Chapter Text
The city was alive in the way it always was after midnight—an undercurrent of activity humming beneath the silence. The streets were a patchwork of cracked asphalt and flickering neon signs, their dull hum competing with the occasional distant sound of sirens. A soft drizzle coated the world in a shimmering film of water, reflecting the city lights like fractured stars.
Somewhere in this chaos, Teardrop moved with purpose, slipping through back alleys like a shadow. The muted squelch of her footfalls on the wet pavement was drowned out by the rhythmic hum of a passing tram. Her face remained expressionless, but her eyes flicked from one darkened window to the next, scanning for movement. She wasn’t just cautious—she was hunting.
Stopping briefly at the mouth of a particularly narrow alley, she pulled a piece of folded paper from a leather tied to her fish-like tail. Her gaze lingered on it for a moment before she slipped it back into her satchel.
She checked the street ahead, spotting a familiar door with peeling paint and a rusted mailbox hanging on by a single screw. The faint glow from the cracked apartment window on the second floor confirmed it—this was the place. Without hesitation, she crossed the street and began climbing the creaking stairs.
Knock, knock, knock.
Eraser leaned against the cracked plaster wall of his dingy apartment, one leg casually crossed over the other. The faint yellow light from a flickering bulb overhead cast long shadows across the cluttered room. A half-smoked cigarette burned idly in an ashtray perched on the edge of a rickety table, its tendrils of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.
The sound of knuckles on wood snapped him out of his bored trance. He glanced toward the door but didn’t move. His lips curled into a smirk. He already had a pretty good idea who it was.
Stretching his arms over his head, he strolled over to the window, parting the threadbare curtain with two fingers. Sure enough, there she was: a small, blue figure standing on the stoop, barely visible in the dim streetlight outside, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Well, I’ll be," he muttered, chuckling softly to himself.
He walked to the door and yanked it open with a dramatic flourish.
"Well, hello there, Silent Assassin," Eraser greeted, his grin widening as he leaned casually against the doorframe.
The figure on his doorstep, a sleek teardrop with an unreadable expression, didn’t react to his teasing tone. Instead, she raised one hand, forming her fingers into the unmistakable shape of a gun.
"Ahhh," Eraser said knowingly, stepping aside to let her in. "You need weapons?"
She gave him a single, sharp nod, her gaze fixed on him like a hawk sizing up its prey.
"Well, you’ve come to the right guy," Eraser said with a laugh, shutting the door behind her.
Inside, his cramped, dimly lit apartment was a mess, cluttered with crates of stolen merchandise, scattered blueprints, and half-finished gadgets. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air—likely from his latest botched deal.
"Don't mind the mess," he said, kicking a stack of papers out of the way. "You want the usual? Or are we talking special order tonight?"
Teardrop crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. Her piercing gaze seemed to cut through his casual demeanor.
"Special order it is," Eraser muttered, scratching the back of his head. He watched as Teardrop reached into her satchel and pulled out her old ray gun, its once-vibrant purple finish now dulled and scuffed. The weapon bore clear signs of heavy use: scorch marks, dents, and a small crack near the trigger. She placed it on the table with a deliberate motion, her expression betraying a faint hint of frustration.
"Ah, I see," Eraser said, picking up the ray gun and turning it over in his hands. "This ol’ thing’s been through the wringer, huh? Can’t blame you for wanting something new, but I’m guessing you’re not ready to part with it yet."
Teardrop gave a curt nod, her gaze unwavering.
"Figures," he muttered. "You and this piece’ve been through a lot, huh? Alright, leave it with me. I’ll fix it up, but you’ll have to use a loaner in the meantime. Got just the thing for you."
He strode over to a locked cabinet in the corner, pulling a key from his pocket. With a click, he swung the doors open, revealing an arsenal of weapons: knives, pistols, grenades, and custom-made gadgets. Among them was a sleek black case that he pulled out with a flourish.
"This," he said, opening the case to reveal a modified ray gun with an iridescent finish, "is state-of-the-art. Compact, silent, and packs one hell of a punch. It’s not your trusty purple sidekick, but it’ll do until I patch her up."
Teardrop stepped closer, inspecting the new weapon. She picked it up, testing the weight and balance in her hand. Her movements were precise and practiced, her expression softening ever so slightly as she gave a nod of approval.
"Thought so," Eraser said with a grin. He leaned back against the cabinet, folding his arms. "Now, what’s the job? You usually don’t bother with upgrades unless you’ve got something big lined up."
Teardrop raised her other hand, mimicking a gesture like a gun firing. Then, she pointed to her chest and spread her arms wide.
"You’re taking down a group," Eraser interpreted. "Interesting. Anyone I know?"
Teardrop reached into a pouch on her tail and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Eraser, who opened it and let out a low whistle.
"Them? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that."
The paper bore a crude sketch of a pencil and the name "FreeSmart" scrawled underneath.
"Pencil’s gang, huh?" Eraser said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn’t peg you as the type to tango with her crowd. They’ve got numbers, resources, and a serious mean streak. You sure about this?"
Teardrop’s steely glare was all the answer he needed.
"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands. "But if you’re going after FreeSmart, you’re gonna need more than just a fancy ray gun. I’ve got a few...extras that might come in handy. For a price, of course."
Teardrop held up three fingers and tapped her wrist—signaling she didn’t have time to haggle.
"Fine, fine. No freebies, though," Eraser muttered. He handed her a small pouch filled with glowing capsules. "These are plasma charges. Pop one into that gun if you want to crank the firepower to eleven. Oh, and this..."
He reached into the case again, pulling out a sleek black wristband. "Prototype cloaking device. Good for about five minutes of invisibility. Stole the blueprint from the bozo-brain. Should help you get in and out without drawing too much attention. Try not to break it—took me forever to decipher Golf Ball's handwriting. Or, rather, footwriting. I'm sure as hell not doing that again."
Teardrop took the items, slipping the wristband onto her arm. She gave a small nod of gratitude before heading toward the door.
"Hey," Eraser called after her, his voice unusually serious. "Be careful, alright? Pencil’s got eyes everywhere. You get in over your head, don’t expect anyone to pull you out."
Teardrop turned back for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a flick of her fingers—mimicking the motion of a wave—she was gone.
As the door closed behind her, Eraser let out a long sigh. "Crazy droplet," he muttered, shaking his head. "Hope she knows what she’s doing."
Outside, Teardrop melted into the shadows, her new weapon humming faintly at her side. The night stretched before her, dark and full of danger—but she was ready.
FreeSmart wouldn’t know what hit them.