3423rd cycle after the Ascension.

It was just past seven in the morning when she entered West Island’s main street, walking towards either the biggest gig of her life or certain death. The money was not worth it.

Macreen glanced upwards at the stretch of receding darkness dotted with fading stars. There were no clouds. If it lasted, there’d be more daylight in this pit – not that she could tell. The steep crevasse walls cradling the undersurface cut off a good chunk of the sky. She’d made it a habit not to check the weather forecast. Not knowing, she could anticipate the better outcome. It helped get her spirits up, if only for a while. She was beyond sick of the muted greys that had descended on this place over the last few weeks. A little more light would make her day more bearable; the vibrant holograms dancing above and between skyscrapers just didn’t cut it.

Her pace quickened to a trot. It wouldn’t do to keep her client waiting. Even if she would give an arm and a leg to avoid meeting him. If only. A summons from a highborn as powerful as Trianos wasn’t something she could ignore.

As she reached a crowded area of the mist-clad street, her nose scrunched up with disgust. The air was heavy with moisture and smoke, the sour stench of alcohol and sweat choking whatever freshness remained. Raucous laughter clung with the last embers of determination to most of the bars, a dying breath of the tired gatherings that dwindled as people trudged to their homes and jobs – those who had them at least. Stragglers, all too busy drinking themselves unconscious to do anything with their lives.

Heads drooped and shoulders sagging, the dwellers plodded through the thick weave of back alleys and pathways that the caved-in parts of some buildings made.

She side-stepped a particularly grim-faced one, the man too busy staring at the ground and muttering under his breath to notice her. When her move landed her just beside him, he flinched, missed a step, and crumpled to the ground.

Catching the first moments of his ham-fisted struggle to stand up, Macreen clicked her tongue and turned away.

People like him were her fellow dwellers? Even Garn wouldn’t make such a poor joke. If these wretches had done something useful instead of wallowing in self-pity, then this place wouldn’t be as it was: a rotting carcass of possibility.

For the undersurface to change… She sighed. That was a goal far out of reach.

As she continued to her destination deep within the web of alleys, little of the din of the main street or even the side streets reached her. The sounds were so faint now that the clicks of her heels drowned out everything else.

This district was an entirely different creature of gloom. A hollow, decrepit shell of what it had once been. Only mists crept through the maze of gloomy alleys now, no life. Even the streetlights lining the paved roads gave off a feeling of hopeless solitude, their pools of light smeared by the haze.

She picked up the pace again, her footsteps chasing away the unsettling silence.

The place where she was meant to meet Trianos loomed into sight. A five-storey building with broken windows that showed nothing but blackness inside, and a cracked façade that threatened to give in and bury anyone careless enough to stand under it.

Macreen took one deep breath, raised her chin slightly, then strode towards the entrance, determination blazing in her eyes and her every step. Highborn or not, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of catching as much as a whiff of fear from her.

Deep shadows clung to the corners of the hall she had entered, the rest only dimly illuminated by the rectangle of light she stood in. Stay there – that was what the message had told her.

Ten minutes later, Macreen took out her phone and checked the scheduled time. It clearly stated 9:30, but it was now 9:37. She hadn’t gotten the place wrong. Had the man played her for a fool? The train of thought broke as a hooded figure stepped out of the darkness, stopping just a few steps away from her; waiting.

“The crawling night takes its due, and who can say what the shadows hide,” Macreen recited. A password to prove who she was.

The man rummaged through one of the inner pockets of his dark grey coat that hung almost to the ground and pulled out a datachip. “Your target.”

She eyed the datachip carefully, though her thoughts could not help but stray away from it.

Did he really come with no guards?

Seeing the man’s impatience bubble close to the surface, Macreen finally took the datachip, slotted it into her phone, and skimmed through the contents. A hit job – it wasn’t her first and certainly wouldn’t be her last. She stopped reading about halfway through the document, stuck at a single line of information. She re-read it. Again. Again. Only one word swirled in her mind: why.

It usually didn’t matter. She usually didn’t care. Just some petty revenge or something. The highborn tossed people’s lives about for no more reason than their foul mood.

She sucked in her lip and bit it. It was a nervous tick she’d had since she was small – never got rid of it. At least she’d made it more discreet.

What if the why did matter? Do I risk it? “We’ll need some time to prepare,” she said. “Is there a way you want it done?”

The man stared her down condescendingly, as if his glare would speak in his stead. She felt the gaze even through the shadows of the hood and met it firmly and defiantly, but the man still didn’t deign to utter a syllable. Not wasting breath on undersurface scum, is it?

