Alba Blues
After the job with Irya, Roy’s life didn’t change much. Sure, there had been a moment of tension, but it faded quickly. The days blended together, a mix of mundane routines and the occasional odd job. The only thing tethering him to that brief moment of excitement was his janitor gig at the Isle Front Apartments, Dumas’s home.
Quitting wasn’t an option. Not after Dumas got shot. Walking away would be suspicious, and the last thing Roy wanted was to end up on anyone’s list. Besides, why quit? The pay was steady, and it was far less risky than some of his other gigs.
Still, the tightened security meant fewer shifts for the cleaning crew. Josh and Miguel, being senior staff, were called in more frequently, leaving Roy to show up maybe once a week. The rest of the time, he bounced between side hustles, though none of them were as lucrative as the Dumas job. Not that he was eager to dive into anything as high-stakes again.
Standing under the Martian sky, a pale blue streaked with faint traces of red dust, Roy felt the wind whip against his jacket. The city stretched endlessly before him, a sprawling maze of districts and alleys, neon lights blinking in defiance of the unforgiving terrain.
He was working another gig, this time for Uncle Lin Fang, a name that carried weight in certain circles. Roy wasn’t directly involved, just the driver. He preferred it that way.
Ahead of him, Sepp, a mountain of a man with hands like sledgehammers, had a different role to play. Roy watched as Sepp effortlessly lifted a wiry man off the ground by his collar, the smaller figure dangling like a rag doll.
“You’ve got some balls messing with Uncle Lin’s associates,” Sepp growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Roy leaned against the hood of his Mustang GT replica, arms crossed as he observed the scene unfold. His gaze drifted beyond the confrontation, taking in the endless expanse of Alba City. He’d been in the city long enough to understand its rhythms, its secrets. The Callisto Syndicate, Feng Hua’s people, and the Cartel, all of them were busy maneuvering and posturing after the failed assassination of Alexander Dumas.
Dumas, of course, had turned the attempt on his life into a PR spectacle. The story was everywhere, whispered in alleys, discussed in bars. Criminal circles buzzed with speculation about how many security firms were being brought in and how the city would change under an increased CGOM budget.
The police presence had already grown noticeable. Patrols were more frequent, drones hummed overhead, and even the shadiest districts seemed to feel the pressure. Roy, ever cautious, had no desire to draw attention to himself, not after Dumas’s name became a lightning rod for shitshow.
Sepp’s fist slammed into the wiry man’s stomach, cutting through Roy’s thoughts. The man let out a choked groan, folding in on himself as Sepp grabbed his legs and tied him to a rusted metal beam.
Sepp pulled out his PDA, angling the camera toward the battered man. A moment later, Uncle Lin Fang’s face appeared on the screen.
“What’s this?” Lin Fang’s voice crackled through, sharp and commanding. His accent was thick, his words precise.
“This is the guy,” Sepp replied.
Lin Fang’s face twisted into a snarl as he unleashed a string of curses so colorful that even Sepp raised a brow. It was the kind of verbal lashing that could make a sailor blush, a tirade so venomous it seemed to leap off the screen.
Roy, still leaning against the hood of his car, watched with mild amusement. He couldn’t hear every word over the gusts of Martian wind, but the tone made it clear enough. Uncle Lin Fang wasn’t happy.
When the outburst finally subsided, Sepp adjusted the camera slightly, tilting it toward the man tied to the beam. “Got him here for you, Uncle,” he said, his tone steady and professional despite the tirade.
Lin Fang narrowed his eyes at the man on the screen. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me, you worthless piece of shit?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom.
The tied-up man whimpered, shaking his head frantically. “I-I didn’t mean—”
Another punch to the gut from Sepp silenced him.
“What did you steal?” Lin Fang demanded.
Sepp reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small pouch. He opened it, revealing a crystal — a vibrant, multifaceted gem that shimmered even under the dull Martian sky. It wasn’t just a gem, though. Roy recognized it immediately. An addictive, high-value substance that had been circulating among the city’s underground elite.
“This is what he took,” Sepp said, holding the crystal up to the camera.
Lin Fang’s face darkened. “One crystal? One fucking crystal?” His voice rose, incredulous. “Do you know how much of my time you’ve wasted for one goddamn rock?”
