Tower 07, Level 37
The ride down to Level 37 gives Dell a good look of each level of the tower. Going further and further down, the Gurmlian can see how each level seems to be less and less put together. Be it the lack of hangar bay doors or the incomplete floors allowing him a sneak peak of the next level, it’s clear that Tower 07 was never finished. Some people did live on those levels, huddled together in makeshift settlements, each one smaller than the level above it.
Despite how slow it moves the elevator’s instability causes Dell to cling to the rusty handrail more times than he’s comfortable with. Zac remains placid, taking out a cigarette at some point and lighting up, his legs adjusting to every bounce and sudden burst of acceleration on the way down. Domitia stays remarkably calm, although she does keep a hand on her pistol the entire time. Probably out of habit, Dell thinks. As the ride drags on Dell notices how much darker it’s getting. Looking up, he sees that even as the morning sun rises, its light becomes more and more obscured by the tower itself.
The sparse settlements on each level fade until they’re passing by completely empty concrete and steel caves, left unfinished and unremembered. The only thing to tell them apart is the different number written on the central spire. It’s about on level 39 that Zac speaks up, flicking his cigarette into the open air.
“Right, some things you oughta know,” He counts starting with his thumb, “One. Level 37 is patrolled by the Reverends. Acting like a corpo merc will get you killed, so play it cool. Two. This is the ‘charitable housing’ level. People who can’t pay the rent end up here. Ain’t just poor folks, it’s also filled with Brass Fiends and washed up gangers. If the Reverends don’t get ya, they will.
“Three. Your contact is at a joint called The Spike,” Zac explains, “Once you get off the elevator head straight to the column, then turn right at the mural, can’t miss it. The Spike will be down at the end of that alley.”
“Mural of what?” Domitia asks as the elevator shakily passes into level 38.
“Oh you’ll know it when you see it.” Zac says, “Any questions?”
“Are we getting any back up, or is it just us?” Dell asks.
“Shouldn’t need it,” Zac explains. “If what Worth says is true the thieves got the ship parked somewhere out of the way and out of sight. Once you hit’em you oughta be good to take your time loading and getting the ship out of there.”
Level 38 disappears above them, and they’re finally able to see level 37. Dell can see a vast sprawl of scrap metal buildings and cannibalized starships. They’re tightly packed together, alleyways lit by dull brass lights zig-zag through the huddle of buildings. That’s about when the stench of urban decay hits Dell, making him gag gag - a terrible mix of sewage and burning gas that causes his eyes to water. Leaning from the Stormrunner, Dell fetches a stashed bandana and pulls it around his nose. As he looks over the urban maze he notices that the hanger bay doors are half open - the top portion of the doors left open while the bottom half is kept up, probably to keep people from falling off, but it does give Dell pause.
“Shit, that ain’t going to be easy to fly through,” Dell squints at it, pulling his goggles down to keep the humid, smog choked air out of his eyes, “Probably... six meters to work with.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The sheer scale of the buildings becomes clear as the elevator gets closer to the ground. The scrap metal buildings seem to grow taller, their construction now appearing even more haphazard as Dell sees how they twist and turn at odd angles. He wonders how a level like this does during the storm. As the elevator grinds to a halt, Dell can see great puddles of oily water in front of him, answering his thought - not well.
“Well, this is your stop,” Zac opens the door, motioning towards the urban sprawl, “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Domitia says.
“Tell Sonny we’ll be back before he knows it.” Dell says as he leaps onto Domitia’s shoulder.
“Right. Of course.” Zac then closes the elevator up and begins the ascent.
Dell takes a look around - the dim lights doing their damndest to keep the level somewhat lit. Heaps of refuse flank the alleyway immediately in front of the elevator, and as the bounty hunters make their way down the alley, they can hear the sounds of the level's inhabitants. Arguments echo from unseen dwellings, punctuated by laughs and cries, all intermixing to create an ambience that already has Dell on edge. Then he hears something akin to music, and as they go further down, it becomes clearer, creating a strange contrast that calms his nerves a bit.
“Nice neighborhood,” Dell says, chuckling a bit, “Think we should check out what the rent’s like down here?”
“Let’s just get this job done.” Domitia replies, “Don’t want to be here any longer than we have to.”
Dell agrees. “Can’t argue with that.”
As they make their way down the alley the idle chatter from the numerous residents become louder and clearer. The lighting gets better and they pass through what could be considered an actual neighborhood. A pair of human kids rush past them, pausing as they see the two bounty hunters pass by. Their mom, or who Dell presumes is their mom, stops her yelling, grabs her kids and shrinks back away from the two outsiders.