She veiled her loathing for him behind a thin smile. So what if she risked it? Worst case: she’d die. But void take her if she’d let him treat her like a doormat. “Worry not. Discretion’s the creed by which I work. We will be ready by tonight” – the man didn’t even flinch; he knew she was working with Zyke – “but it will depend on when the target comes down here. We don’t operate on the ground.”

“You will be notified. Don’t miss it. If you fail…” The man stepped closer to her, his voice hard as steel. She didn’t move from her spot. For all the power he had, she wouldn’t cower before him. Not here.

Void take you. She channelled. The Gift surged inside her and she dug into the man’s mind, a weed that spread its roots through his stone-like defences. He wouldn’t even notice it. Not if he wasn’t paying attention. She pushed harder. A phantom scream blared in her mind, an echo of her memory. She ignored it. She was so close.

In the shadows of the decrepit building, only the sound of breathing could be heard as two pairs of eyes stared at one another – the man’s baleful and hers unyielding. “One chance,” the man finally said.

The thought she was looking for squirmed away from her, but she latched onto it. Her eyes almost widened as she read it. It took real effort to keep her voice level. “Just ready the payment.”

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The man pulled out a sleek card from his pocket, black with a yellow slash across. “A quarter now, the rest once it’s done.” He gave her one last threatening look. “One chance.”

Macreen gracefully took the card with a grin, masking the turmoil inside her, then twirled around to face the exit. Her calm and confident eyes belied her impatience to leave. No matter how rattled she was, she wouldn’t give the highborn the satisfaction of seeing it.

She stopped short of one of the alleys and gave a sidelong glance at the building. Nothing moved. Spitting out a few curses, she moved on.

Her dark hair stuck irritably to the back of her neck, matted with sweat. He hadn’t noticed her using the Gift. The pompous void-crawler – of course he didn’t. How dare scum like her even think of attempting such a thing? Her gamble had paid off. It was a huge risk, but what she’d found was worse. Way worse.

Beggars huddled away from her, heads kept so low and tucked into their worn jackets that the stuffy high collars almost hooded them. None wanted to be any closer than necessary when her face was twisted into a snarl.

The whole undersurface would be torn asunder if things went wrong. Maybe it’d be torn if they went right, too. But would that cloud-smoker even care? Safe up there in their towers, the highborn would just observe the carnage.

She glared up at the sky, where Trianos and his ilk lived without worry or hardship, playing games with those of the lower spheres with a sickening indifference. And I’m just supposed to let my home burn?

She stopped. An insane thought popped up in her head. What if she did? If things worked out, there was a chance this pit would finally change. Change for the better. Change so the suffocated possibilities flourished. The useless dregs could burn for all she cared, but she and her crew? If they survived, they’d soar. She’d keep them safe until then.

This might work – no, this needs to work. A story had to be concocted. Something to distract people from digging in too deeply. She would have to talk to Garn about it; the rest of her crew would have to be kept in the dark for a while longer.

She sighed. Unlike the Gift, trust was still an alien beast to her, one with which she wrestled daily.

Two men slinked out of the shadowed alleys and fell into a trot beside her, one to each side. The man on her left, her regular guard, remained quiet. The one on the right said, “Any trouble with the highborn?”

“Nothing to worry over, Garn. Just a new target to bump off. We do that and we’re done with Trianos.” She gave him a reproachful look that said he was underestimating her. “This isn’t my first time dealing with one of his kind.”

He shrugged and tossed her a playful grin. “Can’t blame a guy for askin’.”

She rolled her eyes. Would he ever crack a decent joke or at least pick a better time for one? She threw a glance at him. A confident grin was plastered on his face; he was almost whistling. She scoffed. Garn cracking a decent joke? That would happen the same day he got rid of that two-day stubble he’d had since forever – so never.

Then why, void take her, was the corner of her lip twitching up?

“What’s the plan?” Garn asked.

“Call Senten. Get his men to do a few things.”

He hesitated. “That could be a problem.” Seeing her raised brow, he continued, “The recent skirmishes cost his gang a lot of turf. Senten was pissed, so I figured the fighting would heat up but no; he called most of his forces back and they just holed up in HQ. Dunno why. Tried to pry it out of the grunts that were still out, but that was a bust. Oh, they spilled as far back as their failed hook-ups after a drink or two, but nothing on this. Top brass is keeping it tight.”

Nothing new there. Rising Sun, the top gang in West Island, was as secretive as usual. Some alliance we have. They should at least keep me in the loop. If they were losing against their rivals, Night, she’d need to do something, else she’d find herself wading through debris and ash. Heels weren’t made for that.

“Any guesses?” she asked.

“Think they’re planning some big strike. With our shitty luck, it’ll be here, in West Island.”

“And they’ll ruin another district in the fighting. Any word from Zyke?”

“Course not. Bet he’s enjoying this. You know how fixers are. They don’t want any gang being too strong.”

