Crane turned to Silco.
"Will you come to my tea party?"
Silco barely glanced at him as he walked out of the lab.
"No."
Crane didn't seem fazed. He looked at Singed next.
"You wanna come to my tea party?"
Singed paused, considering.
"I have more important matters to attend to," he said flatly.
"Yeah, yeah. Shimmer," Crane muttered, eyeing a nearby vial.
"Can I get some?"
He reached toward it—but Singed caught his wrist mid-motion.
"I am curious how Shimmer might affect you," Singed said, watching him closely. "But my focus is elsewhere for now. You'll have to wait."
"Okay, Doc. I understand." Crane lowered his hand and turned his gaze toward the cage.
"You don't need the cat anymore, right?"
Singed looked at the blood-smeared steel.
"I want it to be an appetizer for my tea party," Crane added, tone casual.
Singed nodded once.
"Take it. It's of no use to me now."
Crane opened the cage, reached inside, and carefully lifted the cat's limp body.
He slid it into the bag slung over his shoulder.
Turning to Singed, he asked one more time:
"Are you absolutelysure you're not coming to my tea party?"
"I'm absolutely not going," Singed replied without looking up, already focused back on his workbench.
"Ugh. Old people and their no-fun policies," Crane muttered, spinning on his heel and walking off.
He made his way back to his room, opened the door, and stepped inside.
With a dull thud, he dropped the bag—and the cat—onto the floor.
"I lied."
He crouched and picked up the cat's body, cradling it almost thoughtfully.
"Sorry, cat. I can't make you an appetizer."
He tilted his head.
"I just need your skills."
Crunch.
Crane began to eat the cat.
Blood spilled across his face, streaking down his cheeks and jaw—painting his already red skin in fresh crimson.
His breathing deepened, not from exertion… but from delight.
As he got to the head, Crane paused.
He reached in and carefully plucked out the cat's eyes, holding them in his bloodied fingers like pearls.
Save the best for last, he thought.
Then he finished the rest. Bones and all.
"I'm so full," Crane muttered, rubbing his stomach. He let out a sharp burp.
Finally, he reached for the cat's eyes.
With a low chuckle, he popped both into his mouth and swallowed them whole.
Silence.
He sat still.
Closed his eyes.
Memorize it, he told himself. Every part. Every angle. Every instinct.
His body tensed, skin crawling with a strange ripple.
Then—he opened his eyes.
They weren't the same.
Not anymore.
Slitted. Golden.
Catlike.
Crane stood up and rubbed his face with both hands, smearing blood across his cheekbones.
The eyes are good, he thought. But it's the reflexes that matter.
"The difference between eating cat and eating fish is… weird."
He glanced at his bloodied fingers and let out a tired sigh.
"Should probably clean this up."
————
Now spotless, Crane stepped out of his room and back into the lab.
Singed stood at his station, absorbed in his work, carefully adjusting a vial of shimmer.
But Crane noticed something else.
I see things more clearly, he thought.
No—not clearly. Just… easier to see.
The movement. The light. The shimmer in motion.
Everything had a strange brightness to it, as if his vision were outlined in instinct.
He blinked, shook his head—and let the change fade.
His eyes returned to normal.
He walked past the lab, and toward the door.
Without a word, Crane slipped out.
——————————
Outside, he spotted Silco and his goons clustered near a stack of crates, clearly preparing for something.
Deckard was eating, hunched over a tin of greasy meat, while Sevika leaned against a wall, checking her gun.
All of them looked up when Crane stepped out.
Their eyes lingered on him.
Sevika narrowed hers. She pushed off the wall and strode over, sizing him up.
"I've seen you at the Last Drop, haven't I?" she asked, voice sharp.
Crane gave a half-shrug. "Yeah, probably."
Then, with mild curiosity: "Who are you again?"
"Sevika," she answered, her expression hardening. Her grip on the gun tightened. "You were with Vander's kids."
That got Silco's attention.
He turned slightly, brows lifting with interest, and stepped in.
"What's your relationship with Vander?" he asked, eyes fixed on Crane.
Crane looked at him plainly. "He's a stranger with strong ideals," he said. "Delusions of a future that won't ever happen."
Silco studied him, curious now.
"Then who do you work for?"
"I work for Singed," Crane replied. "I always have."
Silence followed.
Sevika didn't relax.
Silco didn't blink.
Crane stood there, calm. Still damp. Smelling faintly of sea and blood.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Do you want to come to my tea party?" he asked.
Sevika blinked. "Tea party?"
