The inside of the Skimmer* should’ve been quiet; should’ve been comfortable and relaxed with its cushioned seats and air conditioner blasting a refreshing breeze, should’ve been a haven sealed away from the surrounding slums of ochre sand. For the most part, it was, but to the passenger it was a cramped, tight prison, playing up his anxieties.
“Stop it.” The driver finally snapped at the twitchy passenger, halting the tapping of fingers and bouncing of legs. His passenger froze at the sudden order, sighing out and running his hands through slicked back, dark hair again.
“Come on man, we’ve been here for hours now, Kin- Simon’s going to get suspicious if I don’t get back.” He pleaded. The driver didn’t respond, keeping his gaze on the gate to the derelict town.
“It’s a woman now, an older one.” His tight features barely moved when he spoke, his curly blond hair eerily still. The whirring of a mechanical eyepiece grafted onto his otherwise perfect face only helped add to the robotic behaviour. The passenger sighed, falling back into his seat in defeat. “Mr. Reyar. If you’re uncomfortable you’re free to leave. My associates will escort you back if you’re concerned about the wildlife.”
The passenger looked over his shoulders at the two other people in the vehicle, two painfully still figured in identical, green uniforms, padded with armour plates. Round, blank helmets with a single eye-like sensor in the middle and short rifles over their laps didn’t give them an overly welcoming air. Even less welcoming was the idea of going on a several hour hike with them.
“...Yeah, I'm good man.” He sunk back into his seat, deflated. The painful silence returned, as did the leg bouncing, and the fingers tapping against the door. The blond man released a tight, inaudible sigh.
Out of nowhere, something smashed into the roof of the Skimmer. The light vehicle bucked slightly from the impact, but the scream of the passenger caused the insides to shake.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” He covered his once slick, now picked messy hair. The driver sighed louder this time, not reacting to the impact. A sunbeam poked through the hole punched through the ceiling, a rock having buried itself into the rear footwell. The pair in the back didn’t react to the assault either.
“Mr. Reyar please, contain yourself.” He rolled his neck free of stiffness. “For all we know, it could’ve merely been a stone rolling down the hills.” He turned his head, blond curls bouncing gently with the movement. “There’s no lack of debris and dirt in this mudhole getting thrown around.” He added with unbridled disdain.
“Stones don’t roll that hard or fast you freak!” He bellowed out, before wincing and lowering himself when another impact cracked his window.
“Hm… perhaps you’re right.” The blond man scanned the surroundings, pausing on the crack in the side window. The whirring of analysing mechanics in his eye was drowned out by the hyperventilation of his passenger. “Check it out.”
Not an instant after his command, the two armoured passengers left the vehicle and began to patrol around the vehicle.
“If I die because of you Seere scumbags, I’ll never stop haunting you, I swear-”
“Shut up.” The blond snapped again. “Complete silence.”
The whirring of his eye stopped, the heaving of Reyar’s chest stopped, a faint clicking continued. Like taps of nails on ceramic, something hard getting chipped away by something harder.
“Hey… is this window cracking ?” Reyar risked asking amidst the silence, hoping the other man's eye saw something minute in the window he didn’t.
“No. It’s not…He’s here.” A grimace pulled at the blonds lips, faint wrinkles in the skin showing this wasn’t an uncommon expression. “Sneaky, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” A soft, low voice added.
Someone new leaned into the front from the back seat, someone that wasn’t there before. Reyar screamed and tried to escape from the vehicle. The blond locked the doors with complete calmness.
“Hello.” A young man's head appeared between the two, smirking softly and turning between the two. Shaggy, slightly curled black hair, hung down, dull yellow eyes looked between the two..
He moved back, lounging into the seat. The driver adjusted the mirror to get a clearer look at the intruder. He saw what he was looking for. Dark lines starting at the edges of his eyes, spreading down then apart, one split to the side of his mouth then the other shot off in a sharp angle towards his ears. The lines formed a sick, sharp smile in stark contrast to the gentle, friendly smirk.
Splinter marks.
“Demon.” The blond remarked with pulled lips.
“It’s Gress, actually.” He picked at the pleather seats, a positive hum remarking their luxury. Reyar was still trying to lever the door open. “Is he always like this?”
“Unfortunately.” A firm, savage response that froze Reyar through his fear. “Perhaps introductions are in order.”
“I already told you my name, so sounds fair. Eyes forward.” Something sharp pierced into the soft tone ordering the two to keep their eyes to themselves. The blond rolled his neck again, not appreciating the lack of control in the conversation.
