”

“ Nothing ? Rek, you lost an arm , I can’t believe you can just say it’s—what kind of work?”

Rek didn’t elaborate.

“What. Kind. Of work?”

“I was hired to kill her, alright?” Rek burst out.

The words didn’t process for a moment. Hired. To kill her. Rek. Rek was hired. Rek was hired to kill Midmystic. Midmystic, who was so nice, who’d offered tea and had conducted business and welcomed Branzy and Clown. Rek. A killer—an assassin. “ What ?!” Branzy exclaimed. “Rek—where’d you even get this job? I know it’s hard, but it’s not that hard—”

“It is ,” Rek cut off. “You have your mechanical skills but all I’m good at is killing . So that’s what I do. And—”

“I don’t agree with your work, you know that?”

“What else can I do ?!”

Branzy cast about helplessly. “I don’t know. Work for Clown. You could be a guard, or a dealer, you’re great at sleight of hand—”

“Oh, Clown !” Rek exclaimed mockingly. “Clown. It’s always about him . You know, you’re basically his dog at this point, with how much you seem to like him—”

“At least I’m not a killer !” Branzy exclaimed furiously. “You act like that’s the only thing you can do, but you’re just—you could be so much more . I’m just an engineer, and I’ve never fixed a roulette wheel or rigged slot machines or made cat bombs before, but I learned . You could learn .”

Rek laughed bitterly, taking a step back. “God, you sound so upper-side when you say th—cat bombs?”

Branzy stared at Rek. Rek stared back.

“Cat bombs?” Rek repeated. “Like the ones that went off across the city?”

Branzy remained silent, his heartbeat irregular. Shoot. He’d messed up and messed up bad . What was he supposed to say to that? He had made those, but he hadn’t known . But Rek—what would Rek think?

“Branzy, answer me ! You didn’t make those, did you?” Rek asked, his eyes searching Branzy’s face.

Branzy couldn’t quite force the lie out of his mouth.

Rek’s expression fell, his eyebrows lowering and his jaw setting. “You—”

He broke off, looking away with a dark expression. He looked back at Branzy, his gaze nothing short of a glare. Branzy willed himself to move or say anything , but his body wouldn’t obey. “And you say you don’t approve of my job,” Rek said, his voice shaking with barely-contained anger. “When you— leave . I thought we were brothers . Get out—I don’t want to see you—”

Branzy turned, took his revolver, and left.

Chapter Text

Branzy didn’t know where to go, so he showed up to work.

He threw himself into designing the ballroom trap for Roshambo. There were pipes that needed to be laid, and spaces to be cleared for storing tanks of poisonous gas. Not to mention the automatic door-locking mechanism, which was an ordeal all on its own. The ballroom had just about fifteen doors, all leading out to some sort of grand grassy lawn—anyway, Branzy had to figure out how to lock them all at once with the push of a button.

It was interesting. It made him think. And if he was thinking about his job, he didn’t need to think about Rek.

Roshambo offered him a temporary room in his manor to stay in, since Branzy claimed that he wanted to crunch in as much work as possible in time for Roshambo’s planned event. It was nice; luxurious and clearly upper-side, but Branzy didn’t sleep nearly as easily as he did back home.

Roshambo’s ball was on Friday. Branzy spent the entire week leading up to it working.

On Thursday afternoon, Branzy flicked the lever, nodding approvingly. The doors could lock and unlock at a moment’s notice, from Branzy’s vantage point in the room above the ballroom. He had added safety measures too. He didn’t know if Roshambo would change his mind, or if something might go terribly wrong with the gas masks they had constructed as well, so he had added two safety precautions—one lever to unlock the doors on a high balcony overlooking the ballroom, and one lever in an inconspicuous corner behind where the refreshments table would be.

They had tested the poisonous gas several days earlier, with a cheaper compound, and both the gas masks and ventilation (or rather lack of it) seemed to be working.

All that was left was for the ball.

Branzy wiped his hands, greasy with motor oil, on his work pants. He spent most of each day crawling around in the space above the ballroom, which was narrow and difficult to navigate (doubly so because of all the pipes he added). He would go back down, shower, and probably just try and sleep. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

He ducked out of the doorway to the crawlspace, little more than a maintenance hatch. Roshambo’s manor was extravagant as Midmystic’s, though he seemed to favor paler purple decorations.

Branzy glanced around the walls as he headed back to his room. Tomorrow was the big day. He would see whether his trap would work or not. And probably kill twenty people.

He tried not to think about that part as much. It was just business, wasn’t it? If they didn’t die, someone else would.

He rounded the corner, lost in his thoughts, and nearly crashed into two people.

One was Roshambo, dapper as ever in a lavender suit, his third hand resting on his shoulder without being activated. The other made Branzy’s heart leap traitorously. Clown.

“Oh, Branzy! Everything’s good?” Roshambo asked, raising his third hand to wave.

Branzy forced a smile, nodding at Roshambo and Clown. Everything was not good, but if they were talking about the trap… yeah, everything about that was good. “Yep. It should be effective. But… I mean, we might want to double-check the guest list to see if anyone has any mods for filtered respiration.”

Clown nodded. “Good idea. It’s a small party—remind me who you’re inviting?”

Ro used his third hand to tick off the fingers on his two regular hands. “Leo’s group, obviously. They’ve been messing with our territory—ugh, anyway. That accounts for around seven people; most of the important ones. It’s a little risky to have seven of them in the same place, because they outnumber us, but it won’t matter with the trap. We’ll send a message. And then some guests—small-timers. I don’t want them to get any bright ideas from Leo’s aggressiveness. I’ll return their hearts after. There’s around seven too, though I let them bring guests. And then our people. Mid, Mapicc, Parrot, Spoke.”

