John was at the tail end of the group. The shed had been practically blown to smithereens, the welded metal cracked open at the seams. Only the fuse box was unharmed, either by a miracle or by arcane wards. Running past, John rapidly descended the stairs.
The workshop resembled a scene from a war movie. The case that Jimmie had stored his suit in was curled open like a dried-up flower petal. Explosive force had cracked it wide open, disintegrated much of the edges, then swept through the surrounding room. The metal scrap and projects that now were metal scrap all had been pushed to the walls by the shockwaves, then partly drawn back to the centre by the rebound. Rather than the smell of gunpowder and dust, the air was filled with an electric stench and a blue-purple mist. An occasional crackle arched.
‘Arcano-tech – a small mistake and BOOM!’ John remembered what Jimmie had said back then. At the time Jimmie had been very confident about his skills to handle the machine. The destruction in front of him made John ask himself if that kind of attitude could even be allowed when tinkering with something this dangerous.
Searching for Jimmie wasn’t necessary. Travolta had long since spotted him, tossing pieces of metal aside until he could pull the mechanic out from under them. Pieces of his suit were still on him, until Travolta pulled them off. Jimmie must have worked on them until the very last moment.
“Jimmie, hey!” Travolta shook his housemate’s shoulder. No reaction from the mechanic. Rave stood a few metres back, a hand hiding her mouth. Concern was plainly visible on her face and there was every reason to be fearful. Pieces of metal turned shrapnel had embedded themselves in Jimmie’s chest. Worst was a wound to the head, however. “Fuck…” Travolta took his pulse, then grunted with the mildest bit of relief. “He’s alive. We just need to get him out of here!”
‘Right, Gaia fixes injuries on exit,’ John reminded himself.
Travolta lost no time and picked up his friend. The way this barrier was constructed, all he needed to do was get him to the edge and run out. Abductors extracted unconscious people from Illusion Barriers all the time. At least John was told as much.
Prioritizing speed over comfort, Travolta tossed Jimmie over his shoulder like he was a sack of hot potatoes. Then he ran back up the way he had come. Before following, John took stock of the room one more time. The epicentre of it all had been the suit storage, there was no doubt about it.
By the time John caught up with Travolta, the large man had put Jimmie down against the wall in the alleyway. Even the clothes were put back in a presentable state. No injuries remained, but the eyes stayed closed and the skin pale from the blood loss. Gaia did not undo all damage. “Come on, buddy,” Travolta growled, as if he could scare the unconsciousness out of the mechanic. “You’ve been through worse.”
John spotted movement at the end of the alley and immediately raised his head. Victoria, in her usual clothes, had turned the corner. For a moment, it looked like she would go back the way she came, then she instead strutted up to them. “What is going on?” She took one glance at Jimmie, then stared at Travolta, wide-eyed.
“The workshop exploded,” Travolta responded, still busy inspecting his friend. “We got him out of there, that healed his wounds but he’s still unconscious.”
John used Observe in the vain hope that it might reveal something.
It was indeed a vain hope.
“Fucking dammit.” Travolta cursed. “If only I had some more of that stuff.”
“Stuff?” Rave asked.
“…I’ve made an elixir, of sorts – not important,” Travolta dodged the question. Was he referring to the blood of Thana? Was he unaware that was the name or simply unwilling to tell them? Was John misguided on all this and it was just an elixir of sorts? Either way this wasn’t the time.
Victoria disagreed. “And you are sure you have nothing of that stuff left? It sounds like it could help him.”
“Yes,” Travolta barked.
“Really?”
“YES!” Travolta shouted. “You think I’d hesitate to help my friend, brat?! Don’t fucking question me. Not after I offered you shelter!”
They stared at each other, until Victoria slowly nodded her head. “He’s not waking up, Travolta,” Rave threw in eventually. “We have to call the Apothecaries.”
“Fuck. Yes. Do it,” Travolta gave the order, still kneeling next to the mechanic. It was doubtful that Jimmie heard anything, but the guild leader still mumbled encouraging little things.
“Ambulance will be here in 10 minutes,” Rave reported.
It was a dreadful wait. Mundane, yet more nerve wracking than most things John had done since entering the Abyss. When the ambulance came, two men hastened down the alleyway with a stretcher. A third approached them, a muscular young man, a few years older than John, with short brown hair and brown eyes. “Hey, I’m Herman,” he introduced himself in a solemn tone and offered a calming handshake to everyone. When the offer wasn’t taken by anyone, he just smoothly moved on. “We’ll see to it that your friend gets the help he needs, you have my word.”
“For the money we’ll pay you-“ Travolta began.
“I know Apothecaries have an ill reputation – and with good reason in some cases,” Herman interrupted and tried his best at a calming smile. “You have my personal promise we will worry about his health first and the payment second. To the point: can you tell me what happened? It’d make the diagnosis a bit smoother.” They gave him the quick rundown. “Sounds like we will have to deal with a typical case of arcane poisoning.”