“I am Garum, a representative of Seere development. This is my associate, Scirocco Reyar.”
“No last name?” Gress asked, running a fascinated hand over the smooth material of the seats.
“Unnecessary.”
“Same for me, I guess.”
“Keeps it simple, if you ask me.” Garum offered, adding a light tone to his usual venom-lined, low monotone.
“Good point.” Gress dismissed, occupied by the varied details of the back seats.
“Are you going to kill us?” Scirocco’s strained question pulled a groan from Garum.
“That depends- and let’s me cut to the chase.” Scirocco froze as a sheer black hand peeked out from behind his seat, claws wrapped around his neck and pricked into his skin. “Why are you stalking my town?”
“I-I-we-I-” Scirocco stammered, on the right hand seat Garum spoke up.
“I apologise if we’ve caused any distress, it wasn’t our intention.” A light in his cybernetic eyepiece blinked, sending a silent command out.
Scirocco whimpered as the points of claws pressed slightly harder in.
“A black windowed skimmer spends the entire day outside the gate, never even asking to come in. I don’t buy it. You nearly gave Auntie El a panic attack just sitting there.”
“Perhaps we were just shy, or, in our world, the civilised world, we don’t invade without an invitation.” Garum started to turn towards the back, seeing if his provocation worked. Gress gripped Scirocco’s throat harder, blood started to ebb out of the pinprick wounds.
“Well Mr. Civilised, generally if you don’t receive an invitation that’s a good sign you’re not welcome.”
“That’s a shame, how would I go about requesting one? Out of curiosity.”
“It’s a private party, not open for applicants.” At that, Garum barked a laugh.
“You’re sharp, aren’t you boy?”
“Oh yes, Scirocco thinks so too, I think.” Gress flexed his claws to draw a whimper from the passenger. Something cold and pleasurable wrapped around his spine at the noise, encouraging him to go further, to dig in and lacerate the throat in his grip. It disgusted him.
“Yep, sharp as a tack.” He agreed lightly, not risking the movements of his neck.
“Shame we have to cut this meeting short, I’m on a tight schedule, you see.” Garum relaxed in his seat, unlocking the doors.
“Tight schedule of stalking old ladies in gatehouses for hours? You’ve got a weird job.” Gress chuckled lightly, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye he retracted his hand. Scirocco deflated in relief.
In a coordinated and sharp move, the door beside Gress was pulled open, and two armoured hands hauled him out forcefully. He left the vehicle with a light “oh!”.
He was slammed down on the ground, his thin cloak did nothing to soften the blow.
“Hello.” Gress gritted out, smiling through the stabbing impact of rocks in his back.
“And goodbye, Mr. Splinter.” Sneered Garum.
Two rifle barrels in sync levelled down at his face.
“Wait, don’t!” Gress warned, the forced smile disappearing into panic.
The rifles bucked, a burst of three bullets from each guard.
A pause.
The guards both collapsed to the ground, silent.
Dead.
----------------------------------------
“I think I’m starting to get your obsession with that place.” Kirche mused, leaning against Trudge while Soune struggled to lock the vehicle.
“What?” She asked through mumbled swears and pleads.
“Priloca, it’s pretty in the suns.” Kirche traced the glints of lights in the distance with her finger, seeing how the dazzling lights danced and reflected off the surface of buildings. Twin suns nearing their midday zenith, the dreadful heat from them both bearing down at once, traded and mixed their reflections.
“You’ll go blind if you stare at it too long- HA, good girl.” Soune patted the roof of her vehicle, having finally engaged its door locks, then snagged the key on the way out.
True enough, Kirche had to turn away, the pain from the star's reflections starting to burn in.
“Would get awful in those towers though, just imagine the twins going through all that glass and steel.”
“Well, I’m not looking to work in the towers or anything, and besides, people don’t work during day there, dawn and dusk hours only.” Soune freed the key, turning it over in her hand while recalling the old promises Ariel had made to her about Priloca. “Fifteen hours on, twenty-five off, better than what we have now.”
“Hmm, and what would you do there then? If not a desk jockey looking down on all us peasants from up high?” Kirche asked, nodding her head to the side, a signal for her to walk and talk.