Branzy nodded along. That made twenty total, with fourteen or more targets. They had eight gas masks—seven for their side plus Branzy, and one extra in case something went terribly wrong. Branzy always built in failsafes. Roshambo had complained a little about the extra cost, but relented once Branzy pointed out that a faulty gas mask could turn the tide of the entire event.

“Ro, you go on ahead,” Clown said. “I want to talk to Branzy about something.”

Roshambo grinned easily. It looked a little mischievous. Branzy didn’t like it. “Alright. Have a good date, you two.”

Branzy didn’t even register what he said before Roshambo had disappeared. He turned to Clown, cheeks flaming, about to refute what Roshambo had said. Clown didn’t seem to notice, launching straight into his spiel.

“You don’t have to attend the event,” Clown said.

Branzy blinked. “What?”

Clown studied Branzy’s face, his red eyes glowing even in broad daylight. “You seem tired. I heard you’ve been overworking yourself these few days.”

Branzy waved a hand dismissively. Clown was always like this. He appreciated it (at least he wouldn’t have to worry about ever filing a worker exploitation lawsuit), but sometimes it was overbearing. “Don’t worry about it. I like it. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Come on,” Clown laughed. “Even if you like it, it’s still difficult. Don’t stress too much over the event. I’m worried you’ll… anyway, you don’t have to go. Your trap will work fine.”

“You’re worried I’ll what?”

“I don’t know. Pass out from exhaustion or something.”

“I’m not fragile, Clown.”

“I never said you were. You just look tired.”

Branzy fought down the urge to check a mirror. He always looked like this—scruffy and tired and covered in motor oil. He didn’t see how he could look worse . Though if Clown said so… well, it made sense. The last week had been shit.

“Clown, I don’t need you to worry about me,” Branzy said firmly. “I’m fine. I’m going to go see the job through—it’s my trap. Besides, it’s not like I have anywhere better to be. Rek doesn’t even want me around at home. I’ll be fine; I like my job.”

Clown stared at Branzy, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean Parker doesn’t want you around?”

Shoot. Branzy hurriedly backpedaled. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out; he had just been thinking so much about it, it had rolled off his tongue with a bitter sigh before he even realized. “Nothing, nothing. We’re just fighting. Brother things, you know.”

“Wait, did he kick you out? Is that why you’re living here?”

“He did not—I mean, I guess he kind of did, but—”

“You should’ve said so earlier!” Clown exclaimed, his eyes widening. “That’s awful of him. I’ll see if I know any people who are renting, see if there’s something that’ll work for you—”

“Don’t,” Branzy cut off.

“What?” It was Clown’s turn to look confused.

“Don’t. I can take care of myself,” Branzy repeated.

“Branzy, you’re literally homeless.”

“That’s my problem. Don’t.”

“I’m just trying to help!”

Branzy sighed, fiddling with a bit of metal that he hadn’t fashioned into anything yet. “Look, I know you’re just… protective and whatever, being Clownpierce , most dangerous player and whatnot, but I don’t like it. I don’t appreciate being controlled. I’ll take care of myself. The arm, and the job—I’m grateful, but I just don’t want you to do it in the future.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?” Clown asked in disbelief, his ordinary laid-back smile vanishing in an instant.

Branzy hadn’t liked thinking about it, but maybe Rek had been right about some things. “I don’t know if you’re trying ,” Branzy said, frustration leaking into his tone, “because I don’t want to think you’re that kind of person, but you have a history. Maybe it’s just habit or something. Or… I don’t know. But I’m fine .”

Clown stared at him. Branzy stepped back unconsciously, worried he had said something wrong. Oh, who was he kidding? He had probably said thousands of things wrong.

He couldn’t read Clown’s expression. His eyes had narrowed, his mouth pressed firmly into a harsh line.

“I was just trying to protect you,” Clown said quietly.

He looked as though there was more to say, but instead, he spun on his heel. Branzy watched, his hearts heavy as lead, as Clown turned the corner and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Clown inhaled, adjusting his tie. The gilded mirror before him reflected everything he was and everything he should be. His red gaze, his neatly slicked back hair, his crimson suit. The cufflinks gleamed, diamonds carved in the shape of small hearts.

Now was a bad time to be angry. Clown knew this. Anger was an annoying emotion that dulled his senses and left his stomach churning. He experienced it too often.

Dampen it , he thought. Let it settle.

He closed his eyes, exhaling. He let the anger leave him, replacing it with something cold and hard as his diamond cufflinks. He was Clownpierce. He didn’t get angry. He got revenge.

But still, he considered, leaving his room, revenge wasn’t an option in this case.

Not with Branzy. Never with him.

Clown headed down one of the many hallways of Ro’s manor. The sun was dipping beneath the horizon, casting the world in a dusky purple glow.

The conversation yesterday had left him seething . Clown had left skid marks on his netherite arm with how tightly he had clenched his fist. He couldn’t understand—could never understand—what Branzy was even thinking.

He understood control. He understood the need for it. He also understood the need for freedom from it.

But this wasn’t control. This wasn’t the kind of blackmail, sweet-talk, and threatening that Clown had used to build his empire. This was different.

He still didn’t know how.

Maybe that was why he had been unable to say anything yesterday. He hadn’t been able to say anything other than what he had been repeating to himself all this time. I was just trying to protect him.

But why ?

“Ah, my circensian friend, here at last.”

Ro’s voice snapped Clown out of his thoughts. He smiled broadly on instinct. A smile was one kind of control that Clown excelled at, in addition to others. “Ro. Is everything ready?”

