My weight shifted as I climbed. My body lifted slowly as I applied the necessary leverage to rise and stare down into the darkness.

I'’d lost my home. I’d lost love.

I was just like her. Just like my moth—

I slipped. My boots had lost traction, the trecherous frost causing me to lurch down into the railing, banging my shin and chest in a painful whoosh as my lungs were forced to expel into the chilly night. Reflexively, my body sucked in a huge breath against my will, trapping me in a paradox. My system struggled with conflicting signals: Lungs full to bursting, yet still feeling as if I were unable to breathe.

Startled, I clattered painfully back onto the metal walkway, a spiked of sudden, urgent fear pumping through my bloodstream. The lonesome ache and urge to fill an undefinable void evaporated as I begin to hyperventilate, a wave of panic crashing over me like a tsunami.

This was a deep fear. A primordial fear.

A fear of horrors flying hidden in the skies as you flail in the open. The fear of sharks, sampling your blood in the water as they circle. The fear of spiders, of other creatures and any number of terrible, terrible things which might watch you from the dark; Unseen. Unbidden.

Hunting and waiting to pounch. To snatch you from your bed, or your home, or your mind.

All as you stand helpless.

No cover.

No harbor of safety.

No heavy comforter to hide under in which to seek refuge and warmth as the noises--my god, the noises.

The noises of her--of her needing to do the things she was forced to--

I trembled at the thought.

Of the horrible, horrible things she'd needed to do to protect me. To hide me.

The only way out. The only way to stop it is to...

Is to...

I shook my head. Hard. Enough to almost puke as the vertigo took over again.

Just like your mother.

Do it.

Go.

I paused.

The thought was random. Ungenuine. But was enough. Barely enough to quell the stream of consciousness which had somehow invaded my thoughts. I now knew the voices hadn't been mine. She wouldn’t want this...Not for me. I could never do this because she wouldn’t want this for me.

Her willingness to sacrifice, a willingness to put up with the endless lies, the unpaid promises and crushed hopes rotting in an unharvested field. Sacrificing happiness and her chance of a future just to keep me safe? She had put up with so much to ensure I’d have a future. A future without having to do the things she’d...she’d had to do.

More importantly, who she had to do them with.

For.

I couldn’t.

Her loss had to mean something. Her loss had to mean...anything.

I clung to the thought, a tiny piece of salvation to pull myself free. Clear as a bell in the echo chamber of my own head I heard my voice, my true voice, ring out loud and clear: I won’t.

The statement seemed to echo as the urge to jump faded.

Oh, it was still there; Prodding and prowling along the edges. But now? I could think. Breathe.

I continued breathing, bringing more thoughts of my mother consciously forward. How she had looked. How she had smiled. How she had told me her greatest wishes for my future, and where it might lead before she had done it. Before she had killed herself.

In.

Out.

In.

And out.

I felt weak. Tired. A little bit nauseous and definitely very hungry, but the pull was gone.

I pressed my forehead against the freezing metal as I continued to breathe. My dominant hand remained clutched onto the lower rail, ensuring I wouldn’t go over. I was eventually able to see again. The sensation of vertigo also faded as, inexplicably, the lonesome ache simply vanished as if a switch were thrown.

I looked around confused. Dazed. My head still feeling odd, but a different oddness from before: Hazy and nebulous as opposed to waxy and monochormatic. The vertigo and risk of falling were a danger I couldn't ignore. I called up a subroutine for my implants, and worked quickly. Digging down until I could find the hidden settings menu I’d accessed years ago, toggling off a module. A close call at the port, involving a loading cart and damaged infrared emitters, spawned an interest in how to disable the luminosity inhibitors. The specifics are too detailed and boring to go into, but the need had arose, and for now? Better safe than sorry.

The surrounding area plunged itself into inky blackness as the optics began to recalibrate. What I saw next caused me to swear softly as I blinked several times, not believing what I was witnessing. Rather than the dullish greys and greens of low-light vision, which often washed out colors, but provided a distrinct outline for surrounding surfaces and details, everything looked...unexpectedly clear, but dramatically altered.