“Same thing I do now - well, used to. Fix things, make new things, take apart old things.” Something dropped in Kirche’s stomach at her words. Fixing things, right. She shook it off, offering back a drawled response.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve got it all precisely figured out, you and your business of things.” Soune elbowed her, a little too hard to be called playfully.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“You know what I mean, machines, vehicles- though I don’t think many people would drive in there-, tools. Anything and everything mechanical, people always need them fixed at some point.”
“Honestly, it’s not a terrible plan on paper…” Kirche rubbed her arm where the elbow struck, giving the glittering town a side glance. “...In practice though. You’d probably need a bit to start up.”
“That’s why I need to start working outside of King’s contract, get moving out and about as a Stranger**, start making Oz*** instead of this useless shit.” Soune produced a handful of coins from a pocket, all branded with the seal of their supposed King.
“Why Priloca though? Could go to one of the other, subtler Oases****. Marina would be nice, surrounded by the water all the time, nice and cool.” Kirche let her mind wander west, to the great ocean city, far away from the dust and rocks around them. Ignoring Soune’s grumbling as she stuffed the coins back into her coat.
“Why not Priloca? It’s the closest, has the Ring under its control so it’s the safest too. Ariel figured it out, I just have to finish what she started.”
“Right… Well unfortunately, we’re still stuck in this lovely place.” Kirche threw her arms out in a flourish, kicking up a powdery mix of sand and ash in a pivot. “Oh! What a castle our king has! How could you possibly consider leaving this haven?”
Her sarcasm was valid, for a man who called himself King, his domain left quite a bit to be desired. A moat of lazily piled rubble, walls of chain link, gates of infallible guards who casually napped at their post. Standing over it all was a broken colossus of scorched black bricks, crowned with steel columns coughing out black smog and industrial filigree reaching out from its collapsed southern wall- now a sloughed off pile of rubble, machine scrap and ash all welded together by glassy slag.
Attached on the intact northside was a two-floored, prefabricated block. Unlike Soune’s small unit, its walls were fresh ceramic instead of the old styled metal, the white walls only barely turning brown from buffeting sandstorms and ashy plumes that still billowed out from the ruins. Clearly being added on after the event that nearly toppled the factory, Soune couldn’t remove the image of a parasite from her head looking at it, or a tumour. Below the dying steel mill, scattered for hundreds of metres across ruddy dust was an ensemble of shade-sails, tents and stray containers forming an amalgam of village and market.
“Five years in, you’d think he’d start to clean all this up a bit…” Soune remarked at the communal nightmare. The idea of living so close together repulsed her. A few paces at best, canvas wall to wall at worst. A pair of children nearly crashed into them, simply from having nowhere else to run and play aside from the small, vestigial path. They ran off in a hurry, sputtering apologies.
Along the main road- a place the pair was smart enough to avoid- peddlers offered their wares to the occasional suited visitor on their way to or from the keep. Strange attempts at street food formed from rations and various reptile or rodent meats, trinkets with cleverly devised yet entirely fabricated meanings carved from colourful minerals, metal slag and the rare block of wood, patched together clothing and repair services for said clothing, all offered and briskly ignored by the rare passerby. And yet, they kept at it, hopeful that one trader or corp liaison would be feeling generous after a successful barter with King.
“Why would he.” Kirche crossed her arms, digging into herself to stop her hands balling into fists. “They’ve got no other options.”
Though she hesitated to even ask, to dredge up any difficult questions, Soune’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Where are you staying now, anyway?”
“Here, there, everywhere. Raz and Tonio have a small prefab unit in a village about fifteen minutes out, if they’re out on a job solo I crash there sometimes. Otherwise-” She looked around at the sea of mixed material. “-you’d be surprised how many of these are vacant. I try not to think about why. As far as living around here goes, you’re lucky to have your own roof above your head, Silver.”
“Makes me wonder why you want to risk leaving.” She added under her breath. If Soune heard her, she didn’t acknowledge it, instead darting over towards an old, worn down woman packing away her tent.
“You! Marley!” Soune barked, the old woman's arms sagged, recognising the voice.
“Yes, me?” She turned with a gappy smile, feigning ignorance. Soune shoved a finger into her sun-scorched face.
“You sold me bad ammo, killed my gun!” The old woman slapped her lightly upside the head.
“Stupid girl, keep it down, he’s got ears everywhere.” The woman remarked, sitting down on the folded khaki. She looked around, checking to see if anyone stirred attention from Soune’s volume. Confident enough they were unheard, she beckoned Soune to sit with her. “What the hell are you on about?”