Ro nodded. He wore a drop-sleeved dress shirt with a ruffled color, and midnight purple dress pants. His third hand had been adorned with flaky golden paint for the event, similar to the golden flecks of paint on Ro’s face. This was meant to be a celebration of Mid’s recent new patent, and he was dressed appropriately. Clown had personally foregone the face paint. If he ever wore it, he got one too many remarks about him living up to his name.

“Just these,” Ro said, pressing something into Clown’s hand. “You’ve read my speech. When it comes to the right time, press the gold button and it’ll expand into a mask. Your engineer is pretty smart, I’ll give him that.”

Clown glanced down at the folded metal square in his hand. A golden button in the center promised that it would unfold into a gas mask. “Yes,” he said, maintaining a smooth tone of voice even if it was the last thing he felt. “He is.”

He tucked the mask into his pocket. As he did, he heard footsteps. He looked up.

Parrot and Spoke made their way down the hallway, both dressed in suits for the coming event. Parrots’ mechanical wings had been tucked away, but the shifting gears made small rasps with every movement. Spoke’s eyes glowed pure white even in the well-lit corridor. An experimental upgrade. Clown still wasn’t sure what the difference was between Spoke’s eyes and the typical redstone-enhanced ones, but he didn’t care enough to ask.

“Clown!” Spoke exclaimed, bounding down the hallway. Rainbow glitter covered his cheeks. “You’re not celebratory enough!”

Clown scoffed. “I’ll be plenty celebratory when the appropriate people are dead.”

“Nuh-uh. You need face paint.”

“I do not—get off me!”

Futilely, Clown tried to fight off Spoke. He managed to shove him away, but not before Spoke had smeared two lines of glitter down his eyelids. “Now you look like a real Clown,” Parrot said amusedly, coming up behind Spoke.

Clown sighed internally. Of course he would say that.

“Quit heckling Clown,” Ro instructed. “Mapicc and Mid are already out there working the room. We should go too. Here are your masks.”

Ro handed them their own pocket-sized gas masks, instructing them on how to use them. Spoke and Parrot were two wild cards that Ro had befriended recently. Clown hadn’t spoken with them much, but he got the general vibe that they didn’t really care about the politics—they were just here for the bloodshed. All the better for Clown’s purposes. People like that were the easiest to work with.

People who cared about things were harder. More prone to betrayal. More things they needed to protect.

Clown followed Ro out of the side room, heading towards the ballroom.

Ro had spared no expense. Everything was decorated not in the typical lavender he favored, but in Mid’s favorite midnight purple. The few guests milled around a refreshments table, chatting with an uneasy undertone. Most people here were either rivals, enemies, or tentative allies. That didn’t set the mood for a particularly celebratory event. No matter—they could be civil for only a brief while, at least.

“Clownpierce,” a voice greeted.

Clown gritted his teeth, turning around. It was Leo.

He had swapped out his featureless porcelain mask for one more suited to the event, with gilded golden accents. His amber eyes gleamed from beneath the mask. His suit was finely tailored—Leo always had a penchant for the flamboyant.

“Leowook,” Clown said shortly.

“I heard you allied with Reddoons and Ashswag,” Leo said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I would congratulate you, if they had not reneged on their deal with me.”

Clown shrugged. “I was under the impression that they had not actually formed any deal yet.”

“We were undergoing talks.”

“Well then, it’s not reneging on a deal, is it?” Clown said, flashing a wicked sharp smile. “It’s just good business.”

Leo’s eyes were inscrutable. He inclined his head. “I would advise you to reconsider your ventures into this market. It can be… dangerous, often, for outsiders.”

Clown laughed. “I’m not an outsider, Leo. Or have you forgotten M.O.B.?”

He rolled up his sleeve slightly, exposing the three dark letters tattooed on his non-netherite wrist.

Now, he could easily see Leo’s expression. His amber eyes flashed with anger. “M.O.B. was a mistake, for us and Zam both,” Leo said, his voice low.

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who betrayed us.”

“You would have run the business into the ground otherwise.”

“We would have done better than—”

“Gentlemen!” Mid interrupted, sweeping into the conversation with a glare shot at Clown. He got the message. Don’t antagonize Leo. It’s not time yet. “Clown, why don’t you show Leo your arm? It’s my newest prototype. Netherite, full-function, with extra heart storage.”

Clwon gritted his teeth and forced himself to be civil. He could antagonize Leo all he wanted—hell, he could even wage full-on war. He would win, but not without heavy losses. So really, this was the best way—for him and Ro both. They would kill him, not as a declaration of war, but to send a message. To show him what would happen if there were to be a war.

To make him give up.

It’s just business , Clown thought. It’s to manipulate him. To control him. So stop insulting him.

Unbidden, the image of Branzy rose to his mind, insinuating that Clown only wanted to control him.

Clown wanted to laugh. He controlled Leo. He controlled Ashswag and Reddoons. Hell, he even controlled Ro to an extent.

But not Branzy. Never him. He would be surprised if he even could .

He shut up and showed Leo the arm. After, he quickly escaped to brood in a corner by himself. He couldn’t think straight with Branzy hanging over his head, his words replaying in his mind.

Eventually, Ro called a speech. He found a chair to stand on as a soapbox. Ro always did like dramatic monologues.

“I would like to congratulate my business associate, my client, and above all, my friend—Midmystic,” Ro began.

A round of scattered applause from the crowd. There was a wide variety of people. Many wore heavy makeup, like Ro, or masks like Leo. Clown hung towards the back, keeping a careful eye on everyone. He did note Leo clapping oddly enthusiastically. What was that about? Leo and Mid were, as far as Clown knew, on good terms. Yet Mid had agreed to this ball.