Many times before, I’d perch myself at this very spot, often right before my shift at a time just as the sun went down. The Spire had stood as a beacon of hope for my future. A bright and glowing star of promise on the horizon of my mother’s, and by extension, my dreams. But now? Save for the bright puddle of lights by the Port, with the clouds acting as a backdrop to a hellish landscape surrounding it, the Spire looked...discordant. Unpleasant and ugly to look at.

Without the automated Low-light mode configurations, I began to notice other things which also looked different: The port lights were harsh and too blue. The pathway lights too orange and noisy. The sky revealing itself as a hellish landscape of reds, purples and blues, all reflected beneath storm clouds surrounding the Spire like a portent of doom to come.

Having never seen the Spire, REALLY seen it as I was now...it was shocking to say the least.

Spears of lightning lanced forward. Like the smashing of giant fists against metal armor, the atmosphere boomed, the delayed rumbles of thunder crashing with great intensity as the bolts struck. A battle of titans on the distant horizon. The towers accepted the lashes stoically. Claw-like whips of power sparked and scraped along the surface, probing for a weakness. With the camouflage stripped away, the stark change became impossible to ignore. Between flashes, I could see the skin of the Spire. Where once it had appeared perfectly mirrored and smooth in the comfort of low-light. It now looked pockmarked and roughened, where deep shadows pooled in low areas and crags, mimicking a lunar face. I felt a sense of loss as the last vestiges of my childhood stood exposed to reality; My tinted goggles lifted unexpectedly.

The Spire took on a sinister, almost evil visage as McCreed stood nearby, not close enough to touch, but closer. His smile had changed, cracking at the edges. Uncertainty now filled his eyes as the corners drooped into a frown. I had the vague feeling something...something else had happened, but it was like trying to remember the title of a song where I only had part of the melody trapped in my brain. I couldn't describe what I was missing despite feeling I knew the rest was right there. He glared, eyes slightly wider, eyebrows knit together in puzzlement, but otherwise making zero moves. It was almost as if nothing happened. The rail still remained warped and bent, manipulated by his, now obviously augmented, hands.

His iris rings adjusted, their astronomical expense more apparent with my disabled inhibitors. The internal mechanisms silently and smoothly functioning with every nanoscopic twist and turn, the clearest sign of their worth. He continued silently observing my somewhat compromised position sprawled out on the walkway like an erstwhile party goer. He didn’t attempt to help me up, which, let's be honest, I really hadn’t expected him to.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I stood, dusting myself off. With us being something around fifteen levels above ground there was a distinct lack of dirt or grime, but I was nervous and felt the need to do something with my hands. “Cheap Optics,” I said sheepishly as I rejoined him at the rail, feeling the need to serve up some sort of excuse for my sudden need to...

What?

What exactly happened?

I had another odd feeling I'd somehow lost track of time, however the chronometer on my interface continued clicking onward. It didn't seem like an excessive amount of time had passed. McCreed didn't react. He continued to stare.

It was really starting to get on my nerves.

"So going back to what you were saying," I said, pressing onward to avoid my own discomfort, "What exactly would those 'lords' deign of me? A lowly worker just trying to get a Visa?”

His frown was quickly replaced with a thin line, a perturbed expression leaking in. I'd somehow thrown him seriously off his game and he wasn't happy.

Good.

He turned, no longer looking at me as he stood straighter; Reassessing.

"They’d deign," He said slowly; Dangerously, "All your personal assets be bequeathed to those the man who died left behind...provided of course, you neglect to take any potentially corrective actions available to you."

“What?!” I said, exasperated, “Look. I only tried to help the guy that died. You were there. You know.”

He frowned at this. Looking downward, toward the lights of the Port, which had flickered and faded from errant strikes. A common occurence. The red glow of emergency lighting indicated general power would be knocked out until the recovery system could come back online. Mote beams of personal utility lights pierced the black as damage control teams scuttled about within the darkness, like ants swarming the side of a kicked hill. Their number made it nigh impossible to pick out any specific individual from the crowd.

I had a stray thought, one I was surprised hadn't come up before now: Did they call Robin back in, or not?

