Back into the Electric Town with a killer at my side. Making our escape through a rickety metal door in the back of the street-corner police office, Feint and I duck into a thin alley stained by the blue ambiance of yet another capital night. Tube-neon signs and shivering air ducts crawl along the alley walls, the glowing tree branches of the chrome jungle. The pulse of the city calls from the alley exit like a distant waterfall, blanketed by highrise advertisements that smear constantly-shifting light over the soaked streets. Nearer by, late-night ramen bars bubble and boil behind the moody whisper of rain.
A canopy of awnings protecting doorsteps and balconies insulates us from the downpour drenching the city. I take one look up at the stormy skies above, touch the aching wound in my stomach as a bolt of lightning pulses behind the clouds, then set off into the night with Feint a half-step behind. Blistering puddles of runoff fill the alley floor with wavering reflections of the metropolis; we shatter them without stopping. The further we get from the jail, the faster, the better.
Icy rain slaps against us in icy, rainbow-hued curtains as we break out of the alley. Yesterday’s storm struck hard and fast while I was knocked out, and it came with a vengeance. Everything I wear except Dad’s jacket is drenched instantly. The jacket’s inline heating kicks on as it senses my core temperature taking a nosedive, but it can only do so much. My hair turns into even more of a slop. I pull it all back as best as I can and squint against the downpour, almost losing track of Feint right off the bat. It’s only with some muttered apologies and quick footwork that I manage to catch up as we leave street level and jog up a flight of wide brick steps towards the aboveground metro platforms.
The downpour fades, last droplets slipping down my back in frozen rivulets. The cloistered chaos of the metro station sweeps right into its place. High-speed trains rocket through the station at a clockwork rhythm. Hundreds of people clamor and jostle and laugh as they swap between rails past the gates. Dripping water from her rolled-up sleeves, Feint pulls out a JOY and sweeps it over the turnstile without worry, grabs my wrist, and drags me through before it can close behind her. No one notices. Nor do they take a second look at us while we pick the first train we see and dart through the doors just before they close, squeezing in chest-to-chest at the last instant. Despite the fact that we look like we just took a ride down the wrong side of an industrial rain drain, we’re just two more college girls in the prime weekend time where everyone’s finding a party to crash at.
We’re alone in having no flashy classes like the ones glowing and gleaming and jostling me on every side. A Guardian with matte, light-absorbing armor standing like a bulky living shadow, her elbow plates digging into my ribs. Boxing Feint in, a bookish bespectacled Magus who’s crushed into the corner toes for space with a Tamer hosting four pets on his shoulders and a nasty bruise on his face.
Feint sticks a hand up towards the ceiling, wiggling her fingers at a swaying ring grip. Before she can grab it, the train lurches into motion, tossing her against my chest.
“Need a hand?” I ask, all sarcasm.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
She shoots me a dirty look and stands even higher on her toes, finally grabbing hold. Her wrist and the bangle attached to it hang right at my eye level. Dull black metal with silvery, wavelike patterns. Those etchings, too. But it doesn’t look technic, meaning it’s probably not a piece of gear made by someone using the Innovator class. If it is, it’s really, really high quality. And that means she probably stole it.
Dimly, I’m aware of my new companion picking at the hem of her shirt in disgust. “New shirt, new undershirt, new shoes…” she’s muttering. “New pants, new socks…”
“What is this thing?” I ask, still examining the bangle. “It doesn’t look like any JOY tech I’ve ever seen.
“That’s because it wasn’t made by a JOY. It’s a Relic.”
“Relic?”
“You know, pre-OldTech. Like the stuff the Creators left behind.” She looks up at me with a dumb expression on her face, waiting. Then sighs when I give zero signs of recognition. “Have you ever been to the Museum of Videography? The anthropology exhibit? Or… read like any book about Olympus?”
“I’ve never been outside the villages,” I admit, glancing at the rest of the train. Outside, the Electric Town whips past in a whistling blur, the Metro Blockhouse quickly rising out of the cityscape. “This was my first time leaving. Ever.”
“And of all people, you had the misfortune of running into me first.” When I look back down, Feint is watching me with no shortage of humor. She jogs her wrist for emphasis. “All the Relics we’ve found came from Olympus. Most are missing, or broken, or museum pieces. But a couple still have some juice left in them. Only problem is, the Creators didn’t exactly leave behind manuals on how to use them. So the Relics that are left stay locked up in rich aristocratic vaults until they’re completely forgotten about as useless junk or jewelry.”
“…and yours is one of those.”
“Was one of those,” Feint corrects. She leans closer, eyes wandering the other riders, talking past my ear. “So. This aunt of yours. She have a name?”
I let my voice lower to match hers. “Not one I trust you to know.”
“You asked me to help you hide from the Champion and his cabal, Tay. You’re going to have to trust me at some point.”
“I will when you give me a reason to. Just because I need your help doesn’t mean I’m not expecting you to put another knife in my back the moment I look away.”
“I mean, I haven’t killed you yet. That’s got to be worth something.”
The metro bucks beneath us, slowing for the upcoming station. Downtown E-Town, just a couple of streets away from where Feint found me the first time. The storm pounds relentlessly against the roof and walls. The clamor vanishes suddenly as bright white light floods the interior of the car and we coast into the station. Everyone pushes out the moment the doors squeak open, letting Feint and I finally sag away from each other. Other than Main Street, this is the busiest stop for anyone heading to the Metro Blockhouse. Weeknight, fight night, it’s the only place people are going. And it feels like the whole city, us caught up with, is heading there.
Feint stays beside me and waits for a gap to appear in the press of bodies. “You should at least tell me what you did. Coming from a girl who’s got her own skeletons, I’m curious.”
Not waiting to see if she follows, I make my own gap and push on into the station. “I trusted someone,” I reply. “Someone who looked a lot like you.”