Breakfast with Elizabeth
"Hm, I see. At least no one got their hands on it—that's something. But it's still regrettable that traces of the ancient rulers have vanished like this."
The man shrouded in shadows on the screen shook his head as if truly disappointed.
"Hahaha! Well, the job's wrapped up nicely, isn't it? The request was for theft or destruction from the start. Looks like they were thinking the same thing over there."
The goblin William nodded with a laugh, clearly pleased that the matter was settled.
Roque, meanwhile, lounged deep in his chair with legs crossed, sipping paper-cup coffee as he watched the two. The man spoke again.
"Anyway, thanks for handling it so cleanly. It would've been even better if last night's news hadn't mentioned it at all."
"You could've cleaned that up yourselves."
Roque's retort drew another headshake from the man on the screen.
"We could have. But that would've hinted to the networks and MLPD that our headquarters was involved in the explosion. Leaving traces like that isn't ideal."
The man on the screen snapped his mouth shut, as if holding back a don't you even know that? Roque stared at him steadily, cup paused at his lips.
"Come on, the job's done, right? Let's not scratch at each other. I'll handle the wrap-up."
William jumped in to break the silence, clapping his hands sharply before continuing.
"Tracked the lizardman dragon cultist from the elevated highway to the factory district, cleared obstacles, nearly secured the relic—but enemy mercenaries showed up, destroying the relic and the factory. All we salvaged was..."
The goblin's eyes flicked to one corner of the room, where shattered stone tablet fragments lay scattered.
"...a few pieces of the relic. Meager results, but since no one got the relic, it fulfills the original request. Success, by the terms. Agreed?"
The man on the screen nodded.
"Payment to the agreed account. I'll send someone later for the fragments."
With that affirmation, William pulled a plastic card from the wooden desk drawer and set it before Roque. Completion fee.
Roque set down his cup wordlessly, pocketed the card, and rose, heading for the parlor door.
Then the man on the screen spoke.
"You already know, but I'm an employee of a megacorp."
Roque paused, and the man continued.
"Our doors are always open to top talent. Performance brings wealth, power—even fame, if you want it. Especially you, Roque. You could climb to the top. Your skills are exceptional."
The man leaned forward, his outline sharpening slightly.
"So, what do you say? Start with a short-term contract? We'll match Midland's best terms. Generous for a lone mercenary."
Roque stayed silent at the offer. William rolled his eyes, glancing between them. The parlor fell quiet.
Moments later, Roque turned his back to the screen.
"I don't do long-term contracts."
Roque exited the parlor. Behind him came the man's awkward cough and William's soothing words. He didn't care. They'd smile and beg for his services next time they needed him. Corporations were all the same: fawning smiles when useful, bullets like pest control when not.
Roque rode the elevator to the underground parking, climbed into the Black Knight, and fired it up. The black muscle car rumbled to life. They soon left the garage behind.
Emerging from below, Midland's dawn sky resembled a pastel painting smeared with hazy navy, soft lavender, and rising yellow. A clear sky would've sharpened the colors, but urban pollution veiled everything in a faint haze between heaven and city.
Under that murky vault, the Black Knight cut from North Street across Midland's boulevards. Last night's revelers staggered alongside the drugged and the ordinary rushing into a new day.
Occasional eyes turned toward the black body and growling engine tearing down the avenue. But the gazes didn't linger. To the busy, it was just passing scenery.
The Black Knight's charge ended at Roque's apartment. It eased into the lot, engine falling silent. Roque stepped out, slamming the door with a thunk. His footsteps echoed alone in the garage.
The elevator carried him upward, creaking slowly. Roque stood with hands in jacket pockets, lost in thought.
A ding, and it halted. The grating slid open with a shrrk. Roque stepped out into the flickering lights and scattered trash of the familiar hallway.
His sullen trudge halted. His eyes fixed on the door at the hall's end: 2501. His apartment.
But his sharp senses caught music leaking from within: whining electric guitar, bass, drums, raspy vocals. Roque wondered if he'd left the TV on.
He approached slowly and unlocked the door. The sound spilled clearly into the hall now. Inside, he spotted a TV blaring speakers alone—and commotion in the kitchen.
Edging toward it cautiously, he saw a girl's back, dwarfed by oversized clothes, bobbing her head to the beat. Craning her neck, she stirred scrambled eggs in a pan. Bacon, already done, waited on a plate.
Then the TV's music surged—vocals peaking, guitar solo flashing. Climax.
The girl gripped her spatula like a guitar head, strumming invisible strings with her free hand, shaking wildly. From behind, it looked like she was shredding the solo.