The whole alley goes quiet as the bellator and grumlian pass through. The guitar stops as its player and the people surrounding him turn to watch them pass by. Dell looks up, seeing other people look down on them as they navigate the alley - their eyes shining with fear and curiosity. One among them, an older human male stands up from his chair, hand on his iron as he watches the two of them walk through his neighborhood. Dell catches the Sword and Star of the Coalition Marine Corps on his chest, plasma burns on the stump of his other arm. Domitia turns to him, knocking her chest and saluting him. The old void dog gives a knock back and salutes before sitting back down.
After the two bounty hunters leave the neighborhood, the sounds of the community return to it, although Dell’s attention is more focused upon the sounds ahead of him. Low, groveling voices can be heard, and in the low light of the alley, he sees the shadows of people walking ahead of him. His hairs stand up, and he’s about to ready his SMG before Domitia shushes him.
“Don’t do anything dumb.” The bellator whispers harshly as she steps out of the walk way.
Dell is about to ask why, but his words fail to form as he sees what those shadows actually were. They’re people, cloaked in impossibly dark robes accented in dull purple. Their pale faces and shaven heads make them appear to be moons peaking above the void. They pass by the bounty hunters, barely sparing them a glance, save for one. He is taller than his peers, and the only one hefting a weapon - an AR. He glances at the bounty hunters for a moment before continuing his prayers.
“Shit.” Dell says after he’s sure they passed, “Been a minute since I’ve been around Reverends.”
“You’ve dealt with them?” Domitia asks, “In what capacity?”
“Business.” Dell says, thinking back on the affair, “They wanted guns. We had them. They paid us, we supplied them. Simple as.”
“‘Fraid none of my dealings with them were as cordial,” Domitia admits, “They’re fearsome. Fanatical. Though it makes them poor soldiers.”
“Yeah,” Dell trails off, though the thought that Domitia has fought Reverends makes him wonder how old she really is. Come to think of it, he’s never asked, and she’s never said. “Guess we should get going, we got a job to do.”
“Right.” Domitia says as she begins walking down the alleyway.
The main walkway broadens out at times, opening up to makeshift plazas where some of the residents unwind for the day. Some seem like decent folk to Dell, others appear to be deep in the haze of some drug fueled bender. Their eyes are glazed over, mouths hanging open, staring up into the roof above, arms moving without any thought. None pay any attention to them, and so they walk right past, ignoring their mullings or fearsome outbursts.
The winding alleyway eventually terminates into a t-shaped intersection - Dell blinks for a moment as he sees what looks like a pitch black wall in front of him. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, and another moment to appreciate the scale of it all.
The vast canvas is painted with a pigment so dark it steals the light around it, making it difficult to recognize where it starts and stops. The only thing that lets Dell recognize it as a painting at all is the subtle purples and the dull grey of what might’ve been stars. Those stars outline her veil, a veil which covers the eyes of the Dread Queen. Her hands, outlined in subtle purples and blues that might’ve been nebulas are clasped in quiet contemplation. Dell isn’t a praying man, never put too much stock in gods or superstitions, but the Void Mother has always been under the, ‘Do not fuck with because we don’t know,’ category. Seeing such an effigy causes his skin to crawl, yet he can’t take his gaze off her.
“Shit... It’s...”
“Beautiful and terrible.” Domitia says.
“Spoken like a true believer.”
From the canvas, a man emerges, his robes as dark as the pigment of the painting. Instinctively, both bounty hunters reach for weapons, but the man raises a pale hand. He steps closer, despite the cowl covering his gaze, Dell still shivers under it. The Reverend before them brings his hand over his chest, bowing.
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“Gentle embrace upon you,” He greets them both, “May I inquire to your business on this level?”
“Just passing through,” Domitia says sternly.
“You make it a habit of hiding in dark places? Nearly gave me a heart attack.” Dell admits.
“I was in prayer,” The old man admits, “I feel entropy’s grip upon me. I shall go to her soon.” He motions to the mural.
“Great, good for you,” Dell says, giving him a thumbs up, “Matter of fact, we’re going now.”
“Yes... Go.” He says, “And cause no trouble. We are like her, everywhere.” He turns back to the mural, kneeling back down. It’s then that Dell notices that there is more than just one of them, they knelt there so perfectly still his eyes just thought they were the mural.
