Chapter XIX
Back to Negativus
Walking through concrete roads, the enhancers came to Corven's mind while placing the money in one of his pockets. He took one of the yellow pills from the small plastic bag, brought it into his mouth, and swallowed. Its effect took over moments later; that adrenaline shot made his heart pump blood faster, warming his body in a few seconds. Everything seemed sharper, including his reflexes. There was no exhaustion left in his body. He knew where to go.
Two hours remained before his appointment with Adria in Lux de Noctis.
There was enough time to explore Negativus and hide the alters.
Corven found his way back into the JA1 section. As he arrived, voices approached from the opposite side. He listened and hid between two of the nearest blocks, avoiding being seen.
"What if we get caught?"
"We won't; just go in, please," a female voice replied with exasperation.
A moment paseed before the second person spoke with anxiety on his voice.
"I can't get through; it's sealed."
Corven peeked.
Two hooded figures hung around the sewer; one kneeled in front of it.
"Stop tapping it like that! Come over here, Hunes--" they quieted down out of the blue.
He feared they might have heard him and hid; a quick flash filled the street. The extarri awaited and sneaked another peek a few seconds later. The road was empty. Those Dictadurians had gone into Negativus. He walked towards the sewer and stood still, staring at the holographic entrance, contemplating how to get through. It looked real.
Without warning, a flash blinded him. The holographic sewer disappeared, and a set of stairs was revealed instead. Corven went in, figuring he must have done something right. Downstairs, the Dictadurian reached the same room that had brought him to J1A1 street. In less than a minute, he was back in the aqueduct room.
The man got ready to crawl under the crystal pipeline when a wild idea took over him. Bursting with stamina, he accessed the aqueduct and dragged his body under it, back to Negativus.
Minutes later, Corven followed the path he had chosen his first time there and arrived at the same dead end. His body ached, but he found a space ample enough for a few people to fit in. There was a bunch of loose dirt and stone. It was perfect. Without a second thought, he removed rocks from one corner and created a space big enough to hide the graphene bag with the alters inside, covering them with the same stones and gravel.
Once done, the hideout blended with the cave. Satisfied, the extarri crawled back under the pipe and headed for the exit.
Energy kept flowing. When Corven reached the ladder with sweaty hands, he opened the same hatch Saechi had closed hours before and returned to Negativus.
It was calmer than before. The traffic was lesser than the earlier stampede. His stomach growled with hunger. He sprinted to the closest netcore; a dome lit with black light where fluorescent stones shone in its design; this time, the map was carved under his feet. He looked for a place to eat in the iconography beneath. Negativus, a borough proud of its worldwide cuisine, was considered worth the risk by many Dictadurians just to enjoy it's culinary offering.
There was a Thai restaurant on the ninth underlevel, just two floors away; he checked the route and headed towards it, trusting it’s proximity. His walk was reflective. Saying goodbye to Kevary had been rough. She had helped him before anyone else in that forsaken country. His current life was nothing like that in Malkuth, and it broke him. The former binah missed his safety in Novo Oporto.
When he arrived at the venue, a Thai man of solid build granted him access to a wooded patio. The spice reached Corven’s nose, making him salivate, fantasizing about the feast he was about to have. He ordered, and fifteen minutes later, a waitress named Chaem came to his table with a big plate of noodles. The starving man devoured his Pad Thai so fast he felt nauseous by the end.
The polarities between Dictaduria and Negativus were clear. That underworld was an escape. Corven understood the effectiveness of Sectum as he yearned for what he once had. The idea to break out from the outdated social systems governing Dictaduria energized him.
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Before it happened, there was more to explore in Negativus; with a full belly, he stood and placed two hundred gatvits on the table, enough to cover his dinner and tip the waiter. En route to Lux de Noctis, he left, ready to wait for Adria.
It was 10:57 pm, and Corven planned to have a drink before she arrived.
The man took a minute to absorb the view; his eyes could see bits and pieces of all the underlevels above there, resembling an interconnected grid of neurons of different colors from afar. Negativus vibrated, alive under the earth. He paid attention a tunnel in the tenth underlevel, shaped like a heptagonal cylinder. It led to another section of the city.
