Get ready for a cinematic experience! In a Cyberpunk-style alternate version of Baldur's Gate, Astarion Ancunin, a top celebrity and aspiring politician, meets a popular influencer called Shadowheart in a fundraising party. But an unexpected crime s...
When they landed on the pad outside the huge skytower, a burst of rain struck the air-tax. Astarion glanced at Barcus, catching a hint of bitterness.
"You follow Wulbren, but you're not like him."
"I follow Wulbren because he's a leader."
"Ah, but where does he lead you?" Astarion allowed himself a righteous grin. "Except to disaster."
"That's none of your business." The Ironahnder pushed the gun against his head. "Get out."
He exited with a shrug. Shadowheart had a gag over her mouth—she'd complained too loudly about the betrayal, wasting her energy. Wulbren's thugs led them inside the building, where they met two men in black suits. Each wore a dark visor and had implants on his neck. Their arms were thick, probably thanks to strength enhancers.
"We'll take it from here," one Sharran said, raising his hand.
"Sure you don't want our help?" Barcus asked.
"I think we can handle two civies and a tiny dog."
Although worried, Astarion put on his confident smirk. "Are you taking us to see Shar?"
"I'll take you to Dr Amputa, our ripperdoc, if you don't shut it." The buff Sharran gestured for Barcus to get out. The Ironhander gave him and Shady an apologetic look and turned away. As he exited the building, the rain became a downpour.
"Move, smartass," the Sharran said, shoving Astarion hard enough to make him stumble. The other goon handled Shadowheart, who kept her arms wrapped around Muffin. The dog, seemingly aware of the danger, stayed unusually silent. They walked to an elevator that shot up to a high floor. There, behind reinforced doors, at the end of a long, lavishly decorated corridor, the Sharrans stopped next to a second lift. The menacing guy tapped on his neck interface and said they needed clearance. In a few seconds, the door opened.
"You know, we didn't mean to kill anyone," Astarion said on the way, mostly to make conversation. "This is all an unfortunate accident."
"Do I look like someone who gives a mutated rat's ass?"
"No. But for what it's worth, it was a stimulating experience." He added a taunting grin. The suited man measured him for a couple seconds before breaking into a chuckle.
"I haven't the slightest idea how you pulled it off, but try this shit with me and I'll tear a stimulating experience through your spine."
"How cultured," Astarion said, sneering. Then the lift door opened, and the menacing Sharran pushed him into yet another fancy corridor. Two automated ceiling turrets followed them as they crossed it, their steps softened by a red carpet. At its end stood a set of steeloak doors, and the biggest, meanest cyborg he'd seen yet was walking from it toward them. The guy's head was as smooth as a billiard ball, and he wore combat armour which, together with his massive arms and legs, made him look like a walking tank.
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