Chapter 23

A deafening roar of uncontrollably genial laughter burst out from beside me.

It was Rob. My ears rang as the sound boomed outward and echoed throughout the plaza. The pure magnitude of the guffaw could've drowned out the engine noise of a Verti-wing.

It was LOUD.

Judging by the number of shoulders and heads that jerked upward? Others agreed. The people nearest winced or widened their eyes in unexpected surprise.

I was jolted upright and spun around like a marionette with my strings cut. Rob had hoisted me one-armed as if I weighed nothing. I consciously tried—and failed—to recall being bodily lifted in such a way since I was a toddler.

He spun me into an expertly maneuvered headlock, positioned so I was bent over with my rear facing the bulk of the crowd behind us. My view tilted. I was forced to face downward. It had been so smooth, I only croaked out in surprise once. My boots futilely scraped along the plastcrete surface of the ground below. A flash of panic washed over me as my arms and legs danced about like wet noodles in the wind, and I felt pain.

An unyielding assault of hard, iron-like knuckles as they scraped against hair and skin with determined friction. A burning sensation, from the crown of my head toward the middle of my scalp. I yelped. More in surprise than pain as my feet continued to flop uselessly behind us, and I finally understood what he'd done.

I was being noogied!

Rob had hoisted me one-armed as if I weighed nothing. The panic was supplanted by a pink embarrassment as I managed to choke out a gurgled shout, "Ro—erk!—SERIOUSLY?!"

Behind us, the laughter spread outward. What started as a few light chuckles gained momentum to become a stadium-like roar. My flustered scramble to get out of Rob's vice-like grip only seemed to make the effect worse. More people joined in on the communal merriment.

It seemed like it would last forever as Rob played the crowd, making sure to jiggle me comically to the cackles and heckling of the tittering audience as I struggled to not embarrass myself any further. After a moment, I couldn't help myself, and I joined in.

I struggled to catch my breath as I began laughing wholeheartedly at the absurdity of it all as Rob continued to bounce me, and I laughed harder with every jump.

An amplified voice, cheerful, girlish, and laced with an infectious youthful exuberance, rang out from ahead of us as it managed to cut through the mirthful glee.

"It sounds like we have some hungry people here—YES?!" She shouted over the amused faces within the overflowing plaza. A thrill of general assent passed through the crowd as eyes were dried and heads were turned in her direction.

"Well, thanks to the hungry stomach we just heard. TEN PERCENT OFF at our noodle cart until we run out!"

A roaring cheer went over the crowd as the walkways connected to the Stacks vibrated with exuberant excitement. The people above stomped their feet and pounded the rails as other vendors began to hawk, not wanting to be left out of a sudden chance for more sales. The entire plaza momentarily turned into a madhouse as the area flooded with activity.

The crowd pressed in.

New lines were formed.

The sound of clanking feet descending walkways and stairs became loud enough for even me to hear, still trapped in a headlock. My face was pressed into the skin-wrapped slab of metal I'd have to call Rob's side as he bent over to whisper into the collar of my jacket. The volume was low enough so only the two of us could hear. The chatter and chaos progressed around us, masking his words.

"Careful, Owen. We have to assume everyone is watching. Smile, or at least try to act like you're not freaking out, okay?" I nodded, or at least tried the best I could manage with his freakishly solid body in the way. I assumed the message was received as he continued speaking. "On three. Keep your head and eyes forward so nobody on the walkways can focus on your face for too long. One, two, three!"

He relaxed his grip as he helped me regain my balance. His arm was a steady guide as I propped myself upright. A good-natured grin was my first steady view as he clapped my shoulder and chuckled. There were a few jovial smiles and final few laughs from within the crowd around us as I swiveled to face forward in the direction of the food carts.

I couldn't spot the woman with the green, speckled eyes. Rob discreetly moved to position himself between her last location and me as the buzz of talk increased around us and the air became supercharged by an undercurrent of excited spontaneity. More people had entered the plaza.

Like tardy partygoers arriving "fashionably late" to the festivities—a term Dora had been very enamored with—the groups and sole travelers arrived in a steady stream as the line unfurled behind us. The tail had enlarged to beyond the front of a Stack nearest the central greenspace as it curled circularly around the plaza in a way that made me think of an ant mound. We were all ants, our antennas twitching in anticipation of the trail, queued up for a right to see the Queen as we took our place in rank and file.

The air of excitement increased the closer we got to the carts, which were more technical than I assumed from a distance. Each cart seemed to be a standardized model, constructed from a burnished metal with pressurized plumbing, drainage, and heated basins. The gaps between and behind the carts led to a location with standing tables arranged for customers to eat.

Noodles. Buns. Hot caf, chocolate treats, and cakes. Pieces of fried bread and cooked meat on sticks. Many of these items I hadn't even seen in person since before adulthood; the available variety of smells was astounding.

Rob continued chattering with people around us as the lines divided. We turned toward a noodle cart—the same one mentioned by the shouting girl.

My mouth watered with longing as I leaned forward unintentionally. Within the neon glow of a holosign, the words “Hot” and “Bowls” flashed from above as they rotated leisurely upon the misty air, orbiting a half-moon shape filled with wiggly lines and swirls that changed position every few seconds enticingly. It was a stylized representation of the white bowls of steaming heaven some nearest to us were holding. The people wore smiles as they chattered happily around us in the glowing light, the very picture of happiness as they ate and interacted with each other.

I was surrounded.

By food.

REAL food.

The heated vapor and curling smoke from grilled meats teased along my cheek and face. I felt the hairs on my skin tingle as I closed my eyes. The sound of commerce flowed over me. Ambient noise. I breathed in. The smells and atmosphere were hypnotizing. Salivation. I was entranced as a symphony of conversations, clanging implements, and barkers yelling sales flowed around me. I had a brief sense of calm before a spike of intense, piercing sadness struck.

The sensation was too powerful. Too raw. It was slippery. Like an eel as it dug into the muddy banks of my mind.

This. This was all only one Block from ho—my old Pod.

My jaw was tight as I looked around. A single word presented itself as I attempted to shake off the new pervading thought.

Deviate.

I'd subsisted on Proti-pucks and kiosk vendor-packed foods for most of my adult life, never deviating once. Their taste felt like ash and sawdust as my eyes snapped open. The loss of time, chances, and experiences I'd never received had spoiled the moment's retention as a good memory.

The line progressed again. Bumping forward another step like drones ready to deploy.

I followed Rob as we moved dutifully to our next spot. He stole a worried glance my way, his head and eyebrow cocked in question.