“Three weeks ago, you sold me a half-box of rifle rounds, thirty-thirty, one of them was wrong, don’t know what it was but got stuck in the chamber and-” The woman held a shushing finger up, rubbing her temples as if Sounes rising volume and talking speed was giving her a headache.
“Aye girl, relax, I don’t know what half the shit you’re saying is I just sell the bastards.” She opened her eyes and scanned the simmering woman. “You got the bullet with you?”
“No, I shot it-”
“Well if it shot it wasn’t so bad then was it?”
“I-no-it gouged the receiver when I dug the case out!”
“You got the case?”
“No, I threw it out.”
With exaggerated volume, and putting on the best frail tone she could, Marley started half-wailing.
“Oh! Spare this poor old woman, this girl is trying to scam me out of an honest business-” Kirche stepped between the stirring onlookers and the arguing pair.
“Fine-fine just. Shut up.” Soune whispered harshly, losing the spark of rage when met with futility. “Just. Give me another box, a full one. Two actually.”
“Fifty Reg*****. Each” She held her hand out. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you jingling them around on the way in. Could hear a pin drop before you two barged in here…”
“Fifty?” Sounes voice raised again, before leaning into a hiss. “It was twenty a box last time.”
The old, wisened lady settled back with a self assured smirk.
“Supply and demand, I’m getting out of this dump sooner rather than later, so here’s your last chance girl. C2* is cracking down on weapons more and more, Simon, the bastard, is letting them run through and raid us. Barely hid my stash last time and sure as the suns not risking it again.” The smirk turned venomous. “Not all of us have dear old daddy around to cover our tracks.”
At that, Soune’s simmering turned frozen. “He’s not my-”
Seeing the shift in demeanour the old lady produced two boxes of the requested rounds from within a ragged robe to interrupt her.
“Fifty. Each. Look-” She jingled the boxes, fifteen rounds in each. “-Fresh and sealed, so no imaginary bad rounds.”
“Fifty. For both.” Soune relented, and received a guffaw in response.
“Just leave if you’re going to play games, I’ve got packing to do actual and proper buyers on the way.”
“Fine, Sixty.”
“Eighty, no lower. Call it a loyalty discount.”
“Sixty.” Soune swallowed, disgusted with what she was about to say but without any option, especially if the woman was truthful about leaving. “Or maybe C2 needs to be pointed in the right direction.” A line crossed, the unspoken rule between those in the gaps of society. Honour among undesirables, an oath of outcasts.
You don’t involve the corps.
Ever.
Soune had completely and utterly shattered it.
“Ksh.” She spat at the ground in front of Soune. “Seventy-five.”
“Seventy-five, if you have a box of twenty-two as well.”
“Fine.” Marley produced a thinner box, numerical alliteration on its side, twenty twenty-two rounds. Soune dug out the coins again, doling out ten and five pieces. The ammo was thrown into her lap and the coins snatched out of her hand. Soune turned her hand, offering a shake as a means of peace. Marley didn’t even bother to look at her. “Corpo pup.” She spat as Soune left.
“That was rough to watch.” Kirche remarked with a grimace, trying to lighten the mood as the disgusted Soune shouldered past her towards the ceramic keep. She didn’t receive a response, Soune just pocketed the ammo and kept striding towards the keep. Kirche hurried to catch up to her, trying to read Soune’s expression out of the corner of her eye. It seemed fine, neutral, but there was a tight downturn to the corner of her lip. Barely visible unless you knew what to look for. Soune was upset, primarily at herself. The usual anger and frustration that so freely flowed from her turned inwards.
“You okay?” Kirche prodded.
“Fine, got what I needed.” Soune patted her coat where the ammo was pocketed, knuckles white from a tight grip on herself. “What does it matter? I had to cheat to get it, so what?”
“Yeah, so what?” Kirche agreed, trying again to lighten the mood.
Ignoring her, Soune rolled her neck free of tension, focusing on the pillow touch of the soft scarf embracing her neck, shifting her focus away from the encounter.
“Whatever, let’s go get paid.” She eventually said, about halfway to the keep.
“Sounds good to me.”
----------------------------------------
The inside of the so-called keep was by no means luxurious, a hollow, unmarked thing inside and out. Off-white halls and beige tiles warped their vision by their extreme mundanity, rows of identical, unmarked doors. The lobby housed a few patient stragglers, desperate for the most demeaning and low work they could find. A clerk slowly tapping away at an old terminal perked up upon seeing them enter.
“Ah! Miss Argent, Miss Kuvie, King has been waiting for you, he will be seeing you soon.”
