Tribune, a Corsair arms dealer and weaponry expert himself, Asks for Revenant's presence in his 5 star hotel in central Manhattan to deliver a status update on their shared project, along with a package in her initials.
Tribune stood alone in his office atop the Red Emperor, the city stretched out beneath him like a map. Towering glass walls framed the skyline, refracted in crimson hues as the sun bled into dusk. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of a mechanical clock embedded in the wall -- a relic among sleek surfaces. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit with methodical precision, his broad frame motionless and calm. Across the room, two chairs faced each other over a polished obsidian table, one already claimed by a half-finished glass of whiskey. The other remained empty, perfectly positioned in the soft cone of light descending from the ceiling. He did not pace. He waited.
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PLANET MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
A rare circumstance allured Revenant to the heart of Liberty, Manhattan -- and even more unusually, accompanied by Gamayun, her ever-silent, ever-fierce protégé. The dark city skyline was alive with buzzing energy; trams and small craft streaked light trails across the horizon in a spectacle of artificial brilliance. Manhattan: the capital of vanity, greed, and ambition. It had everything.
But this wasn’t a pleasure trip. Revenant came with purpose. Disguised under her Kusarian persona, she entered the building with Gamayun, presenting a secure access pass to the reception desk. A key word to accompany her imminent arrival.
They approached the elevator, ascending in silence.
Midway through the elevator’s climb, Revenant staggered. Subtle, but visible. Gamayun turned, her impassive stare sharpening with the faintest glimmer of concern. Blood touched Revenant’s lip. Her hands trembled. Vision blurred. Something struck the psychic field like a needle through skin.
A rupture. Tainted. Wrong. Within a single second, dread, grief, and mortality surged like a wave. Her skin drained of warmth, her mind plunged into a void—death’s whisper brushing the edge of consciousness. One scream, echoed through eternity. A corridor with no end, filled with a singular cry repeated a million times.
As if the stars stopped breathing for a split second.
"I'm... I'm ... wh-... w-wh-"
She exhaled sharply, pressing herself against the elevator wall, her composure shattered. The color in her cheeks slowly returned. Gamayun’s expression remained unreadable--cold, calculating. She offered a tissue without a word. Revenant accepted it, wiping away the blood and tears clinging to her face.
"We can move on. I'm sorry, I don't know... what that was."
Revenant straightened her shoulders, forced steadiness into her breath. She needed this mission to go smoothly. Get the data. Get out. The relevation, whatever it may have been, can wait for another time. In her mind, she could not afford to lose focus, not right now, there was too much at stake. Time was a sensitive commodity, and it always seems to be in short supply.
Moments later, the elevator opened. Revenant emerged first, lifting her glasses with a renewed smirk, masking the unease behind a veil of confidence.
"Ahh... It’s not every day I receive such an intriguing invitation to such an exotic location. So tell me..."
She stepped forward toward the table, cutting straight to the point of her visit. Gamayun shadowed her with the briefcase in hand.
"How do matters fare? What is the status of my project?"
Revenant and her so-called “protégé” stepped into the penthouse, the soft hiss of the elevator fading into the silence of glass and gold. Before them, silhouetted by a horizon of fire-streaked clouds and distant skyways, stood Tribune -- broad-shouldered, composed, an immovable pillar against the ever-shifting skyline of central Manhattan.
He stood still, facing the window, hands clasped behind his back. The setting sun threw long shadows across the pressed concrete floor, catching the sharp lines of his tailored suit in shades of crimson and black.
"The city glows brightest," he said at last, voice deep and steady, "when it’s burning from the inside. Fascinating, isn’t it? Every tower lit with ambition, every street crawling with need. Beautiful… but brittle."
Tribune turned slowly, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. His eyes briefly flicked toward the assistant, though his expression remained unreadable.
“Señorita R. If only you'd mentioned your guest, I would’ve arranged for another chair.”
With fluid precision, he gestured toward the table -- sleek, obsidian, cold -- then stepped aside to retrieve a spare seat from the corner, setting it down with surprising care. “There. Everyone should be comfortable when discussing failure.”
