Albin, Athens platform Residential Quarter.

"We have interviewed everyone here, but there are no seekers out here unless you think the dredges can kill one of us." Albin asked, glancing around at the non-seekers and lifting his nose up to near, the metallic sheen of his skin reflecting the dim light of lower levels.

"You." Albin turned to face a rugged man standing defiantly in the street, his worn jacket fraying at the edges, resembling the roughness of his demeanor. "We’ve seen your lot around here in the past few day and god knows what you are up to bothering us hardworking folks. while you look down on us. " The man’s eyes were fierce, his brow furrowed with anger. He did his best to hold his haking leg still as he challenged Albin.

"Mind your own business, dredge." Albin looked him up and down and, seeing nothing of worth, dismissed the man, his jaw set in irritation. He had no time to deal with idiots, especially after they were making no ground on the case.

Natasha, feeling the atmosphere thicken with tension, quietly urged, "We should leave. " Her gaze flitted toward the watchful crowd, their faces hardened with suspicion as they turned from the stalls where they were having their piece meals.

Mike and his crew had been willing to let it go the first time as long as the seekers didn't bother them. That was until a few days ago when a seeker leaving in the quarter had hurt one of his crewmates. It wasn't enough for them to simply get what they wanted or command him and his crew like servant boys when out on expeditions. No, they had to come down here and ask them more questions. Sure, when a seeker dies, they send two to look into the matter, but when one of the dredges dies, no one cares. Mike faded up, and he and his boys had planned to surround this pair for a while now.

Albin moved his eyes away from the man and to the side. He put on a smile as he realised they were being surrounded. A couple of the dredges had gathered up around them.

"Everyone, stay away if you don’t want to get yourself thrown out into orbit!" Albin warned, eyes looking deep into the other man's as the threat rolled off his tongue, audible enough for everyone on the narrow street to hear.

"You can’t kill all of us!" the dredge shouted defiantly, rallying the onlookers, his voice rising first in desperation as he gestured at the gathering crowd before gaining a smug look as more of the people around gathered closer.

“You useless fool!" In the instant Albin's patience was wearing thin, he moved swiftly. He seized the man by his shirt collar, the fabric trembling under the pressure of his grip. The dredge, surprisingly quick for his build, pulled an old model gun from his jacket and lifted it, pointing the barrel menacingly in Albin's face.

"Well, shoot, see if that works," Albin taunted a smirk of derision on his lips.

The dredge squeezed the trigger, the bullet flying true only to bounce harmlessly off Albin's metallic skin, the sound causing the few gathered people to grasp only to hear the dropping clang of metal against the floor echo off the floor in the silent aftermath.

Albin reacted swiftly as the man's eyes went wide , lunging forward to grasp the gun tightly in his other arm, forcing the dredge to relinquish his hold as he squeezed the arm that, ended with a snapping of bones.

A howling, unsightly cry left the man's mouth as Albin hurled him into a nearby stall, scattering dishes in every direction.

"Hey! You can’t just come down here and do what you want!" the stall owner bellowed, rising righteously in indignation. The crowd, which had begun to scatter in fear, regained their boldness, their confidence feeding off the commotion.

Natasha braced herself, adrenaline coursing through her as she readied her taser gun. Her pulse quickening, she unholstered her gun, changed the setting to substance, raised it, and let off a shot, the gun pointing up. She looked around at the crowd that was growing. Angry by the second. "Our work here is done; you won’t be seeing us again," she said firmly, her voice coming loudly above the agitated crowd, briefly halting them as she holstered her weapon.

She turned to Albin. "Come, I still have some questions for the quartermaster."

Entering the quartermaster's shop, a smell of aged paper and faded ink enveloped them, the atmosphere heavy with an antique charm, contrasting sharply with the chaos in the distance outside. The quartermaster, as usual, had her slim figure in a posture bent over her desk in dim lighting as she looked down at her desk intently, flipping through a neatly organized set of cards, her fingers adorned with rings that shimmered, turning each face-up or face down to reveal a Tarot.

She looked up with rheumy eyes, assessing the entrance of her shop with practiced caution as they stepped into the room. "Officer Natasha, is there something I can help you with?" she asked, her voice smooth yet edged with fatigue, which spoke of long hours spent in service to those in her community.

Albin interjected before Natasha could respond, "Those dredges of yours need to be kept in line."