No more words are exchanged; Dell and Domitia know it’s time to get out of there. Domitia speeds away while Dell keeps a white-knuckled grip on her shoulder, his eyes still looking back to the mural, now unable to not notice the shapes in the shadows.
As they sprint down the alley, the path growing wider and more well lit, the sounds of people are quick to divert Dell’s attention away from the shadows. He sees the various stalls and shops along the scrap iron burrows, peddling all sorts of strange baubles or something akin to fresh food - although Dell wouldn’t take his chances at any of those vendors.
Down the street, a tall spiked spire rises up, colorful tarps flowing down from it, forming something akin to a circus tent. Light pours out from the various entrances and holes in the plastic-y covering. Wispy smoke rises from those holes, although judging by the fact no one is coming out of it, he thinks it’s probably produced by its patrons..
“Must be The Spike,” Domitia muses.
“Hmmm, guess so,” Dell gestures to the pointed top, “More of a Spear really.”
“Har, har,” Domitia forces a laugh.
“Oh come on, you get the point.”
Domitia groans, and Dell laughs.
The pair enter the ‘bar’, although it becomes apparent it’s anything but. Instead of a bar with stools and an assortment of tables, they find piles of cushions and pillows, lounge chairs and couches. The air is heavy with smoke, and Dell knows its smell: canni, the synthetic stuff. Low grade masquerading as top shelf, just the kinda stuff Dell would move. Most of the people are deep in a high, unable to move, eyes glossy and red.
At the center of the rooml is a raised platform, and atop it rests one of the largest humans Dell has ever seen. Horizontally anyway - he resembles a perfectly roasted marshmallow. His black hair flows over his soft looking shoulders, his facial hair gives a vague indication of where his neck should be. Remarkably two very attractive humans, a man and a woman, seem to wait on him hand and foot. He looks over, spying the two and points at them.
“You two! Untether yourselves! You are far too serious for such a place.” He demands.
A pair of workers step towards the bounty hunters, bright green and cheap looking vapes held out for them.
“We’re--”
“Grateful. Very grateful.” Dell cuts Domitia off; he knows the game, gotta blend in, “Thank you!”
“Forty script please.” The woman says with a gentle smile.
“Forty?!” Dell shouts before catching himself, “Sorry, sorry, been a minute.” He pulls out forty Horizon Script and hands it to them, “Thank you so much.”
The fat man raises a doughy hand and gives a thumbs up, “Now you’re feeling the vibe.”
Dell takes a puff, making sure not to inhale, and blows out a ring of smoke, “Play the part.” He whispers to Dom.
He hopes off her shoulder, motioning to a free pile of pillows. Domitia shrugs and sits down next to Dell. Even after she sits the grumlian pulls at her; she doesn’t budge, instead raising an eyebrow at her partner.
“What’re you doing?” Domitia harshly whispers.
“Lay down! No one sits up and smokes this shit.” Dell counters.
Sighing, Domitia falls onto her back, and takes a pull off the vape. She starts hacking immediately, before turning to Dell with a sour look on her face.
“This is awful,” Domitia says through a few more coughs, “Why do people do this?”
“To get high.” Dell simply says, taking another puff, “Wait, can you get high?”
Domitia is about to answer, then pauses. She takes a look at the vape, confused, “I... Don’t know actually.”
“Just,” Dell tries to find the right way to phrase it, “Be cool, take puffs, make it look like we’re having a good time.”
“Why?”
“Our contact wants to blend in,” Dell explains, “Probably wants to slip us this info in a space Reverends don’t frequent.”
Domitia grumbles, “Fine, but this is... ridiculous.”
“Not the weirdest place I’ve met someone.” Dell muses, “Think that still goes to you.”
The bellator thinks for a moment, “I still can’t fully recall that.”
“Yeah, you were pretty out of it.” Dell recalls, “That’s when you were Sejanus mostly.”
“I was... different.”
Dell can hear the regret in those words. He looks over to Domitia, who’s eyes seem to be fixed on the ceiling. He should say something, anything, maybe try and hash out what really happened to her. She never talks about her past, only giving vague details when necessary. It’s funny, he thinks, that after all these years working together he sometimes feels like he barely knows her.
He knows her hobbies and her interests, even her guilty pleasure in watching cartoons meant for kids. Dell knows that Domitia likes sweet foods like candy, soda and even cake, knows that she hates the smell of particularly rank cheeses, yet loves veggies that have a particularly putrid smell. Knows her wry sense of humor well enough to appreciate it, and is aware that she doesn’t do well with people. All that being said, anything before they met, before the War World, is a mystery to him.
