Your mileage may vary. Kuarel Farehn was not one to use that term. He despised it. The mark of an incompetent engineer was if they could not determine exactly their product's usefulness. Room for error was always considered, yet slapping the phrase mileage may vary onto a bridge designed to carry hundreds of thousands of people a year would most likely get someone jailed.

But it came as no surprise when anything he was tasked to build could be summed up with that particular phrase. The K82 automatic mobile small artillery cannons. Mileage may vary. The dual pull all terrain certified bipedal legs. Mileage may vary. Surround-view octagonal cabin with advanced bullet-proof armouring. Mileage may vary.

Even if he could say, with confidence, that it had all been completed to the best of his ability, the simple fact that the operational site was in the middle of a desert did not bode well for the real-world prospects of said instruments.

The heat interfered with the metalworking, the sand toyed with the gears and pulleys, and any sensitive instrument had to be handled with utmost delicacy, lest it went tumbling off the only solid outcrop for miles.

Nestled atop a rocky island, Kurael Farehn had been put to work. The way the sands moved around him, and the outcrop’s unremarkable shape itself made him doubtful that even radar systems could pick it up effectively.

That was if anyone was looking for him in the first place. He was as good as dead. He himself thought so. At the very least, he died doing what he loved. That’s what they told widows and orphans, right?

Not that there’d be any widows or orphans to tell such a lie. Just an old woman in an apartment, too large for her to live alone in. He could still see her sitting there, mask turned away, voice box in silent disapproval. Perhaps that image would stay like that forever.

He stepped out of his quarters, leaving the communal shed for another full night of work. It was roughly six in the evening, and the floodlights around the base were taking over from the sun’s brutal assault. He watched as the short-lived starlight was choked by electric. No place for such luxuries.

Still exhausted, he dragged his feet to the central square, where half-finished Higher Order Armour stood dormant, like a cruel modern art exhibition. Workers filed in from every direction, all heading towards the mess hall for a chance at something more than a slice of bread.

Watching them work off so little made Kurael truly thankful he was born a Spirit, something he thought he’d never feel so intensely.

Then again, if they chose to live in the desert and survive off rations, that was their decision to make. It was the kidnapped human engineers he truly felt sorry for.

He found the particular H.O.A he had been working on. Although much of the beast was a mystery to him, he was intimately familiar with the workings of its forelimbs. Each bolt, gear and pulley used to operate it was practically etched into his mask. He knew it back to front, and that knowledge was keeping him alive.

Loyalty?

No. His life was more important than his country, or the lives of the Spirits the machine would kill. Allegiances like that did not exist in his conscience.

He kept his sights on the unfinished armour’s forearm systems while a worker came him. He was wary of the workers. They doubled as freedom fighters, with an agenda not exactly keen on Kurael’s kind. The only protection he had against them was his knowledge, which is why he had been careful to avoid revealing too much of it. He had used his assigned men as tools, not apprentices.

“Evening boss,” said the man. The sun had thoroughly tanned his skin, wrinkling it beyond his years. He was the shortest out of the group, and the skinniest. Kurael only remembered him for his knack for getting into tight spaces.

“Good evening,” Kurael said, still uncomfortable with the greeting. He could not tell if it was a holdover the rebels kept from their time in the city or an attitude-filled nickname.

Even so, he did not have the nerve to question it.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“By the looks of things, you all fixed the elbow bolts in nicely, so next we’ll install the wrist joint and hand appendage. Tomorrow, we’ll calibrate the steel tendons, rinse and repeat on the other side.”

“Yes boss, right away,”

Kurael found a step ladder nearby. Climbing it, he found a better angle to view the arm from, if not to avoid having to talk to the worker.

“I bet you want to go home.”

“…sorry?”

He glanced at his worker. His face was dead serious, erasing any notion of it being some, sick sarcastic jab.

“You want to go home, right?”

“…of course, I do. I don’t like it here,” Kurael said, as cautiously as his exhausted thought patterns could muster.

“Do you care at all about what you’re being made to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, leaking state secrets, helping us kill your own kind.”

Kurael watched him in disbelief, not exactly sure how to respond.

“It’s not like I want to be here. I got forced into a truck.”

Kurael felt insulted. More than that, even. He was at least comforted by the fact that his keepers were cruel and evil, people who anyone could look at and instantly pass judgement on.

And here he was, being asked about his damn feelings.

“Look, I am sorry, but I could not give a flying fuck about what you have against those people, or what those people have against you! If I did…I don’t even know because there’s no way in hell I would!”

His stomach churned once he finished, realising what he had just said and to whom he had said it. But the worker looked disappointed, yet at peace.

“Everyone does what they have to, I guess.”