“What’s that?” Travolta asked.
“Working with the kind of arcano-tech that requires direct interfacing requires the body to go through some changes. Particles of mana are injected into the body, utilizing the same arcane frequency as the crystals that power the artifice. When a particularly intense ripple of arcane energy washes over people that have modified themselves this way, the residue in the bloodstream changes into something harmful. The good news is that this is a fairly standard workplace injury – even if this case is more severe than usual. We should have him stabilized in no time.” Herman looked at them in turn, eyes lingering on John for a second, before staying on Travolta. “I would suggest you accompany me to the hospital. I might have further questions about the circumstances.”
Travolta nodded and followed Herman back to the ambulance, leaving John, Rave, Aclysia and Victoria standing where they were. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone!” Travolta stated, then he was off.
“We really shouldn’t,” John said and scratched the back of his head.
“Poor Jim,” Rave mumbled. “…Guess we’re going to your place?”
“Yeah,” John said and turned to Aclysia to see how she was dealing with this. He felt a mildly ambivalent confusion from her. That was better than most alternatives. “What will you do?” he asked Victoria.
The gunslinger shot him a glance, “I don’t know,” she responded and walked away.
‘Must be shaking her harder than she is letting on,’ the Gamer considered, then shook his head. The trio followed Victoria out of the alleyway, then went their own way. After an hour of lounging around in a tense mood, Rave got a call.
“Jimmie is stable,” Travolta gave the good news first. “Out for four days, roughly, but they’ll patch him at a discount because of all the work he does around here.”
“That’s good,” Rave commented, relieved.
“It’s weird though…” Travolta mumbled.
“What is?”
“Jimmie didn’t screw up once in the years I knew him. Not – once,” Travolta stated. “And now he has a fuck up of this proportion?”
“Everyone got a bad day, Travolta,” Rave responded, “and one bad day is all it takes when you’re working with mana crystals.”
“Perhaps… I’ll look into this.” The click of the phone made it clear that the conversation was over.
“Man, major bummer… and we were having such a good run,” Rave grumbled and tossed her head back into his lap. “Ya need more meat on these thighs, it's like a pillow made of bone.”
“And still you lay there…” John’s joke was half-hearted. “Jimmie will be fine, right?”
“The Apothecaries got him – as a customer. That’s as reassuring as it gets.”
“Guess we'll just… enjoy our day then?” John tried. It was difficult to change back into regular mode after what had happened. After another hour and a good selection of videos, they managed though.
John was at the tail end of the group. The shed had been practically blown to smithereens, the welded metal cracked open at the seams. Only the fuse box was unharmed, either by a miracle or by arcane wards. Running past, John rapidly descended the stairs.
The workshop resembled a scene from a war movie. The case that Jimmie had stored his suit in was curled open like a dried-up flower petal. Explosive force had cracked it wide open, disintegrated much of the edges, then swept through the surrounding room. The metal scrap and projects that now were metal scrap all had been pushed to the walls by the shockwaves, then partly drawn back to the centre by the rebound. Rather than the smell of gunpowder and dust, the air was filled with an electric stench and a blue-purple mist. An occasional crackle arched.
‘Arcano-tech – a small mistake and BOOM!’ John remembered what Jimmie had said back then. At the time Jimmie had been very confident about his skills to handle the machine. The destruction in front of him made John ask himself if that kind of attitude could even be allowed when tinkering with something this dangerous.
Searching for Jimmie wasn’t necessary. Travolta had long since spotted him, tossing pieces of metal aside until he could pull the mechanic out from under them. Pieces of his suit were still on him, until Travolta pulled them off. Jimmie must have worked on them until the very last moment.
“Jimmie, hey!” Travolta shook his housemate’s shoulder. No reaction from the mechanic. Rave stood a few metres back, a hand hiding her mouth. Concern was plainly visible on her face and there was every reason to be fearful. Pieces of metal turned shrapnel had embedded themselves in Jimmie’s chest. Worst was a wound to the head, however. “Fuck…” Travolta took his pulse, then grunted with the mildest bit of relief. “He’s alive. We just need to get him out of here!”
‘Right, Gaia fixes injuries on exit,’ John reminded himself.
Travolta lost no time and picked up his friend. The way this barrier was constructed, all he needed to do was get him to the edge and run out. Abductors extracted unconscious people from Illusion Barriers all the time. At least John was told as much.
Prioritizing speed over comfort, Travolta tossed Jimmie over his shoulder like he was a sack of hot potatoes. Then he ran back up the way he had come. Before following, John took stock of the room one more time. The epicentre of it all had been the suit storage, there was no doubt about it.
By the time John caught up with Travolta, the large man had put Jimmie down against the wall in the alleyway. Even the clothes were put back in a presentable state. No injuries remained, but the eyes stayed closed and the skin pale from the blood loss. Gaia did not undo all damage. “Come on, buddy,” Travolta growled, as if he could scare the unconsciousness out of the mechanic. “You’ve been through worse.”