Sepp gave the thief another sharp jab to the ribs, making him gasp for air. “What should I do with him, Uncle?”
Lin Fang rubbed his temple, muttering something in Mandarin before replying. “Take the crystal. Leave the idiot hanging there. Let the Martian-bred vultures have him.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Sepp said, pocketing the gem.
Lin Fang pointed a finger at the camera. “And make sure this doesn’t happen again. Clean up after yourselves as always. I don’t want this traced back to me. Understood?”
“Understood,” Sepp said.
The call ended with a sharp click. Sepp slid the PDA back into his jacket and turned to Roy. “You hear all that?”
“Hard to miss,” Roy replied, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Sepp smirked, wiping his bloody knuckles on a rag. “Let’s get out of here.”
They climbed into Roy’s Mustang GT replica, the doors shutting with a solid thunk. The car was a beauty, sleek, powerful, and modified to handle the Martian terrain. Its crimson lines and black paint gleamed faintly in the muted light, though the interior was slightly cramped for someone of Sepp’s size.
As Sepp squeezed into the passenger seat, he grumbled, “This car’s too damn small. Feels like I’m being stuffed into a tin can.”
Roy rolled his eyes, firing up the engine. The low growl of the car’s motor cut through the quiet, a satisfying sound that reminded him why he’d bought it in the first place. “Shake the blood off your hands before you touch anything,” Roy said, glancing pointedly at Sepp.
“Already did,” Sepp replied, holding up his clean hands with a grin.
“Good,” Roy muttered, pulling out of the lot.
The city sped past in a blur of neon lights and rain-slicked streets. Despite the chaos that seemed to swirl constantly around Alba City, moments like this reminded Roy why he loved driving. The hum of the engine, the way the tires gripped the road, the freedom of moving through the city at his own pace — it was grounding.
“Uncle Lin Fang seemed pissed,” Roy said, breaking the silence.
Sepp chuckled. “Pissed is putting it lightly. You know how he gets about his business.”
“Yeah, but over one crystal?” Roy shook his head. “Seems like overkill.”
Sepp shrugged. “It’s not about the crystal. It’s about the message. If word gets out that someone can steal from Uncle Lin without consequences, it’ll open the floodgates. This is damage control.”
“Fair enough,” Roy said, though he still didn’t like it. He’d learned quickly that in Alba City, appearances were everything.
They weaved through the winding streets, the car’s headlights cutting through the gloom. Rain continued to drizzle, the droplets streaking across the windshield.
“So,” Sepp said after a while, “you sticking with Uncle Lin’s gigs, or you got something else lined up?”
Roy hesitated, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “Not sure,” he admitted. “The Dumas job left a bad taste in my mouth. Don’t really want to get caught up in anything too messy right now.”
“Smart,” Sepp said with a nod. “The city’s crawling with cops these days. Last thing you want is to end up on their radar.”
“Exactly,” Roy said.
They pulled into Chinatown, the streets alive with activity despite the rain. Lanterns hung from storefronts, their warm glow cutting through the damp air. The aroma of street food wafted through the open windows, mingling with the sounds of vendors shouting and the buzz of conversation.
Roy parked the car and killed the engine. Sepp stretched awkwardly, grumbling again about the car’s size.
“You know,” Roy said, smirking as he stepped out, “you could always get a new ride. Why the hell did yours got fucked anyway?”
Sepp shot him a look. “Not all of us have Syndicate money, driver boy.”
Roy laughed, locking the car as they headed toward one of the nearby stalls.
The streets of Chinatown were alive, even under the soft drizzle that fell from the Martian sky. Steam rose from food stalls, mingling with the aromas of spices, grilled meats, and fried dough. Neon signs in a mix of languages — Mandarin, Cantonese, English, and other languages he didn’t recognized — flickered above the tightly packed storefronts, their vibrant colors glowing in the damp air.
Roy and Sepp made their way through the bustling crowd. Roy walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, the faint clink of credits in one of them providing some reassurance. Sepp, on the other hand, loomed over the passersby like a human tank, his sheer size parting the crowd without him needing to say a word.
“Thinking of grabbing something?” Sepp asked, nodding toward a noodle stall where an old woman was expertly tossing fresh noodles into boiling water.