"Yes! Tea party!" Crane said brightly. "We'll drink tea for a short amount of time. It has to be short, though—because if you take your time, you get stuck in tea time forever."
A pause.
Sevika and Silco exchanged a glance, then instinctively took a step back.
"…No," Sevika muttered. "That's not for me."
Crane's face didn't fall—but his eyes dimmed.
"…Oh."
Silco's voice cut through the moment.
"Whose side are you on?" he asked, low and direct. "Ours, or Vander's?"
Crane tilted his head the other way, thinking.
"The side that's winning," he said at last. "Vander doesn't have shimmer. So the choice is obvious."
Silco narrowed his eyes at him, watching carefully.
"And I don't have to pick a side," Crane added, tone casual. "Because I'll always be working with Singed."
Then he turned to the group, his tone shifting cheerfully:
"Now, if you'll excuse me—" he said, starting forward, "I need to buy teacups for a tea party that no one wants to attend."
He walked straight through the cluster of Silco's people, boots squelching faintly with leftover seawater.
No one stopped him.
He disappeared into the haze of undercity.
———————————-
[Earlier – Topside]
"You have to believe me—I didn't do this," Jayce said, voice tense.
"Relax, kid," Grayson replied, glancing around the wreckage of the apartment. "We know it was a break-in. But that doesn't explain… this."
She gestured toward the shattered glass, scorched panels, and scattered notes.
"There are a lot of restricted items here," Grayson continued, leveling a look at Jayce. "And I don't see any permits."
"Hey—hey! Please be careful with that!" Jayce called out as an enforcer carelessly handled his tools.
"I believe someone should've said that earlier," a voice muttered, eyeing the board of complex equations.
Another man stepped forward. His gaze swept the room with professional detachment.
"What happened here?" he asked, voice clipped.
Jayce forced a smile. "…Science, I guess?"
"Last I checked, science didn't require illegal equipment," Grayson said flatly.
"Nor was this research approved by the Academy," the man added, now standing just inches from Jayce. "Who authorized it?"
"It was an independent study," Jayce replied, but then narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, anyway?"
The man didn't flinch.
"Assistant to the Dean of the Academy—who, as it may serve you to remember, also chairs the Council." He turned, scanning Jayce's papers. "Independent, you say?"
He flipped open one of Jayce's notebooks, frowning.
"Then explain this."
He tapped a name scrawled in the margins of one of the diagrams.
"Who's Jonathan?"
—————————-
Walking through the undercity, Crane slowed when he spotted an enforcer stationed outside Benzo's shop.
If I remember correctly… that's Marcus, Crane thought.
Crane tilted his head.
Does Benzo have teacups? he wondered.
…Probably not teacups. But cups? Surely.
He stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching the scene from a distance.
I shouldn't bother them, he reasoned. It'd only cause unnecessary trouble.
A long pause.
…I like trouble.
With that, Crane strolled directly toward Benzo's shop.
Marcus stepped in his path.
"You can't go in there."
Crane blinked, then looked genuinely offended.
"I'm sorry—but have you ever tried to drink tea without a cup?"
"What—?"
"Because I haven't. And I'll be damned if I have to—because you won't move."
In Marcus's moment of confusion, Crane slipped right past him and opened the door to Benzo's shop.
He stepped inside like he owned the place.
"Benzo! Got any teacups?" he called, strolling in casually.
All heads turned.
Benzo. Vander. Grayson.
Grayson narrowed her eyes.
Vander's eyes widened. "Jonathan?!"
"In my fleshy flesh," Crane said, spreading his arms dramatically.
Marcus rushed in after him, flustered. "Grayson—I'm sorry. He just barged right in."
Jonathan turned, indignant. "What? No, he let me in."
Without missing a beat, he sat down beside Vander, dripping faintly onto the floor.
"You got any cups?" he asked Benzo, completely ignoring the tension.
Benzo gave a stiff sigh, gesturing toward the enforcers. "Now is not the right time."
Grayson stared at him hard. Then, slowly, she stood up and stepped behind him.
"Jonathan," she said, voice cold and clear. "You are under arrest."
Vander stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. "Grayson—he didn't start the explosion topside."
His voice was firm, certain.
But inside, he knew it was a lie.
Jonathan had been part of it.
"He took no part in it."
Grayson didn't blink.
Her eyes stayed locked on Crane.
"I'm not arresting him for the explosion," she said flatly.
"I'm arresting him for unauthorized magicalexperimentation."
———————
What are good steam games on sale right now?
I'm looking but I can't find anything that interest me.