The quartermaster met his gaze with her old steady eyes. "The people of the quarter have their own rights; you should know that as a UNE officer, Mr. Albin." She pivoted her attention back toward Natasha, her expression softening slightly. "So how can I help?"

Natasha took a breath, looked between the two, and stepped in front of Albin. "I have a few more questions for you, quartermaster. The people in your quarter say that there was a seeker living in one of your crates."

The quartermaster sighed, her weathered features settling into a mask of contemplation. "Yes, this happens all the time. Sometimes they get lucky, find a power stone on their expeditions, and off they go."

Natasha felt a flicker of frustration at the nonchalance in the woman’s tone. “You never told us this the first time,” she pointed out, her brow knitting together.

"You are the UNE; I thought you kept track of every seeker in the Athens station." The quartermaster raised an eyebrow, her voice steady as she replied.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Are you trying to mean something by that?" Albin asked with an edge in his voice as he stepped forward to lean over the small old woman, who did not seem bothered by his intimidation.

Natasha stepped in front of Albin. "No, we don’t," she clarified, attempting to calm the charged atmosphere.

"So you want to see his documents?"

"Yes, Can we get his documents?" Natasha asked, feeling a mild headache start to come on.

The quartermaster’s eyes lit up as she accessed her residential database, her optic implants glowing softly as she contemplated the officer’s request.

"Sure," she agreed, and the slate in Albin's hand pulsed to life with a muted glow before he quickly opened it, scanning for the required documents with urgency.

The room was quiet as the two women took the time to let Albin look through the document. They watched as Albin's face went from angry frustration to recognition to confusion, the voices of the crowd outside fading into a dull hum as he tried to understand his brows farrowing.

___

Albin stared at the image on the slate, his expression frozen in a mix of shock and disbelief, as though he had stumbled upon a ghost from the past.

For seekers, whose bodies were filled with nanites, introducing advanced cyber technology and prosthetic enhancing augmentations greatly reduced the chances of a seeker increasing their integration, unlike a normal human, where it would be of an advantage. And a few, like Natasha, went to Ripper docs after they stopped levelling up.

Natasha observed Albin's reaction closely, unable to decipher the whirlwind of emotions battling on Albin's face; at first, it was rage, astonishment, and bafflement that he couldn’t contain. With a sudden burst of frustration, he flung the slate back into her hands and dashed out of the shop, leaving Natasha uncertainly looking at the empty spot he had stood in a moment ago.

"Albin, what is it? Albin, where are you going?" she tried following him into the street but lost sight of him amidst the bustling stalls and moving crowd of the shady marketplace.

Stepping back into the shop, she extended the slate toward the quartermaster, her voice tinged with urgency. "Who is this? Do you know them?"

The old woman peered at the image and replied, "The boy's name is Travone Lee. One of the lucky ones—got himself a power-class gem down in the mining sites."

The quartermaster shook her head; if all the rumours she heard were true, then a boy like Mr lee with no backing was in for a rough time, even worse if he was found guilty. The extraction could kill him or cripple him, she sighed, shaking her head sadly.

Natasha thanked her and rushed back outside. She looked around and connected to her coms, "Albin, report in."

"He’s dead! I left him dead on that planet!" He mattered"—how is he alive?" Albin thought, grappling with the unsettling realization, "Not only is he alive, but he had also obtained a rare power-class gem. What the fuck is going on."

Albin was speeding towards the mining floor now, desperation and a small bit of fear about the truth of what really happened; he was not scared of the boy; no, he was worried about Natasha handing him over to Hector and thus leading to even more scrutiny of his work as a UNE agent.

"Can't these bastards stay dead? The boy even has a power class gem. That must be it."

The elevator chimed, and he made his way to the mining station; he showed his badge to a technician in the room and demanded access to the footage of the abandoned mine he had previously overseen.

The once abandoned site had become a breeding ground for vile spines; he looked at the wandering creatures, and just like before, even he wasn't sure of surviving that many vile spines—but how could a boy like Travone survive in such a place then?

"You're back, Albin?" a voice called out from behind him, and he turned to find Amelia approaching him with a questioning look, a mocking smile and humming a cheerful tune.

"No, I’m looking for someone," he muttered, looking and flipping through the slate with twitching fingers. "Have you seen this person before?" he lifted the slate up to the large woman to see.

Amelia squinted, recalling something from her previous days about the face she was seeing.