The plaza was everything I'd never known I'd missed. Luxurious. Almost decadent in its casual access to "real" food. I took it in with open eyes, lost in simmering thoughts as the mobile kitchens sizzled and bubbled around us. Bitterness filled my senses, interrupted by Rob's hand as it twitched, capturing my attention with movement as he pressed it tightly against his leg, mostly out of view of anyone else around us.

Understand. Talk. Later. He said, In a rapid flash of port-sign.

As if a spell were cast, I calmed. Reminded of his proximity and awareness, it was enough to help the anger melt, if not completely disappear. I tilted my head mutely in response, a slight nod to agree. It was a curious effect I'd have to unpack later when we had time.

My gaze roamed. Nearby, several youthful attendants stood at the ready to accept utensils and containers for sanitation and reuse. Each attendant stood near their respective cart to remain out of the way but still in range to keep the food and drink vendors supplied. The entire arrangement had the feeling of well-planned execution, of order.

I watched them work with dull curiosity until the line moved forward again.

My attention shifted to the proprietor of the noodle cart, a wizened and wrinkled old man dressed in a blue parka and synth-wool cap. The neon signs above shone their colors over giant pots. Their contents bubbled vigorously from a "U"-shaped arrangement as the man worked.

Rob nodded to the proprietor once in greeting as he approached and held up two fingers to tap his wrist four times. He gave me a sly backward glance as I watched a smirk appear on one corner of his mouth.

He's up to something, I thought. It wasn't a gesture I was familiar with, but the older man acknowledged it with a beaming, gapped-tooth smile. He nodded twice in a bobbing way I'd never seen before either.

The assembly of the meal began with a speed even a Port drone constructor would've envied from close up. A pristine empty bowl was first lined with oil before a hefty cluster of soft, springy green noodles was tossed upward into the air like a spinning cloud. With a chop of his hand, a heaping helping of synthbeef was flung into the middle as the mass landed neatly within the bowl.

I glanced around in disbelief as I tried not to slobber. The smell was amazing, and the movement had been so casually quick, I wasn't certain I'd witnessed it. Eager eyes around me seemed more excited than confused, and even the owners of the other carts slowed their work to watch.

The old man ladled a heavy dollop of brownish-red sauce over the noodle-meat mixture. With a deft flip, the bowl landed on the counter with a dull, steaming thunk, and there was a communal noise as everyone let out a held breath.

Cheers and claps rose around us before a hush spread throughout the gathering.

The old man, now smiling, held up a single finger as if he wanted us all to wait. He comically made eye contact with everyone he could look toward, drawing out the moment until he had everyone's full attention. An act to make it seem as if he were including the audience in a secret only they shared. The plaza went mostly silent. Cooking food, roaring burners, and thunder were the only noises to break up the silence as everyone waited patiently for what was to come.

One-handed, he tossed the bowl again. The contents tumbled skillfully as the sauce shot upward like a geyser. The noodle and synthbeef mixture was fully coated as gravity pulled it back down. He repeated the process several times, each throw more flamboyant as the contents hovered at an increased height each time. The last throw managed to pierce through the bottom middle of the holosign as the half-moon bowl shimmered and broke. The food was piled into the bowl one final time with a soft clunk as it landed on the counter.

With a proud smirk and a showy hip cock, the old man crossed his arms and grinned at the crowd as they cheered.

A rhythmic clapping began with the insistence of the shouting girl, his apprentice. Rob and I joined in as the people around us followed along enthusiastically.

A second bowl was produced as the old man pretended to roll up his sleeves in time with the beat. Another extended finger, a waggle of eyebrows, and he changed his stance to one reminiscent of a "Kabuki" character I'd seen once in a holo. His palms were extended comically as he moved his head in flowing circles and made faces with grunts to elicit laughter in the audience.

The more showmanship the old man gave, the more I had the impression the first bowl had only been a warm-up. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. The production, and it WAS a production instead of just a series of tricks and gimmicks, enthralled and amazed as the old man played along to the crowd's energy.

I ended up being right as the real show began.

The feats of culinary dexterity doubled in their intensity. Some of the acts elicited gasps of fright and thrill as the glowing cheers of the transfixed crowd roared throughout the plaza with every action. My earlier anger was all but forgotten as Rob looked over at me. A warm smile was plastered on his face as he nudged me with his shoulder. It was a small moment of connection before we were swept back into the show again.

The second bowl was now filled with prepared and combined ingredients. It thunked into place beside the first with a practiced flourish as the clapping stopped and everyone leaned forward in anticipation as the old man swept his hand over his head in an ending gesture.

In another language he exclaimed as he did a head bow, sharp and sudden. Like a stage horn, his voice projected outward in a resounding "Ki!" or something similar as a skewer was produced to the delight of the audience.

Like a juggler, ingredients were thrown effortlessly into the air.

One by one they flew through the holographic sign as they disappeared into a neon sky. Like meteorites, they plummeted back to Earth, toward the old man who wielded the skewer as if it were a sword.

He hopped and stabbed merrily, agile as a fencer, as the crowd went wild with every captured piece. With a yell, he presented the now full skewer for all to see as the ingredients were divided between the two bowls evenly.

He pressed his hands to his side, bending into a deep bow as the crowd clapped and cheered, screaming for more. Rob, still smiling, approached the cart's counter to press his thumb against the scanner. My eyes darted to the screen in astonishment as he flicked the price over to one three times the listed amount, sans the discount.

I tried not to drop the bowl Rob handed to me. A pristine set of cutlery was balanced on the edge of the well-worn bowl, now worth more than the total I used to make at the Port in a month.

Rob thanked the man as he bowed back. The gapped-tooth smile spread widely across the proprietor's face but broadened even wider when the next person in line copied the gesture Rob had demonstrated earlier.

I caught the ghost of a smirk on Rob's face as we turned to walk away, noodles finally in hand. We wasted no further time near the cart as Rob pushed me toward a set of standing tables and spoke.

"Eat." He said, "Stay here. I've got some people to talk to."

He stepped away, bowl in hand, as I set mine down. The chest-high table vibrated slightly as I watched him melt back into the cluster of people around us, continuing the charade as an erstwhile partygoer to chatter amicably with the surrounding population. He was welcomed with open arms and cheers in the search for information. Ears open and ready scuttle-butt or stray comments as noodles were eaten all around.

Alone at the table and with nothing else to do while the object of my desire was within my grubby grasp, I dug in.