Strange. Clown wasn’t caught up on those politics yet.

“Her newest patent for a flush vertical transmission elevator is one of the most innovative developments I’ve seen in this city for a long time,” Ro continued. “And the—”

Suddenly, a loud click reverberated through the hall—the sound of many doors locking, all at once. A hissing escaped from the ceiling, purple gas flooding the ballroom.

What?

Isn’t it too early? Clown thought, staring at the ceiling in as much shock as the rest of the guests.

It was meant to be released when Ro gave the signal—a certain part in his speech. It was meant to scare the others.

Clown whirled around to look at Ro. His voice had stalled, his expression confused, but he pushed on with the speech. “Ah, it appears that you’ll have to die early. I do love my friend, but I admit that this ball was a ruse,” Ro said, quickly improvising. “Several people here have taken advantage of my trust, my leniency, and my business ethics. I wanted to warn you—I will not tolerate this.”

Clown heard the scrape of metal. Parrot and Spoke had drawn their swords, fitting their gas masks around their faces as they moved to guard the doors, preventing anyone from escaping.

“So,” Ro said, raising all three of his arms and beaming. “Enjoy the show. You brought this upon yourselves.”

The room erupted into chaos. The crowd flooded towards the doors, but they were firmly locked. Clown’s chest felt tight.

Why had it happened early? Branzy was meant to be controlling this. Did he make a mistake? Clown knew he should’ve sent someone else to do it; Branzy was too exhausted for this.

Or worse, had something happened to him?

“Ro,” Clown said, fighting through the crowd to get to him. It was hard to breathe through his panic. Ro was currently trying to defend himself from a very angry guest. Clown knocked him away easily with a flick of his dagger, which he always kept on him. “What happened? Why is it early?”

Ro looked at him with wide eyes. Distantly, Clown realized he was wearing the gas mask. “Clown, your mask!” Ro said urgently.

Clown dropped his dagger, fumbling for his mask with weak hands. But it was too late. The purple fog was seeping into his chest, dulling his senses.

The mask fell to the ground with a clatter, Clown’s knees buckling under his own weight. I’m so stupid, he thought distantly, the world hazy and indistinct around him.

He tried to reach for the mask, but his eyes were fluttering shut. He tried to force them open, but he was inhaling poison and it was working.

The world blurred. Clown was almost certainly dying.

Someone with white hair entered his vision, and something closed firmly over his nose and mouth. The slightest hint of fresh air entered his lungs, but it was too late. Clown blacked out.

Chapter Text

Branzy leaned back in the mechanical guts above the ballroom, peering through the telescope. He had fitted it to a special concave lens that let him see the entire room from his perch atop a pipe. Only the dim glow of redstone lit the space, trailing to and fro from the wiring of the chandeliers.

Branzy narrowed his eyes, searching through the crowd for the people he knew. There was Clown and Roshambo of course, each in their black-tie attire. Branzy was still mildly furious at Clown, but he could admit, through his sleep-deprived haze, that Clown looked pretty good in the suit.

There were too many people in the ballroom to count. Almost all of them had mechanical upgrades of some sort, which made it easier for Branzy to keep track of who was on their side. There were six people in total—plus one gas mask that Branzy decided to keep in reserve, just in case. Clown, of course, with his netherite arm. Midmystic with her metal ears and tail (though she had removed her armor for the occasion—that must mean they didn’t expect much violence). Roshambo with his third arm.

Then there were the three Branzy hadn’t met previously. Mapicc, Roshambo’s friend and business partner—although he didn’t have any obvious upgrades, there was definitely some redstone wiring internally; all of Branzy’s makeshift sensors and dials built into the ceiling twitched whenever he passed. It wasn’t enough to throw off the timing of the gas release, but it was definitely something, if Mapicc had enough redstone built into his body to even trigger the sensors from that far away.

Parrot was the one with the mechanical wings. Spoke was the one with the white eyes. The two of them were an inseparable duo. Roshambo had been shifty about telling Branzy exactly what they did. They were probably assassins or heart dealers or something suitably illegal. Honestly, was Branzy even surprised at this point?

It’ll work out , Branzy promised himself. He was still kind of nervous about working with so many people below the law, but… fuck, it paid, and he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

He let go of the telescope, stretching. He had a little nest-like set-up, with all his necessary tools and back-ups and back-ups for the back-ups in case something went wrong. There was the lever for releasing the gas, and then the lever for unlocking the doors. Branzy had them labeled very clearly, with the gas-release lever highlighted with redstone.

I don’t know what I’m going to do after this, Branzy thought.

He’d pissed off Clown. Branzy hated that he did that. He also hated that he cared . He hated that Clown had so much control over him. Not just because he was his boss, in a way, but also for… different reasons. He cared what Clown thought. He cared, and Branzy didn’t like that.

Branzy didn’t know if he could keep working for Clown.

He’d have to figure something out.

The echo of the ballroom chatter faded slightly. Branzy leaned forward, trying to shove all thoughts of Clown out of his mind, and peered into the telescope.

People began to gather around Roshambo, who had stepped onto a chair to give a speech. They were a sea of upper-side livery and jewels and expensive prosthetics. Branzy listened intently, his hand straying towards the illuminated lever to release the gas.

“I would like to congratulate my business associate, my client, and above all, my friend—Midmystic,” Roshambo began.

Branzy scanned over the crowd. He saw Clown and Midmystic in the middle of things. Mapicc beside Ro. Parrot and Spoke circling the perimeter like hungry wolves.

A glint of metal caught his eye, and Branzy froze.

He would recognize that figure anywhere.