"He looks familiar—saw him once. He was looking for a job, but I turned him down."

"So he’s alive," he thought aloud, causing Amelia to raise an eyebrow,

So the question now is how Travone managed to leave that nightmarish planet and where he had gained such power. He was not scared of whatever would happen when Natasha or the UNE found him; no, he was fascinated, angry, and curious. In fact, if he got his hands on him, he would be the first to know what kind of power or relic it was. Then, he would decide whether to kill him or not.

It could be devastating if Hector discovered this connection, but I would have to stay one step ahead.

Albin took the elevator back up to the twenty floors, his determination hardening. Arriving in the UNE arena section, he began asking around, his anxiety mounting with each passing hour. Unlike most of the seekers who went to their quarters when the dungeon planet eclipsed us, Albin found himself entering the bureaucratic maze of the UNE offices, which were spaced into cubicles, his patience thinning.

"Excuse me," he said, Approaching the office counter, "Have you seen this boy around here?" he inquired.

The receptionist shrugged, her expressions showing that she did not recognise. "Not that face. I can't remember seeing it around, but may I ask why you’re looking for him?"

Albin's jaw muscles tightened as he replied, "He's under investigation."

The receptionist raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued, "Well, if he's been around these parts, perhaps the cameras caught something follow me then."

Following her lead, he was led to a back room where a script jack sat connected to the large mainframe with cables," here I the footage," she started, and Albin stepped forward, connecting his slate to the facial recognition of the main frame. Albin did not have that many cybernetic implants; he had a simple communication implant that he used for communication. Even with all the precautions he took, he was still a gamma rank, which frustrated him to no end. He was doing everything right, so why waste stack in the low gamma ranks?

Albin fixed his gaze on the array of screens lining the walls of the small office, each displaying timelines and video feeds from various locations. He combed through every available feed with fervour, his obsession propelling him as he poured over hours of footage like a man possessed.

Time slipped away as minutes turned into hours, and Albin's enchanted perception strained against the enormous task of sifting through minutiae. Just when he thought he might have to abandon his search, he spotted an epsilon entering the ring with a zeta rank, adrenaline surging as he recognized Travone—dressed in black nano-leather with a Centurian blade strapped securely to his back.

He watched intently as Travone handed off his weapon to someone nearby before stepping into the ring. He watched as the fight began.

The sheer tenacity and strength Travone displayed were undeniable as he fought, his movements fluid and powerful, but Albin’s anticipation faltered as he saw the Epsilon begin to take things seriously, the tides shifting in an instant.

Albin felt a sense of glee mixed with frustration. He wanted to know Travone’s secret, how he had survived and found the resourcefulness to compete. Realizing he needed this footage, Albin downloaded the clips to his slate, determined to analyze every fragment of the recent battle.

But he didn’t stop there; he asked the jack to compile an algorithm that began a cross-referencing task, seeking not just the familiar face of Travone but also another parameter —someone who might have accompanied him.

An hour ticked away as he delved into the depths of the records, and suddenly, he flagged another clip featuring two figures exiting the platform for the dungeon planet. Fast-forwarding through breathless moments, he scrutinized and watched as seekers disembarked from the ship.

Albin’s eyes darted across the faces, but he didn’t see them—did they die?

Momentarily, he felt dissatisfied with losing out on whatever the boy had found, then frustrated with the time wasted, not to mention the worries that had turned over and over in his mind when he thought that Hector and Natasha would get their hands on him.

Just then, Natasha approached from behind, breaking his focus. "Albin, did you find anything?" she asked, peering intently at the screens.

"No, he went down to the planet and never came back," he admitted, frustration evident in his tone.

"But you should stay here and keep looking; you're better at this than I am."

"You seem to think he killed Otis?" she pressed.

Albin shrugged, "He's simply a suspect, and I want to look into him."

Natasha studied him silently, doubt etched across her features, but she was unable to dissuade him. "Here, go ahead." He stood up, a silent invitation.

“Take a try; I’m going to look around.” As he left, Natasha tried to protest, but Albin was closing the door behind him.

He felt an instinctual feeling tagging at his mind —if Travone had defied all odds and survived those vile spines, then there was no doubt he was alive. If he had uncovered some alien artefact that permitted him to escape, Albin knew he needed to find it; it might hold the key, the thing he had been looking for all this time.