"I don't get why you'd— why a Herald would take on debt for me. Are Icons that big of a deal?"
With a ding the elevator opened on the second floor, and we maneuvered past a variety of offices. "Keep your head on straight. We aren't saints, nor are we heroes. Just like the boss said, if you can quell your Id, you become a serious asset to us."
"Right." I took a deep breath and focused on the task ahead. The armory was a large room, with racks of dress clothes alongside other clothing accessories on one wall, while the other was more what I'd expected from an armory. Well-lit rows of semi-antique firearms, thin armor plates and various close quarters weapons adorned the various fixtures.
The guns made from sleek almost black metal, with carved wooden handles and adorned with patterns of gears. From revolvers, tommy guns, long arm rifles and shotguns to slightly more modern simple handguns— they had them all. The occasional few had small turquoise canisters attached to the sides or worked into the handles, strongly juxtaposing the dated feel.
Johnny strode up to the wall, grabbed a pistol, and placed it firmly in my open hand. "Ever used one of these before?"
His words faded as I started down at the deadly weapon, my heart pounding in my ears as other sounds faded away. The gun rattled in my hand, sweat slicking the handle. The realization finally dawned on me that my hands could soon be stained with blood settled on my shoulders like an oppressive vice. Finally, I swallowed my fear and gripped it with white knuckles. "No."
Johnny sighed. "Something simpler then." He plucked it from my hand, depositing a simple combat knife in a leather sheath instead. "Leave any fighting to me, alright?"
I nodded, unsheathing it slightly. Its dark gunmetal gray steel was engraved with light gray gears, a design motif that covered every inch of the knife in some way. "What's with the gears?" I asked as I slid it back into safekeeping.
"Made by one of our fellow members of the Yore Consortium, the Efflux Emporium." Seeing my confusion, he waved dismissively. "Just… don't worry about it. Grab some clothes and change in there." He gestured to a door labeled "Men's."
I nodded, walking over to the wall of monochromatic clothing as I racked my brain for my size. It had been a while since I had new clothes… sorrow seeped through me like a cold drizzle as I randomly picked things that looked like they'd fit.
Stepping through the door, I was met with the sound of running water, polished tile floors, banks of showers, toilets, and changing rooms. Excitement crept into my heart as I dropped the clothes in a changing room and shut the door, entering a shower stall a moment later.
Watching the steamy water peel away the layers of dirt and sweat felt as if I was shedding old skin, reborn in a warm embrace. The trails of heated liquid seemed to purge the cold sadness nestled deep in my pores. With my shower done, I wrapped myself in a towel, dried my hair, and stepped back into the changing room. Clad in my new attire, I couldn't help but gawk at the full-length mirror.
It truly was as if I'd been reborn.
My skin was clean, my once disheveled hair now just messy, and even the bags beneath my eyes looked slightly less pronounced. I was now dressed in sharp black pants, black leather shoes, a black belt, black Y back suspenders, and a white shirt with a slick fedora.
As I stepped up to the door, I stopped before the trash can, old raggedy clothing in hand. A part of me held me back from throwing them out, even though I knew it was unlikely the Polaroid Office would ask me to give them back their clothes. Thank you for all your work, Mom.
I dropped the clothes in the bin and came face to face with Johnny again. He gave me a nod and a smile. "Looking sharp." Then, he tapped the counter next to him, taking a puff of a cigarette. "Clip the knife onto your belt."
"Thanks." With great difficulty and tentative hands, I affixed it to my belt, double checking that the safety strap was secured over the top.
Johnny glanced down at the knife, then back up at me. "Shall we get a move on then?"
I returned a nod, and we were off toward the elevators again. As we walked, I asked the first question that came to mind. "Why was the Detective worried about the Venerated? Are we going to be alright?"
Johnny chuckled. "You'll be fine. You handled the Detective without making a fool of yourself."
I frowned slightly, flashes of recent events playing through my mind. "You're right…" I murmured. How have I been so… calm?
Johnny cast me a sidelong glance before stepping up and hitting the button to open the elevator. We entered and rode down in silence. The receptionist bid us farewell and good luck on our way out, and finally we returned to the open streets.
As soon as we entered the open air, color streamed back to my body, painting me back into reality. The orange sunlight of a new dawn peaked through the buildings, solidifying my feeling of being reborn with warm radiance. A car idled at the edge of the curb, door open and warmly lit interior waiting. An unfamiliar man with a spindly grey mustache in a simple suit stood by the door with a wide smile. "Johnny! Good to see you, old chum."
"Likewise, Edward." Johnny gave him a nod, stooping into the back of the car and gesturing for me to follow him. With a soft click, the sounds of the outside world dispersed, and we were sealed in the leather-bound, wood varnished interior.
Edward joined us a moment later, glancing at me in the mirror. "And who would you be lad?"
"Donovan. Nice to meet you."
"Well, where are we off to Johnny?"
Johnny fiddled with an unlit cigarette before stashing it again. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the door. "Transfer Station, please."
"Right away." The engine roared to life, and we pealed through the streets. I couldn't help but stare out the window, watching the streetlamps as they whizzed by. The last time I'd been in a car with my father was years and years behind me, so I made sure to savor every bit.