John spotted movement at the end of the alley and immediately raised his head. Victoria, in her usual clothes, had turned the corner. For a moment, it looked like she would go back the way she came, then she instead strutted up to them. “What is going on?” She took one glance at Jimmie, then stared at Travolta, wide-eyed.
“The workshop exploded,” Travolta responded, still busy inspecting his friend. “We got him out of there, that healed his wounds but he’s still unconscious.”
John used Observe in the vain hope that it might reveal something.
It was indeed a vain hope.
“Fucking dammit.” Travolta cursed. “If only I had some more of that stuff.”
“Stuff?” Rave asked.
“…I’ve made an elixir, of sorts – not important,” Travolta dodged the question. Was he referring to the blood of Thana? Was he unaware that was the name or simply unwilling to tell them? Was John misguided on all this and it was just an elixir of sorts? Either way this wasn’t the time.
Victoria disagreed. “And you are sure you have nothing of that stuff left? It sounds like it could help him.”
“Yes,” Travolta barked.
“Really?”
“YES!” Travolta shouted. “You think I’d hesitate to help my friend, brat?! Don’t fucking question me. Not after I offered you shelter!”
They stared at each other, until Victoria slowly nodded her head. “He’s not waking up, Travolta,” Rave threw in eventually. “We have to call the Apothecaries.”
“Fuck. Yes. Do it,” Travolta gave the order, still kneeling next to the mechanic. It was doubtful that Jimmie heard anything, but the guild leader still mumbled encouraging little things.
“Ambulance will be here in 10 minutes,” Rave reported.
It was a dreadful wait. Mundane, yet more nerve wracking than most things John had done since entering the Abyss. When the ambulance came, two men hastened down the alleyway with a stretcher. A third approached them, a muscular young man, a few years older than John, with short brown hair and brown eyes. “Hey, I’m Herman,” he introduced himself in a solemn tone and offered a calming handshake to everyone. When the offer wasn’t taken by anyone, he just smoothly moved on. “We’ll see to it that your friend gets the help he needs, you have my word.”
“For the money we’ll pay you-“ Travolta began.
“I know Apothecaries have an ill reputation – and with good reason in some cases,” Herman interrupted and tried his best at a calming smile. “You have my personal promise we will worry about his health first and the payment second. To the point: can you tell me what happened? It’d make the diagnosis a bit smoother.” They gave him the quick rundown. “Sounds like we will have to deal with a typical case of arcane poisoning.”
“What’s that?” Travolta asked.
“Working with the kind of arcano-tech that requires direct interfacing requires the body to go through some changes. Particles of mana are injected into the body, utilizing the same arcane frequency as the crystals that power the artifice. When a particularly intense ripple of arcane energy washes over people that have modified themselves this way, the residue in the bloodstream changes into something harmful. The good news is that this is a fairly standard workplace injury – even if this case is more severe than usual. We should have him stabilized in no time.” Herman looked at them in turn, eyes lingering on John for a second, before staying on Travolta. “I would suggest you accompany me to the hospital. I might have further questions about the circumstances.”
Travolta nodded and followed Herman back to the ambulance, leaving John, Rave, Aclysia and Victoria standing where they were. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone!” Travolta stated, then he was off.
“We really shouldn’t,” John said and scratched the back of his head.
“Poor Jim,” Rave mumbled. “…Guess we’re going to your place?”
“Yeah,” John said and turned to Aclysia to see how she was dealing with this. He felt a mildly ambivalent confusion from her. That was better than most alternatives. “What will you do?” he asked Victoria.
The gunslinger shot him a glance, “I don’t know,” she responded and walked away.
‘Must be shaking her harder than she is letting on,’ the Gamer considered, then shook his head. The trio followed Victoria out of the alleyway, then went their own way. After an hour of lounging around in a tense mood, Rave got a call.
“Jimmie is stable,” Travolta gave the good news first. “Out for four days, roughly, but they’ll patch him at a discount because of all the work he does around here.”
“That’s good,” Rave commented, relieved.
“It’s weird though…” Travolta mumbled.
“What is?”
“Jimmie didn’t screw up once in the years I knew him. Not – once,” Travolta stated. “And now he has a fuck up of this proportion?”
“Everyone got a bad day, Travolta,” Rave responded, “and one bad day is all it takes when you’re working with mana crystals.”
“Perhaps… I’ll look into this.” The click of the phone made it clear that the conversation was over.
“Man, major bummer… and we were having such a good run,” Rave grumbled and tossed her head back into his lap. “Ya need more meat on these thighs, it's like a pillow made of bone.”
“And still you lay there…” John’s joke was half-hearted. “Jimmie will be fine, right?”
“The Apothecaries got him – as a customer. That’s as reassuring as it gets.”
“Guess we'll just… enjoy our day then?” John tried. It was difficult to change back into regular mode after what had happened. After another hour and a good selection of videos, they managed though.
