Turken Bacon's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Years later, Turken climbed the fire stairs to his rooftop perch and stopped cold. A yellow crane rig sat parked at the base of the building, tracks caked in oil. Above him, strange voices laughed. The plan needed quiet. The quiet was gone. He pushed his sunglasses up and kept climbing. On the roof, a crew had stacked pallets into a crooked tower. A chimney smoked from its top. Tarps flapped. His thinking spot was a camp now. A heavy chain lay coiled on the ledge where he used to sit. The pendant caught the light — a sharp symbol he knew. A scavenger boss who answered to one of the sitting officials. The message was clear. Someone had paid them to push him off. Turken counted them. Six. Armed. He counted exits. Two. He counted what he could win. None. Nyra would have charged. Seraph-9 would have calculated odds and told him the same number he already had. He picked up the chain, folded it into his coat, and walked back down the stairs. No words. No staff lifted. The crew watched him go and laughed again. He let them. Being underestimated was still an asset, even now. At the base, he stood by the crane rig and pressed his palm to its cold steel. The perch was lost. But the chain in his pocket named the hand behind it. He had a face now. The campaign had its first real enemy, and Turken already knew where to file him.