I meant to eat only a taste. Instead, I all but devoured the dish as the flavor made my brain explode with pleasure. The broth was rich and salty. The spicy burn and sensation of opening sinuses came over me as I lost all pretenses of polite grace and consumed the food as fast as my mouth and teeth could gnash anything solid into non-chokable bits.

Honestly, it was a miracle I missed biting my tongue in half. The people around me cast worried looks in my direction as if questioning my sanity as the heat began to creep within my throat, creating an immediate sense of urgency.

I choked and coughed as I realized my error. My eyes frantically searched for a beverage.

With a finger waggle, the old man caught my eye as he smiled wide and flung a small bulb of water the entire distance between us. His other hand was busy as yet another bowl plunked onto the counter. I barely managed to keep from fumbling the container as the old man clapped and danced comically, waggling a bladed hand as if fluttering the air in my direction.

Like a man dying of thirst, I chugged.

The relief was only temporary as the heat continued its burning path, so I switched tactics. Forced to take another sip of water, I let it trickle through my teeth and down my throat slowly in an attempt to cool the heated memory of the amazing dish. I took another sip. Swished it around a few times again and closed my eyes.

Another cheer broke out behind me as I held the water on my tongue, finally feeling some relief.

“Been a while?” a voice asked from beside me.

I opened my eyes, letting them focus and adjust as they captured my first close look at the old man's apprentice. Beneath a flower-printed headcloth adorning her head, a single lock of pink hair fell in front of her lavender eyes as she smiled cheerfully.

The heat returned twofold as I swallowed and began to sweat.

Chapter 22

 

The scent of the food was almost maddening as snippets of discussion from the groups around us drifted into my ears.

“They just woke me up, asking if I saw someone walking by—” I overheard one woman ahead of us saying, “Right from a dead sleep. No idea what’s going on.”

A man with a hat bearing a TxCorp logo let out a cloud of smoke. “Feels like they woke up half the Block.” He'd blown it to the side, away from the majority of the group he was with, but managed to irritate those on the gantry as his exhale rose into the faces of those above.

There were coughs from the unexpected assault as several of the members scowled, staring downward in a vain search for a source. The vapor and smoke trails were pouring upward like stovepipe stacks as they drifted into the light coverage beyond. There were simply too many people to pick out one individual with accurate ease.

A man two levels upward pointed to the horizon. “Is that rain ever going to get here? Thunder’s been rumbling all night.” He and a few others around him were looking outward and across the waterways, and I swiveled to follow their gaze. There were...lights. In the distance across the canal. I blinked twice, trying to make sure I was seeing what I was actually seeing. I didn't recall those being there before.

But I guess I haven't really looked at the canal much either. Huh.

“You know, they’re saying on CorpTx there was a death at the Port,” a heavyset man said to a thin woman with a Cupid-like mouth nearby. The two were standing with a third man in the line next to the one Rob and I were currently in. “Supervisor had eyewitness of one worker pushing another into a heavy loader lane.” The man smashed his hands together for emphasis, causing the woman's eyes to match my own as they widened.

"A Deviation?" She asked in a trembling voice. She clutched her blanket closer to her body as if seeking warmth.

"It must have been." The man with a caf cup said from beside them. Heavyset's eyes narrowed in distaste, but neither looked at him. Cup spoke again with an air of certitude, "If they were following protocol, I guarantee you everyone on that shift rotation had to have been updated with scripting to keep them from stepping anywhere near the hazard lines. They'd NEED to be an outlier enough to even be able to THINK about it, let alone step anywhere near it. It's the only way."

She shivered at the news. Her eyes locked onto his with rapt attention. "How could anyone even be a Deviant? Don't they have systems for that?”

Cup bided his time, basking in the directed attention as he took a sip of caf, looking into the contents as he swirled it before speaking again. He was making sure he had her full attention before continuing. “Dunno. That's well below my pay grade, but don’t you worry." He glanced up, side-eyeing her slyly as he squared his shoulders. "That'd never happen on MY rotation.” It was like watching a bad drawing of a preening Prince Charming. Heavyset rolled his eyes, mirroring my own sentiment as Cup continued, “I’ll make sure we put some new procedures in place to protect you. Don't you worry. Okay?”

Blegh.

Less Prince Charming, More Gaston. Puffed out chest and all.

Cupid-lips clutched her blanket around her, no longer paying the slightest attention to either man as she looked at the ground, her brows furrowed in an expression of internal concern. The two men on either side, oblivious to her trepidation, glared at each other furiously over her. The beginning stages of a simmering and silent war where—at the minimum—a very tense conflict could last years if not decades if it hadn't already.

Had I not been so shocked at the news, I would’ve likely laughed at the scene. A Deviation. The line moved again, forcing Rob and me to move along as we pushed forward and past the trio. I earmarked the term for a future discussion.

As the lines alternated their position, it wasn't lost on me that several people had turned to watch our passing. Their roaming eyes wandered before coming back to us in stolen looks as they broke away again. Within the impromptu gatherings of friends, family, acquaintances, and—judging by the death stares now trading between Heavyset and Cup—rivalries, we were a conspicuous curiosity in what would be considered common and normal for the present environment. Our appearance marked us as obvious outsiders.

I wasn't sure what to do about it, but Rob took the initiative as his body language shifted. His face, ever casual and affable without an unsettlingly rolling eye, smiled and waved at the next cluster of people, who mirrored the projection of friendly energy he now radiated. He shared small greetings as we crept our way through the growing crowds within the lines and made sure to feed the rumor of the Port side death back to curious expressions before they could ask less welcome questions like, “Who are you?” and “Where did you come from?”

His words, served on a platter with a silver tongue, occasional frown, and friendly quip, aided in igniting discussion like a spark to kindling. The act of feeding the fervor to the Gods of Gossip also benefited us, as attention was pulled away from us and into the local cells within the chain links of the people around us. Even without Rob’s spark, conversations quickly turned toward news of the Port side death around us, which had spread like wildfire from unknown sources independent of his efforts.

The switch-up left us forgotten and ignored like fish in a rolling surf. Never too fast and never too slow, we began to meld within the small pockets of humanity like minnows in a burbling stream. The movement of the large gathering in the line's progression allowed us to shift from eddy to eddy. Rob continued to deftly lead me away from the attention of the people around us as, internally, I struggled with a sense of disquiet the atmosphere within the plaza gave me.

