"Okay, okay, Steven... You're one persistent man, huh? I'll give you 2.2 times the rental fee and a 7% cut. That's my final offer. Otherwise, you'll have to take your business elsewhere."
Palmer stood firm, voice edged with impatience.
"..."
Syd pretended to deliberate, resting his chin on his hand, looking down thoughtfully as he tapped his fingers.
While Palmer and his secretary both kept their eyes on him, Seraphina had already begun discreetly deploying the sound-dampening layer beneath the negotiation table.
"Take your time, Steven. I've got all day," Palmer said with a smug smile, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.
Just then, the door behind him creaked open.
Creeeak...
Clink... clink... clink...
Palmer turned his head, clearly irritated that someone had the audacity to interrupt a business meeting.
It was a woman in a janitor's uniform, face covered with a surgical mask and a cap pulled low. She wheeled a mop and a bucket inside.
Palmer's temper flared.
He never permitted janitors to enter during negotiations, and this was over an hour past the usual cleaning schedule. How the hell did security let her in?
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Can't you see I'm in a meeting here?! You wanna get fired or what?!"
"Sorry, sir... It's just that I haven't cleaned this room yet, so I—"
"Still talking?! What kind of morons let her in?! Goddamn useless!"
He motioned for his secretary to escort her out.
But just as she stood to do so, her wrist was caught mid-motion—by Syd Barrett.
"Hold on, Mr. Palmer."
Syd's voice was calm, almost too calm.
"...?"
Palmer turned back, surprised.
"No need to kick her out."
"Hm?"
"Because our negotiation is already over."
"Oh?"
Palmer's tone changed instantly.
"You mean...?"
"Yes. I accept. 2.5 times the rent, and I'll throw in a 9% cut."
Palmer's eyes lit up.
"Oh! Steven, are you serious?"
"I am. Amy, prepare the contract."
Seraphina nodded and flipped open a well-prepared faux document.
"Yes, sir. I've already noted down all the details."
She handed Palmer the agreement for review.
"Excellent... simply excellent."
Palmer was now fully focused on the documents, no longer paying any attention to Jody, who was still pretending to mop behind him.
After signing the agreement, the two men shook hands once more.
"I'm honored, Steven. The first floor will be all yours next month."
"Haha. Thank you, Mr. Palmer."
Palmer leaned in, eyes gleaming.
"By the way, Steven, would you mind if I asked you something off-topic?"
"Hm?"
Syd raised an eyebrow.
"Go ahead."
"I know you've done a lot of business in Asia... but have you ever tried authentic Chinese fine dining? River prawns, that sort of thing?"
"...?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Ah, I've never tried it myself, but I'm planning a trip to China soon. I figured I'd sample it when I go, so I just wanted to know your thoughts."
"Ah... it's good stuff. I've had it around Shanghai."
As soon as Syd replied, Seraphina noticed something odd.
Palmer's smile froze.
He wasn't blinking anymore. His normally expressive face had gone completely still. He stared dead ahead at the table like someone had hit the pause button on a video.
"...Oh... I see..."
Palmer muttered, then pulled out a small box. Inside it was a single yellow pill.
He popped it into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of tea.
"Medicine?" Syd asked.
"Ah. Just something for my stomach..."
Palmer downed the cup in one go and set it down forcefully.
Thud!
"Ahh... Nothing beats English tea, am I right?"
Click!
"..."
"..."
That sound.
They all knew it well.
It was the click of a pistol being cocked—from beneath the table.
The atmosphere in the room dropped like a stone.
"You hear that, Steven?"
Palmer's voice had changed. He glared coldly at Syd.
"...Yeah."
"Know what it is?"
Syd locked eyes with him and slowly shook his head.
"No."
"That's the sound of a 9mm pointed straight at your balls, Steven."
"..."
Seraphina and Palmer's secretary were visibly tense, unsure of what to do.
