The knocking on the door intensified as Klint rolled out of bed, still groggy and asleep. Fortunately, his sleep had been rather peaceful and free of the classic dreams that tormented him every night.
He heard outside the door, repeated at intervals accompanied by some tapping on the door. He got up from the ground, straightening his completely disheveled hair on the fly, and put on his glasses.
As soon as he opened the door he found Arte in front of him, holding his white card high in his hand.
she told him as she handed it to him. Klint smiled, accepting the card and slipping it into his shirt pocket. He hadn't changed last night after saying goodbye to Jeanne, he had simply started studying some texts that Monica had left him with the box and which he hadn't paid much attention to. He had spent about 2 hours continuously flipping through the pages, taking notes on all the knowledge he could find on the Frequency and Hel. They were texts that contained the most fruitful research of the association since its inception and fortunately for Klint, who was decently gifted with calculations and formulas, he had managed to understand them. He had managed to understand how the frequency circulated and how the particular abilities of the Meta could actually work and perhaps he could even implement some of that knowledge into his training.
Arte woke him up, bringing him back to reality. In front of him, the petite girl with white hair tied in a braid was staring at him smiling.
he replied as he went to the bathroom
he asked spitefully as soon as Klint placed his hand on the door handle.
he said as he searched his mind, looking for some information
he asked, remembering Monica's words and the black key.
Without speaking, Arte cocked his head in agreement. To then head towards the sliding door that led to the corridor. Klint smiled as he entered the bathroom. His reaction was almost identical to Jeanne's, she had never seen something so luxurious.
He stopped in front of the sink carved into the block of white stone and decorated with some golden reflections set in the material. The silver metal of the faucet lit up under the soft artificial light from the ceiling. Klint turned on the water and took off his shirt, his build was reflected in the mirror and Klint observed himself for a few minutes. His musculature was definitely above average for such a young boy but the most disturbing detail was the enormous number of scars on his back and abdomen. They were thick and darker than his pale skin, the largest extending from his sternum to his elbow, tapering towards his forearm. They weren't always present and Klint knew it, that's why he couldn't understand their existence, when he had used the frequency he could be sure he hadn't seen them and he was sure that the others hadn't noticed either. After washing himself with cold water he felt his face without his glasses.
He didn't like his face; in his opinion, there was something sinister about it, and its sharp features didn't help to change his opinion.
He thought as he left the bathroom, took a shirt from the wardrobe, and rapidly put on his windbreaker, pleased to feel it on again.
He picked up the black card from his trouser pocket and sprinted out of the room, noticing Jeanne and Arte on his right, who had continued to wait for him.
Jeanne whispered, smiling.
Klint didn't respond, just smiled and raised his hand, smiling back.
Arte said as he walked to the opposite side.
The two walked along the corridor completely illuminated by sunlight, unlike those in which he had been, the corridor of the dormitory had windows, being at a lower level.
The black card showed Klint the path, as he passed bluish lights lit up on the floor, making him understand which path to follow.
Jeanne suddenly asked next to him, swaying sinuously and maintaining the same smile as the night before.
He replied smiling. Lance Klint needed little sleep to be operational in the morning, but that didn't save him from being an uncoordinated automaton after waking up.
Jeanne smiled noticing his hair, he had done everything he could to fix it but nothing, it was tangled everywhere but it still suited him.
He asked spitefully.
She joked, smiling so much that she half-closed her eyes.
The corridor was reaching the end and Klint had noticed that two options had appeared on the black card, an arrow to his right read "ARMORY" while on the left "TRAINING ROOM". The boy smiled with joy when he discovered that there was room for training, he hadn't moved for a few days and he felt too numb, so the thought of being able to move some weights and run immediately made him remember his job.
Without distracting himself, he turned right entering a narrow black corridor illuminated by bluish lights. After a few minutes of walking, they glimpsed a glass door, judging by the crack next to it, it was understandable that it was the door to the armory.
Both Jeanne and Klint had difficulty getting in, both wanting to let the other through first, only ending up getting tangled up in front of the lock
Said Klint, giving up his honor in place of Jeanne's good manners, which he had accepted with a few nods.
As soon as the door opened, disappearing into the wall, a violent gust of wind hit Klint, throwing him down the corridor like a rag doll.
Lance was now on the ground, trembling slightly and drooling but still trying in every way to make a gesture with his thumb to Jeanne, to reassure her. For her part, however, Jeanne was too shocked to speak and turned her head left and right, looking at poor Klint and the figure that had emerged from the smoke of the armory with his hands clasped in prayer, desperate in the attempt to apologize.
The man dressed in white spoke alternating a timid tone with desperate cries, trying to make sure that Klint had not been shattered.
Klint had finally stood up, raising his thumbs to reassure the two, but the trickle of blood flowing from his mouth was certainly not reassuring. After clarifying the “Small” incident the figure invited them to enter.
The walls of the armory were a mix of black and blue, blending into various asymmetrical lines. The floor, however, was the usual white that he had come to know in the NOIR facility.
