Dollar Mason's Story

Undercity, Titan's Fall, Texas, U.S.A - Early Morning, On A Weekday

His lungs burned in his chest, pounding footsteps echoing off the rusted metal street of Iron Town. How long had he been running? Was he still being chased? He turned his head to look, and immediately regretted it. His chin hit the ground hard, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth as the metal plating shifted beneath him. He scrambled forward, a whimper in his throat as the old metal folded on itself and slammed down where his legs had been an instant before. He tried to get to his feet, once, twice, three times, panic and fatigue making it difficult to find his sense of balance, draining the strength out from underneath him.

The clanking of footsteps sounded behind him. He whirled around, scrambling backward as he drank in the sight of his assailant. A man clad in metal armor, all oxidized greens and rusted reds, face invisible behind a mask of old, twisted metal. Wrought Iron, vigilante, Rogue, master and defender of Iron Town. Come to claim him.

"Disgusting vermin." The vigilante's voice was deep as the earth, mechanically distorted, and seething with rage. "Infesting my city." He rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding being skewered on a steel pipe. Wrought Iron continued advancing toward him, the rogue's footsteps heavy and unwavering. "Polluting it with your poison."

Metal filled the air, sharp, jagged, hungry for blood. He found his feet at last, and wasted nothing on hesitation, turning and running, desperate to escape his imminent demise. He ducked and weaved, each projectile avoided by the thinnest of hairs yet getting closer each time. He gasped air in greedily, his face soaked in sweat and maybe something else. He wouldn't die like this, not yet, not when he was so close-

His thoughts cut off as he slammed into a rusted metal wall. He cast his gaze around desperately for escape, none presenting itself. He spun on his heel, facing his attacker, hands pressed flat against the barrier. He was trapped, Wrought Iron's pursuit unflinching and inescapable. His every effort had been for nothing.

"Please- please!" he started, shame and terror burning behind his eyes. "I just- I am so close, I just need a little more and then-"

"Silence."

A yelp escaped his throat as a javelin of twisted metal slammed into the wall next to him, carving a line into the side of his face. Blood welled up, thick and hot, dribbling down his cheek and neck.

"Pathetic," Wrought Iron continued, coming closer. The armor on one arm lengthened and sharpened, forming a wicked, punching blade. "Selfish. Like all your ilk. After all the misery you people inflict on others for your own greed, you have the gall to beg for mercy? Ending you will be a pleasure."

He shut his eyes tight as Wrought iron drew back his arm, blade glinting in the neon lights off the street. This was it, with nothing to show. He only wished-

"Scuse me."

Wrought Iron"s blade halted, its corkscrew point barely a centimeter from its mark. "What?"

"Jeffrey Dahl?"

"What?" Wrought Iron repeated, an edge of confusion seeping into his mechanized voice.

"I'm looking for Jeffrey Dahl."

Wrought Iron's arm lowered slightly, and he used the opportunity to peek his head around the metal facade of the Rogue. Standing at the end of the alley was a woman in a clean 3-piece suit, seeming deeply out of place in the dirty labyrinth of the undercity. If gods existed, he would've kissed one.

"I'm Jeffrey Dahl!" he called out, trying to lean over so she could see him.

"No you're not." Wrought Iron growled, forcing him back against the wall.

"Yes- Yes I am! That's my name!" Jeffrey stammered. This was his only chance! If he could just buy this one opportunity to get away-

"Then they'll know what to put on the headstone." Wrought Iron pulled his arm back again, and any hope Jeffrey still had drained in an instant. The blade plunged forward, Jeffrey's eyes squeezed shut, and then-

Nothing. Several long seconds passed before he worked up the nerve to blink one eye open, then both shot wide when he registered what he saw. The woman stood beside him, Wrought Iron's bare fist pressed against the palm of her hand. The armor which had covered the vigilante's arm had been ripped to pieces by some unknown force and lay scattered across the alley, and while Jeffrey couldn't see his face, he could feel the incredible animosity radiating toward his savior.

"Jeffrey Dahl, right?" she asked, favoring him with a sidelong grin. He was struck by how her red eyes seemed to shine even in the dusk of the alleyway. "You're girlfriend paid me to come save you."

"My girlfriend…" he repeated slowly. Jeffrey felt as if his thoughts were running through mollasses. "Wait, she paid you?!"

"Sure did!" the woman confirmed cheerfully. Wrought Iron's arm was thrown aside with a flick of her wrist, stumbling him back a few steps before the sole of the woman's dress shoe slammed into his chest, sending him flying back out into the street. "Well. Almost. Payment pending upon completion."

"Rescuing petty drug peddlers now, Warlock?" Wrought Iron spat, rising to his feet. "How heroic."

"Thanks!"

"That was insincere." The whole alley seemed to shift as the metal plating on the walls and floor of the alley began to shift and rise, then slammed together, crushing the two of them in between.

---

Almost.

"Oof, he is not friendly," Warlock remarked, releasing the back of Jeffrey's shirt. He pitched forward, overcome by dizziness and nausea following their sudden translocation to… where were they? He posed the question to his savior, in between bouts of retching.

"Back home, I think," she replied, stepping to the side to avoid the growing pool of sick. She reached into the inner pocket of her coat, pulling out a folded slip of paper. "I'm pretty sure this is the address she- Oh, no, its over there." Jeffrey followed her gaze across the street, recognizing the dirty, neon-covered face of his apartment complex.

"Well, job done," Warlock congratulated herself, wandering off toward the roof exit. "Let your girlfriend know, wouldja? Byebye~!"

"Wait," Jeffrey croaked out, struggling to his feet for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. "You're just leaving now? That guy knows my name, if he comes after me- And- and what is she even paying you with?"

"Money!"

"What money?"

"I dunno," she shrugged unhelpfully. "Money."

Oh, no. Oh, no no no- If it was from his stash, the savings so they could leave-

"What am I even supposed to do about this?" he protested, stepping toward Warlock's back. "Everything- everything I've been doing til now, everything that guy was gonna kill me for! If she blows it all on something like this, then what was even the point?! She- she should've just taken the money herself then, left without me! Now we're both still stuck here! What the hell am I supposed to do about that?!"

Warlock's hand rested on the cold handle of the door. "I dunno," she answered simply. "Figure somethin' out, I guess." Then she opened the door and left, leaving Jeffrey dumbfounded on the roof.

"Figure something-" He ran a hand through thick curly hair, his voice barely a breath. His eyes turned back to the apartment across the street - the place he'd spent the past five years of his life, scrimping and saving every bit of scrip he could to buy he and his girlfriend a ticket away from the Undercity, away from Titan's Fall, looming over the road like a black walled prison. His gaze fell toward the street and… there, on the steps of his building, they lingered. The neon lights of the road reflected off her midnight-dark skin as she sat on the curb, chin in her hand as she waited for him to come back. Just as she always had.

"Yeah, I'll… I'll figure something out."