McCreed continued, unaware of my internal question, "In the eyes of those lording over us, what if...what IF it were deigned his death was caused by no wrongful action on your part?” I jerked my eyes upward, mouth opening in protest.

He snapped up a hand to stall me. I let him. At least he was finally going somewhere with our talk.

“I am not happy about any of this. Especially since that man’s actions not only proved to be costly for your future, but my own carefully shaped plans. Regardless of my own...personal feelings, " he said, pausing dramatically, "Your assets are currently in holding until such a time as many of these plans, might...re-direct themselves toward a better resolution?”

"Plans?" I blurted out, "PLANS?! Damn your plans!" I jabbed a finger out, toward the direction Rat-faced and his goons had headed off, “They took everything from me which isn't already gone! How are your plans going to matter if I can't survive? I barely have clothes to wear let alone a future."

A colder gust of wind blew through, sharp and piercing. A speckle of water followed and I shook, trembling from the cold and...the rage. A rage which had been kindling until the mention of his plans despite having already wrecking my own.

“I am well aware of that,” McCreed said, as if I hadn’t just yelled at him. He raised one of his perfectly manicured digits to waggle it at me authoratively,“Hence why I staved them from doing so. I would remind you of that fact, as well as the fact I might be able to assist you...”

He paused again, eyes now looking at me pointedly.

“Provided...what?” I asked, letting him pull me in.

He smiled, back in the game. Metaphorical hand on the rod, ready to hook.

“While I’m not fully aware of who might have ordered it, and I’m sure someone along the line has,” He said haughtily, “It’s highly likely I, personally, will catch the backlash in any actions seen as helping you. Do NOT forget why you still have the few things retained. It was only within my good graces you are allowed to do so.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. A feeling had been growing the moment he stopped the Goons, but I wasn’t sure the weird hunch I was beginning to get now was any better.

“And now is when you start telling me you’ve got some sort of proposition?” I asked, crossing my arms, “One where it would behoove me to take heed and listen? Or else?”

Extortion: A classic switch move; No bait needed because there wasn’t a need for an enticement when all you hold dear was either above you, just out of reach to grab, or about to be taken away from under where you stood, dangling noose already tightening around your neck as your world gets kicked out from underneath by force.

“Quite observant as I always knew you were, Mr. Price,” McCreed said, flashing me a smile. A man back on top of the world and inviting me to join him. To collaborate. I might have seen it as dazzling, maybe even charming and charismatic. Except...It didn’t reach the corners of his eyes. Smiles like those are designed to be not only fake, but costly at the expense of someone other than themselves.

MY expense in this case. Ugh.

The damaged railing remained behind him: Bent; Dejected; Detritus to be ignored after being manipulated and left to be dealt with by...someone else. Just not him.

I looked at the Spire, letting my gaze linger. I was a man with one bag, still dressed in work clothes which didn’t really belong to me. With no berth for self-delusions, my filters were already gone when it came to being deceived. If there was any lesson my Father and, most recently Dora, had left me, it was those.

McCreed continued on, building up momentum like a conman setting up the patter necessary to hook an unassuming rube. However, this rube wasn’t unassuming, just unable to do anything about it. Like a passenger on the ill fated Artemis Stargazer, the first trigger for the eventual Corporate Space Ban, I could only stand and observe as the trajectory sped toward an impact point, much too far in the distance to see, but not too far to imagine as the Controlling Intelligence cowed everyone into believing they were on the best path forward. It's also where the saying, "All paths have an end, some are just more sudden" became so popular.

“And so...” McCreed said, voice smooth, “We reach the crux of the matter. Should you decide to do so, I have a need. A need for you to meet up with an acquaintance of mine, and deliver a message."

"To whom?" I asked.

"Someone who I believe to also be an acquaintance of your...girlfriend, is it?” He crooned.

“Former.” I said flatly, “By about ten minutes.”

“Oh my.” He said with a playful tone, “How unfortunate.” He said it, notably, without any pity or natural reaction. Just a simple statement.

“She’s apparently acquainted with more people than I realize,” I said. Pithily...there was definitely some pith in that one. Maybe even a little spite.

“Who's it for?”

