Witnesses

Chapter 2

Samuel Hawthorne was not in a good mood today.

It wasn't anything new–to be honest, the events of the past few days, (or weeks, or months, he had no idea what multiversal time was) hadn't exactly made him the happiest man in the Tower. In fact, he was honestly considering taking his chances and leaving if it meant escaping the man right in front of him.

Blackwater was out cold on the mattress, snoring loudly as drool leaked from his mouth. The stench coming from him made Hawthorne wrinkle his nose as he got a whiff. How long had it been since he'd last showered? Did he even try to stay clean on his last run out? Whatever the case, it was clear that his room wasn't much better, with cleaning equipment and bottles littered about, as if he'd been called away while he was doing something.

Still, that's no excuse for this state. Hawthorne sneered. Seriously, he may have just come back from a job, but from what I've seen, when you're ordered to do something, you freshen up and do it. Not sleep in for a few hours.

He took out a deck of cards from his coat. They were nothing fancy to look at, just a used set of cards, but Hawthorne had been using them for a long time, and as he shuffled, he took care not to bend any. As he took out a card from the deck, he grinned. Two of hearts. It wasn't as good as he was hoping for, but still, this was going to be fun.

He tossed it up into the air, and instead of falling back to the ground, it remained there. He chuckled. He doubted he was allowed to do this under normal circumstances, but still, he was going to enjoy what came next.

The card burst into a bright red light, and Hawthorne covered his ears as a loud BOOM filled the air. He bit back the urge to laugh as he saw Miles shoot to his feet instantly, gun in his hand as he looked around wildly, until finally settling on him. "You son of a bitch."

"Me?" Hawthorne scoffed. "You were the one who decided to sleep in instead of freshening up. They just sent me to wake you up."

"I see," Miles returned as he looked Hawthorne up and down. "Then tell me, does that have anything to do with your stupid getup?"

"No." Sam snapped defensively. He was wearing the clothing of a magician, a red frock, white gloves, complete with a top hat. "It's because they placed me under you, smartass."

"Unfortunately," The gunslinger muttered. He turned to the bathroom. "Let me freshen up then. I doubt that he'll want me stinking up his office."

"In that case, I'll wait for you," Hawthorne replied with a light grin. "Just to make sure you don't fall asleep again."

Miles stared at him incredulously for a moment, before finally stalking off. "Asshole."

"It's not being an asshole when you have a job to do!" Hawthorne called out after him, then chuckled as the other man groaned. Even if Miles was in charge, damn if he wasn't going to enjoy messing with him. It wasn't like the magician couldn't get out of trouble easily.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Miles finished showering, exiting the bathroom freshly dressed. He didn't spare Hawthorne a glance as he threw on his duster, then slid his revolvers into their holsters. "Let's go."

"Finally," Sam muttered as they walked out of the room. He let Blackwater lead the way as they made their way to the office. It may have been a month, but these hallways were still peculiar to him. Better to let the senior lead.

After a quick ride up using the elevator, the two found themselves in the office area. It was fairly unassuming, a white hall with black doors leading into each office. A glass panel bearing the names of the owners was embedded into each door, and eventually, they stopped in front of one particular plaque, reading T.S Miller.