Kurael watched the man walk off to the manufacturing sector as he continued to stare.

“Don’t remind me you’re human, you prick.”

Half an hour left on their flight. Evalyn had woken up, much to her dismay, and the two trespassers had just barely made it to their seats. Through a window at the end of their row, Iris could see the city as they banked for a final trajectory into the harbour.

“Good evening passengers, this is your captain speaking. I hope you’ve had a pleasurable experience on board our flight today. On behalf of myself and the crew, I bid you a warm welcome to the city that never sleeps. Stepping outside, you’ll feel a cool westerly breeze at about twenty-two degrees Celsius, and the time is six oh three, a half-hour ahead of Excala time. As we enter landing procedures, please stay in your assigned seats until the cabin crew notifies you otherwise. If you have brought any weapons on board, please visit the weapons carry on your way out to the lobby.”

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Elliot tapped on Iris’s shoulder.

“If you keep chewing while we land, it keeps your ears from popping,” he said, taking his own advice. She followed his lead, looking over to Evalyn, her teeth chattering. Iris could admire the effort.

The entire plane rocked as the bow hit the water, the inertia pulling them forward, and then rocking them back in their chairs. The gentle sloshing of waves replaced the low rumble of the engines, and Iris could feel the motions of the water beneath her. So could Evalyn.

“Alright, I’m done,” she said, reaching for a paper bag.

Iris sat on the pier, watching the passengers file down the staircase onto solid land. Tourists of varying ages and make descended the steps, and Iris could not help but recall the ballroom floor. How insincere it felt.

Yet it had nothing on the city itself. The view of Fadaak from its harbour was the very epitome of self-indulgence. The cities she had seen existed simply because they had existed forever. As populations grew, the cities grew with them. Yet this city was shaped by something else entirely.

The gleaming skyscrapers that so confidently took over from the stars in the night sky shone in unison, but not in harmony with their surroundings. Emanating colours created a dirty haze of light that overstepped the city's borders, and the noise had no issue disturbing the hairs in her ears.

Impressive, it certainly was. Each monument was a feat of engineering in itself, and Iris had taken an uncomfortable amount of time to fathom buildings so tall.

Yet the same insincerity of the ballroom still teased her. The city looked as though it relished in the swingy music, flower people and polished oak dance floors that she had never even had the opportunity to step onto in the first place.

She fell on a single sentence.

It didn’t feel real.

At any moment, the skyscrapers could fall apart, revealing that they had always been made entirely of plywood, and that everyone inside was just acting. Like the hallway in her mind, she already had the context of the entire stage.

Evalyn stepped down the staircase until her feet gently touched down on the pier, a rifle case slung across her shoulders. She flipped through their boarding tickets, confirming everything was in order.

“When do you need to be at the base?”

“Ten hundred hours tomorrow. Someone's coming to pick me up at seven-thirty.”

“My contract starts at midnight tonight, so we’ll get started when you leave. Got that Iris?”

“If it’s not an early start,” Iris said, fatigue setting on fast.

Iris wished the city would spare a few hours of sleep, if only for her. Where Excala’s night felt like a gentle lullaby, lulling the exhausted to sleep and letting those still awake slow dance the night away, Fadaak kept the lights on at all times.

The streets were still flowing with cars, albeit not enough for the roads to start clotting, and the streetlights made sure that no pedestrian could tell night from day.

The towering skyline was now directly above her head, which only made her more aware of it. If not the visual marvel, the pain in her neck from craning her head upwards would remind her.

But when she was keeping her eyes level, that was where she made the most curious observations.

Every pedestrian was human. For a city dominated by Spirits, it lacked even the Spirit count of Excala. At this hour, if it was not a Beak, then one could see police roaming with city Warpers, or the Blue Stormer electricity farms would be packing it up for the day.

Yet not a single Spirit bore their body to the pavement. All humans.

Even stranger were the children. She saw several humans roughly her age, yet none walked with an adult as she did. Each one flowed with the traffic as she had but a month ago. Although nostalgic, she had never been used to seeing others exhibit the same habits, let alone so many.

The car windows were all tinted a shadowy black. When coupled with the bright, harsh lighting, it was almost impossible to determine who was behind the veil. Yet if Iris squinted, she could make out the outline of those who were egregiously non-anthropromorhic.

They were always Spirits.

She felt a chill tease the hairs on her neck. Walking on the street was an implication of some kind.

“The manager is a Spirit I ran into about…six years ago? She had run into trouble with the mob I was contracted to clean up, and she thanked me for it by saying I’d be welcome to stay whenever I wanted,” Evalyn explained, nursing the position of the case’s strap on her shoulder.

