Machinae mundi

ix. fragile recollections

IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN.

Mori stood between Ren and Argent, shivering in the cold. He'd woken up sometime later to find Ren and Argent deep in conversation. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but the thin daylight had faded to early morning. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness for a few hours, trying to follow their conversation. He'd heard a name mentioned a few times — Bashko — and references to a library, certain timepieces.

He'd woken again with the dawn, feeling much more refreshed. The events of the night before felt like a fever dream, hot and fuzzy and intense. Not long after, they'd left Argent's house and onto the streets of Dysis, their feet squelching through the half-melted slush.

Now they stood in front of a brick warehouse, snowflakes settling on their clothes.

"Sure this is the place?" Ren said, rubbing her hands together.

Argent glanced at her and smiled. "Have a little faith in me, Ren."

He took a small pocket watch from his pocket and pressed it to the bolted door of the warehouse. He motioned for them to step back. A second later, a small explosion blew off the lock. It clattered to the floor with a heavy thunk.

"Alright." Argent flipped the latch open and eased the door open. "A word of warning — these guys can be a little...territorial. Stay on your guard."

Argent pushed the door open and stepped inside. Ren followed, with Mori bringing up the rear, gripping a crowbar.

He stepped inside and the smell hit him first: the sickly stench of blood, bitter dust and something sharp and electric that made him flinch. A second later his eyes accustomed to the gloom and he saw the silhouettes strewn across the floor.

"What the..." he murmured.

It looked like a hurricane had ripped through the warehouse. Books and scorched papers littered the floor. Bookcases upended, shelves dangling from the brick walls. Tables and chairs were scattered over the concrete, tipped onto their sides, legs shattered. And whatever had done this had left its victims behind. Mori counted twelve bodies — sturdy, well-muscled men dressed in tailored dark suits. None moving.

Argent rubbed his head, brows knitted together. "Hmm. Not quite what I expected..."

"You were saying something about faith?" Ren said.

"How was I supposed to know this was going to happen?" Argent bent to pick one of the books. The scorched cover crumbled in his grip, along with several of the pages. "Well, check the things left behind. Perhaps we'll strike lucky."

Ren nodded and headed off to the back of the warehouse.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Mori asked.

Argent shrugged. "At this point, anything legible."

Mori wandered the room, picking at A groan drifted up from the ground. Mori jumped. His eyes followed the noise, landing on the figure of a man just ahead. Mori crept over, stepping over the lifeless forms of his companions with a shudder.

Mori looked down at the man, avoiding the puddle of blood spreading from his body. For a moment he lay unmoving, but then a breath wheezed from between his lips.

"He's still alive," Mori said.

Ren and Argent came over. Argent crouched beside him, withdrawing a timepiece from his pocket. The man's gaze flicked to the pocket watch, undisguised apprehension in his eyes.