Even without the distraction of the rumor mill going on around me, I couldn't keep my eyes still. I had already tried to blank my mind, letting my vision rove around to drink in the spectacle of the large impromptu gathering of people. It never would've happened within third rotation's locked-in schedule. The, what some would say, exceedingly long cycle periods for the entrance and exit process via the Lock systems didn't make for easy socializing in Block D. People handled their business to keep the entrance and exit to and from Pods to an absolute bare minimum. Even essentials like food, clothing, and supplies were handled either by drone delivery or by visiting automated supply depot kiosks in close proximity to the transport tube stations along the outskirts.

It led to a sense of space. A sense of quiet.

A sense of...loneliness.

I...Huh.

From what I could see in front of me, the people here in Block M were exiting and entering their Pods with the freedom of a person stepping in and out of a sanitation booth; their Lock cycle times were much closer to what Rob's had been when we'd left his Pod before arriving here.

Turmoil bubbled within me.

Everywhere I looked, things simply appeared—for lack of a more suitable term—"better." The rails and walkways were clean and well maintained. The Pods had fresh coats of paint. The front of the Pods even lacked the rusty spots I'd come to associate with Pod living, and the people looked...vibrant. Almost glowing. The chatter and gossiping gave an atmosphere of festivity to the chilly air. The entirety of how different the open plaza was from anything in Block D, or M for that matter, was outright astonishing.

Considering the earliness of the hour, the absurdity of the environmental difference, and the noise? It was all a bit overwhelming. While large gatherings of people might come outside to socialize or commiserate as a large entity, they were only an occasional and rare thing.

Scheduled.

Planned.

I had been trying to ignore them, but interface display flags had begun to dart around deliriously within my vision like minnows when the word "deviant" had been said. The flags were busy, marking distances, velocity, height, weight, and a number of other pieces of analytical information, as they seemed to do when I became stressed and uncertain of my surroundings.

Overall? It just added to my inner sense of chaos as I closed my eyes and tried the trick that let me rid myself of them the last time. I focused on being calm. Of knowing I had a plan and a next step to take. I opened my eyes. The flags were gone.

"Is this normal?!" I asked Rob quietly, "This kind of gathering in this block, I mean."

He looked back at me, a flash of concern managing to ripple through the mask of joviality he was wearing for the crowd. He'd spotted the uncertainty as he positioned himself to ensure nobody gave us too much attention, arms now crossed to ward off open invitation to approach, taking a small adjusted step inward to make me turn toward him. We were now face-to-face, looking toward each other in the middle of the line but able to see both sides. The man behind us had his back to us, as did the woman in front. Once the gossip had exploded, everyone else had given us a wide berth in relation to the lines as we all uniformly moved forward when a spot opened.

"Take a sec," Rob said softly, beside me now. "It's just like any other day. Pretend it's just a little different from our normal schedule, but 'operations green.' Alright?"

I nodded, squeezing my eyes closed and open again to stand up straighter.

The message was clear: I was trying to look casual but failing. I need to up my game.

I turned my head, with no real plan on what to look at but intending to find something to gaze upon to zone out to; just another tired person waiting for his turn to eat.

Instead, my line of sight made a momentary link with a slender woman's green speckled ones. She was unfamiliar to me, but her optics widened in startled surprise. A sliver of recognition snaked onto her expression as her body language shifted. She was wearing a hooded jacket, much like the one I'd seen on the figure within the multi-display of Rob's Pod.

It was a she after all.

Before I could mentally analyze the obvious coincidence of the detail, Rob gave my arm a warning bump. His booming voice caused me to jump. With the swiftness of a cracked whip, the green speckled gaze broke contact with mine as Rob boisterously said, "Buck up!" and slapped me once to unbalance my stance.

I grunted as the additional mass of his burly frame dwarfed my smaller one. His arm draped over my shoulders, enveloping me as I listed to one side unexpectedly. His weight was difficult to manage. "No need to get so worked up over a bowl of noodles!" he exclaimed, a sloppy grin plastered across his face as he shook me with reckless abandon.

It was likely the WORST possible time to mention noodles.

Like the displeasure of an unseen animal, my stomach decided to make itself known as the rolling growl all but echoed throughout the plaza. I witnessed the corners of Rob's mouth tighten as heads turned in our direction. Conversations within our vicinity petered out as the line around us grew quiet.

I blushed in embarrassment as what felt like hundreds of faces swiveled toward us like security drones alerted by an intruder.

Stupid stomach. Was all I could think as the eyes of the crowd became focused solely toward me.

Uh oh.

Chapter 21

 

I could hear thunder still in the distance.

By some form of modification or other undisclosed benefit of being a shift lead at the Port, Rob's outer lock only needed 45 seconds to cycle from inner to outer door. I made a mental note to ask him about it later but made no comment as he quickly and efficiently led us downward.

After a number of unconventional turns, angles, and paths, he led us to a location I likely couldn’t find again if you were to ask. As his head swiveled to and fro, Rob kept a watchful eye out for any roaming patrols before taking possession of the work bag I'd carried in addition to the sack-like backpack he'd had me wear.

"Stay here," he said softly as he stepped away, a specter in the chilly air as he disappeared.

The thunder rumbled again.

It drew me back to where I was standing, between two adjacent stacks that formed a metal and plastcrete canyon. I surveyed my surroundings with new eyes. Not with the mindset of bored routine and familiarity, but with the unique view of new circumstance: This wasn't home anymore.

I expected hurt. A surprisingly neutral indifference emerged instead as I swiveled around casually. The towering sections of walkways and railings acted like laddered striations along a parallel cliff face; the single narrow passage flanked between them.

Like an animal, suspicious but still locked into following a path of least resistance, my eyes traced along the natural lines of the artificial canyon. The Stacks were staggered in such a way the ending of the path made it appear as if they led to a dead end. It was an optical illusion to render the mental impression of standing inside a large rectangle rather than an open passageway. It was unnerving.

Above, the grey-black sky was bleak and shadowed, cut as if it were a rectangular skylight. The view was not entirely dissimilar to the single window within the Pods. The triple glow of neon color radiated within a portion of the opening, allowing me to identify the position of the Spires behind me.

I felt boxed in. Nervous. I had a severely limited ability to see in any direction. Even playing Blue Bell Winter, I'd never come to such a stark realization of how limited our options were for choosing a direction. Most of my strategies involved going up or down...never through. It was stifling. The tunnels, even lacking any breathable air, didn't feel anywhere near as constricting as the specters of choice now around me: locked lines within lines within a box.

A maze.

I'd always loved poetry but never practiced since I was actually pretty terrible at it. The word "maze" made the memory of an impromptu poem, more in the style of a quote, boom within my head as I tried to ignore my new discomforting observation.

"What is my place in the universe? Is it where my body lies? My eyes see? Trapped within the maze of my own components?"

