Finding a Family? With What You Are? In this Sort of Place?

The bell jangled as the pair entered Gibson's Place. The place, though a hole in the wall, was still busy on a Friday night. Several patrons glanced at the door, then immediately back into their drinks. Connor looked the picture of health, despite uniform holes in his jacket. Smith was nursing a black eye. Yet the swollen purple skin was offset by his smile. The rebel was whistling a tune, holding a bag close to his chest.

Muse was tending the bar. Upon seeing the returning Gunslingers, she made for the back. Within seconds, Sara had charged down the stairs. She gasped at the sight and rushed to Smith's side.

"What on earth happened?" Sara cried out. "By the time I finished making Everett flush all his cigs, you two were nowhere to be seen. It's been hours, and you're back like this?"

She grabbed the rebel by the arms and shook him like a ragdoll. Connor was momentarily surprised by her strength. Then he felt Muse's cold gaze land once more upon him. He stepped up to the bar and flashed a grin. It did nothing. The blonde's gelid gems continued to bore into his soul. His cheeky smile morphed into a bitter frown.

"Out with it," the scrapper finally said. "You've been watching me since the moment I woke up. I can tell you want to say something. But you haven't. I'm tired of the cold shoulder. Now spill it. While those two aren't listening."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Smith was busy trying to explain the events to Sara. He even attempted to give her the present as a peace offering. The woman was hearing none of it, speaking over him and making a fuss. Connor figured they were going to be at it for a while. Lovebirds often kept on squawking long after they needed to stop. Muse's gaze followed the motion, then ran over the whole room. A moment passed. 

"Last call!" Muse cried to the bar at large. "Get your drinks now. Sara!"

The blonde's sharp tone immediately hooked Sara's ear. It was unlike Muse to make this much of a fuss. Ever. Sara let go of Smith and turned to face the bartender. The rebel peered over his girlfriend's shoulder, wondering the same thing as her.

"You and Smith are on duty until closing," Muse's tone returned to its normal low energy. "Connor asked me to show him something. If Raul asks, we're in the basement."

With this, she turned, undid her apron, and strode out from behind the bar. Connor followed without a word, leaving Sara and Smith behind to take care of the place.

Ψ

Muse led Connor to a small door set in the back of the adjoining storeroom The scrapper noticed a double locked door. The blonde stepped up to it, produced a key, and went through. A cramped staircase led down into darkness. Muse flicked on a switch and walked into the shadows. Connor followed, managing to descend without falling. It took a few seconds for the power to catch up. All at once, ancient lights exploded with buzzing light. The basement was full of old crates, probably here since Center's founding. Nearer to the doorway was more stock that didn't fit up above. The basement extended for about 30 feet, then was capped by a solid wall.

Muse simply strode over to a pair of folding chairs. A crate had been placed in the center, with a pack of cards sitting on top. The blonde took the chair farthest from the door. Connor settled into the adjoining seat. Those green eyes once again found Connor's. Finally, Muse began to speak.

"You...interest me," she said softly.

"Excuse me?" Connor leaned back.

Muse blinked, shaking her head softly.

"Not in that way," she continued. "You are an anomaly. Like the others. Like myself."

She gestured to her leg. Connor noticed it was proudly displayed now, one pants leg completely removed. It was layered, plate upon plate, like an old knight's armor. Gleaming silver in the dim light, it complemented the gemstones of her eyes and the gold of her hair. Connor blinked a few times to clear the thoughts. 

"You find me beautiful, correct?" Muse noticed.

"Well, I mean, um" the scrapper floundered.

"You're supposed to. I was designed this way. Stunning beauty, with the knowledge of how to use it. Yet this isn't just about me. This is about your story. We vetted you during the time you were unconscious. That is one of the main reasons my vote to include you still stands. You proved worthy of Raul's standards. Plus, you provided our mechanic with a nice challenge."

Muse pointed to Connor's mecharm. The scrapper figured that was the only positive side of losing his old one. The blonde pursed her lips and continued before Connor could ask what he was thinking.

"A small primer on myself," she spoke softly. "I came from everything. Yet I do not remember much of it. I recall faint traces of the programming attempted upon me. Nothing of my surgeries. And everything about the man who rescued me."

Muse let herself drift into memories. Connor had no idea what she was talking about. But he was thankful to spot a flicker in those cold eyes. It was small. But it was there. It showed Muse was still a person with emotions, and not some heartless cortexo user. Connor breathed out a small sigh and cleared his throat. Muse returned to her normal self.

"So, what makes me special?" the scrapper asked. "And why did we have to come down here to discuss it?"