He moved to his side of the table, settling into his chair with the calm of a man who owned the floor beneath him.
“We’ve hit a wall. Our prototype refuses to comply. The energy disperses uncontrollably -- outward, in all directions. Two emitter arrays were employed, both artifact-grade, as you know. But the result is chaos. A blast with no form. A bomb.” He paused, tapping a fingertip against the polished surface. “Fortunately, the input was minimal. The system lives. For now.”
Tribune’s finger moved with deliberate grace, tapping a hidden panel beneath the table. A faint chime responded. With a near-silent hiss, the center of the obsidian slab split open, revealing a recessed Kusari-fabricated holoprojector -- all clean lines and pristine engineering.
Then the light bloomed.
A pulse of iridescent blue and violet bathed the room, throwing dancing shadows across the polished walls. The projection spun slowly in midair -- a weapon, unmistakably. But not one of steel or reason.
The device was an abomination. Its core was forged from alloyed metals, its base unmistakably mechanical -- functional, industrial. But everything above that foundation rejected convention. Where there should have been circuits and conduits, there were nerves -- tendrils of semi-translucent, veined tissue winding through the structure like living cables. The two emitter arms stretched outward like limbs, their shapes more insectile than engineered. Each was embedded with an artifact array, pulsing with unstable light, as if reluctant to be held in place.
Beneath it all, concealed by the steel base, was a neural node -- swollen, brain-like, and laced with coppery veins. It twitched once, faintly, as if reacting to the room itself. Clusters of electrodes pierced its folds, threading into the surrounding chassis in a pattern that felt too intentional to be random -- but too alien to be sane.
It was a weapon, yes. But more than that -- it was alive in an strange way. Or at least it had been, once.
“This is what we’re dealing with.” Tribune said, his voice low, almost reverent.
He leaned forward, the reflection of the projection warping across his crimson shirt and stony expression.
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NEW YORK, THE RED EMPEROR - THE PENTHOUSE
The duo entered the room. Gamayun remained standing, arms loosely at her side, while Revenant stepped forward with a composed air. She gave a low hum in response to his rhetorical opening. She did not have much to say in that regard, but acknowledged him with a nod of affirmation.
At the mention of failure, Revenant slowly took her seat, resting her hands neatly in her lap.
"Ah. Failure is expected when experimenting with such, with our little 'mortal' carbon lifeform capabilities."
She turned her head slightly toward Gamayun, her expression unreadable behind her sunshades, gave a subtle signal. With a small nod, she gestured for her to sit. Though hesitant, Gamayun complied silently, placing the locked case by her chair. Her body remained still, but her gaze - concealed behind her visor - subtly scanned around the room, scanning for threats with quiet vigilance.
Revenant's attention shifted as Tribune took his seat at the conference table. She listened closely to his explanation, eyes narrowing at the hologram projection. Leaning forward, she rested her forearms on the table, her posture thoughtful.
To her, alien technology and forbidden research was a forbidden delicacy, but irresistibly stimulating, akin to a taboo drug. The Corsair's attempt at reverse-engineering such a construct intrigued her, how their perception of Daam Kavash materials is interpreted. Though flawed, their effort had merit. Their technical skill was clear, even if they lacked a refined understanding of the weapon’s harmonics, the true inner nature of Nomadic and Kavash materials. The artifact part-creature, part-machine, felt more like a fossilized entity entombed in synthetic stone. A sarcophagus of a tortured lost soul, the raw energy ferociously ensnared, ready to consume and fester upon whatever dared to approach.
"Hm. I may already see the flaw, but I’ll need to review your material composites to confirm. It lacks a focal lens... Something to properly channel the energy, and a mechanism to ensure controlled repulsion of said energy."
Her voice was calm, clinical, stripped of any inflection as her mind concentrated on analyzing.
"If necessary, I can fabricate a prototype in my workshop. But I will require a complete overview of your current work, including a tiny sample of the base composite used for the primary body. And I needn't remind you that missing data creates a larger risk with your own people. Math can kill."
Tribune gave a slight nod at her analysis. He didn’t smile -- he rarely did -- but something in the corner of his eyes shifted, like a pressure gauge ticking upward. A subtle acknowledgment, weightier than any applause.