If anything? I butchered it; I can guarantee you I did.

Like many random sayings throughout the years, I'd somehow retained it enough for it to be dredged up with a single mental trigger. I tried and failed to think back to where I'd first conceptualized it but could only remember...words. Scattered within code in an odd pattern. I had no other time-related details.

Rob approached, hands tucked into his pockets with the work bag no longer in sight.

"Walk with me casually," he said, pointing with his head and eyes to his right side as we assumed a languid pace toward the end of the passage, "And memorize this line: 'The Blue Haven Deltas are on a spree again.'"

We began walking, but I was busy trying to figure out what he was saying.

"The what?!" I whispered. The phrase was nonsensical. My brain had issues holding onto the words as I focused not to stumble.

He repeated before having me recite it several times again, ensuring the area was clear as we kept our pace. It wasn't until perhaps the sixth or seventh time I'd repeated it without error that he was sure I wouldn’t forget. That's when he told me, “Make sure you only tell this phrasing to Sam or someone else named Frank. No one else, got it?”

I had no idea who Sam or Frank were and filed their names away for later use, acknowledging the request with a curt nod.

The rain hadn't reached us yet.

Though we’d remained hidden, it still felt like the clouds were hovering, looming just on the horizon, ready to torrent at a moment’s notice. Before recently, I used to love walking in between these areas when it fell. The cold wind bit into my face as we entered another T intersection, which opened up into another lane.

The warmth the new clothing provided in combination with my undersuit was a monumental difference to the way I'd felt wearing the Outeralls. I shoved my hands into my pockets like Rob had, which unexpectedly felt like the interior of a comforting mitten. A stray memory flittered past, one of tiny hands, flippered smiles, and childish giggles as my heart ached from the nostalgia.

We walked in silence for a while. Rob was an ace at looking indifferent as he scanned our surroundings. There was an audible buzz to the west of us, in the direction Rob had chosen to lead us toward. It wasn't the sound of an insect or electronic source, but more of a low general murmur of voices merging together at a distance.

He was the one to break the silence. "You want to talk about it?" he asked.

We were now crossing one of the marked zones at the end of each Block as it became the entrance to another. We were leaving M and entering N. There were no easy-to-see geographical features or structures to mark the borders except a striped series of yellow lines, each four inches across and arrayed in a hazard warning pattern. Why these dividing lines were marked as a hazard, I had never been told, but they were rather identical to the markings at the Port for clearance zones in the loader lanes: the ones Karl ran past and directly into...

I mentally shook myself. Even though I'd already moved past it, enough to keep going for now, I wanted to say aloud, "It's never going to go away, is it?"

Instead, I tried to keep my voice light as I felt a pang of deep regret. I'd deal with it later.

"About what?" I said it aloud.

"You looked like you were thinking pretty hard when I showed up back there," Rob said, sparing me a sideward glance without turning his head fully. "Something bothering you? Talking normalizes our body language while walking, so don't worry about a need to be quiet."

That caught me by surprise. "Wait," I said, "Do you do a better job blending if you're loud rather than quiet?"

Rob gave me a lopsided grin. "Yup. Sometimes the best thing to do when you don't want to be seen is to be obvious, but that's for another time. Quit stalling and spit it out."

We continued walking as he led us on another series of turns, each one still leading toward whatever was making the murmuring noises, now steadily getting louder the further we went.

"Yeah." I said, "Back there? I just had a sudden realization of how boxed in we are living here."

Rob didn't speak as we walked for a few moments more; I think he sensed I had more to say.

"There was a thing I remembered seeing once when we were at the port, you know? It stuck with me for some reason, and the idea of being trapped in what started to look like a maze was what made it come up." I shifted my eyes downward; the border lines were leading away from us.

"Oh?" he said, curiosity lacing his voice as we turned yet again, "Enlighten me."

I spoke the quote aloud.

Rob did one of his "Hmm" noises as he rubbed his chin. "That was in a code buffer, wasn't it?" He asked after some time.

"Yeah," I said.

"Those things can be funny sometimes," he said, "get filled with all kinds of gibbered wordage if you don't keep a keen eye on them." He lifted his hand up, fingers clawed like he was unscrewing a mechanism from his temple, "You remember why we swap them out when they do that?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, reluctantly, "the synthesizer protocols go haywire, and they eventually refuse to work. Still doesn't mean the words might not have a meaning for me, though."

The noise was growing. Rob didn't seem perturbed as he began speaking again.

"Ever heard of the term 'apophenia'?" he asked, still in a casual tone.

I shook my head. "Not really familiar, no."

"It's a tendency to perceive meaningful connections between unrelated things. Like seeing patterns in numbers, or—

"Quotes in random phrasings?"

He pointed to me with one hand, "Bingo."

What he was saying was probably right. The combinations of words and stray concepts were just unconnected sections of code buffer store. The command modules expelled instructions in preparation for the next set, and sometimes fragments of code would stick around. The words to make the poem had come from a random chance where they'd aligned just right when I'd looked at them to make me ponder on a meaning so my mind would run away with them.

"Then what about constellations?" I asked.

Rob slowed. Thinking. "Okay. What about them?"

"So if the argument is it's potentially pop...uh--" I faltered, not remembering the exact word he'd used.

"Apophenia." Rob said, filling it in for me.

"Right," I said, grinning, "then what about the constellations? Observers of the past supposedly looked up, saw the stars, and...what? Saw patterns? Only imagined they saw patterns? Made up stories because they saw dots that just so happened to match what they were speaking about? Or were they just inspired by something? Doesn't that have to count sometimes?"

Rob froze, stopping in his tracks to actually look upward as I turned back to face him.

The sky was far too brightened to see most of the easily identifiable constellations, but there were a few I could trace the edges of with my eyes, even if only a trailing end or pieced section. Orion, "The Hunter," was low on the horizon, his extended leg the only major portion visible above the top height of a Stack beside us.

"Huh." Was all he said as I watched his breath plume upward into the overhead lights, reminding me of when I'd walked home oh-so-many hours ago.

While it was still very much early in the morning, the Stacks, All Stacks, have a certain flow of life about them. Differing Blocks and their assignment zones tended to centralize around specific shift rotations. It was an organic schedule all the inhabitants followed, like bats to a nocturnal sky. The Blocks between my living quarters and Rob's were third rotation, which covered a decent wedge between sundown and sunup and were designed around it.

