Arik had the tough task of acquiring seeker-drones on a small budget and agreements held together by handshakes, spit, and chewing gum.

He pulled a fried meatball off the stick and chewed on it. Zele was a disgusting mess of a city, but it had some of the best street food. Everything was bland and healthy in Ophan. He had to work hard to find a greasy meal.

Acting naturally was vital as you wanted to avoid appearing as an outsider in Lowtown. It was why Arik told Fahon to remain at the Faceless base. He just didn't blend in.

Zele natives leaned against graffitied walls. Always a clever idea to have a back against a wall in these neighborhoods. There also was a look a person needed to have in their eyes, somewhere between outright hostility and oppressed apathy. A hint of bad hygiene tended to help as well, but Arik didn't stoop that far.

No one bothered him. He was safer than usual with the loaded pistol tucked in his waistband. Being out and about with the Syndicate after him didn't make being in public pleasant.

He had a task he needed to accomplish. Despite its difficulty and his general laziness, he would give it his all. Pom deserved it. After what he did to her.

Gulping another meatball, his eyes fell upon the entrance to a shop cater-cornered from him. The board above it read: COLLECTABLES. A smaller neon sign on the door indicated the shop was open for business. It was the middle of the day, after all.

The shop's windows were reinforced with steel cage bars, like most of the shops in this area. Arik couldn't even see inside to tell what they were selling. A street nomad busker with a long graying beard stood near the stoop, playing an acoustic guitar. His back was against the wall like a good Zeleian.

The word collectibles drew Arik's attention. People, who had money, tended to collect all sorts of things. The imagination was the limit. In Ophan the aristocracy had art galleries. His father struggled for years to get every piece his favorite artist produced to complete his collection. People collected guns, traded them, and showcased them. One time he even met a person who collected different custom rims and had an entire wall covered in them. Arik himself liked to collect money.

Cars themselves were another popular item to be collected. They had cyberminds, were essentially drones, and could pilot themselves. There had to be at least one person out there collecting aerial drones. Seeker-drones were popular, from the tiny palm-sized toys to the larger military-grade ones.

Arik quickly scarfed the rest of his meatballs and tossed the wooden stick down a storm drain. Plenty of trash littered the streets anyway. It was disgusting because Part of him would always be Ophani, and citizens there put it in a garbage can, like civilized folk.

Traffic was light, and he dashed across the street to the shop. Before opening the front door, he took out a twenty-mark bill and handed it to the busker. The man went wide-eyed and thanked him profusely. A twenty-mark was quite generous in Zele, if he were smart it would buy him food for days.

The door chimed as he entered. The shop immediately pressed in around him. Too many shelves packed into too little of a space. They held toys of all shapes and sizes, film posters, old memorabilia from popular brands, decorated plates, and assorted ephemera. Even the walls were lined with objects hanging with original packaging or surrounded by protective plastic cases.

One particularly terrifying doll, a baby with crimson eyes, bore a hole of terror in his mind. He reached and turned it around, facing it away from any unfortunate customers like himself.

The salesperson was a middle-aged woman with thick spectacles, short cropped blond hair, dressed in a traditional dark blue Ophani scholar's robe. She greeted him from behind a glass case she used as a counter.

"Hey! You're Ophani," Arik said. Building rapport was important when you wanted information for free. "I'm from Whitestone. Where did you live?"

She motioned to her robes and smiled. "Gressi, actually. You don't look Ophani to me. Your clothes aren't colorful enough for a worker."

"Shh. I'm trying to blend in around here." Arik waved a hand and chuckled. "Actually, I'm Sect-less. I don't have an official style. Like to mix things up."

"Oh, I apologize."

"Don't. I chose to be Sect-less. I don't like being categorized. I see myself as a jack of all trades."

She nodded with a pleasant smile. "And what brings you around here?"

"I like to find little shops like this, the type you wouldn't expect to hold treasures. They're an inspiration." Arik leaned backward against the glass case, glancing around the room. "Let me ask the same of you. How did a robed scholar come to work at a collectible shop in the heart of Lowtown?"

"I was a psychologist and studied human behavior, particularly collecting. See, I wanted to better understand myself and my own compulsion. Through my studies, I learned valuable lessons about the things people love and why they love them. I channeled my two interests and opened this shop. Scholars can't open businesses in Ophan. So, I chose Zele. It's close enough to my original home to visit family on the weekends."

"Spoken like a true scholar. And it appears to be paying off. Look at all the stuff you got in here. Everything is unique and rare." Arik pointed to the wall beside the counter. "Is that an original recruitment poster for the Alliance?"

"Yes, and it's authenticated by three experts; I have their statements and signatures to go along with it. Do you collect war posters?"

"No. I have a different collection. I'm an admirer of treasure. Today, I'm searching for a present for a friend with a unique collection of his own. Except I have no idea where I would find what he likes."