“Maybe,” Roy said, his eyes scanning the stalls. He wasn’t really hungry, but the smell was tempting enough to make him reconsider. “I’ve been craving dumplings lately.”
Sepp grunted. “You and your dumplings. You’re obsessed.”
“Better than some of the shit you eat,” Roy shot back with a grin. “What was it last week? That prepackaged protein cube? Looked like cardboard.”
“It was cardboard,” Sepp said dryly, smirking.
They stopped at a small dumpling cart, the vendor nodding at them as they approached. Roy ordered a plate of pork and chive dumplings, the hot, steaming dish handed over quickly. He passed a few credits to the vendor, who tucked them into a pouch at his waist.
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Sepp leaned on the counter, his broad frame casting a shadow over the cart. “You really like this place, huh?”
“It’s honest,” Roy said between bites. “No pretense. People here don’t give a damn about anything except their food and their business. Nobody’s pretending to be something they’re not.”
“Yeah,” Sepp said, crossing his arms. “That’s one way to look at it. But have you ever noticed how many eyes are on you in a place like this?”
Roy raised a brow, looking around. Sure enough, a few stall owners and patrons were glancing their way, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. It wasn’t paranoia, it was Chinatown. People watched.
“It’s part of the charm,” Roy said lightly.
“Sure,” Sepp said. “But it also means someone’s always got their nose where it doesn’t belong. You know what Uncle Lin always says—‘Eyes on the streets, ears on the wind.’”
Roy nodded. It wasn’t bad advice, especially in a place like Alba City.
As they finished their food and continued walking, the crowd thinned slightly, giving way to quieter alleys. Roy kept his pace even, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He glanced at Sepp, who seemed relaxed—too relaxed, maybe.
“Hey,” Roy said quietly. “Did you notice anything?”
Sepp didn’t turn his head, but his posture shifted subtly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Two guys, left side. They’ve been trailing us since the cart. Could be nothing. Could be something.”
Roy frowned, his hand twitching toward the inside of his jacket. He didn’t carry much, a pistol and a stun baton, but it was better than nothing. Irya wanted him to get something, but he opted against it.
“Plan?” he asked.
Sepp grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Walk slower. Let’s see if they want to say hi.”
Roy matched his pace to Sepp’s, their footsteps echoing softly against the wet pavement. The two figures trailing them didn’t break off, their shadows stretching across the alley walls as they followed.
Eventually, Sepp stopped completely, turning to face a small stall selling counterfeit electronics. Roy lingered beside him, pretending to inspect a set of cheaply made VR headsets.
The two men finally closed the distance, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light. They were unremarkable — lean, average height, with jackets that might have been armored. Their faces were blank, but their eyes told a different story.
One of them spoke, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of tension. “You’re Sepp, right? Uncle Lin Fang’s guy?”
Sepp didn’t bother looking at him. “Who’s asking?”
The man smirked. “Just some friends. Heard you and your buddy here have been working a lot of gigs lately. Thought we’d introduce ourselves.”
Roy’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the way the man’s hand lingered near his jacket pocket.
“Friendly neighborhood welcome wagon?” Sepp asked, finally turning to face the man. His sheer size made the two strangers seem even smaller, but they didn’t flinch.
“Something like that,” the man replied. “Thing is, Uncle Lin’s been stepping on some toes lately. Moving product where it doesn’t belong. Some folks aren’t happy about that.”
Sepp’s grin widened, though his eyes were anything but friendly. “Let me guess — those ‘folks’ sent you to deliver a message?”
The man nodded. “Smart guy.”
Before the man could say anything else, Sepp moved. His massive hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it hard. The sound of cracking bone filled the alley, followed by a sharp cry of pain.
“Message received,” Sepp said coldly, releasing the man’s arm and letting him stumble back.
His partner hesitated for a split second too long. Sepp turned on him, raising a fist, but Roy stepped forward, his stun baton already in hand. He jabbed it into the man’s side, sending a jolt of electricity through him. The man crumpled to the ground, twitching.
The first man, clutching his broken wrist, glared at them. “You’ll regret this,” he spat.
“Maybe,” Sepp said, his tone almost bored. “But not today. Now get lost.”