The source of the noise was further west, straight ahead, toward the canal line. I looked around in surprise, now only noticing there were people out and about on the railings above us. While it wasn’t rare to see people out, enjoying a quick smoke, technicutical nebulizer, or cup of caf before needing to be ready for their own rotation. We were still several hours away from the end of third rotation and the beginning of first. It was therefore notable to see people loitering about or lounging attentively around when they could've been sleeping.

"Let's put a pin in this one for now." Rob said, turning to resume our pace, "Follow my lead and stay ready. Something's up."

We circled back out carefully as I returned to my position beside him. I still couldn't tell you who or what Rob had been prior to now, but what I can tell you is he was amazing. One moment he’d be casually walking, taking on the appearance of someone without a care in the world. The next he would duck us onto a differing path or into the shadow of a building, often in the nick of time to evade wandering eyes and patrols.

For what felt like hours, but really wasn't, I became a fish trying to stay in the shadow of a much larger and faster one. It was Rob’s show.

When to stop.

When to go.

When to kneel down into the cover of a building.

When to engage in random conversations as we came across more and more people. Some waved in greeting or stood in clusters in front of their homes and along railings.

We reached one of the second rotation areas, far more well-lit than it should have been considering the hour. Initially we came across smaller clusters of people, most bundled in blankets and holding cups of steaming caf as they discussed things among themselves under the illumination cast by the Pods above.

As people rose, they activated their entry lights. It made it easy to determine Pods with occupants against those most likely empty as their curiosity led them outside.

I could smell food. Not warm protein pucks, nutrient mixes, or sloppy breakfast packs, but hot, honest-to-goodness food.

My stomach grumbled in envy as the source of the noise and smell was unveiled.

An open-market grand plaza lie dead ahead, relatively close to one of the nearby greens and flanked on one side by a bordering canal. I was gawking and had to stop when Rob signaled for me to close my mouth; this was beyond anything I'd ever seen anywhere within Block M. The railings above acted as balconies. Combined with the sound of rushing water from the nearby canal and the smell of moisture from the moving current, I had an uncanny impression of being adrift on some giant, luxury passenger vessel. The kind I could never, not in a million decades, be able to afford. It was a drastic difference from the maze-like corridors of the crawl we'd just left, and I had to wonder just why—considering how adjacent we were—I had never even thought to come in this direction.

"Weird." I said to myself as I finally identified the source of the wondrous smell.

Several food carts were surrounded by groups of people standing in lines around them. The conversations around us ebbed and flowed, also confirming it as the source of the murmurs from afar as Rob halted, turning to me with a signal to join one of the lines behind him.

"We're here."

Chapter 20

 

"The message lacked context until you told me who you were supposed to give it to." Rob said. He was much calmer now, a bit more reserved, but in absolute control."So why won't you tell me exactly what's on it?" My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as I looked at the card again. "What wording did he use to make you so mad so quickly?"

He eyed me momentarily, as if gauging what to say.

Taking in a breath, he opened his lips to speak, but, in my vision, his lips were suddenly blurred by the smudged oil paint look I recognized on the card. A pressurized bubble felt like it grew from within. My head squeezed. My inner ears itched.

There was a term for the sounds making up words: "phonem-something." It came up one or more of the countless times I'd had to research components for my Cortex Rig. Rob's voice was coming out in perceived gibberish; I was hearing noises but getting no comprehension of the words being said.

Phonemes. They were called phonemes.

It was a strange sensation: a foreign language, dubbed backwards and intermixed with other noises to make the phonemes indecipherable until I could finally catch something I understood.

"—censoring script." Rob's voice was a boom as the bubble popped. The bubble had lasted the exact amount of time he'd attempted to verbally relay the information, dissipating once he'd stopped.

I was stupefied.

A feeling of panic grew within my belly, becoming a cavernous and empty space. If the changes Rob showed me, the ones in our mods, actually go this far. What did this mean for everyone?

This was beyond the deterrence protocols. It wasn't just control for what we could see and hear, but also how we communicated. What we shared. For the umpteenth time since I'd arrived, I voiced quietly, "How?" I'd honestly lost count after the first two.

It was rolling over into that kind of morning.

"Censoring scripts," he repeated, a look of absolute disgust in his eyes, "aren't usually left in for too long. It's too obvious and requires a method of direct infusion. No one ever knows it's in place until they come across something it's meant to block. That means an inload to your mods. The real question is when."

He stopped as I felt my mouth gape open dumbly. A live inload was a horrifying thought.

One step up from "metal to chip" wipes, an inload required a full rewrite of an already implemented codebase. They were dangerous in a technicutical sense. If anything were to compromise or otherwise interrupt the loading process, bye-bye code. Depending on the mods in the person, it could include codescript for artificial functions ranging from renal, respiratory, and circulatory to even the nervous system. The only repair from a full bricking, or accidental invalidity by code error, required a full MC wipe.

If that happened? Good luck.

A full MC wipe for a non-spire individual almost never took place out here in the Stacks. I'd only ever heard of one—exactly one device capable of doing it and never personally met someone who was allowed its use in my entire time living here. The MC suite was housed in the Spires under lock and key.

Rob spoke. "Tell me, Price. You ever see something blurred like you said the card is? Before now, I mean." He tilted his chin downward at the tabletop. My eyes naturally swung to as we both looked at the card.

I gave his question serious thought.

"Outside of some old media? No. Never." Removing my right hand from my armpit, I partially covered my face and scrubbed twice rapidly across the cheek and chin. I scoffed at myself. "Then again? I also never questioned there being two COE's either."

Thoughts of failed inloads resurfaced. A sudden urge to start digging into my arms with my nails overcame me. Rob made a little "hmm" noise in response as I shivered, trying to ignore the wave of nausea and goose pimples spreading across my skin.

In my youth? Body mites had been a thing; the greenspaces were infested with them. It was so bad, it necessitated children being locked out for a time. We were constantly returning home with dirty knees, scabs, and random outbreaks of rashes and red spots, which required medical attention. It was the sensation I always thought about when I thought of the word 'invasive.'

Rob waved his hand in dismissal, raising an arm , hand extended as if guiding us toward a path. A portsign signal for 'moving forward' as he spoke. "Considering everything's so sloppy surrounding what's been going on, I doubt the inload would've been preplanned. It had to have been something recent, possibly even during the night before you got here." He lowered his arm and nestled his chin back into his hand as he sat back. "Walk me through the steps of what happened again if you can. Focus on anything you saw or touched."

I sat forward, collecting my thoughts before beginning a cut-down retelling. It started with leaving the port, skipping details of the empty Pod before flowing into the moment with the firing notice. My mind flashed to images of each event as I spoke about them in turn. My mind was actively searching for details. Opportunities. Vulnerabilities.