He recognized that brown hair. He knew that deceivingly relaxed posture—one that hid paranoia and tenseness just beneath the surface. He knew that metal arm so well. Hell, he was the one who got that metal arm.

“Rek?” Branzy whispered, yanking his arm back to focus the telescope lens.

It knocked against the lever.

Metal creaked. Hissing started.

Shit , Branzy thought.

He grabbed his own mask, hurriedly pressing the button to release it and fitting it snugly over his nose and mouth. I totally messed up. I hope the plan still works.

He strained his eyes to see through the telescope, purple clouding his vision. Guests flooded towards the doors, but the locks held. Branzy couldn’t be relieved yet. He squinted, trying to do a headcount. What if the masks didn’t work? They had to work. Roshambo and Mapicc had theirs on. Parrot and Spoke had theirs on, and were engaging several guests in combat. Midmystic had hers, and was slipping away already to watch the carnage from a good view. And Clown … Clown.

Branzy’s blood went cold.

Why isn’t he wearing his mask?

Is it not working?

His body moved before he could think. He sprang up to his feet, grabbing the spare mask he kept among his tools, and he sprinted towards the exit. His hands burned as he slid down the rough rope to ground level, but there was no time to even notice the pain.

Branzy stumbled to the ground, trying to regain his balance. The purple haze clouded his vision, making it hard to see anything further than four feet in front of him. He fought blindly through the fog, beelining for where he knew Clown was.

He nearly tripped over Clown’s body.

Branzy cursed under his breath, kneeling and slapping the mask over Clown’s face. His cheeks had gone pale, his lips slightly blue.

Please, please, please.

He pressed a hand to Clown’s chest. There was the clink of a crystal somewhere—someone must have already died.

At first, he heard nothing.

Then, a slight tap.

Another beat. The thrumming of life.

Oh my gosh , Branzy thought. He could cry with relief. Clown was okay.

Suddenly, he heard a click. Cold wind tore through the ballroom. Branzy froze. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The doors weren’t supposed to unlock. Unless someone had somehow found the back-up lever beneath the table, but…

Branzy looked up at the table, heaped with untouched delicacies.

Suddenly, the tablecloth shifted. A figure crawled out from under it.

Branzy locked eyes with his brother.

Time seemed to slow. The haze of poisonous mist seemed to dull Branzy’s senses. Rek pressed a hand over his nose and mouth, struggling to his feet. His gaze never left Branzy’s.

I…

I need to get out of here.

Branzy didn’t wait to see the guests flood out of the now-unlocked doors. He didn’t wait to see the people scoop up the lost hearts from the floor and try to shoulder their friends’ bodies. He didn’t wait for any of that. He picked up Clown and dragged him across the floor, trying to disappear into the purple haze.

Chapter Text

Branzy stared at the newspaper. Right there, on the front page, his brother stared dully at the camera.

Rek looked tired. He was disheveled and injured, a few nasty scrapes on his jaw. He looked just like the Rek Branzy had always known—his street-rat brother. But what did the headline say?

Hero known as “Rekrap” Rescues 37 People from Trapped Mansion.

By Yeah Jaron

Late last Friday night, an upper-scale party at the mansion of an undisclosed person devolved into disaster—of the poisonous kind. A guard of Leowook, a businessman and former CFO of M.O.B. Inc., was able to successfully open the doors and help everyone escape. Several sources report his name as Rekrap; he has declined to comment. Law enforcement are still investigating the details. To read more, flip to page 8…

Branzy sighed, leaning back in his chair. The chair clicked and buzzed, then launched Branzy out of it with a juddering screech. Branzy tumbled to the floor, rolling his eyes. Only Cube would design a chair that projectile-launched anyone who tried to relax in it.

He hadn’t known where to go, so he went to the one upper-side person he knew. And somewhat trusted. Cube. His apartment had a spare room, which was piled high with all his eccentric inventions. A fresh breeze blew through the window, ruffling the sheets of the bed. Clown lay against the pillow, his brow furrowed slightly and his mouth stiff in an expression of—pain? Discomfort? Branzy couldn’t tell.

It would probably be more efficient to shoot Clown in the forehead and return the heart, but Branzy couldn’t quite bring himself to do that. He didn’t know if it would even fix the poison that Clown probably had running through his system right now. The poison that Branzy had designed and released.

Damn. Why do I always do this?

The heist. The cats. And now this. Every time, Branzy found himself staring down the consequences of his actions, and looking at the people he loved in the face, and finding that he had been the one to hurt them all along.

Maybe it’s better if Rek hates me, Branzy thought.

Branzy had been responsible for so many things. And Rek—always paranoid—would have been a fool to keep trusting Branzy.

And Branzy had been a fool to expect that trust anyway.

He heard a sharp intake of breath. Branzy shot up from his seat, looking at Clown. His eyes snapped open, glowing red in the shade of the bed’s canopy. They darted around wildly, his limbs flailing briefly. He fell still as soon as he saw Branzy.

“Are you alright?” Branzy asked, peering concernedly at Clown. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing; a light sweat had beaded across his skin.

“It hurts,” Clown said. His eyes fluttered. Glitter was still smeared across his eyelids.

Ah, shit.

Branzy leapt up, bounding down the stairs. He found Cube in the kitchen, performing some manner of outrageous experiments on a mechanical golem. “Cube, do we have any pain medication?”

“Second to the left, top cabinet,” Cube said without even looking up.

Branzy opened the cabinet to find several bottles of whiskey.

Pain medication, huh?

Branzy poured a cup of whiskey, a cup of water, and grabbed some bread. He brought it all up to the bedroom, setting it beside Clown.