Part of him really is curious, and another part of him is thankful. He knows bellators well enough to know their hands are typically steeped in blood. Dell wonders if that’s why she doesn’t talk about it - she’s seen things, done things too horrible to talk about. Is it shame, or fear - the fear that Dell will leave or turn on her if her crimes are known? Dell thinks that’s possible; that being said, he knows he’s done things he ain’t proud of either, and has the same sorts of fears.
It’s then it hits him: does Domitia feel fear?
That question is left to hang as a stranger crawls onto the pile of pillows.
“My aren’t you an odd couple,” He’s a konii with white fur that smells sweaty and damp. He rolls over, flopping between Dell and Domitia, “What brings you down to paradise?”
Dell picks up the blue jumpsuit he’s mostly wearing, catching the ‘Tower Union’ badge on it. Still, he plays it cool.
“Looking for something... lost.”
“Lost?” The konii tilts his head, ear flopping over one of his bloodshot eyes, “Or lost?”
Dell answers, “Lost.”
He smiles, “Well, you’re in luck!” Sloppily, he pulls his coveralls back over himself, “Follow me.”
He begins to slowly crawl out of the tent, reminding Dell of some mischievous critter about to steal something shiny. He gives Domitia a look to follow him as he begins to go after the white konii. Dell navigates the sea of depravity with ease, bobbing and weaving through the mass of the intoxicated. Domitia, however, struggles; Dell looks over his shoulder to see the bellator crawling over plenty of folks, hand or knee landing on the odd junkie, a low groan or moan answering her interruption.
Dell turns just in time to catch the white konii disappearing out of the tent. Cursing, he bolts after him, tearing through the opening in the tarps. He skids to a halt, looking every which way for the Tower Union worker - it’s by pure luck that he catches a glimpse of him heading down another alleyway. Domitia comes stumbling out of the tent next, catching up to Dell.
“Dell! Where--”
“That way!”
Dell charges forward, Domitia close behind him. The grumlian leads the bellator down a winding alleyway that seems to rise up from the platform, the stumbling konii weaving in and out from building to building, house to house. Dell pops through a window into the kitchen of some poor bastard, the near toothless man crying out in surprise as Dell scurries through his humble abode, shrieking when Domitia does the same.
Dell voices his frustration, “The fuck is he doing?!”
“Clearly he’s out of his mind!” Domitia shouts irritably as they follow after him.
Despite his inebriated state, the konii moves with surprising grace. Both Dell and Domitia find it difficult to keep up with him. It’s as they round another corner that they find him, leaning up against a wall, hands clinging against a rail for support. He looks over to the pair of bounty hunters, raising a finger and shushing them.
“Don’t be so loud, man, they’ll hear you!” His voice is loud enough to echo through the alley.
Dell has to use every fiber in his being to not strangle this man. He takes a deep breath, and starts ove.
“Okay, from the top. Let’s start with where our target is. Can you point it out to us?” Dell asks.
The konii nods, his ears flopping about as he does so. With the grace of a marionette, he swings himself around the corner, pointing down the alley. Dell follows his finger, spying a squat building towards the wall of the tower. Next to it, with bits of trash and a tarp thrown over it, he spies the rough shape of something that looks like a starship.
“Like... think there’s three of them.” He flips around, “One of them left, like, last night I think.” He nods, “Yeah... yeah last night sounds right.”
“Are you... sure it was last night?” Domitia asks.
“I’m pretty sure,” is what the konii settles on, “Yeah, cause it was when I went out with this fine looking girl... I think she was a girl. Who cares though, I definitely scored though--”
“Okay.” Dell pinches the bridge of nose, then raises a hand, mimicking a mouth closing with it, “Shut it. Just... I don’t know, go somewhere else. Partner and I got some work to do.”
“Oh yeah man, right on!” The high konii waves at them, “Well too-da-loo!” He then sprints back down the alley, disappearing into the maze of scrap metal.
“No way we’re going in guns blazing.” Domitia states, “We gotta do a sweep.”
“I mean,” Dell looks up at his partner, “There’s only three of them.”
Domitia squints at Dell, “You really think that guy’s trustworthy? Another one of your friends from mob life?”
“Oh, good one!” Dell gives Domitia the middle finger, “Though I guess you’re right. Ain’t no harm in doing a sweep before we bust the door down. Where do you wanna start?”