I sit on the roof of the metro while the city slinks into dusk. Knees tucked to my chest, arms around them, huddled against the cold. Dad’s jacket loose over my shoulders, a half-eaten apple in hand. Sky a grey-blue half-devoured by the coming night. Darkness settling over the capital, a fading strip of molten color dying behind the distant cityscape, street lamps coming on one by one in the neighborhoods I ride over. That fleeting, romantic moment between the dusk and the neon. The moment of a tiptoe kiss after dinner, a fingertips-trailing parting at the metro station, a monochrome photograph of a lover looking back over his shoulder.
Then a highrise flashes between me and the sunset. A two-story poster of this weekend’s main event buries the dying light in platinum pixels and eight letters that spell CHAMPION. And I’m back.
Carbon-fiber fingers clenched against the metal roof. Loud bangs and reverberations up and down the metro as fliers slam down and jump free to soar into the outer limits of the Electric Town. The last sights of the famed district wing past on both sides, color-smear billboards printing my skin with neon tones. Pulse-pounding Neopop blares up from the streets. It fades as we cross one of the many scars in the capital’s skin; a seam in the crust of the city that gives a glimpse down into the lawless undercity. The Vents. An underworld jungle of upside-down towers, layered blocks, and the concrete bridges that stretch between. The one place it’s said that even the Champion’s influence doesn’t reach.
The switch to the University district is night and day. Same brick streets, but the buildings are all lower, three stories at the most. Lanes of mom-and-pop gyms, neighborhood tech outlets, wide parks, comfy apartments, and cozy gas streetlamps. Data transfer cables hang like black vines over the intersections. Instead of brain-melting Neopop, the music wending through the streets is acoustic and demure, welcoming without drowning. If I squint, I can just barely make out the distant hills and gleaming skyline that marks where the combat universities begin.
Luckily for me, I’m not going anywhere near those schools tonight. Though there’s bound to be students all over the place anyways. It’s their district, after all. With this year’s orientation coming in a matter of days, the density of newly arrived faces should be high enough that I’ll have no problem fitting in. I still bought a cap to cover my face. Spent the last of my money on it, but I’m glad I did. Growing up in the Section’s rural coastal villages, I’m well familiar with the weather tonight. Dry cold, uneasy cold, the kind that brings wind and rain close on its heels. It’ll be nice to have some cover.
Faraway thunder rumbles through the clouds as the metro pulls into the district’s first station. I tug down the brim of the cap and slide off the train with the other roof riders, landing in the middle of the disembarking crowd. Bag tight against my back. I keep to the densest clusters of students as I work my way through a short series of hallways that lead to street level, only stopping to grab a can of caf from a row of rusting Shimano Heavy Industries vending machines. In the glass reflection, holographic posters for the first showmatch of the universities’ winter season shimmer and shift in wall displays. This season’s kickoff has the first-rank fighter of Erida Uni going up against the apex predator of the college leagues: Thane the Invincible, a fighter so ludicrously above his competition that people are already calling him a shoo-in for the pro scene.
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I stare daggers at the poster in the vending machine’s reflection, listening to other people commenting on the odds as they pass. They mutter about Thane’s unbroken record of victories like he’s standing right behind them. Like he isn’t the heartthrob of the gossip circuits, hasn’t been obliterating his competition since day one, or been the most talked about uni student for three years straight.
The can of caf slaps into my hand.
Out of the station with a sea of unfamiliar faces, descending into a wide plaza ringed by warm streetlamps and cozy restaurants. Scents of bakeries and firewood make my nose twitch while I scan the crowd until I find a conspicuous person-sized pocket that’s missing a head. The crowd flows around the pocket and gradually disperses, revealing a short, black-haired girl who’s staring right back at me with a smug little smile. Black leather jacket open down the middle, maroon scarf bundled around her collar like a cowl, laced-to-the-knee boots. Black hair done back up in a loose tail, long bangs draping past pale yellow eyes that watch me approach with barely-restrained humor.
Feint quirks an eyebrow at me as I descend the last of the steps. “We’re so going to have to update your wardrobe, Tay. If you keep walking around looking like a Venter who just stumbled out of a street fight, someone other than me is going to start remembering your face.” She swings right into step beside me. Hands in her pockets, no questions asked. “After that disappearing act last night, I didn’t think I’d be hearing from my mysterious new friend again. Imagine my surprise when you of all people text me back right as I’m getting off my shift.”
“Friends aren’t exactly my strong suit,” I say.
“Weird way to say ‘Yes Feint, I would love to get that last drink sometime,’ but I’ll take it.” She playfully bumps her hip against mine. “So, what’s the catch? You getting into more trouble tonight?”
I’m grinning before I realize it. “There’s a place in this district I wanted to check out. Didn’t know the best way there.” Already opening a projection screen from my JOY, I tilt it over so she can read. “It’s a gym that’s called the Roundhouse on the ‘Net. But I can’t find it on any of the public maps.”
“It’s old, is why. And that’s not its real name. Used to be one of those landmarks you had to see if you were coming to the capital. I’m pretty sure it shut down a couple years ago.” She shoots me a smirking, sideways glance. “So it is trouble on the menu tonight.”
I let my hands sink into my pockets. “The trouble’s optional; I just want to take a quick look-see. In and out. Ten minutes, tops.” I glance down. “You know how to get there?”
“Do I know how to get there. Hah! Good one.” Feint rolls her eyes, thin smile disappearing as she settles behind her scarf. “If you’re looking for stuff that doesn’t want to be found, you came to the right girl for help.”