The man hesitated, then grabbed his stunned partner and dragged him away, muttering curses under his breath.
Roy and Sepp stood in the alley for a moment, the faint buzz of the stun baton still humming in Roy’s hand. He shut it off, slipping it back into his jacket.
“Well,” Roy said, breaking the silence, “that was subtle. Glad I got this thing with me. I had to thank Irya for this.”
Sepp snorted. “Subtle doesn’t get the point across.”
Roy shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “You’re gonna get us killed one day, you know that?”
“Maybe,” Sepp said with a shrug. “But until then, you can thank me for keeping you alive. Those fuckers could have shot us in the back.”
They turned and continued walking, blending back into the flow of Chinatown’s bustling streets.
As the lights and sounds of Chinatown enveloped them again, Roy couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder. The two men were long gone, but their parting words lingered like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
“You think that’s the end of it?” Roy asked, keeping his voice low.
Sepp shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like tectonic plates. “Doubt it. Those types don’t give up after one slap on the wrist. But they’ll think twice before trying something again.”
“Twice might not be enough,” Roy muttered.
“Maybe not,” Sepp said. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, Uncle Lin’s expecting us.”
The mention of Lin Fang brought Roy’s mind back to the crystal they’d recovered. He didn’t know much about it beyond what Sepp had mentioned, some sort of high-value, addictive substance making its way through the criminal underground. It wasn’t his business to ask questions, and he preferred to keep it that way. Still, the way Sepp had handled those two men was a reminder that working for Lin Fang came with its own set of risks.
They walked a few more blocks until they reached Lin Fang’s kitchen.
Sepp pounded twice on the metal door behind the kitchen, his heavy fist echoing like a hammer. A slit in the door opened, revealing a pair of cold, suspicious eyes. The eyes flicked between Sepp and Roy before the door creaked open.
“Come in,” the man behind the door said, his voice gruff.
Inside, the space was surprisingly lavish, a stark contrast to its weathered exterior. The air smelled faintly of incense, and the dim lighting cast long shadows on walls lined with intricate wood carvings and framed paintings.
The scent of cumin, garlic, and chilies were not found here. Uncle Lin Fang sat in a plush chair at the far end of the room, flanked by two silent bodyguards.
“Ah, my associates,” Lin Fang said, his voice smooth but laced with sarcasm. “I trust the problem has been… resolved?”
Sepp reached into his pocket and produced the pouch, tossing it onto the table in front of Lin Fang. The older man opened it, his fingers deftly extracting the shimmering crystal inside.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lin Fang said, holding the crystal up to the light. “A shame, something so lovely can cause so much trouble.”
“Recovered without issue,” Sepp said. “The thief won’t be a problem anymore.”
Lin Fang’s lips curled into a thin smile which looked so odd to Roy with that perpetual scowl of his. “Good. Very good. It seems I can still rely on you, Sepp.”
His gaze shifted to Roy, lingering for a moment. “And you,” Lin Fang said. “What do you think of all this?”
Roy hesitated, unsure how much to say. “It’s your business,” he said finally. “I just drive.”
Uncle Lin Fang chuckled, his laughter light but somehow unsettling with him being so eerily calm. “A wise answer,” he said. “But don’t think that makes you invisible, Mr. Inman. Alba City has a way of drawing people in, pulling them deeper than they ever intended to go.”
Roy nodded, unsure whether the statement was a warning or a threat. Lin Fang was strange today. No… he was pissed. So pissed that he became so calm.
Lin Fang returned his attention to the crystal, turning it over in his hand as if studying its every facet. “You’ve done well today,” he said. “Both of you. But the city is restless. The failed assassination of Dumas has stirred the waters, and everyone is scrambling to find their place. Even small ripples can turn into waves.”
He placed the crystal back into the pouch and set it aside. “There’s more work to be done,” he said, his tone shifting to one of finality. “But for now, you’re free to go. Enjoy your evening.”
Sepp inclined his head in a slight bow, and Roy followed suit. Without another word, they turned and left the room, the heavy door closing behind them with a resounding thud.
Back in the Mustang, Roy adjusted his seatbelt and glanced at Sepp, who looked unusually pensive.
