Rebirth in the Shadows

Richard Carter reclined in his apartment, a sense of accomplishment lingering, Tom, his accomplice in the heist, had just left with a hefty reward – two gleaming B-rank mana crystals nestled in his palm. Relief washed over Richard, a tense calm replacing the adrenaline rush of the operation.

He tossed the duffel bag containing his loot onto the coffee table, its contents spilling out like a bounty hunter's prize. Gleaming metallic components – mithril conductors, titanium plating – lay scattered amongst power cells, regulatory units, and a delicate calibrator with micro-wielders. These were the raw materials, the building blocks for his audacious design.

But the true jewels were the mana crystals. There were roughly twenty in total, a mix of B-ranks and two coveted A-ranks. These A-rank crystals, along with a few select Bs, would be used to forge the core of his operational orb. The rest, however, would be sold.

Last among his acquisitions was the plasma gun, a sleek marvel of technology. Its smooth contours and polished finish exuded a sense of sophistication, while its intricate design hinted at its formidable capabilities. It was a thing of sleek beauty, currently configured as a handheld pistol. But Richard knew its true potential. This wasn't just any plasma gun; it was the Fusion-Driven Plasma Dispersion Device 2.0, or as some in the field called it, the Nova Gun. This weapon, a marvel of cutting-edge technology, had played a large role in the frontline fight.

However, currently, it was still under development and this was merely a prototype, plagued with teething issues. Power regulation, recharge times, and overload protection were all significant hurdles. Yet, with the right tools and expertise, Richard was confident he could tame the beast.

Normally, a heist of this magnitude would attract unwanted attention. But Richard had a gamble – a calculated risk based on the new Arcadia branch's inexperience. Barely a month old, the branch was desperate to establish itself as a force in the city's defense and security market. News of a successful robbery, so soon after their grand opening, would be a PR nightmare. Richard was banking on them keeping it quiet, conducting a discreet internal investigation. This bought him precious time to execute his plans without fear of immediate reprisal.

Richard also needed a workspace. Luckily, his apartment housed a forgotten treasure – a basement workshop once used by his Uncle Steve. Here, Uncle Steve had transformed city scraps into sellable crafts. However, with Uncle Steve long gone, the basement had become a dusty relic of its former glory. Re-inventing this space was essential, but resources were tight.

To fund the renovations, Richard considered selling some of the mana crystals. However, with the likely search for the missing crystals, a traditional market was risky. He'd need to delve into Arcadia's underbelly, the hidden black market that thrived beneath the city's glittering facade. This was a world of shadows and secrecy – the perfect place to offload a few crystals without attracting unwanted attention.

*****************

Six days had passed. The once-abandoned basement, a forgotten haven for his late Uncle Steve's tinkering projects, had undergone a metamorphosis. Under Richard's determined hands, it had become a phoenix's nest – a workshop brimming with potential.

Powerful floodlights illuminated the space, casting harsh white light onto rows of repurposed workbenches. Tools of all shapes and sizes hung on metal tool boards, glinting in the artificial light. A salvaged ventilation system hummed quietly, filtering out fumes and dust. In the center of the room stood his pride and joy - a customized workbench specifically designed for his project.

With meticulous precision, he fine-tuned his operational orb, testing and retesting its functionality. His anxiety gnawing at him with every tick of the clock. The mana suppressant pills, his only solace after the lab explosion, were running low. This orb was his only hope.

"This has to work," he muttered to himself, a mix of determination and desperation lacing his voice.

With a resigned breath, Richard donned the orb like a pendant, its weight resting against his chest, where his damaged mana heart lay. He turned on the device.

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then, a brilliant light emanated from the orb's intricate core, bathing the workshop in an ethereal glow. Relief washed over Richard in waves. It worked. He could feel the mana coursing properly through him, a forgotten symphony now playing in perfect harmony. His body, once sluggish and weak, felt light and energized. He moved with a newfound grace, a testament to the power coursing through him.

The orb was just the first step. He had a plan, a grand design to save humanity from the encroaching darkness. But resources were scarce. The workshop renovation and the tools he'd procured had drained his remaining funds. Stealing was no longer an option. This time, he needed to earn his keep.

Richard, however, possessed a unique skill set for survival. His years at Carter Industries had honed him into a formidable strategist, an engineer, and a fighter, all rolled into one. There was only one place in Arcadia that catered to such a diverse skillset: The Steel Ravens, the city's most notorious mercenary guild.

The Steel Ravens wasn't for the faint of heart. They dealt in the grittier aspects of life – monster hunting, high-risk security detail, and retrieval of lost artifacts from perilous locations. The guild housed a diverse group of individuals – weathered veterans, cunning rogues, and even powerful mages seeking anonymity. It was a world of shadows and secrets, the perfect place for Richard to hide and build his strength. But first, he'd need to finish up on his gun.

****************

Five days later, Richard stood before the imposing edifice of the Steel Ravens guildhall. The building, a hulking structure of weathered grey stone, exuded an air of stoic resilience. Its barred windows and heavy oak doors spoke of a place that had seen its fair share of violence.

Richard, cloaked in anonymity, was the picture of a mysterious newcomer. A black mask, meticulously crafted from a salvaged energy dampener, obscured the upper half of his face. A dark hood, pulled low over his brow, further shrouded his features. The rest of his attire was a study in practicality – a makeshift leather armor rig reinforced with discreet titanium plating for protection. Solid, knee-high boots provided sturdy footing, and black gloves, imbued with a thin layer of protective mana weave, concealed his hands.

His most prominent feature, however, was the weapon holstered at his hip – the Nova Gun. The sleek lines and faint hum of contained power made it a conversation starter, even if Richard intended to keep the conversation to a minimum.

With a practiced swagger, he entered the guildhall. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and stale ale. A motley crew of mercenaries filled the common room, their boisterous laughter and animated discussions punctuated by the rhythmic clinking of tankards.

Ignoring the curious stares that followed him, Richard strode towards the reception desk, manned by a woman who seemed more comfortable wielding a battleaxe than a quill. Her fiery red hair pulled back in a tight braid, mirrored the crimson emblem emblazoned on her leather jerkin. Her emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, met Richard's gaze with a hint of challenge.

"I'd like to apply to join the guild," Richard stated, his voice a low rumble disguised by a vocal modulator embedded in his mask.

The woman, raising an eyebrow at his unconventional attire, leaned back in her chair. "Okay," she drawled, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, "what's your name, do you have any identification?"

"No ID," Richard replied smoothly. "The name's Eclipse."

A flicker of suspicion crossed the woman's face. "No ID, no last name... new to the business, are we?"

"Something like that," Richard offered, keeping his response vague.

The woman tapped a finger on the desk. "Alright, Mr. Eclipse, no ID means a basic card and the lowest rank. You'll work your way up from there, mercenary work ain't for the faint of heart. You understand?"

"Perfectly," Richard replied, his voice showing no emotion.

The woman disappeared into a back room for a few minutes, returning with a simple leather card embossed with a Steel Ravens symbol – his temporary badge into the world of mercenaries.

"There you go," she said, tossing the card on the counter. "Notice board over there has the latest jobs. Pick something that suits your fancy and matches your rank, Mr. Eclipse."

Richard retrieved the card with a nod.

Turning away from the receptionist, he ignored the hushed whispers and speculative glances that followed him. He moved with a newfound purpose towards the notice board, a sea of parchment postings detailing various mercenary assignments.