The room was tremendously spacious and filled with shelves and cabinets. In the center of the room, a machine made up of ropes, pulleys, and wires held a large turbine steady, connected to fuel, and enclosed within a solid iron structure. Klint guessed that it must be the engine the boy who had tossed him down the corridor was talking about.
He said as he leafed through two files at the same time, losing sheets here and there.
He smiled turning towards them.
He was a rather young boy, like Maliard, but with sharper features, thin lips, sharp eyes, and a mature look very in contrast to his current behavior. Maverick was dressed in a long white coat, with one sleeve torn, probably due to the wind generated by the engine. Klint was rather amazed by the size of his forearms, tremendously shaped and full of scars.
Under his coat, the iron reflection could be seen every time he swayed among the shelves looking for some instruments. The reflection was caused by the black armor he wore under his long robe. He looked very heavy with all those black trappings but Maverick didn't seem shaken by it.
He asked, turning around, holding a measuring tape and a glove in his hand.
As he spoke, Maverick disappeared from both of them.
Jeanne gasped as she felt the cold touch of the measuring tape encircling her shoulders, then quickly moving to her arm and abdomen.
Without even being able to say a word, Klint felt grabbed by the shoulder and squeezed, almost felt by the plastic material of the glove. Maverick smiled with satisfaction after almost traumatizing them both.
He smiled as he threw his instruments completely at random around the room.
Maverick continued talking while fiddling with a panel on the sides of the room.
Suddenly the walls began to close inwards, revealing an immense array of weapons hanging from the new walls, completely white and decorated with some greenish rhomboid geometric pattern.
The equipment displayed on the walls was of all kinds, from pistols, rifles, grenades, knives of all kinds, spears, and even chainsaws.
Said Maverick as he took a completely black and rather large velvet envelope down from the shelves. To be able to catch it he had the help of a precarious stool and Klint was biting his lip in the hope of not seeing it fall and cause another disaster.
With a surprisingly athletic gesture, he jumped off the not-so-secure stool and handed the envelope to Jeanne.
he smiled, telling her to open the envelope.
Once the knot was untied, you could glimpse the shape of a picture frame, completely gilded and decorated with white wings on the upper end.
They both looked at the “Weapon” with a surprised and unsure face. Jeanne was completely entranced by the sight of the frame, but it was due to her artistic side, rather than the fact that it was a weapon that Maverick was very proud of.
he explained as he touched his creation.
The frame rotated on one of the pivots at the corners, folding back on itself and elongating one end, changing into a shape similar to an ornamental sword, tapering along the tip and sharpening on only one side.
They both said in unison, after seeing the frame turn into a splendid blade.
Explained Maverick with satisfaction. Jeanne looked at them in confusion, shaking the blade trying to change it back to normal.
Maverick smiled, before grinning towards Lance.
He concluded as she tried to pick up another envelope, this time and fortunately without a stool.
He said happily as he handed him another envelope, this time in shades closer to grey.
Klint, curious, extracted the contents delicately, noting that it was quite heavy, but not enough to make it difficult for him to hold.
In his firm grip, he held the wooden butt of a heavy platinum white revolver, the black wood inlaid with a delicate golden circle blending with the metal of the weapon's body. The fluted barrel decorated with a disconnected series of black wires also folded downwards, sealing the 8-hole black drum in its firm position.
He explained, mimicking the gesture of reloading.
He said almost praising his genius for creating it.
Maverick concluded as he threw himself into the chair like a child.
Said Klint as he pointed to an ancient, almost ruined wooden door. The golden knob was worn with black spots and visibly dented.
replied Maverick hesitantly.
Lance asked rhetorically. Jeanne, who previously ignored the discussion and focused only on her beautiful frame, had pricked up her ears.
He said as he stood up
He said with a mean smile on his face, as he turned a heavy key in the old lock of the door, which opened with a creak.
The huge dark red room revealed itself before their eyes. Golden lines accompanied the contours of the red and swollen walls as if they were muffled.
A very long series of displays and showcases showed their contents: Fingers, clothes, fragments of blades, and even bullets.
Maverick stopped, noticing in horror that one of the artifacts in the far display case was emitting a purplish glow.
He exclaimed running towards the display case.
The black bracelet, resting softly on the reddish pillow, was wriggling desperately, reacting to the Frequency of someone in the room.
Klint began to get closer, with each step he could hear the buzzing of the glass increasing. The bracelet was shaking furiously, almost hopping within the little space that the display allowed it.
Thought Maverick, disconcerted.
NOIR knew what Lachesis was: a curse, something so sinister and diabolical that was labeled by the second Commander of the Organization as ruination in his truest form. Maverick was one of the few that managed to get a glimpse of its full power.
Klint touched the case and the bracelet clung to him, breaking the glass and tightening onto his arm. The inscriptions on the black surface of the relic began to rotate furiously. Along with those characters he managed to read “Klint” followed by a senseless series of other names “Damian”, and "Bluette" and then moving on to “JAck”. Finally, the characters settled down leaving only the surname.
An icy chill flowed down his vertebrae, leaving him shaken. The room had disappeared and he found himself enveloped in fog, the same fog as that time in the clearing.
A delicate breath caressed his earlobe followed by an imperceptible whisper.