“I don’t remember you telling me that part. We could’ve stayed in the city for free?” Elliot asked.

“Do you really want to holiday here?”

Elliot winced.

“Fair point.”

By the time they reached their destination, the height of the buildings had calmed, and the frequency of both people and cars had eased, leaving Iris to finally relax. It was a small hotel, only a few storeys tall. Yet that being said, the building’s quality would rival that of the newest Excala had to offer on a rainy day.

The fact that it was not raining kept Iris’s last shred of pride for her home city intact.

Sidos's best buildings were out of the competition entirely.

They entered through the revolving door, and Iris felt the atmosphere change along with the movement of the glass chamber as if it was a washing machine.

Slow jazz filled the place, just audible enough that the piano tickled her ears, and the brass would lap against the entrance, each note dancing in a loose waltz. Warm lighting and red carpet brought with it a sense of ease. Iris hated that she was acting as though she could not survive without luxury, but she let it slide. She was only ten. Or nine. Or eleven.

“Does the whale woman bless my lobby once again?” a voice called from the front desk. Humanoid, but only loosely. Loose enough that the voice’s owner could wear a hospitality uniform.

A Spirit of white rubbery skin, with a softly shaped head. Their eyes were set deep, as if someone had moulded her skin like putty, and her mouth remained forever open. A simple horizontal oval, from which sounds would exit. Each hand resting in front of her black suit was more reminiscent of a bird’s beak, and the crown of feathers adorning the top of her physique only added to her avian qualities, even if they stopped there.

“Yes, Madam. I gave you a call last night about my staying.”

“Did you really?”

“I did, yes.”

“Lovely. We’ve arranged a room for you on the seventh floor. What was your name, might I ask?”

“Fonsley. Beatrice Fonsley.

“No, although I am flattered.”

What.

“Will your two servants be staying in the same room?”

“No, the young girl is not my servant.”

“A shame. Two rooms then.”

“I’ll keep it to one, thank you.”

“I must insist-”

“No, no.”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“Seventh floor, room number nine. You may collect your keys now. Mornings?”

“Light. Two servings.”

“I can not agree to that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Certainly. Thank you for choosing Poquin Hotel five five four Teukic Street Central Bustling District City-State of Fadaak.”

Iris had not uttered a single word, yet she felt as though she needed to take a breather as they walked towards the stairs.

“Servant?” Elliot hissed at Evalyn, “If you keep making jokes like that, I’ll let you starve.”

“Sorry, I just don’t want her to think I’m a human,” she whispered.

“She thinks you’re a Spirit?” Iris hissed, “does she know?”

“I’m not sure if she caught me while I was pulling in Aether, but I let it slide since she doesn’t seem smart enough to put two and two together. For a Higher Order Spirit, she isn’t the brightest.”

“Higher order?”

“Yeah, she’s one of many, but I think she’s one of the Hospitality Spirits in the city. Clearly, if you’re good at running a hotel, it doesn’t guarantee you’re smart enough to running a business.”

The seventh floor cleared just enough of the surrounding cityscape for Iris to gaze at the light show uninterrupted. The pillars of concrete truly lived up to their namesake once clouds began to find the city. Iris sat by the windowsill and watched.

The dark clouds descended, touching the tips of the towers. The city’s ceiling truly was tall, so tall that it reached the skies.

That it called down clouds.

Spotlights from in and amongst the concrete jungle sparked on, piercing streams directly into the black abyss above, scanning it like a cat's whiskers

The clouds continued to descend.

Sirens.

“All citizens be aware of an incoming sandstorm. Please return to your homes or take shelter in a nearby structure immediately.”

Evalyn came in from the balcony and locked the door shut behind her. “That isn’t a sandstorm,” she said.

By now, Elliot had lifted himself off the bed and was leaning over Iris, glaring out the window.

“It’s black. The sand is black,” he muttered.

“That’s not sand, it’s smoke,” Evalyn replied. They looked at each other for much too long. Iris looked at Evalyn’s stoic face, then at Elliot’s tired one, then Evalyn’s exasperated face, to Elliot’s groaning one.

“It’s him.”

“It’s fucking him, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Right,” Elliot moaned as he flopped back onto the bed.

“He’s doing a city-wide sweep, so he’s looking for someone. But I don’t remember him being assigned this case. He wasn’t one of the listed investigators.”

“Who’s he!” Iris interjected, frustrated by the sirens and the conversation a million years ahead of her. Evalyn ruffled her hair as her vision stayed on the descending smokestorm. Like an inverse wave, it engulfed the city from the top down, and soon enough, their window blacked out. The sirens were nothing but a small hum amidst the omnipotent gust.

“Liam Colte. He trained me.”

“…Someone trained you?!”