Corven climbed down a ladder that crossed through the ninth underlevel and entered a duct connecting to the eleventh. As he left the passage, the surroundings resembled the outside of Lux de Noctis. The walls transitioned from a rock-based structure to synthesized titanium and black tourmaline. The shift was slow, almost as if the crystal grew from the carbon atoms within the rock itself—a clear sign of Binah shaping.
There was a tall crystal gate with a sign in diamond letters that read ‘Lux de Noctis’ atop an arch five meters tall, marking the entrance to the best nightclub in Negativus.
At least a hundred Dictadurians waited in line, trying to get in. The former binah gathered enough patience and waited for his turn to get in. While being there, he analyzed the surrounding people; none of them wore traditional Dictadurian clothes. Their attires were far more appropriate for the undercity than what he wore.
Corven felt exposed dressed in the worn-out overall Adria had given him and decided to leave the line, unwilling to take that risk. It would have been ridiculous if his clothes made the umbras discover him. He walked to the fourteenth underlevel, parallel to the twelfth and thirteenth, searching for a clothing store.
The design of his surroundings morphed; now, the walls were made of bronze fused with red tourmaline, a beautiful transition that carried on to an irregular dome carved like the shape of electromagnetic waves; beneath it, dozens of clothing stores served hundreds of customers. That underlevel was known as ‘The Bazaar.’ At a distance, along with the other two underlevels, it merged into a black and white turmoil that shaped the walls to Alchemist Road.
For now, Corven focused on clothes; there was a lot to choose from the many stores around, which featured outdated clothes from past centuries, starting with the 120th and reaching to the 123rd, nothing quite like Malkuth's current fashion.
He narrowed down his search to a venue called ‘Weareander’ and came out of it sporting a pair of dark blue denisilk pants with a matching shirt and an opaque silver jacket. He had purchased everything for seven hundred and seventy-three gatvits from a chubby man with a big smile named Purton.
Corven strode to Lux de Noctis with his not-so-new clothes and waited in line for about fifteen minutes before the two massive guys controlling the flow of people inside the club let him in. The passage was a crystal hallway born from the gate. A rainbow of lights pulsed with the song that played as he walked across.
Once out of that path, the heart of Lux de Noctis lay ahead. Although the amusement park for lost souls made him crave a drink, the first thing to catch his eye was the dancefloor that stood elevated to the left in the massive club, five meters above the bar. The same three materials used at the entrance added texture to the cavern’s rock. Mirrors and greenery made that place feel bigger contrasting with woods and metals.
Dictadurians drank and socialized at the base level, danced on the second, and were entertained in experience rooms in a large hallway built behind the main bar. Corven got close to the wooden bar and looked for a bartender. There were at least twelve of them keeping the flow of people at ease. He got in line and observed a tall man dispatching the drinks, a hundred conversations igniting the atmosphere accompanied by soft tecnodance beats.
Two oval cups with an obscure swirling liquid were mixed with a drop of a fluorescent substance; he set it on fire with a lighter of obsidian. After pouring other ingredients into the vessels, a soft red drink swirled inside like a growing orange ring. When it reached the hands of its owners, it held a vortex of flames that splattered with sparks, amusing both customers who left happy with their purchase.
Corven got the bartender taking care of his line of customers, dressed in dark green and white garments. Their curly hair had shades of metallic green and dark pink.
“May I have what they just got?”
“You can,” they said, cryptic.
“Yes, please,” he requested and left a hundred gatvits.
“A Fire Tornado for the clueless Binah,” the bartender announced, turned, and searched for the ingredients.
Corven wondered how they knew his sephirah, sitting on the only empty seat in that section; the nightclub was packed, pouring with rebel Dictadurians.
His drink arrived not long after, and when he sipped from it, his toes shivered. It was delicious.
Next to him, there was a woman of bronze skin with a fabulous red dress that matched her bicolor red and blue hair, cut short to the shoulder; her neck was long and exposed.
He fantasized about buying her a Fire Tornado. The daydream ended after he raised his fingers to tap on her left shoulder and spoke to her. A painful tingle made him scratch his neck while his muscles turned heavy and his sight went blurry.
Corven was enveloped by darkness, lost in a void he couldn’t comprehend.
****
That's it for Chapter XIX!
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