Honestly? Nothing seemed relevant there; I moved on.

The buzzing notice. The scramble to find anything to pack. Exiting the unit and coming across Ratface and the Goons. I froze, staring off into space as the next few recollections roared by like a blurry haze. A foot on the rail. The sensation of falling and landing onto the walkway—lost time. Haze. Blurriness.

No. No way!

I felt ill. Disgusted.

With a mental snick, Rob's anger at seeing the card snapped into context. It made absolute sense now.

"McCreed." I said in a shell-shocked whisper.

I stared over at the blurry card. A furnace ignited. The cold, empty feeling of my belly began to warm, burning as the anger grew in strength and volume.

"What?" Rob had been knocked out of his own introspection as his hand dropped and lay flat on the table. "What about him? He was on the walkway outside, right?" Rob's eyes were locked onto me. Still perfectly round. Expressive. Real-looking.

Eyes.

The same eyes with infrared scanning request modules. Scanning, which required line of sight. I had a sudden, hard-to-decipher, blurry mental image of McCreed's eyes—his oh-so-perfect eyes—as the pressure returned. It had been right before I'd lost sense of time. My mind churned, turning over facts and pieces of information like fresh milk to turn and solidify.

Moments streamed past my mental feed like holo snippets. They spun faster and faster, rotating and clicking as parts overlaid and collected. Interlinked.

A weird flash. A sudden case of vertigo. The feeling of discombobulation and wrongness followed by confusion. An inexplicable, overpowering urge to embrace the void.

No way.

"Rob," I said, trying not to vomit, "tell me. Could someone rig optical mods to inload? Like—" I paused, rolling my hands around, trying to think of a function, my movements frantic as I struggled to get the words out, "Uh...a pulse-code, like we'd use for state controllers?"

Rob's dawning comprehension and surprise was all the answer I needed.

McCreed! That bastard!

I'd been directly violated. Compromised. The deterrence protocols were bad enough since, by Rob's description, almost all Corpo-standard mods were rigged with them, but this? It made a bad situation even worse. So much worse. I was furious. He'd done it. He'd changed me.

Aloud I spoke at Rob, hands balled into fists. "He forced me to accept. Didn't he?" My voice was dangerous and steady. Almost too calm until the urge to shout—to scream—overtook me. I repeated my last words with the force of a kettle set to boil over.

"DIDN'T HE?!!!"

I was panting now. My biometrics feed went haywire as my interface flashed immediately into sight, written in Meditech red.

[!WARNING][Remain Calm. Biometric Levels Elevated Beyond Configuration Scale. Report to Corporation Sanctioned Medical Facility IMMEDIATELY][WARNING!]

It was blocking my view. Again!

I wanted to lash out. To hate. To scream at the injustice of not even being allowed to rage without interruptions. It made every fiber of my being demand restitution for being forced to read the words. Uninvited. Unwelcome.

Rob was sitting forward, a concerned look on his face. He wasn't angry, upset, or negatively reactive to the fact I'd yelled. He was serene and ready. A mountain waiting out the storm. My guess is he was watchful so I wouldn't hurt myself if I chose to do so. I was skidding toward the edge of a vast depression, a core of rage I could feel stirring in the embers at the base of the downward slide and an eventual eruption.

Instead? The opposite happened.

I calmed.

It wasn't like a switch had been thrown; that would've just been more proof of how deep the changes might lie and confirmation it was controlling everything.

No. It was more like coming to after standing in a room yelling into complete emptiness. Throat raw, hands bruised and bleeding from pounding into a formless wall, sweat dripping onto an unseen floor, but for what?

What was it all for? What would it accomplish? What COULD it accomplish?

The voice in the back of my mind said it in sequence, faster than a fiberline pulse. The voice was a calm and rational one, usually heard once the silence surrounded me and my emotions were too drained to continue.

"Nothing," I said quietly to myself.

Rob, in a soothing tone, said, "Owen. They can suggest. They can obfuscate. They can smudge the truth and possibly hide things from you, but they can't force you. You have to want the need in order to be coerced. If you accepted taking the card, it's because you wanted to. I think we both know the reason."

He was right.

I wanted to see Dora. I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit to it. I was hoping taking the card would let me see her again.

A phantom hand, clawed and vice-like, gripped tight around a piece of cursed treasure was inside me. I felt a release. The hand uncurled, finally letting go. Letting the last piece tumble clear.

No longer in any danger of dancing on the razor's edge between upset and enraged, I was...functional again.

Functional is good.

Letting a breath out in a sudden whoosh, I breathed deeply, filling to the brim like a bellows, ready to pump. I let the air out slowly, like Rob had done only minutes before. It was nowhere near as mythical or noticeably effective as Rob's calming technique, but it was enough to make my vision clear.

At least the warnings went away.

I hadn't, and likely would NEVER, forget the crimes done against me. But I had to remind myself I had agency. I could make decisions, and right now? I was going to consciously decide to push my meager energy reserves toward something more productive, just like the time in the tunnels, and I had a lot more unknowns then than I do now.

"Alright." I said, initiating the age-old practice of saying a statement aloud to make it concrete. Actionable. "Looks like I'm moving on to acceptance."

Rob's voice made me open an eye. The pace and delivery were ones I recognized. "Focus on what you can control," he said in a wavering tone, "otherwise, they will control what you cannot."

I laughed. A single bark that echoed off the ceilings and walls of the Pod.

"You're seriously going to quote Rob-isms at me? Now?!" Rob fought not to smirk. He was very capable that way, preferring to use near-ancient quotes and jokes from holo archives to change the tone of a moment, sometimes outright breaking it unexpectedly. I bulk labeled sayings like he'd just done as "Rob-isms," and I owed a lot of my reference of knowledge, technical or otherwise, to many of them. You'd be stupid not to at least TRY to figure them out. They were often right on the scrit.

Between his usual cracked joke, the understanding I couldn't change what happened, and the nerve-settling reminder they couldn't have MADE me do anything. The situation was defused.

For now.

I gave a small smile to Rob: Rob the super-spy. Rob the situation defuser. Rob, the freakishly growing powerhouse capable of smashing small shipping containers between his hands if you made him too mad. If he was telling me this, it was a truth.

"So." I said, with a small huff, "How am I going to figure out what's actually on that card if I can't see, hear, or—so I'm assuming—feel the damn thing?"

Rob and I sat for a moment, thinking, when his voice suddenly barked out three words with slight pauses between them. "Looking. Turn. For."