The scholar shopkeeper adjusted her glasses. "Well, what type of collection does he have? Maybe I can help you find it. I know all sorts of collectors throughout the city. Many of them are always selling parts of their collections."

"It's a woman, actually. And she's a drone-head, has all sorts of shapes and models, flies them remotely all the time, restores and shows them off at drone shows. She's been looking for a modern seeker-drone, the type with its own cybermind and enhanced optics. Maybe Unification War or newer."

The shopkeeper crossed her arms in front of her and bit her lip. "I know a man into drones, custom builds for racing, and stunts. He might know who has what you're looking for. I can make a few calls for."

"You can! Oh, how nice of you." Arik proffered her a beaming smile. "Thank you."

The shopkeeper pulled her comm out of her robes and shuffled to the back corner. She kept her eyes on Arik the whole time. The woman was nice, but she wasn't a fool. Petty thieves were aplenty in these parts. He suspected she had a shotgun hidden somewhere close by too. He would if he were her.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

While he waited, he couldn't help and returned to the shelf, took the doll, and flipped it around. The crimson eyes pierced him, and he nearly stumbled back.

Creepy…I love it.

It drove a special terror into him like never before. Staring into the baby's face haunted him. Shuddering, he tucked the doll under his arm and returned to the counter. The shopkeeper closed her comm and returned, smiling warmly.

"Good news, I found someone," she said, scribbling on a piece of paper. "He is a war collector, has all sorts of drones, weapons, vehicles, old uniforms—whatever he can find."

Arik quelled his excitement as he took the paper from her and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Also. I want to buy this.' Arik held up the creepy baby doll.

She laughed.

"What? I'm serious. My little sister would love it. She's a weird little kid, always saying creepy stuff, talking to spirits and stuff." He slapped down a one-hundred-mark bill. "Keep the change as a tip."

The shopkeeper took the money. "It's a one-of-a-kind piece. I had a feeling it would sell eventually."

He left the shop, the creepy doll tucked under his arm. The scent of garbage and sizzling meatballs wafted into his nose. He pulled out his comm, getting ready to order a taxi ride when he froze. A familiar face exited an apartment building across the street. The man had long, slicked-back hair, a tailored suit, and fingers studded with expensive golden rings.

What's the likelihood of running into him?

His name was Dalian, a mid-level boss, the type living a life of luxury in Uptown. From what he last knew, Dalian worked under Kormel. He had been at the meeting where Arik had taken his loan initially.

Ducking behind a lamp post, Arik peeked over his shoulder to watch the man. Clearly, he hadn't seen Arik. He was talking on his comm, pacing back and forth while drawing on a vaporizer. Good, he hadn't been spotted. All he had to do was hunker down and wait for him to go away.

He fingered the pistol at his hip, considering his options for a moment. There might not be a better person to talk to figure out Kormel's location. Fahon or Pom, warriors, would pounce at the opportunity.

I'm a coward.

He bit his lip. His job was to get the drones, not to hunt and interrogate a criminal. The Faceless were the ones who usually handled the rougher stuff.

Except, if I let him get away, we might not find out where Kormel is, no matter how hard we hit the Syndicate. This could be our only opportunity…

Taking a deep breath, he bounded around the lamppost and across the street, falling in with some shuffling street nomads. Dalian closed his comm and started walking. Arik increased his own pace to catch him.

Dalian found a parked taxi and went to open the door.

Curses! I can't let him get away.

"Hey! Dalian, you're a disgusting slime. Tell your boss he can stuff the money I owe him right up his ass!"

Arik stopped, waiting to see if it worked. All the street nomads on the street, with their overstuffed backpacks, froze in horror. A native Zeleian knew a Syndicate goon apart from the rest of the rabble. They stood out in their dark suits and with their over-confident gaits. They acted like they owned this city. Well, mainly because they did.

Dalian turned around with an eyebrow raised. Arik stifled a laugh at the disbelief on the man's face.

"Arik…You were supposed to be in Ophan, last I heard. Big mistake coming back here, you little rat. Come here!"

Arik dashed into an alleyway, leaping over two semi-conscious Razzle users with glitter coating their noses and mouth.

His quarry had taken the bait. He had to sell it, like an angler did with a lure, making it move and struggle. Except he would be the one moving and struggling. Arik slowed and grabbed two overstuffed trash cans and tipped them over, scattering bags in his path.

Behind him, he could hear the clicking of Dalian's dress shoes on the pavement. He was running way faster than Arik.

Ancestor's mercy, I need to hit the gym.

He skidded, nearly falling, and lost grip on the creepy baby doll. He was in the middle of an intersection with three other alleyways, shooting off diagonally in different directions. Wedge-shaped buildings, old tenements, loomed over him with their dark brick and gloomy architecture.

This city makes no sense. Why not make it a simple grid?