"Why aim a 9mm at my balls?" Syd asked calmly.
"Because you just slipped up, kid. You're not Steven. I talked to his secretary before. I even asked this exact same question—about river prawns. You know what she told me?"
"...What?"
"Steven's allergic to seafood. Can't eat it at all. But here you are, claiming you've had it in Shanghai? That's a full-on contradiction."
Busted.
"Knew something was off... Peter got arrested... and Collins? That fat bastard's probably floating at the bottom of the Thames by now, huh? You almost had me. Almost."
"..."
"Shit..."
Seraphina whispered under her breath, realizing they were compromised.
"Well... since we've come this far, no point pretending anymore. Sorry for tricking you, Lake. But—"
click!
A second 9mm pistol cocked under the table—this time, from Syd's side.
"You've got a gun pointed at my balls? Well, I've had one aimed at your entire package since the moment you sat down, asshole."
"!!"
The situation in the room flipped instantly. Now both sides had a gun trained on the other—dead even.
"Heh..." Palmer forced a smirk, though unlike him, his secretary was visibly trembling in terror.
"Looks like we think alike, huh?"
Palmer bluffed, trying to maintain control. With both of Seraphina's hands resting flat on the table, he figured even if she did have a weapon, she couldn't act while he had Syd at gunpoint.
But just then, the tide turned again.
The janitor—whom Palmer had completely ignored—moved in silently from behind.
FWIP!
Palmer's secretary flew from her chair, landing limp on the ground—dead.
"Urgh...!?"
Palmer didn't even have time to look before the janitor's hand—Jody's hand—slammed down on his shoulder. Her other hand, fingers swirling with invisible compressed air, pressed right between his legs.
"All three of us, actually," Jody said coldly.
"You... you're all Ability Users?! All of you?!"
"Alright, Palmer..."
Syd calmly took Palmer's tea and set it aside.
"You've got two options. One, you lower the gun and come with us quietly... or two, your balls explode. Your choice."
"...And what if I don't pick either?"
"Jody."
The American girl understood immediately.
Without hesitation, she went to work.
"Say goodbye to your balls."
The next moment, it was chaos.
There was blood—lots of it—spraying up from Palmer's groin. His gun fired under the table, but so did Syd's, and so did Jody's silent air bullets.
BANG! BANG! FWIP! FWIP! BANG! FWIP! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Smoke filled the air. Gunpowder stung their noses. Papers, tea, and blood flew everywhere. Both Syd Barrett and Palmer Lake toppled from their chairs, sprawling across the floor as if caught in a hurricane.
Red sprayed across the table, the chairs, and the concrete floor. The once-white documents were now soaked in crimson and dotted with chunks of flesh.
Alongside the acrid tang of gunpowder was the iron stink of blood—wet, metallic, like coins soaking in water.
"Ugh...gh..."
"Syd!" Seraphina dropped down to help him up. He looked badly wounded.
"I'm fine... I'm fine... Good thing I swapped my skin's toughness with the concrete floor before I walked in... bullet couldn't penetrate."
When she looked at his black jeans, Seraphina could see multiple tears—not just between the legs, but along his thighs too.
Spent brass rounds, dented from failing to break through Syd's hardened skin, littered the floor.
"Ow—shit. That burns..."
Seraphina tried to help pull one out. The instant her fingers touched it, she yanked her hand away with a hiss.
It was hot—really hot.
She might not like the guy, but even she had to admit—seeing this made her wince on his behalf. The bullets hadn't pierced him, but the blunt trauma must've felt like getting punched by Buakaw.
"Goddammit... son of a..."
The boy groaned, one hand clutched between his legs as he slowly pushed himself upright.
"Syd... are you okay?" Jody called over from the other side, clearly worried.
"Not extinct yet..."
Thankfully, Seraphina had already laid out a soundproofing layer across the walls, so the gunfire hadn't echoed far beyond the room.
No alarms. Not yet.