Sam Quinn

SUCKER

He awoke with a start. Something had changed- some aspect of the room that had, entirely silently, dragged him from the uneasy sleep he'd managed in his father's office. A subtle shift in temperature- the air cooler, fresher, the scent of tobacco and the distant tang of shimmer, the acrid notes of the industrial smog- all gone. His head was killing him, but that was expected, given how much he'd drunk last night. But, most alarmingly of all, there were people here. He could hear them.

If your enemy thinks they have an advantage, let them go on thinking so for as long as possible.

He didn't immediately move or give notice that he was awake. Seconds were spent taking stock. They hadn't disarmed him, hadn't taken away the gun still digging into his hip, nor the blade strapped to his back. Nor, when he felt for it, the Weapon, humming gently in his lap because he hadn't dared let go of it. Hadn't taken the bottle out of his hand, even, which was a feat and a half. It was like the couch had been moved without disturbing him, not even slightly.

So, a kidnapping. A kidnapping by people who didn't need to restrain him. Not one of the barons moving in. Then who?

Just two. An old man... and a child. Be cautious, Crow. They're either very stupid- or very dangerous.

Yeah, well, so am I, he thought.

In a movement that left a violet blur in the air, he rose, flinging the bottle like a missile at the old man's face, hand diving into his holster to rip free his pistol as he darted to the side, taking aim, ready to fire-

But the thrown bottle never hit its target. The little girl, with her blue dress and heavy tome under one arm, had somehow moved- reacted- as fast as he had, and caught the damn thing bare-handed, inches from the old man's nose.

What the hell?

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," she said, icily. "Please do not try that again."

PLAYGROUND

Crow staggered through one of the doors- he didn't care which- and stepped into a night full of neon, standing stock-still for a moment. There were people here. Only humans, which felt innately wrong, but so goddamn many of them it was impossible to count.

Only... that information board had said they weren't real. The only people here who were, were somehow a bunch of people around his age. Too damn many who apparently had been... him. Him, but from alternate timelines. How the hell did that even make any kind of sense?

In his distraction, he stepped forward- and into someone he hadn't seen. Immediately he stepped back, tensing- and managed a muttered "Sorry. Didn't see you and I'm having a really shit week."

WILD CARD

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