“Drink,” he said, offering the water to Clown. Clown obeyed, grimacing. He propped himself upright against some pillows. His collar was slightly unbuttoned, his hair messy. Branzy had the irrational urge to fix it. He actually started reaching out before his brain caught up with his body and stopped his hand in its path.

“What happened?” Clown slurred, reaching for the bread. It took him some time to find it, his fingers fumbling as he brought it to his mouth.

“I released the poison early on accident,” Branzy said quietly. “It was… I was stupid.”

Clown didn’t comment on that. After he finished the bread, he reached for the whiskey.

“Oh, that’s not pain medication. That’s whiskey—”

With a shrug, Clown downed it.

Branzy cringed. He hadn’t been planning on letting Clown actually drink it. It was more for himself. He didn’t even know how the whiskey might interact with the poison in Clown’s system. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, I feel great now,” Clown said, sitting slightly more upright. “Is that a newspaper? Give me that.”

Always so commanding. Branzy was grateful that Clown was the same self he’d always been. He handed the newspaper over.

Clown scanned the text, his eyes unsteady. As he read, Branzy glanced out the window. He didn’t know what to do now.

“I need more whiskey,” Clown decided, tossing the newspaper across the bed.

Branzy returned with the full bottle. Clown smiled, taking the bottle. His smile always made Branzy feel odd and fluttery. It was deadly and sharp as a knife, but that didn’t change how much Branzy liked to see it.

“My savior,” Clown said, and Branzy thought for a moment that he might actually faint.

Branzy watched as Clown ignored the glass conveniently provided for him, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Oh—I don’t think you should do that…”

Branzy trailed off, watching in amazement as Clown drank an inordinate amount of whiskey without so much as blinking.

“Much better,” Clown said, slurring his words a little as he lowered the bottle. His tongue darted out to lick a drop of whiskey from his lips. The movement was mesmerizing. Branzy watched him, then slapped himself mentally. What was he thinking?

“You really shouldn’t have more,” Branzy snapped, pulling the bottle away. “You’re still poisoned. Even I don’t know the full extent of its effects.”

“Who cares,” Clown said, showing off his netherite arm very pointedly. Ten multicolored hearts gleamed in the compartment, fully loaded. “I can afford it. I need to think clearly right now.”

Branzy laughed. “I don’t think whiskey will help you with that.”

“No, I’m sure it will,” Clown said, picking up the newspaper again. He scanned it, and then tossed it back away with disgust. “What a mess. Ro should’ve never hired those mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries?”

“Parrot and Spoke,” Clown elaborated. He shifted, hissing through his teeth. “They killed more people than they should’ve. Some people on our side too. Now they’re out for Ro’s blood. And, y’know. Mine. Maybe. Not too sure.”

He seemed to be growing unsteadier with each passing second. Branzy reached forward, pressing a hand to Clown’s forehead. It burned at a fever-pitch.

“Damn it. You shouldn’t have drunk that whiskey. Now you’re…”

Branzy forgot what he was going to say next. Clown was staring straight at him, red eyes glowing, a peculiar expression on his face. It was unguarded, eerily soft. It wasn’t reminiscent of the deadliest man in the city at all. It was curious. His eyes were examining Branzy like they’d never seen him before.

“Thank you,” Clown said. His voice was low, slightly raspy. Quiet.

Branzy drew his hand away sharply. Halfway, Clown caught his wrist. Despite using his netherite arm, his grip was careful, soft.

Branzy’s hearts were beating too fast now. Too, too fast. This was a bad idea. “For what?” he asked, his gaze flicking away from Clown’s.

Clown laughed. The sound was addictive. “For saving my life. I never thanked you. You dragged me out of there, didn’t you?”

Branzy shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, I was the one who made the mistake in the first place, so it’s not… the same…”

“Branzy, can you look at me?”

Branzy swallowed, his eyes meeting Clown’s. They were too close. Clown’s hand was on his arm. It was metal, but Branzy swore he heard the pounding of a pulse. A rapid-fire heartbeat. Or maybe that was just his own.

“Thank you,” Clown said, his voice raw and honest and too many things at once. Maybe it was the liquor in his blood or the poison in his mind, but his eyes were darting everywhere at once, studying Branzy. Studying the curl of a hair or the curve of his cheek. And then, they fixated on his lips.

He didn’t pull away.

Branzy stared at Clown for a moment longer. A fraction of a moment longer.

Almost imperceptibly, Clown leaned forward.

Some rationale must have kicked in, because almost as soon as he leaned forward the slightest, he began to draw back.

Branzy surged forward, closing the distance.

His mouth tasted like whiskey and bad ideas. It tasted like sharp teeth and incisors and a little blood. The kiss was clumsy and surprisingly sweet and a little painful, but Branzy couldn’t think of anything better in the moment. And yes, Clown’s heart was definitely beating as fast as his. And his lips were feverish as the rest of him, and Branzy felt cold almost as soon as he drew away.

“I’m sorry,” Branzy immediately said, his gaze flicking around Clown’s face, trying to judge his expression. “That wasn’t professional. That wasn’t professional at all. I just—sorry, I’m stupid, I just—”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Clown whispered.

Holy shit.

Branzy stared at Clown.

Clown stared back. His eyes were wide and wanting and red .

“I—I think I’m going to ask Cube if we have any real pain medication,” Branzy stammered, stumbling out of the room.

His heart raced as he took the stairs two at a time. What are you doing? Go back.

“Where are you going?” Cube called, as Branzy fiddled with the five-function lock on the front door.

Go back. Go. Clown is there. He’s waiting. I could have him. I could have everything you ever wanted.

I could have something beautiful.

I can’t do this, Branzy thought.