I peered at him questioningly.

"Did you hear those?" He asked, eyebrows raised in hope.

I sat up. "Yes, actually!"

"How about this?" He began talking. The bubble of silence pressed inward on me until he stopped. It was a short section of three words. The sensation disappeared an instant before I heard his voice say, "Now?"

"No. What'd you do different?" I was leaning forward now. He seemed to be onto something.

"I put a few of the words together without skipping. The fact it only seems to do it if you apparently INTEND to say the message somehow applies." He looked around the Pod as if tallying inventory of what was in it before getting up and returning with a box.

He cleared the table, scooping up the blurred card and handing it to me so I could stash it in a pocket before sitting.

He opened the box. Inside was a thin, rod-like object with a pointed end, which almost looked like a stylus, and a square of what looked like filisheet. The square was opaque, pinkish-white, and not transparent, with a rough, fibrous texture I couldn't identify in the light.

"What," I asked, pointing to the box and the objects, "are those? Never seen them before."

"A pen and a piece of paper?" Rob asked quizzically, holding them up, "You're messing with me, right?"

"Oh," I said, "I thought it was some kind of crazy secret spy equipment or—" I trailed off, shriveling under the confusion and disapproval on Rob's face. He shook his head slowly as he scribbled words onto the square of paper, pushing it toward me once he'd finished.

"Can you read that?" he asked.

I tried. Seriously, I did. My head started to hurt trying to make sense of what might as well have been ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics or base machine code for all the good it did. It was a jumble of lines and swirls, though I did manage to make out the shape of at least two 'O's.

"No," I said, shaking my head, "it's not blurry, but it's gibberish to me. Just a bunch of swirls and loops. Is that an O?" I asked, pointing to a spot. He didn't say a word, just stared at me as he reached out slowly.

His fingers pressed down, spinning the paper around. "It's upside down," he said in a deadpan voice as I tried not to look at him. My face was burning.

Kill me now. I thought as I tried to read it again.

The bubble returned. The square of paper blurred. A noise of dejection escaped my lips. Rob sighed, a really deep and cynical one this time.

"So it doesn't matter if it's handwritten either, then." He clicked his tongue on his teeth, looking around as he tapped his chin absentmindedly with a knuckle. "It's too bad I don't have a teaching tablet or something around here. Would've been useful. Maybe a flashcard routine or an open programming interface could do it."

I perked up at this. Now this was something I knew.

"What do you need it for? I'm assuming to randomize the words or something?"

He nodded, "I don't have enough paper to make this easy. I guess I could use a wall or the table, but that'd be messy and hard to hide later." He kept turning, looking at things. Weighing their writing ability with his eyes like a corporate appraiser, trying to find the best items to claim for a quarterly budget inflation.

"Hang on," I said, standing up to go to the multi-display. "How much of the stock software do you have on this thing? Did you ever do a lightload or remove the original deployment suite?"

Rob appeared by my side, leaning up against the wall. "Mostly stock, to make it seem untouched. There should still be the original configs in there somewhere; just don't do a wipe or remove anything. Okay?" I nodded, setting to work as he looked on.

When I was younger and under mite quarantine. We hadn't been allowed to leave for any reason. My learning system had been rendered inoperable; don't ask me how, but I'd needed to run something in such a way it wouldn't track as having been on the mandated device. I'd come to a bright idea while poking around the menus on the entry system; it was when I'd discovered the security bypass. My digging unveiled an underlying framework nearly identical to the mandated device. With a little finagling, a touch of finesse, and a dash of work, a side-load proved to be an effective means of adding functions to a relatively locked system. Education software was simple compared to a lot of others because they were already authenticated.

My hands remembered the routine once I'd gotten into the flow of it, calling up the menus to add scripts and functions. I pulled a copy of the code script for flashcard software I'd used plenty of times to study from a common code depot. I'd used it to sit in the kitchen so I wouldn't have to hold up the bulky school device with food on my hands. Guess it was going to turn into something new today. I quickly set up the necessary functions, making sure to use an old depot and relay trace I'd already gotten data from so it would be harder to track.

Just to be safe.

"Think this'll work?" I asked, stepping aside to make room as Rob eyed the software and smiled in recognition. "I think I see what you're thinking. Genius." He said, clapping me on the back. "Turn around for a sec; I'll modify it so we can test a few things."

It was short work to figure out the exact pattern and spacing for the words to not be blurred and the bubble to not activate, but we found it. For every word of the message, Rob added a sequence of three others of an unrelated subject to reference. After a few more tries, he was able to load an array of thirty-six words, each timed to flash in half-second increments on repeat.

"Well, that was way more work than I would've expected." Rob told me, as we stood in front of the screen, to try to finally relay the mystery of the card's message.

It took a few cycles, some of which were interrupted by the bubble, which set off a nasty headache, as I was finally able to comprehend the message.

He is the one you're looking for. Your turn.

It was short. Almost too short, but for me it had all the impact of a guillotine's split-second difference between being "up" or "down." I closed my eyes and breathed calmly. Ah. That's what he meant by context. I thought, rubbing my aching head to keep from getting angry.

From beside me, Rob spoke. He was tapping the screen again, shutting off the flashcard routine. "If McCreed marked you as the one Ruby was looking for, you were set up for a long, slow, lingering death. I'm not exaggerating here. It would've been nasty."

I only knew of Ruby's name because she was Dora's employer. Being told she was ruthless enough to torture someone to death sent a small trill of fear up my spine. I looked at Rob. "Is there any way to back out from my choice now?" I asked, only half joking.

He looked at me, mirth in his eyes at my unschooled expression. "She's not all that bad, Owen. She's ruthless, true, and you should never forget it." He tapped a few more commands, bringing up a messaging interface that was empty. "Just don't ever double-cross her. Ever." His face went serious. "She never punishes someone who doesn't deserve it, but if you do?"

He went silent. The trill of fear lessened but didn't go away as a shiver replaced it.

By this point? Finding out Ruby was a ruthless, possibly evil patron didn't surprise me. Being ruthless made a sort of sense when you were dealing with the likes of McCreed and Ratface, my only two references for the kinds of people who were involved. The fact Rob wasn't all that concerned put me at ease, just a little bit.

Can't swim with the sharks if you don't have teeth.

A notice blinked on the screen, and Rob toggled it up, letting the words glow for us to view:

[x15 - n]

Rob cleared the interface to show us the feed of the entryway outside. It was clear. No movement. No sound. He nodded once before turning and lifting one of the bags we'd already prepared near the door in one smooth motion.

"Time to go."