“He has?” Kirche paused mid step. “That’s…”
“Concerning.” Soune finished.
“Yeah, that.” Kirche stepped up to the counter, leaning over the clerk. “You’re new, and cute.” She offered with a smirk. The clerk blushed but met her gaze.
“Started a few days ago after Sal lef- retired…” Trying to move away from her slip, the clerk cocked a smile at Kirche.
“She did warn me you were a charmer.”
“Oooh you’re fun, I could talk with you for a bit.” Behind her, Soune cleared her throat and tapped her heel against the tiles. “Sorry, she’s a bit impatient, but if he’s waiting for us this should be quick enough to appease her. I prefer to take it slow.” Kirche added with a wink, earning a chuckle from the clerk. “Where's our dear King, sweetheart?”
“He’s currently in a meeting with Mr. Reyar. That’s been going for…” She checked a clipboard scribbled with dates and times. “Thirty-five minutes too long, I’ll take you to him.”
“Cheers love.” Kirche raised from the counter, nodding her head at the annoyed Soune.
“This way please.” The clerk started down a hallway with a bouncing step, catching Kirches' attention.
“Imagine how much work we’d get done if you weren’t skirt-chasing for half the time.” Soune offered with a slight smirk.
“Oh come on, you gotta whistle while you work, you’ll go mad otherwise.” Kirche didn’t look away to see the judging stare. “I just take the whistling part a bit… liberally.”
At the door to one of several unmarked rooms, the clerk stopped her stride. Through the heavy door, a colourful, loud, and clearly one sided conversation carried. She knocked lightly.
“Enter.” A quick and grateful growl answered. The three of them stepped in.
“I’m telling you, it killed two of them like that-” The fast-speaker accentuated his point with a snap “-didn’t stop there. Mauled the bodies, made a show of it, that’s when it saw me see!” He raised his head and pointed to near-invisible scratches. “Nearly ripped my throat out!” The seated man beside the speaker held up a large hand to forcefully silence the story. The clerk didn’t miss her chance to cut in.
“Highness, as you expected, Kirche Kuvie and um, Sow-nah Argent?” Kirche chuckled at the mispronunciation while Soune bristled.
“Thank you, that will be all.” King growled, dismissing the woman.
“It’s not- It’s Soune, like you said ‘he’ll see us soon’, Soune.” She muttered angrily, the clerk retreated out the door whispering apologies.
At the head of the room, framed by a wall of cabinets, a colossal man sat at a desk, matching Soune’s height even from that position. His skin bore wrinkles but didn’t hang loose, still taut against bulky muscle and a square jaw. Old-generation cybernetic plugs pocked his skin along his neck, arms and on either side of his jaw. His eyes, gaunt and sunken but piercingly sharp, studied them. He leaned back and clasped his hands over a broad chest.
“It is customary to kneel before the King.”
----------------------------------------
*Skimmer - A catch-all term for all-terrain, wheeled transportation vehicles, and more modernly applied to most everyday vehicles due to the growing availability of MMD. Low-power Mass-Manipulation drives allow for high fuel efficiency combined with the ability to effectively traverse most environments by shifting the weight of the vehicle appropriately, even allowing for limited bursts of high performance and thus ‘skimming’ the surface.
** Strangers - A broad term encompassing freelancers, trade workers and mercenaries, registered and licensed under the Cheires Network to maintain rankings and information about their specialties. It’s widely understood that despite what they may offer their services as specialising in, true Strangers will do anything for the right price, and as such are viewed as amoral villains by most within Oases settlements, and oftentimes idolised as heroic rebels by those without. The truth falls somewhere outside these categories, most often people without anywhere else to go doing what they can to survive.
*** Oz - Short Form of Aurum Standard Credits (AUS). Most frequently referred to as simply Oz. Built on the backs of rare metal used throughout the ages, and maintained its value through the ages. Used and enforced by nearly all developed settlements.
**** Oases / Oasis - An informal term for the major cities on Durendel, most acting as the headquarters for a major company that built up centres of civilisation around them to house workers. As the influence of the companies grew and expanded, as did the cities. Priloca Citadel remains the largest and technically unaffiliated Oasis.
***** Reg, Short Form of Regents. The currency used in the territories of the self-proclaimed King Simon. Offers little to no value past being a curiosity outside of these few areas. Minted at a former ironworks abandoned after the scouring of a nearby town, it formed the foothold of Simon’s crusade.