“Out,” Branzy said, his voice shaky.

I can’t do this. Clown is everything and I’ve been so stupid lately and I can’t afford to be stupid any longer. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can’t mess this up but damn it, I know I will.

He entered the street and ran .

Holy shit. What am I doing? Stop leaving.

But he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t obey his mind. His legs kept moving, walking, then running.

Always running.

Chapter Text

The solution to many problems was work.

Don’t want to talk to Rek? Go to work!

Don’t want to get kidnapped? Don’t take a day off to chaperone a silly field trip, go to work!

Don’t want to talk to Clown? Don’t want to see his beautiful red eyes and razor-sharp smile that could cut straight through your hearts? Don’t want to think about his mouth on yours, and how you just kissed him and ran? Go to—well, shit, he’s your boss.

So Branzy improvised. He was pretty good at doing that, right?

“ You ,” Midmystic said spitefully, seeing Branzy turn up on her doorstep.

Branzy shifted from foot to foot, feeling incredibly out of place in the fancy manicured gardens of Midmystic’s estate. He was still in work clothes, smeared with grease and grime. “… hi?” he said. He didn’t think he parted on particularly bad terms with Midmystic last time.

“You have the audacity to turn up here, after what you plotted with Clown during the ball?” Midmystic said. Her fingers curled, the fading light glinting dangerously off the edge of her claws. She seemed poised to strike.

Branzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You two released the gas early to try and betray me,” Midmystic accused, her purple eyes narrowing. “I know that Parrot and Spoke were on your side too. I don’t usually attack non-combatants, so I’m going to give you ten seconds to get out of here before I—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Branzy yelped, waving his hands hurriedly. “I didn’t—no—sorry, I didn’t betray you! That was a mistake!”

Midmystic paused slightly.

“I—I saw someone I recognized at the ball,” Branzy explained hastily. “I got distracted, and I accidentally released the gas early. It was a complete accident, I swear. I swear! It wasn’t—no, we didn’t try to betray you!”

A long silence stretched between them. The sun was setting in the distance, washing the sky in twilight purple. Branzy was feeling a chill come on. He didn’t want to go back to Cube’s apartment, much less face Rek.

Finally, Midmystic spoke. She tapped her fingernails, retracting her claws slightly. Her eyes focused on Branzy, seeming to soften from the texture of jewels. She turned around, her tail flicking behind her. “Come in. Have some tea. Explain yourself.”

So Branzy went in.

They sat in the drawing room. Plush purple couches, silver-filigree decoration, ebony furniture. Everything so expensive that Branzy was deathly terrified to get any residual soot on it. Midmystic had no qualms; it was her house, after all. She draped herself across a couch, propping her feet up and reclining in a cat-like fashion. Somehow, she still seemed deadly while doing so. It really did show how little she thought of Branzy, didn’t it?

Over cups of jasmine tea (which tasted like leafy water; was it supposed to taste expensive?), Branzy nervously explained everything that had happened. He caught sight of Rek with Leowook, he was distracted, he had to pop down to save Clown…

He left out the part about Rek being basically his brother, just naming him as a close associate (who he didn’t expect to be there).

By the end, he couldn’t tell if Midmystic believed him or not. She simply observed him. Seconds ticked by on a silver-faced grandfather clock.

“Alright,” Midmystic said. “Assuming you didn’t betray me, why are you here?”

“Y-you’re an entrepreneur, right?” Branzy said. “Clown was telling me about your projects. He said… you know, you usually like to recruit talent to help develop products. Are you in need of an engineer?”

Midmystic arched an eyebrow. “I usually go recruiting for engineers, not the other way around. They usually don’t turn up on my doorstep.”

“Oh,” Branzy said disappointedly. He should have thought it was a bit far-fetched, but he had been so confident in his own skills…

“ But , I do happen to have a heating problem right now. Would you take a commission to fix that?”

Branzy perked up. “Of course!”

So, at least temporarily, he was on Midmystic’s payroll. Thankfully. And it looked like this job would keep him occupied for a decent while, given how big Midmystic’s mansion was.

“Oh, and if Clown asks where I am… would you mind not telling him I’m here?” Branzy asked, on his way out.

Midmystic smirked. “Trouble in paradise? Well, I don’t owe Clownpierce anything.”

That was probably a yes.

Good enough.

Branzy found a little inn on the outskirts of the city to stay at. This was temporary. He would have to find a new apartment, rent something, maybe go back to the redstone shop… but he didn’t want to go back there, not right now at any rate. Anyone could find him there. Rek. Clown. Hell, even Ashswag . Numerous people he wanted to avoid.

He’d go back eventually . First, he needed to sort things out.

The next day, he headed to Midmystic’s mansion for work. It was, altogether, not a bad place. It was very empty and silent, only occupied by the occasional servant or cat. Branzy liked the cats; there was this one black one that particularly liked him, and would curl up in the mechanical guts of the heating system to nap. Either way, it was a quiet place for him to sort out his thoughts, which was what he hoped for.

The sorting out of thoughts didn’t happen very well. Branzy assumed it would be like uncrossing wires. It was more like trying to find the end of a circle.

I kissed Clown and then ran.

Clown kissed me back.

Holy shit, does he like me too?

He certainly doesn’t now. Branzy, why the hell did you run?

I need to go back , Branzy thought faintly.

He didn’t go back. He continued to rewire redstone.

Maybe you should just flee the city at this point. You kissed the most dangerous man in the city, ran, and now he definitely wants to kill you or something. What the hell were you thinking? Oh my god, I just kissed the most dangerous man in the city. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

So he filled his mind with gears and redstone dust.