“Her employer,” He said.

“I’ve never met them.”

“She’s well aware of who you are.”

“She? Why?” I asked, “How? I absolutely have never met her.”

“Have you never visited her establishment with your vivacious...ah. Apologies. Former paramour?” That look again, almost mischievous; As if he knew more than I did.

“I’ve never been to The Glow.” I said, doing well to hide my irritation, keeping my tone light and airy, “No reason to go.”

I caught it then. A slight tightness of his eyes and pursing of his lips before he could control it. He was fishing. Trying to find some nugget of information. I wasn't reacting the way he wanted me to. I was managing to keep from giving up too much.

“Am I mistaken then, in having heard you were originally from The Glow?” His tone had shifted, a slight feeling of pressure to answer. His eyes were now very focused on me, his iris glowing slightly, watching my face as if searching for a hidden feature.

“My parents were from there. I was too young to remember much about it,” I said, a little too quickly.

Whoops.

He narrowed his eyes at me, staring intently. I squirmed a little inside.

“But does your record not tag your official location of birth as,” He paused, his eyes taking on an unfocused look, “Marcott Claim, Lane 74? that’s within The Glow, is it not?”

“I mean, technically...” I started.

He raised his hand, and I again surprised myself by snapping my mouth shut.

How the f...

“Tut tut.” He said breezily,“All things aside, I have something here for you.” His voice had taken on that silken tone again, and with a flourish, he extended an object between forefinger and middle on his left hand, lifting it from the railing. Like a magician presenting a trick there had been a little snap and poof: A Card.

I...actually hadn’t seen him reach for it. Pretty darn impressive even if I was annoyed about the weird behavior. Side admittance here too: It was smooth as hell. Look, I wasn’t some rich Corpo with tickets to a local show, or anything, so don’t judge me; Small joys and all that.

I took the proffered card, mostly transparent like Mr. MiddleManaWhatevertheHell’s had been except with fewer flashier features and decals stamped all over it. Despite lacking content, the card felt higher quality in my hands, which was weird to say. The lettering was etched into the face, looking laser cut instead of holofilm projected. Flipping it over a few times, I tried to examined it as fully as I could, but kept feeling like I couldn’t really see it.

Visually, the surface pattern looked almost like a processor wafer, and seemed to be the source of the inability to see. I blinked a few more times, but it remained blurred, like someone was protecting someone’s identity in a holo-feed; It was disorienting as hell, and the more I looked at it with my ocular implants the blurrier it seemed to get.

Interesting.

I jumped as the harsh red projection on the Outer Door’s lock screen blatted loudly. The door opened with a clunk as the final stages of a lockdown release completed. Several goons came grumbling out of the lock, empty handed and aggressively displeased. All glared at me; Guess they hadn't been happy there was nothing there either.

McCreed ignored them, pointing to the card in my hand.

“Consider the card your introduction,” He said, “Complements...of me.”

“And you want me to do what? Just say hi? Uh. In case you’ve forgotten I, um, don’t really have anywhere to go.” Fatigue washed over me as my body came down. The adrenaline spike no longer giving me the blissfully warm, but temporary, boost to my system. I trembled, now unable to stop.

“Perfect!” He said, tapping the rail with his palms, not even perturbed in the slightest and absolutely ignoring my other questions, “You can go there then. Soonest is best.”

I glared at him, or at least attempted to. He had already turned to look back at the Spire as if it were all that mattered to him in the moment. My gaze ended up directed at the back of his perfectly coiffed hair as I felt vibrations through the soles of my boots. Rat Face and his Goons came into view as they tromped up two of the stairways to join the others. I began to feel penned in again.

“We,” McCreed said with finality and an irritatingly pompous wave, “Are done here.”

The discussion was now over. I'd been dismissed.

One of the Goons “handed” me my bag. Which is to say he bypassed my extended left palm and shoved it right into my solar plexus. Between the pain of the impact and an empty stomach, it wasn’t a nice feeling. “Thanks,” I eeked out, deciding to beat feet while the beating was good rather than deal with any other indecencies.

Their thuggish laughter haunted me all the way down to ground level.