“Senten’s an idiot for playing into his hands like that.”

“Maybe, but he’s the boss.” Garn grinned. “Sun should put someone like me in charge. Bet things would run real smooth then.”

She rolled her eyes, but still gave him an appraising look. The man was skilled; she had to give him credit there. He was her second, her advisor, her friend – if this place allowed for such things as friends. She had thought not. Not after all the betrayals she still heard of daily. But this man had stuck long enough, helped her often enough, for her to consider revising her beliefs. A friend, huh?

Garn gave her one of his puzzled grins when he noticed her staring intently at him – the kind he wore to hide his cluelessness. She turned away from him. Idiot. Friendship could wait.

“Step out of your crazed head for a second so we can have an actual conversation,” she said. His face took on a fake offended expression. She suppressed a smirk. Maybe he could be funny when he wasn’t trying. “How far has Night gotten?”

“You’re not gonna like that part. All the way down to Silver’s Ridge.”

She bit her lip. “That’s too close for comfort.” She couldn’t afford distractions during this job. This was her best shot at changing this dump; she wasn’t going to let that chance slip away.

“I can have everyone ready in an hour,” Garn said.

“For what?”

“We push Night back now and we’ll get a few days just for the gig.”

He’s right, but time is only half the problem. She couldn’t let Senten or Zyke learn of her plans. What could keep them busy long enough? She paused. The gang war. Turning it to her advantage, she would gain time and keep everyone’s eyes off her, but it would mean betraying Sun. Not that they’ll find out.

Garn took out his communicator. “Give me a sec, I’ll call Senten right now.”

“Don’t call him,” she said.

“No? Well, you’re the boss. We’ll do it later then.”

Gangs are always part of the gig, said a rule of the undersurface. A rule that had to be broken. A nervous shudder ran through her. If anyone finds out, the whole undersurface will turn on me. She closed her eyes; there was no backing out of this now. “No, Garn. No call. None.”

He blinked at her. “Macreen, you know the rules. Sun has to—”

“I know the void-given rules!” she snapped.

She called for her power, called for the Gift, and it came in a small but steady stream. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, she felt free. Her sight flooded with the many visions of what changes she could bring to her surroundings, all pleading to be brought to reality, while the Gift sang its alluring tune. Focusing on one of the changes, she wove the spell in her left arm and let the Gift flow out of her. A thrill gripped her, a thrill of shaping the world as she wanted. Shivers ran down her left arm; pulses of electrifying pleasure raced throughout her body. The echoing scream in her mind was almost unnoticeable. The power formed a dome of air around Garn and her, blocking sound from getting out.

“Trianos wanted this discreet and getting Sun involved creates too many variables; we’re doing this solo.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. No association with the other Islands’ gangs, said the second rule of the undersurface. I’ve already broken one. What’s two? “And we’ll need to have some of Night’s men down at Rat’s Nest for the gig.”

Garn’s eyes shot wide open. “You can’t be serious.” He stared into her eyes, and she looked right back at him without a change of expression. “That would violate—” He clamped his hand over his mouth, glancing around. Then he continued, his voice lowered, “That would violate so many of our deals with Sun. They could even turn on us if we did this. Zyke would, too, that weasel of a man. He'd shoot you in the head and deliver it to Senten on a stick.”

“So, he’s allowed to meddle in their petty fights – possibly stage them – and we can’t? We’re no lesser than him, Garn. If Zyke can do it in the open, we can do this much as well.” She stopped and looked straight at the man. “Failure isn’t allowed for this gig; Trianos wasn’t kidding around – no highborn ever is, but he’s even worse.” She bit her lip. “There’s more at stake this time and I want you on board as I did for past gigs – and for what’ll come afterwards. You with me?”

Garn heaved a sigh but nodded. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” Macreen grinned at him. “Listen close. Here’s how we’ll do this.”

***

She worked tirelessly over the next few days on the intricacies of her plan, ironing out any problems that cropped up. When Trianos’ message came, she was ready.

Tracking was the first step. Garn’s drones handled that part, and after two hours she found the perfect chance for the assassination. There could be no mistakes now. Perched atop the parapet of one of the higher buildings’ roofs, Macreen stared through her binoculars.

Down below, a cloaked figure ambled along one of the wider streets – her mark.

“We’re ready,” Garn’s voice came from her comm.

She channelled. As the Gift flowed through her, she touched her target’s mind, a set of mental commands taking root, overwriting other thoughts. It was almost too easy. When she looked through her binoculars again, she caught the tail end of the cloak as it disappeared into one of the side alleys, trailing behind its wearer.

Grinning wildly, she hopped down from the parapet onto the roof.

A new age for the undersurface. And one death was all it would take.

“Begin.”

A bang rent the silence of the night.