The second afternoon of his work, Branzy suddenly started awake to the brushing of fur on his arm. He nearly fell down from the pipe he had somehow fallen asleep on top of. The black cat slunk past, padding across the pipe with practiced balance.

Branzy rubbed his eyes, frowning. Did he fall asleep again? He supposed he hadn’t been sleeping well… he couldn’t get used to his room in the inn, and his dreams were filled with Clown either stabbing him or kissing him.

With a yawn, he stretched. He froze when he heard voices.

They floated through the air vent beneath him, which was open thanks to the section of the pipe he had taken out entirely. The plush upholstery of Midmystic’s drawing room was barely visible through the slats of the vent.

I probably shouldn’t be listening in on Midmystic’s private meetings , Branzy thought mildly, moving to leave. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, much less to eavesdrop.

“…and that means that Clownpierce is our greatest threat right now,” a low male voice echoed through the vent.

Branzy froze, his blood turning to ice.

Clownpierce? Why are they talking about Clownpierce?

He didn’t dare move now, for fear that they would hear him. Also because he desperately wanted to stay and listen to anything about Clownpierce, because goddamnit he was curious.

“You don’t need to explain that to me, Leo,” a voice said. And that was Midmystic. Dry and sardonic. “I know that already. The guy betrayed me at the ball, and then sent his boyfriend to spy on me.”

Boyfriend? Clownpierce has a boyfriend? Why did he never tell me? Branzy thought, hurt immediately piercing his heart.

Then he realized who Midmystic was talking about.

Oh, what, me? I’m not his boyfriend.

That brought up bad memories, so Branzy stopped thinking about it.

“Spy on you? How so?”

Midmystic called that man Leo . Like… the Leo that kidnapped Branzy? The Leo that used to work with Clownpierce? The Leo that betrayed Clownpierce, and was now his heart trade rival?

Well shit.

“He turned up on my doorstep, asking if I need help with any engineering. I accepted, because you should keep your enemies close. Something you’ve never learned, Leo.” Midmystic’s tone was teasing.

She thinks I’m spying on her? Branzy wanted to laugh. Or choke. Or cry.

“You shouldn’t keep them too close,” Leo said. “How do I know he’s not listening to us right now?”

Branzy flinched, nearly falling over as the black cat curled up on his lap. Shoot! Shoot! Why does it think I’m a good place to nap on?

A rustle of fabric. “I’d hear him before he heard us,” Midmystic said dismissively. Right, she had those redstone-enhanced ears. Wonderful engineering… if they weren’t about to discover where Branzy was right now . His pulse skyrocketed, and he stopped breathing.

“I hear a heartbeat, but that’s just a cat,” Midmystic said. “They’re everywhere.”

She meowed. That really sounds like a cat, Branzy thought. Did Midmystic have vocal alterations as well?

The black cat lifted its head and meowed right back.

“See?” Midmystic said. “You can talk without fear of being overheard.”

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

Branzy was reeling. He could barely balance on this half-broken pipe with his limbs still stiff from sleep, a cat napping on his lap. The same cat that had just saved his ass from… well, probably ending up like Rekrap had. With an arm chopped off. Or worse!

Tomorrow, I am going to get you the freshest fish I can buy , Branzy promised silently.

He was also shocked that Midmystic could meow hyperrealistically.

“Fine then,” Leo said. “Then I’ll be frank. Clownpierce is expanding at an alarming rate. He’s secured a deal with both Ashswag and Reddoons. He has Roshambo on his side as well. He paid off Spoke and Parrot—mercenaries—to try and kill you during the ball. We have to stop him, and we have to stop him now —before he does more damage.”

Spoke and Parrot?

Branzy searched his memories.

No…

No, Clown didn’t pay Spoke or Parrot to kill Midmystic. Did he? No, Branzy was fairly sure he didn’t. It had been his fault the gas released early anyway—it was a complete accident. Not a betrayal plot. And he hadn’t seen Spoke or Parrot move to attack Midmystic at all .

Leo was plain wrong. 

Or lying.

“It’s dangerous to move openly,” Midmystic said carefully, hesitation in her voice.

“Mid, Clownpierce already moved openly,” Leo said, and Branzy didn’t like that tone in his language. It was soft, whispered like a snake’s honeyed words. “He hired that assassin, Rekrap, to kill you.”

Branzy’s hearing blanked out for a moment, leaving him listening to the sound of his own heartbeat, his blood rushing in his ears.

That can’t be right.

“So we should move openly too,” Midmystic sighed.

I thought Rek hated Clown.

“Yes, we should,” Leo said. “We need a grand statement. Something to totally wreck his reputation for being… unkillable.”

Rek wouldn’t be working for Clown too. Would he?

“We lure him to a meeting,” Midmystic said. “I pretend like I don’t know he’s betrayed me, and convince him to attend.”

Did he lie to me?

“Yes. And we blow the place sky-high.”

Or is Leo lying?

“Where?”

I don’t know what’s true anymore.

“The old M.O.B. building,” Leo suggested.

Branzy couldn’t tell fact from fiction anymore. He was so confused. Lies upon lies upon lies. Or truths upon truths? Could everything be true at once? Could everything be false at once? Was Clown lying to him? Was Clown lying to Midmystic ? Was Rek lying to him? Or was Leo lying to Midmystic? 

As he sat, in the dark, cat on his lap, a growing sense of horror was gnawing at his gut. Something was going on. Something big enough to drive Midmystic to plot murder against Clownpierce.

I—

Branzy thought this was over. That he’d never see him again. That they were no longer brothers.

But he was the only one that Branzy could rely on to tell the truth.

Or, at least, he was the only one that Branzy could tell was lying.

I—I need to talk to Rek.