11 years, 82 days before The Incident – 1843H
District 11 Backstreets
Site of the Smoke Wars skirmish
It was unusual for Magister Office to operate outside of the Nests, where the wealthiest clients lived, but the higher ups did not want unproven recruits to ‘fuck it up’ with regular clientele, and therefore maintained a stash of ‘lower-stake’ assignments for its younger Fixers. They liked to depict it as charity, but the truth was that they were doing it because it benefited them to do so. Likewise, even the soldiers and mercenaries of the Smoke Wars knew to avoid fighting too close to the Nests, because to damage them could bring in the anger of the Wing managing it, which could risk bringing them into the conflict on either side.
In this case, the Wing that took care of District 11’s Nest was K-Corp, which was known for two things: Providing the amounts of food that the City’s enormous population needed to survive despite having only a minuscule fraction of the land that would be necessary to do so without their Singularity, as well as a substance that induced extremely high-speed regeneration. This would be a massive boon to either side’s forces, which meant that both were more than reluctant to risk displeasing K-Corp and seeing their ‘healing ampoules’ suddenly supplying the enemy.
Right now though, K-Corp was a non-factor in the mess that Lian found herself in. A local Fixer office and equally low-level Tailor workshop, which had seen their buildings heavily damaged by the skirmish and some personnel killed, were now under assault by a local Syndicate. None of their names were familiar to her, let alone their faces or stories; their goals or hardships. It was just the blind violence that the City saw on a daily basis. It was just the vultures preying on the weakened.
“Damnit, if only Operator Jang was--” One of the local Fixers began in a frustrated manner. He carried a simple sword and a plain trench coat which Lian could nonetheless identify as a low level fabric. Combat-grade fabric was, for a lack of better word, ‘enchanted’ and capable of providing much more protection than simple clothes, like concealed armor. It was for that reason that good Tailors were in high demand, and more importantly, it was probably why the Syndycate was here. They wanted to loot every piece of protective fabrics still owned by that half-destroyed Tailor workshop, and nab all other enhanced weapons and accessories that the weakened Fixer office still had while they were at it.
“Cry out as much as you want, your boss won’t come to save your asses!” One of the Syndicate members interrupted the Fixer with a cruel tone, following it up with a sadistic laugh. The vultures seemed to be having the time of their life, savoring their apparent victory over what was probably a long-time rival. The Fixers were definitely on the back foot, with most already injured, though whether said injuries were from the Smoke Wars’ skirmish or this current attack, there was no way to tell. They looked to be roughly Grade 8, maybe a few Grade 7 among them.
They were outnumbered and bleeding out, though, and the Syndicate seemed to be moving in for the kill; hooded figures with a disparate mix of weapons; swords, machetes, claws, knuckle dusters, one or two even looked more like torture implements than actual weapons. “Alright, enough playing around boys!” A particularly big and muscular member with visible tattoos around his neck and wrists howled out before beginning to dash forward, soon followed by the others.
Normally, this wouldn’t be her problem, and it was frowned upon for Fixers to take ‘pro-bono’ jobs outside of their legally-binding contracts. There was just one tiny complications here.
That, was the clients.
‘Chargebreaker,
A powerful retort of gunfire resounded, accompanied by a bright muzzle flash. Smoke fizzed out of the brass-gilded barrel as the combat shotgun held in Lian’s right hand was still trained, having fired a single slug which floored the large Syndicate member in an instant, dropping him to his knees. Both sides stopped whatever they were doing and looked for the source of the sound with a mix of shock and awe. Firearms were relatively rare in the City, partially because the Head levied enormous taxes on every bullet, which restricted their use to the most wealthy or influential – or the most desperate. They were virtually unheard of at this ‘level’.
It didn’t take long for them to find said source as Yue walked closer at a measured, guarded pace. Her shotgun returned to her back, while in its place, she drew out the black mace from her hips. Travel expenses didn’t cover bullets, so one would have to be enough for ‘charity’. As she did, the locals seemed to snap out of their sudden stupor, as if woken up by a loud snap of the fingers. “Eun-woo is down! Counter-charge! For Jang! For Bullhorn Office!” A wounded blond Fixer shouted, rallying the others to fight.
Meanwhile, on the other side, the Syndicate members’ own enthusiasm had been doused as if by a cold shower. “Wait, white clothes, black weapon, it couldn’t be..” One observed with hesitation, only to be shaken off by another nearby. “Don’t be ridiculous, they’d never have time for small fry like us. We’ll be able to take care of whoever that is after we finish off those Bullhorn assholes.” The Syndicate member attempted to preserve a strong front, but the loss of their apparent leader had still disturbed them.
The white one moved first, her black mace jolting faintly with electricity as it slammed into the guts of the nearest Syndicate member, who spasmed slightly and dropped his machete. The boy was even younger than herself, though whether he had been forced to a life of crime by circumstances, or genuinely enjoyed the wickedness like the others? She would never know. She didn’t have time to ask, and she would most likely never see him again.
