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(WLTK) B1: Prologue - "Case Closed."
🕑 Added 2024-04-22 21:46:39 +0000 UTC—————————————————————
[Official News Report: Former B-rank Artificer’ Machina Redux’ Convicted Posthumously on Multiple Charges]
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Prima City, Nexus — In a grim revelation that has rippled across the city, former B-rank Artificer Sarah Bridge, known both by her official Hero handle of “Machina Redux” and once venerated as the Saintess of the Outskirts, has been posthumously convicted on numerous charges related to the catastrophic explosion at Glamourmax Corp. three months ago.
On Tuesday, August 23, 2253, at 18:00 CNT (Central Nexus Time), Ms. Bridge was formally found guilty of a range of serious offenses, including theft, aggravated assault, destruction of property, second- and third-degree murder, and multiple related crimes. Over the course of a sweeping investigation and lengthy trial proceedings, further charges, ranging from bribery and fraud to long-term tax evasion, surfaced, painting a far darker portrait of the once-admired artificer.
According to investigative reports, Ms. Bridge had been under contract with Glamourmax Corp. for a confidential project, the specifics of which remain classified. Tensions between Ms. Bridge and the company reportedly intensified as the project progressed, culminating in a volatile confrontation with CEO Adam Nox. Witnesses who survived the blast described Bridge’s increasingly erratic behavior and threats toward Mr. Nox in the hours leading up to the explosion.
Taking the stand during the trial, Mr. Nox stated, “This is a mournful day for Prima City and Nexus as a whole. The betrayal of our trust by someone once so revered, someone who inspired hope among the people, leaves an indelible scar. But as the leading provider of magical and wyrd cosmetic and pharmaceutical innovations in Nexus, Glamourmax Corp. remains steadfast in its commitment to justice and recovery for all those affected.”
The deadly altercation between Ms. Bridge and on-site security escalated into a massive detonation that destroyed nearly three blocks of the Wyrd Industrial Complex. The explosion claimed over two dozen lives and left hundreds injured. Cleanup operations are ongoing as authorities struggle to stabilize the residual wyrd fallout in the region.
Wyrdking Maximus the Magnificent has pledged support for containment and recovery efforts, though undisclosed complications within the Wyrd community continue to impede direct intervention.
As part of the sentencing, Machina Redux has been officially reclassified in the Nexus Archives as a B-ranked Villain. All prior accolades, honors, and civic recognitions awarded during her lifetime will be posthumously revoked. In addition, her estate will be seized and auctioned, with proceeds directed toward reparations for victims and their families.
Once celebrated for her humanitarian work in revitalizing the outer districts and championing the welfare of Prima City’s most vulnerable citizens, the former Saintess of the Outskirts will now be remembered as the architect of one of the deadliest urban tragedies in recent Nexus history.
A public memorial service for the victims is scheduled for 20:00 CNT this evening at Prima City Square. Citizens are encouraged to attend, with a solemn reminder to honor the grieving families and preserve the dignity of the occasion.
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Thursday, August 25, 2253
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Jeremiah sat hunched on the smooth stone steps leading to what had once been his home — a luxurious, hand-crafted modernist estate nestled among Prima’s upper-tier neighborhoods. Fifteen years ago, it had started as a modest three-bedroom house. Over time, it had grown, room by room, wing by wing, as his sister’s need for space, laboratories, and quiet expanded. Eventually, it had become a sprawling research compound, able to house dozens of live-in assistants and caretakers.
Now? Now, it was nothing but an empty shell. Cold. Hollow. Stripped bare of everything his sister had once built.
City workers moved around him like ants, hauling out the last of the specialized equipment with mechanical precision. Jeremiah barely noticed. His bloodshot eyes remained locked on the crumpled, tear-stained newspaper in his lap. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since the first crew arrived to dismantle the only life he’d ever known. But he had felt their stares. Cold. Disgusted. As though he were part of the rot being removed.
The sharp click of hard soles on polished stone broke through the numb fog smothering his thoughts.
He looked up to see a familiar man approaching. Dressed in a clean-cut suit — likely worth more than some of the equipment taken out of the house — Prosecutor James Ronin was one of the top legal consultants used by the city in high-profile cases involving the ‘Gifted.’ Sarah had only been B-rank, yet Ronin had been brought in like this was a national emergency. And with all her accounts frozen the moment the charges were filed, Jeremiah hadn’t even been able to afford proper representation.
Ronin was the kind of man whose chiseled jaw and gleaming smile had graced more than a few fashion spreads and evening news segments. But there was no charm on his face now. No warm mask for the cameras. Only a tight, disdainful frown that curled at the corners into something bordering on a sneer as he stopped in front of Jeremiah.
Jeremiah, in contrast, was a disheveled mess. He wouldn’t have called himself a supermodel material, but Jeremiah had always been proud of his looks. Sarah used to tease him: “If you cleaned up, hit the gym, and wore a Stetson, you’d have girls falling over themselves at the bar.” According to her, he’d gotten his sharp square jaw and broad shoulders from their father, while his bright, emerald eyes were all his mother’s.
Not that he remembered either of them, of course. They’d died when he was three. They barely even had any pictures of them, what with most of them being lost to a fire long ago. Instead, it had been Sarah who had raised him. Sarah, who had struggled and fought to keep them together. Sarah, who had given him more than he could ever pay back. Or ever would pay back.
And now she was gone, too.
Three months after her death, Jeremiah was a shell of who he’d once been. His face was pale and sunken, and the deep bags under his eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. Sometimes because of entire nights desperately scouring Sarah’s contacts for someone, anyone, who would help. Sometimes because of the nightmares that ate at him, clawing at his psyche every time he tried to rest.