Dalian's footsteps grew louder as he closed in. Arik pulled the pistol out of his waistband. He waited a little bit longer until Dalian was close and whipped around, hurling the evil baby doll at him. Dalian caught it, sliding to a stop. He looked at the creature, turning it in his hands. After grimacing, he tossed it aside and leveled his gaze on Arik, who was aiming the gun at him. Dalian narrowed his eyes and reached for his own weapon, which was tucked in a shoulder holster.

Arik clicked his tongue a couple times. "Hey, hey! Keep those hands where I can see them."

Dalian froze, holding up a finger of caution. "You're not gonna shot me."

"Oh, I might. Depends on how you answer my question and if you're telling the truth."

Dalian stalked forward, testing him. Arik took aim at this center mass like the vids said. The thug stopped two arms lengths away, hands at his side, head cocked.

"Where is Kormel?"

"He went to Ophan to find you."

"Come on, have you paid attention to the news broadcasts? You know what he tried to do. You're going to tell me where he is now, or I will fill you with lead."

"Suddenly, you're a tough guy, eh?" Dalian snorted in derision. "Got yourself a gun. Think you can go around making demands. I was going to beat you up a little. Now I'll bring you to the boss and let him have some fun with a hammer."

Dalian lunged to grab him. Arik pulled the trigger, and the gun discharged, surprisingly loud in his ears. He missed, of course, but managed to dip away from Dalian's grasp, retreating and aiming a second time, panic rising.

Arik saw a blur of motion behind Dalian, who was tripped and sent sprawling to his face. A short feminine figure stood behind him with a reflective metal mask on her face.

Pom!

Dalian clamored to his feet. Pom kicked him in the back of the knee. He roared in pain, whipping around to try to elbow her. She ducked under the elbow and struck him in the throat with a swift punch. Coughing and choking, he collapsed onto his back.

Arik lowered his pistol, mouth slightly agape.

Pom kicked Dalian in the side of the head, ensuring he was knocked out. She pulled up her mask and shoved Arik hard against the wall.

She was shorter than him, looking up. Her brown eyes nearly looked black with rage. "What are you doing?"

Arik closed his jaw and swallowed hard. "I'm trying to figure out where Kormel is. Where, in the name of the ancestors, did you come from?"

She pointed with a thumb over her shoulder. "The fire escape. Someone had to follow you and make sure this didn't happen. I knew you were stupid, but I didn't expect you to be this stupid. You pulled a gun on a Syndicate thug in broad daylight."

She snatched the gun from Arik, clicked the safety on, and handed it back, proceeding to pat down Dalian, taking his pistol and comm. She stuffed both into her jacket pocket. She grabbed the limp thug and propped him against the wall like he had decided to have a little Razzle nap.

"Did you get any leads on the drones at the collectibles shop?"

She had been following him. Pom could be intense. If not for the dire circumstances, stalking him from the rooftops would be far more worrisome.

Arik tucked the pistol back into his waistband. He proffered the paper with the info. "I may have found a collector who will be willing to sell."

Pom slid her mask back on and climbed the fire escape. "Good. Get on it. I'm going to take Dalian's comm back to base and see if we can extract anything helpful from it."

"Pom." Arik stood below her as she climbed. "Thank you for saving me. And I'm sorry…You know, for what happened between us."

She stopped and looked back down at him. Mask a reflective slate. "You say, 'what happened between us.' Can't even say you're sorry for what you did."

"You're right." Arik's blue eyes fell to the asphalt. "I'm sorry for leaving, for not saying goodbye."

"You abandoned your friends when we needed you. After the raid in Uptown, we were struggling to find recruits. Everyone was too afraid to fight back. We still need to recover our numbers, and you were supposed to help build us back up. It's what you promised you would do when we brought you in after ditching those smugglers."

"So many died. I couldn't live with sending more kids to the chopping block."

"No! Everyone who joins us is willing to die for the cause. Don't act like those deaths are on your hands. What is on your hands is letting the Syndicate win. For what? So, you could go gamble alone, with only your pitiful marks to keep you company. We saw you like a brother Arik. Now, look at you. Desperate, you took a loan from your sworn enemy."

Arik raised a cautious finger. "Technically, I never joined the Faceless."

"Shut up."

Arik now understood why he liked the doll. It reminded him of Pom. The fierce intensity. The passion for winning at all costs. The woman intimidated him because he was a small, selfish, and cowardly little man.

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"How about this…You get your hands on those seeker-drones, and we'll see about forgiveness."

Finished, she ascended the fire escape like a squirrel climbing tree, making Arik question his life choices. He doubted he could make it past the first rung.

He retrieved the baby doll and wiped some alleyway crud off it. Setting the demon on Dalian's lap, he put the eyes facing up so it would be staring right at him when he woke.

"Sweet dreams, Dalian."