"It ain't cheap outside, hey?" Sloppy Jones greeted him, this time with a toothy grin that revealed bluish deposits between his teeth.
Lariat forced a nod and returned the smile. He fished out four hundred carats and slapped them across the metallic countertop. With his grubby fingers, Sloppy Jones pocketed the cash, leaned back, and set four items on the counter.
The Soldered MCM Mana Board was a pale gray chip with billions of microscopic pathways carved atomically. Its dull hue came from mana soldering, a technique that melded two inconceivable materials with opposing functionalities. One example hung right above them: the ceiling's array of light bulbs, made from pure mana, retained its shape through careful mana soldering that bonded it to the structure.
The Mark X Power Source glowed like a piece of perfection, an orb of swirling colors. Blue mingled and twisted into bright orange with every second.
The infusion array was another chipset, forged from a rare, malleable metal called pearlite. Pearlite was a haphazard cross between metal and crystal; its unstable state was perfectly stabilized through magic. Its purpose was to solidify mechanical and magical elements, sort of like an arcane firewall.
"Thanks," Lariat said, smiling as he slid all the pieces into the provided carrier bag.
He left feeling lighter, mentally, physically, and pocket-wise. He only had six guided carats left. Somehow, he needed to make it work and acquire high-end civilian-class mana threads, the equivalent of wires. But he had an idea. The most expensive microwaves tended to have high-class mana threads. Even though the quantity wouldn't nearly be enough for what he truly wanted, it would have to do.
Where to get a microwave?
Lariat didn't rush. He needed the moment of cacophonous solace to recalibrate. Mark Mont Square held an intrinsic quality that calmed the nerves. It sank one's psyche into the daily hubbub through well-timed, hypnotic tricks. Hustlers and vendors lined the street edges with their wares, some quality, others cheap goods from beyond the sea. Laughs, giggles, and even the occasional bout of verbal violence called to him in their own strange way.
*Not now.*
Before his mind wandered deeper into territories he wasn't ready to breach, he made his way to the Mark Mont Warehouse. It was one of the shops he had imagined visiting with Beth, hunting for deals and all.
Not yet.
He moved through the crowds with ease, spotted the shop across the street, and went for it.
Mark Mont Warehouse stole a significant portion of the square's space. In both design and sheer presence, it demanded attention like a crying baby. Its architecture was far ahead of its time, utilizing the latest in grav-tech to build an awe-inspiring structure. Three oval buildings floated above one another, framed in thin translucent glass: the visible manifestation of gravity compacted to its smallest magical index.
Travel between floors occurred through spontaneous teleportation arrays built into each level. Even entering was a marvel.
Lariat stepped into the teleportation circle outside the main door and vanished.
Attention-seeking orange was the first blast of color assaulting his eyes. The bluish exterior hadn't prepared him for the orange interior. Holographs and holo-visions [HVs] lined most of the internal space, playing adverts every second. For a moment, he forgot that Mark Mont Warehouse was, in fact, a shop.
"Welcome to Mark Mont Warehouse! Droid X300, latest creation by Mark Twain, genius, billionaire, philanthropist. I'll be your personal assistant," a mechanical voice cut through him.
A synthetic being carefully crafted to vaguely resemble a human from the uncanny valley greeted him. Lariat's guard rose. The droid's white synthetic coating and glowing orange eyes screamed anything but harmless. And he knew what such things could do when equipped with the right power source and hardware.
Droids, although synthetic, had souls in them. In essence, they were necromantic products sold to the masses as technology. Real human emotions glimmered faintly in their digital eyes.
At first, he thought to dismiss it, but he chose not to.
"I'm looking for the most advanced microwave you have in store worth six hundred carats."
"My, oh my. A microwave worth six hundred? You're rich. Right this way," the droid replied.
Lariat found it detestable that they were forced to mimic human personalities when they were, in fact, human, or had been. Mark Twain's rationale was exquisite, though. Slavery had ended years ago, and if the population knew their trusty human-like machines were enslaved souls, society would crumble.
"Can I call you Mr. D instead? Droid X300's a mouthful," Lariat asked.
He saw a flicker of humanity flash behind the digital sockets called eyes, just for a second. Less than a millisecond later, Mr. D replied, "Sure. If that makes communication easier."
"It will. Thanks. Lead the way," Lariat said, gesturing for Mr. D to move ahead.
Mr. D halved the length of his journey, guiding him through shortcuts Lariat would never have found. Towering shelves and cavernous aisles blurred past. The Warehouse truly housed everything; one aisle filled with lawn mowers and garden supplies led straight into another boasting cars.
It took them about a minute, moving at inhuman speed, to reach the microwave section. Lariat called it *Microwave City* to capture the awe it inspired. Microwaves neatly packed like evenly spaced grids stretched as far as the mortal eye could see in three directions: left, right, and up.
Mr. D flew to the topmost shelf, grabbed three microwaves, and feathered into a perfect landing beside him.
"Three microwaves, six hundred carats each. These are the only three brands that have this type of—"
"Nope. No need for the product introduction," Lariat cut in. "Give me the one with the latest mana-threading tech. That's all I need."
"Okay," Mr. D said, seemingly deflated. "Do you want me to run an impromptu checkout, or do you prefer a human assistant?"
"You're fine. Run it."
"That'll be six hundred carats." Mr. D stretched out its hand; a small metallic portal ripped open above its palm. "Drop your notes in the checkout portal to complete your purchase."
Lariat tossed in the last of his funds and sighed. Even as a professional pickpocket, money was hard to come by.