With trembling hands, he crushed the newspaper in his grip, the ink bleeding onto his palms. His voice rasped out, raw and cracked. “What? Come to take something else from me? Was my home and my sister’s good name not enough? What more? When will it be enough?!”
Ronin didn’t flinch. He simply reached under his arm and pulled out a sleek data pad, holding it out as if handing off a receipt.
“Mr. Bridge,” he said, tone clipped, professional. “As next of kin to the accused and listed beneficiary in her will, your signature is required to authorize the final transfer of assets to the city. Kindly sign so we can all move on from this unfortunate matter.”
Something hot and bitter surged in Jeremiah’s chest, piercing through the numb fog like a flare in darkness. His fingers twitched with the urge to slap the tablet from the prosecutor’s smug hand. It must have shown on his face, as Ronin to narrowed his eyes and leaned in, voice low and needling.
“Now, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Mr. Bridge. The city’s already shown you considerable leniency… given your circumstances.”
Jeremiah stood, his hands visibly trembling and his pale face turning a red shade as bloodshot eyes drilled into the prosecutor. Though before he could say anything, space pinched in on itself.
With a soft bloop, a figure materialized in the space next to the prosecutor.
Ronin turned with an annoyed flick of his brow, then relaxed slightly. Standing beside him was a six-foot-tall humanoid, pure white and smooth as porcelain, with no face, no features, nothing to suggest it was anything more than a blank mannequin. Then it moved, turning to stare at Ronin.
“Ah. I’m glad you could join us, Blank Slate,” Ronin said, lowering the tablet slightly. “I assume your sweep of the compound is complete? The city trusts you found nothing amiss?”
The android’s head tilted ever so slightly, an imitation of attentiveness. When it spoke, its voice was perfectly flat — neither mechanical nor human, simply… void.
“Yes. No anomalies detected. All registered modules, labs, and equipment have been accounted for. No illegal or unrecorded projects were found. No evidence of unauthorized research. The compound is spotless and with no signs of tampering. Everything was as reported to the city, according to regulation, and nothing belonging to Sarah Bridge remains.”
Even Jeremiah was sharp enough to notice the emphasis placed on the last phrase.
Ronin’s jaw tightened. “Not that it says much when it comes to you Techies. But… the city appreciates your assistance, as one of the Five. It’ll save us some paperwork.”
“It was my pleasure,” replied Blank Slate. Its featureless head swiveled to Jeremiah. “I assume matters are proceeding smoothly here as well?”
Ronin’s polished grin returned as he turned back toward Jeremiah. “Yes, quite. Mr. Bridge was just about to sign so we can finish tying up these little loose ends.”
The tablet was once again offered.
Jeremiah didn’t move at first. His fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms until his knuckles turned bone white. But after a long, taut pause, he snatched the data pad from Ronin’s hand and signed at the bottom with quick, jerky strokes. He had already poured over every clause and footnote for days, chasing impossible loopholes. There was nothing left.
He shoved the tablet back at the man like it burned him.
Ronin caught it with the same plastic smile and turned to leave. Then, as if struck by a passing thought, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh! One last thing. Would you mind scanning Mr. Bridge before we go? It would be… unfortunate if he’d decided to pocket any of the city’s property.”
Jeremiah’s breath caught. Heat rose again, fast and boiling. He could feel the grind of his own teeth, but it was quickly snuffed out by a cold flicker of fear.
His hand instinctively touched the small pendent tucked under his shirt.
A birthday gift from Sarah, given to him just a week before she… before it all ended. His birthday wasn’t even until next month.
Had she… known?
Was that why she gave him the amulet early? Weeks before his birthday?
No. No, that was absurd.
…Wasn’t it?
Blank Slate froze. The silence lingered a beat too long before the android slowly turned its smooth, faceless head toward Prosecutor Ronin. “Surely that is unnecessary, Mr. Ronin. I hardly think—”
Ronin cut him off with a sharp frown. “Mr. Andrews, I remind you: I am operating under authority from both the City Council and the Senate of the Five. Do as you’re asked.”
Blank Slate stood still, unreadable. Then, without further comment, it turned back to Jeremiah. A small red dot appeared on its featureless face, followed by a narrow beam that swept slowly over Jeremiah’s body, then the small suitcase beside him. The light passed over him in careful, methodical waves.
Then, blink. The beam vanished. The red dot turned green.
Blank Slate turned back to the prosecutor. “Nothing anomalous detected. The luggage contains a minor spatial expansion manifold, but it’s the publicly available model, mass-market certified. It does not violate the terms of the seizure or court order.” The android’s tone twisted ever so slightly. “Unless you’d like me to strip the clothes off his back, Mr. Ronin, I believe there’s nothing more here for you to find.”
Ronin’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue. He turned briskly. “Very well, then. I believe we’re finished here.”
Without another word, he walked down the drive and climbed into the sleek black sedan waiting at the curb. The last of the city movers followed behind him, the transport vehicles rumbling down the road one by one until the estate was finally, impossibly quiet.
Only two figures remained.
Blank Slate turned toward Jeremiah. His voice, at last, softened. “Jerry… I—”
But Jeremiah was already on his feet, eyes blazing with exhaustion and betrayal.
“Don’t.”
Jeremiah cut him off with a dark stare. “I have nothing to say to you, Ryan. Sarah… Sarah trusted you…”
Blank Slate said nothing. He only stared at the shaking young man for a long moment before whispering, “I’m sorry…”
Bloop.
He vanished, leaving only the faint echo of displaced air behind him.
Jeremiah sank back down onto the steps. He buried his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled, silent and alone.