Lost in her trance, she spun—and locked eyes with Roque, who'd been watching silently.
"...What're you doing?"
"Making breakfast."
Her flat reply clashed with her fervent performance. No shame on her expressionless face. The guitar climax synced perfectly with her air guitar, black hair swaying like ornate curtains.
Roque gaped speechlessly as she finished naturally, plating the eggs. She grabbed forks and dishes, heading to the table Roque had half-ignored as decor.
His eyes followed her like a bizarre new species. She bobbed to the music, clumsily forking bacon and eggs.
Then Roque noticed another plate across from hers.
"...Gonna lose it."
Shaking his head, he killed the TV first. He listened to radio driving, but preferred quiet at home.
Turning back, he faced the girl's round eyes sparkling expectantly. Frozen at the table, staring silently.
"..."
Roque switched the TV back on. She resumed shaking and eating. Puzzled how to process this, he sat opposite and started breakfast—the first home-cooked in ages.
It wasn't bad. Bacon and scrambles were hard to ruin if decently cooked. Still, Roque found it pretty good.
A question struck him.
"...Were there eggs in the fridge?"
"Egg powder from the pantry."
She mumbled around bacon casually. Roque set down his fork slowly, nudging his plate forward. That powder was from when he'd first moved in.
Leaning back, arms crossed, he watched her devour eagerly despite the clumsy grip.
His mind flashed to their first eye contact.
Two shining eyes stared blankly at Roque.
"...Just a kid? Hey, you awake?"
Kaylee snapped fingers before the girl's black pupils. The eyes blinked briefly, then closed. Shaking her gently yielded no response.
"Move."
Roque pushed the flustered Kaylee aside, checking the girl. Pulse steady, eyes normal under lids. He frowned slightly. No implants or net sockets.
"What? Dead?"
"No."
"Then what? This kid's the real dragon relic? Some transformed dragon?"
Roque shook his head slowly. Just a twelve-ish human girl. Even an Aura Master's senses detected nothing special. Magic's mysteries might hide something, though. No rushing judgment.
Kaylee glanced between them.
"What now? Take her to the client?"
"...Yeah. That's my job."
She scowled.
"Listen, ronin. You know what happens to a kid like this in a corp lab? Gutted like a slaughterhouse pig—organs separate, brain separate..."
"Not my problem."
Kaylee shut her mouth at his cold reply, then chuckled bitterly, shrugging.
"...Fine. What can a loser say?"
She shook her head and rose, heading to the bomb bundle she'd planted. Roque watched the girl in the coffin silently.
As Kaylee grabbed it, Roque—still eyeing the girl—spoke.
"Hold up."
"...What?"
"That really a bomb?"
Kaylee blinked, then grinned, hoisting it. Her clear goggles glinted.
"I don't bluff."
Like Roque handing the client coffin shards, Kaylee hid the girl's existence. She seemed to want her but, having lost her team, left vague "call later" words amid her bad situation.
Her bomb ignited the factory in a blaze—the news the client mentioned. Automated plant fire spewing bodies thrilled reporters. No traces of Roque or Kaylee in the ashes.
Roque had left the unconscious girl at his place before seeing William. Returning post-job revealed this scene. Her baggy clothes? His, crudely tied on.
The girl, mid-voracious bite, looked up at Roque.
"What."
"...Thirsty."
Roque fetched water from the sink. She gulped it down, burped softly, and resumed.
Watching her awkward forkwork, he asked.
"What are you?"
"You first."
"What?"
"Your name first."
She didn't pause eating. Roque huffed in disbelief.
"Roque."
"Hi, Roque. I'm Elizabeth. Lije's fine."
"...You human?"
"Lije's human. Lije's parents were human too."
"A plain human in that stone coffin? Guarded by a lizardman?"
"Proktus. His name was Proktus, not just any lizardman."
Roque glared silently. She met it blankly, bacon grease on her lips.
"...Stare like that, and Lije might cry."
Roque sensed truth in it. His senses caught faint fear blooming beneath her blank mask—strange place, him, confusion.
He sighed, closing his eyes tight.
"Fine, say you're human. Your parents?"
"Don't know. Haven't seen them in forever."
Roque stood. Her head tilted up to follow. He jerked his chin, hands in pockets.
She rose slowly.
"...Going where?"
"Find your parents first."
He strode to the door. She hurried after, wiping her mouth with a napkin, rinsing her plate, filling it with water atop. Then dashed out.
At the door, she paused, glancing back at the TV. A ring of light around her pupils flashed. The TV died.
She exited. The apartment fell silent.