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Weapons clashed as Fixers and Syndicates fought with no quarters given nor asked. There was little doubt in the Fixers’ mind that a quick death was better than what many Syndicates had in mind for their law-enforcing rivals, while conversely most Syndicates had little hope to be treated in a gentle way, especially those who had conducted themselves with wanton brutality. Prisons were not really a thing in the City. One either lived or died by the strength of their convictions, force of arm, and resources. Some former villains could reform, while heroes could fall from grace, but only strength in one form or another guaranteed it to be a ‘safe’ transition.
Before long though, the Syndicate was bloodily repulsed, giving another day of reprieve to the Fixers of Bullhorn Office and their Tailor neighbors. There would however more likely than not be others sooner than later, so they ought try to make a quick recovery. Lian hoped for their sake that this ‘Jang’ of theirs – their own leader no doubt – was only mildly wounded rather than dead. With some luck, maybe they could even get their hands on one of K-Corp’s ‘ampoules’. This was, however, all completely beyond the scope of what she could do. She had done everything she could for them.
Now she had a job to do. “Lian Yue of Magister Office. Here on behalf of Crewel Workshop.” The young woman introduced herself before the gathered crowd in an initially formal and proper (stern) manner, only to then soften slightly. “You.. weren’t contracted for protection work, but I’ll.. ‘forget’ to mention the presence of those rascals in my report.” She offered with a sheepish smile. Not technically a promise.. but she hoped she could keep it nonetheless. As long as they didn’t return for a second go.
The statement immediately caused a wave of relief. It would not have been uncommon for less scrupulous Offices to take advantage of the situation to slap on ‘extra fees’, and those extra fees could sometimes be used if not on purpose then as part of credit schemes to force the client-turned-victim into a relationship of subservience that they could never easily get out of. In the City, the saying ‘money is power’ held ever more true when money could buy various items and augmentation procedures that literally made people stronger, faster, sharper.
Still, the time for violence and paranoia was past, at least from Lian’s point of view. There was more than enough violence going on in the City on a daily basis, so Lian enjoyed being able to resolve problems in a proper, diplomatic manner. This was the nature of Fixers after all, and where their name came from. Fixers solved problems, of varied natures, and in varied ways, which ranged from physical protection to legal advice. She had come for the latter, though the nature of the Backstreets had made the former almost unavoidable...
Entering the half-ruined remains of Crewel Workshop’s installations, Lian took in stock of the damages, as well as inventory of the wares. She spoke at length with the manager and got an accurate picture of what the Tailors could do, their financial situation, and their options. By the time she was done with that, a long time had passed, and it was time to retreat to a shelter. The Night in the Backstreets was a time of fear, for creatures not truly humans roamed the streets, and of those who had been stuck outside... nothing would be found by sunrise.
Of the next few days, Lian would have to spend most of her time reading through documentation and contracts, to know the exact details of the binding agreements between the workshop and various others; suppliers, clients, creditors, etc. While some others might have made a decision on what simply ‘felt fair’ in the moment – especially for such a second-rate job – she still took it very seriously, and endeavored to perform beyond any reproach.
As mediators, Magister Office’s rulings had force of law between the contracting parties, but should a ruling fail to be fair, nothing stopped the parties from violating the agreement save the threat of reprisal by enforcement squads. In more likely scenarios, unsatisfied parties would scheme and ruse to shirk their obligations by indirect, more subtle ways, which were harder to detect and more annoying to prove. Lian, though, was of the mindset that if she just did as good a job as could be from the start, the odds of that happening in the first place... well they were never zero, people would always be selfish, but at least they would be diminished.
Another reason why the young Fixer took her job so seriously was because she was not in it for the money. She treated it as valuable experience that could help her accomplish more. Specifically, she had the ambition of taking the examinations that all prospective candidates wanting to work for a Wing needed to undertake to determine their qualifications and suitability. By managing to become a member of the Wing of her District, she believed she could achieve almost any goal. This, too might have been hopelessly naive, but hope was what kept people moving forward.
The examinations varied from Wing to Wing and District to District, but if they had one thing in common it was that they were universally exacting. Only the absolute best of the best were selected for the jobs, and given the informal title of ‘Feathers’, in line with the imagery of their name, for a Wing was nothing without its Feathers. At least in theory. Sometimes, the exact criteria which a Wing used to select its candidates were not clear and left many confused, but universally, they left far more disappointed. It was partially for that reason that Yue left no stones unturned. Everything was preparations.
Speaking of unturned stones, as she went back the next day and assessed the workshop again, Lian found something that had been missed the first time around. It was a strange brochure speaking of ‘Soul Healing’ and ‘the disease of the mind’. When presented with it, the workshop manager shrugged, claiming to have never seen it before and suggesting that perhaps it had belonged to the previous owners before they set up in the building.
She... was not convinced. The timeline from the documents she had examined did not add up and the leaflet did not look old enough to be from that long ago. Ultimately, this thing was irrelevant snake oil with no bearing on the case, so Lian did not make too much of it, but the fact that she was presumably lied to about it was most intriguing, and somewhat concerning. It wouldn’t change the outcome of her job here, but it would nag at the back of her mind. Enough so for her to bring back the leaflet, for future study.
Frankly, this should have been an absolute nothing, not even worth her attention. Con artists were present by the thousands in the City and peddled whatever they could dream of. On the surface, this looked no different, but something within her told her there was more to it. Her instinct told her so. What exactly? She had no idea yet...
