“A door perhaps ten feet ahead of her along the side of the alley opened with a click. An Omnic stepped out, moving with the slow, graceful steps of their kind. Amélie’s eyes widened.
“What’s this?” Chen asked, amused, “You picked a bad time to take out the trash, tin-can!”
“On the contrary,” the Omnic said smoothly, “Although violence is not an answer I prefer to resort to.” He had a surprisingly fluid voice for an Omnic, a soft tenor that seemed to ooze calm self-control.
Amélie’s eyes were still wide orbs as they traced the lines of the Omnic’s clothing. He was a slender man of steel, but his bare frame was draped in cloth of red and saffron yellow, and he wore a long necklace of metal beads in the style of a monk. He turned his head to examine her, and for a moment she was staring at the face of a dead man.
Only after a second’s searching of that face did she spot the difference; a forty-five degree shift of the glowing dots upon his forehead that aligned them in a square rather than a diamond. This was not Mondatta, who she had killed back in London’s King’s Row, thousands of miles from here.
“O-One of the Shambali?” she said incredulously, her voice a bare whisper. The Omnic nodded to her with such grace that it was almost a bow.
“Formerly,” he said easily, “Though I hope one day to return, and share what I have learned.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the Talon leader said, raising a stubby black pistol, “But I have some pressing business with that woman.”
“Ah, my apologies,” the Omnic said, “But it appears I was here first. Perhaps you shall have to try another night.”
Amélie’s eyebrows rose at about the same time as Chen’s did.“You must be fucking joking! Damn but tin-cans are getting mouthy these days!” Chen laughed, raising the pistol to aim at him. That was apparently a cue, as all the rifles in the alley raised too. Amélie clenched her hands into helpless fists. Chen grinned.“Got any last words?” he asked, sarcastically.
The Omnic monk nodded.“Yes,” he murmured, then raised his voice as if addressing a congregation. He swept his hand from left to right, as if gesturing to the crowd of mercenaries.“Human. Omnic. We are all one within the Iris.”
Chen rolled his eyes.“Kill them.”
A brilliant golden light blazed into being, forcing Amélie’s eyes to narrow, then shut for the space of a breath. When she opened them again, the light had dimmed to something merely dazzling. The Omnic monk stood there, his hands spread in a gesture of benediction. The light seemed to emanate from him, and from three extra sets of arms formed entirely of that golden light, spread in various gestures of warding and blessing that were entirely foreign to her.
The bullets that should have killed them were nowhere to be seen. The fire and thunder was a constant, deafening roar at the end of the alley, but no rounds seemed to reach them, seemingly unable to pass into the radius of the monk’s outstretched arms. The gunfire slowed, then staggered to an almost embarrassed halt. The last to cease fire was the Talon leader, who stepped closer and closer, emptying his pistol directly at the Omnic’s head-case, to no visible effect. His slide stayed back as the weapon clicked empty. He swore violently, tossing the gun at the monk, who brushed it aside with one hand, letting it clatter into the side of a trash can behind them.
That done, the light faded, the arms spread around him becoming more and more insubstantial before folding in upon themselves and disappearing. The men in the alley stared at him, as if witnessing a miracle. Several of them made what looked like religious or superstitious gestures of warding. The Talon officer looked back at his men, then at the pair of them, his face reddening.
“What the hell are you waiting for?! Shoot him! Shoot him!”
“I should warn you,” the monk said, raising one silvered hand, “That my pupil would not approve of such an action.”
“Your pupil?” Chen asked, dumbfounded.
There was a scream from around the corner; long, loud and terrified. The men turned, backing into the alley, rifles raised.“W-What does he do?” Chen stammered, his face draining until it was a pale, ghostly white.
“Oh,” the monk replied easily, “Whatever he thinks best.”
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