"I figured it would be best to explain why I am constantly analyzing you, as you asked me to tell you why," Muse answered politely. "I prefer to have a personal conversation with those I am speaking with. Knowing the other Gunslingers, one would rudely interrupt us. And I have interviewed and compiled notes from all of them. My primary focus for you is your potential."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"For one thing, we have never seen a Pinnacle with this amount of raw strength. Sara has her days. Despite this, she pales in comparison with you. Secondly, there are those who serve Flynt. Our enemies act as commanders of their powers. Merely using them as a means to an end. You have a voice in your ear. You are a partner with your Pinnacle."

"And that makes me special? I'm nobody. Just an unlucky idiot who got handed a buffet of misfortune."

"Wrong. What you have been given is a chance to improve the world around you."

"Oh, getting on a soapbox, are we?"

"I don't know what that means," Muse said, cocking her head. "What I do know is you came from nothing. Downtrodden and forgotten. Now, instead of simply being a part of the cycle, you have a chance to change it. That makes you and I, while mirrored, much alike."

Connor frowned at the statement. While he appreciated the time at the mall with Smith, it was simple fun. The rebel was a means to an end. All of the Gunslingers were. As if sensing his hostility, Muse's eyes narrowed. The action caused Connor to sit up straight.

"Silence often means either ignorance, or the lack of focus to formulate a response while listening to the other party," Muse said. "Which applies you?"

"Yeah, we're in soapbox territory," Connor smirked. "I'm just thinking about how, unless your leg is a sleeve like mine, we have nothing in common. You said it yourself. A beautiful woman from the upper class, coming down to the slums to fight. What, are your parents Suits or something? You get off and fighting 'corruption' when mommy and daddy didn't get you a sports car for your sweet 16th?"

"I have no mother or father."

"What, you got grown?"

"Correct."

Connor blinked in surprise. Muse merely continued without acknowledging the statement.

"You could have abandoned Sara and I," the blonde said. "Worse, you could have simply atomized us with the power you wield. Yet you saved us. I have only seen one man do something similar."

"Let me guess," Connor sighed. "Raul?"

"Correct. I believe that you and he are similar. Very similar."

"Lady, I'm no hero."

"You rescued us without a second thought."

"Yeah, well you were in the way!" Connor huffed. "And I didn't feel like shooting a woman."

"So you do have a soft spot?"

"Why do you want to know all of this? Actually, let's take it back a step. What exactly is your history? You were grown? And somehow seem to know all of my past except for the parts that I deliberately don't want to talk about."

"I was grown, yes. And I share a similar sense about my own life."

"So why do you keep asking me about mine, then?"

"Because I merely want to know."

"Well, I want to know about yours. An example of childhood memories, or something."

Connor crossed his arms and leaned back. Muse's eye twitched. The scrapper cheered inside. Finally, he managed to break her. Then he could hear a faint whisper.

You idiot, Silas moaned.

Before he could do anything, Connor watched Muse sit up straighter.

"You used to work at Flynt Enterprises," she said, iron in her throat. "I assumed you had the mental power to figure out what I am. Surely you'll know if I stoop to your level."

Muse smiled deeply, her eyes taking on a dull glint. 

Connor's skin began to crawl.

It finally clicked in his mind. Why she was so attractive. Why she had been so familiar to him since he had seen her. The whirlwind of recent events had taken the forefront of his mind. Plus her leg had distracted him from the whole package.

Sitting in front of the scrapper was a Lookalike.

Muse's red lips were parted to reveal pearly whites. Her eyes went from unknowably deep to shallow and vapid. A giggle bubbled up in her throat, bursting out as if on instinct. The sound rang in Connor's ears. It was terrifying.

Even worse, Muse dropped the guise within mere moments.

Her green gaze once more centered on Connor's eyes. This time, her eyes were alive with fire. Rage turned the once freezing view into a burning pit. The scrapper had to turn away in guilt. He heard a rustling as Muse gathered herself. 

"Don't ever ask for my story again," Muse said. "You of all people know what those women are. I hate to discuss what I am, what I was meant to become. So don't bring it up."

The former Lookalike rose from her chair and walked past Connor. The interview was over. The scrapper listened to her pound across the floor. Muse barely slowed down at the staircase.

"Don't forget to turn the lights off as you come up," came a cold bite.

A slam echoed down the rickety staircase. It didn't matter if Connor was in Smith's good graces. None of the team had gotten to know him. Worse, it hadn't even been a day and he had already made an enemy of the leader's right hand woman. 

Bad luck seemed to keep climbing higher and higher.

End of the First Ark