“Something on your mind?” Roy asked as he started the engine.
“Just thinking about what Lin said,” Sepp replied, staring out the window. “About the city being restless. He’s not wrong. Everyone’s on edge — syndicates, cops, freelancers. Even the regular folks feel it. Dumas surviving that hit made waves bigger than anyone expected.”
Roy nodded, guiding the car onto the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. And now CGOM’s pouring more money into security. Makes it harder for everyone
Roy guided the Mustang down the glistening streets, the city lights streaking across the rain-speckled windshield. The rhythmic hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between them, a steady counterpoint to the distant murmur of Alba City’s restless pulse.
“Yeah,” Roy said after a pause, steering the car around a puddle. “Now CGOM’s pouring more money into security. Makes it harder for everyone. Syndicates can’t move as freely, freelancers are jumping at shadows, and even the grunts like me feel it. Feels like the city’s tightening around us, like a noose.”
Sepp grunted in agreement, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. “That’s how it always goes. The bigger the mess, the more the suits upstairs panic. They’ll overcorrect — send in more cops, hire more private firms. Makes them feel like they’ve got control. But in the end, it just stirs up more shit.”
Roy sighed, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “So what happens now? Everyone just keeps poking at each other until something blows up?”
Sepp smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the game, driver boy. Always has been. Dumas’s survival gave him the upper hand, but the people gunning for him aren’t just gonna stop. They’ll regroup, find new ways to strike. And in the meantime, guys like us get caught in the middle, cleaning up their messes or running their errands.”
Roy shot him a sideways glance. “And you’re okay with that?”
Sepp shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it. It’s the job. You either adapt, or you get out. And let’s be real, you’re not getting out anytime soon. You dip your toes in these waters, and you can’t exactly leave as easily.”
Roy chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Feels like the city doesn’t let anyone leave once it’s got its hooks in you.”
“That’s not just a feeling,” Sepp said, his voice low.
The Mustang slowed as they approached the heart of Chinatown again, its streets still bustling despite the late hour. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their warm glow contrasting with the cold drizzle that continued to fall. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the sizzling of street food and the clatter of chopsticks against bowls.
Roy pulled into a narrow side street and parked the car. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the rain pattering softly against the roof.
“Are you sticking around?” Roy asked, glancing at Sepp.
“Nah,” Sepp said, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve got somewhere to be. Lin’s got me on another errand tomorrow, and I need some shut-eye before it kicks off. You?”
Roy shrugged. “Might grab a drink, maybe find something to eat. I like it here. Feels… normal, you know?”
Sepp laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Normal? You’ve got a weird sense of normal, Inman.”
“Guess I do,” Roy said with a faint grin.
Sepp opened the door, stepping out into the rain. He leaned back in, his massive hand gripping the top of the car. “Watch yourself, yeah? City’s not getting any friendlier.”
“I know,” Roy said. “You do the same.”
With a nod, Sepp shut the door and disappeared into the crowd, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the throng of people.
Roy leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath. The glow of Chinatown wrapped around him like a cocoon, a temporary refuge from the chaos that always seemed to hover just out of sight.
Eventually, he stepped out of the car, locking it with a press of a button. The night air was cool, the drizzle light enough to be ignored. He wandered through the streets, his hands in his jacket pockets, until he found a small bar tucked between two noodle shops.
The sign above the door was faded, the paint peeling, but the warm light spilling out onto the wet pavement was inviting. Roy pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The bar was quiet, the kind of place where people came to drink in peace rather than cause trouble. The walls were lined with faded photographs and mismatched shelves holding bottles of liquor. A low hum of conversation filled the room, blending with the soft notes of an old jazz track playing in the background. This was the second bar he liked after Haven.
Roy slid onto a stool at the counter, nodding at the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender, a wiry man with a cybernetic hand, poured the drink without a word and slid it across the counter.
Roy took a sip, savoring the burn as it spread through his chest. For a moment, he let himself relax, the tension of the day easing slightly.
His thoughts drifted back to Lin Fang, to the crystal, to the men who had followed them earlier. The city never stopped moving, never stopped scheming. He could feel it like an undercurrent just below the surface, always threatening to pull him under.
But for now, he had whiskey, and for now, that was enough.