“You do not disappoint, Señorita R. The Commander’s choice was… prudent.”
His voice was calm, unaffected. Praise, in his tone, felt less like flattery and more like a statement of recorded fact. He allowed the silence to hang for a beat before continuing, studying her with something between interest and calculation.
“I am particularly curious to see your proposed solution. Thus far, anything introduced near the active core is… atomized. At best, violently unmade. A physical lens would require more than matter -- it would require defiance of nature’s own repulsion. Unless, of course, you possess materials that can cheat the laws we mortals are bound by.”
He rose from his chair, his motions precise -- practiced. There was no rush in him, only presence. Every step across the room echoed with quiet finality against the pressed concrete floors. Reaching a blank portion of the concrete wall, he pressed his palm to a section that responded to no visible cue. A faint click, and the wall receded, unveiling a recessed compartment lined in carbon weave and lead shielding.
From within, Tribune retrieved a single reinforced case -- tall, narrow, military in appearance. Its exterior was unmarred save for a crimson wax seal stamped with the unmistakable sigil of Fabricius: a gryphon rampant atop a stone pillar, talons open. An unmistakable emblem.
He returned to the table and set it down between them with a soft thunk, rotating the container so the seal faced Revenant.
“This is the package referenced in our last exchange. You’ll find complete schematics, alloy composition scans, energy dissipation logs -- even preliminary neural mapping of the organic components. No omissions.”
He paused, his hand still resting on the case. Not possessive, simply deliberate.
“If needed, I can authorize release of residual fragments from the failed prototypes. Enough for a scale replica. But export delays from the Omicrons are inevitable. I do not need to explain why.”
Tribune’s gaze flicked briefly to Gamayun -- not accusatory, but registering her presence fully for the first time.
“I trust you’ll be... discrete.”
Then he took his seat again, his frame settling with the weight of someone with final determination. He leans in, the projection reflecting from his eyes.
“Take care of our project.”
He spoke with a blunt firmness, a mix of high expectations and consequence.
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NEW YORK, THE RED EMPEROR - THE PENTHOUSE
Her brow arched slightly, marked more by curiosity than surprise. Did the Corsairs truly believe they held the reins here? Her voice followed, laced with a note of dry amusement.
"Choice, eh? He hasn’t told you much, has he?"
A faint smile curled on her lips, her eyes veiled behind the glinting sheen of her sunshades. She knew full well the balance of power remained in her hands. The Corsairs couldn’t complete the weapon without her expertise. Though this new anomaly was not within design, but anticipated nonetheless.
"You needn't worry about that. Have some faith in my designs... After all, you're building upon the foundation I’ve laid. "
Gamayun remained statuesque beside her, gaze cold and impassive, the faintest twitch of distaste forming at the edge of her mouth. As the Corsair placed the case on the table, Revenant remained silent, watching with a measured intensity. When he finally took his seat, she drew the case toward herself, opened it just enough to inspect the contents, then snapped it shut and locked it with a click. A faint smirk formed, fond and bemused, as if the gift had whispered an inside joke only she could hear.
"Secure the samples. And I’ll uncover the answers you seek."
Both women rose with purpose. Revenant wore her amusement openly, a slow smirk forming as the Corsair invoked the phrase ‘our Project’. His veiled warning was met only with mild amusement, like a mother witnessing a child’s misplaced boldness.
"You’ll hear from me soon."
She adjusted her sunglasses, smoothed out her suit, and without another word, turned to depart with Gamayun, as they both now had their cases to carry.
He watched them with that same unreadable stillness, his figure motionless against the projection’s glow, like a statue carved from iron and intention. Her parting words slid past him like waves against stone -- noted, but not dwelled upon. Whether his nod was acknowledgment or dismissal was left deliberately unclear.
The briefest hint of a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. not warm, but calculated.
As Revenant and her shadow moved toward the elevator, their cases in hand, Tribune's voice cut through the silence:
“...And señorita -- the presidential suite is available, should you require accommodations during your stay on Manhattan.”
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Introduction
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