As Sierra walks towards her informant, the massive geodesic dome shudders — creating an absolute racket. ’Skrits’ pass her by, ready to sweet rain into the drains by the side of the road. They’re made of stone, normally, but right now they’ve donned Polyvinyl Chloride ’acid-coats’. As had Sierra, coincidentally. That’s the expected course of action when everyone receives a system-wide alert on impending dome-opening. She eyes the mirror above the building.
Almost as if clockwork, the acidic rain drips from the volcanic ash clouds far, far above. She puts a hand up to her respirator, adjusting the strap — making sure it’s tight. Loose is good for comfort, when the filters are on. But loose is deadly when the dome opens.
She pauses, looking up at the Lux Aeterna; a small array of towers that rise and rise. Mater used to tell her that the towers extended past the ash clouds and up to the very highest reaches of the world. Sleek. Streamlined. Perfect.
Just like everything.
She turns up her collar to the cold. It’s not especially warm to begin with — but when the dome opens, she feels her toes begin to freeze. Even so… she has somewhere to be.
She turns away from the main street, ignoring the glistening light that passes through raindrops. It’s not even real. There is no light. The only reason she, or anybody, can see is the ReflectNet and the light signal. Then, she’s in darkness as she disconnects from the network. Her respirator flicks, revealing two panels of glass that go over her eyes, giving her the smallest flicks of light with which to navigate.
Eventually, refuge comes in the form of an overhanging plane of vitrum; the same stuff that all buildings are made from. Resistant to the acid, and seems to fit the aesthetic. A man turns the corner.
This isn’t some random spot. It’s a lacunae — umbra-speak for a place where the mirrors don’t see. No Reflections; no fake faces, and no surveillance.
A man turns the corner, sidling up to Sierra’s side. She stands a head over him, and he’s no midget himself.
He ducks under the plane of vitrum, looking up to watch the rain platter onto the silver-glass, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket — flicking his hand to make a single one pull out of the container.
He grabs it, placing it into a receptacle in his respirator, then flicks his finger right in front of it. Just like that — it’s alight. A Red.
A small, almost imperceptible spark of fire bursts from his fingers, lighting the tobacco. She might wrinkle her nose — but the respirator blocks the smell. Being near a red always makes the burn on her face tingle.
His voice comes crackled through the respirator; almost robotic.“Fackin’ nowt. Not a drop. I don’t know why you’re lookin’ for this guy, but he’s a spectre.” He speaks, then pulls from the cigarette. “I’ve asked as far as I can — I’m telling you, you ain’t findin’ this guy. Not in my network.”
“Then I’ll go higher. Somebody has to know.” She says, then clenches her fist. “Nobody is invisible, not in Iridon.”
He chuckles. “You can’t afford someone higher than me.”
“You don’t know me.” She responds, turning to him. “You don’t know shit, bricker.”
“Four months between visits. My pay’s been the same each time; three times. Then, I raise it by 20%. You come back after six. I would guess you’re a scrapper — but you’re too consistent. Junkyard?”
Sierra stands there, bristling with irritation. Her fist clenches into a tight, hard ball. “Yeah. So what?”
He looks over at her, noticing the anger in her eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t take a smack at me here.”
He points behind her, and after a second, she turns. At the end of the alleyway, a massive marble statue stands, covered in a PVC-cloak that drapes over it. Silver, glowing eyes stare at them both, watching.
“Trones know about this place, now. We won’t meet here again. Not unless you want to role as a couple and snog every chance we get.”
Sierra shakes her head. “Yeah, you got me. I’m a junker. The fuck does that matter?”
He taps the respirator, dragging from the cigarette. “Tells me you ain’t gonna afford someone with more connections. Not ’less you want to take half your life to do it.”
Sierra taps her foot. “Your point. Now.”
He takes a step in, placing a hand on her stomach. “Soz, darling. But I can’t let this information be overheard.” He says, then places his face right near Sierra’s neck. “You’ve let it slip — you’re Indigo.”
Sierra freezes, her hand going to the blade underneath the coat only to find the man’s hand gripping her. He whispers in a low voice. “Stop. Please.”
She releases, and he presses himself into her neck hovering over her flesh. “You’re lucky you ain’t dead.” He speaks through breaths that pour warm air onto her neck. She shudders. He waits a second, then presses his body into hers, looking back at the Astra Argus as he seems to weigh his options.
“You ever heard… of vampires?” He asks, still looking over Sierra’s shoulders.
Sierra places her hands around him in embrace. Conspiracy is illegal… public acts of affection are not. Her breasts press up against him. “Only in fairy-tales. What’s your point?”
“Do you know what’s special about vampires? They can’t be seen in mirrors. In this place; that’s a power people would kill for. And you, an indigo, have that ability. I’ve been contracted to find one of your kind. Brass tacks; a job, it pays enough to possibly find your info. I don’t know. Interested?”
“How the hell did you know? I don’t use it. I go as Colourless.”
“Lady, I’ve been a seeker for thirty years. It’s hard to hide powers — especially if nobody’s taught you how to hide them. The good news; my employer can help you. The bad; I barely know them.”
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“Do you trust them?” she asks, and he puts her face up to hover in front of her lips. “No.” He answers. “But they’re just as invisible as the man you’re trying to find. I couldn’t find shit all on them.”
His eyes go wide. “The trone is moving; yes or no, right now!”
Sierra freezes. Her heart is racing; her mind floods with the worst possible options. An underground gang? Can’t be; too unknown. Some kind of sharks? Doubtful; why would they recruit a Erebii?
That leaves one answer. “Yes.”
He smiles, then bites into her neck, a data-fang shoving out from his tooth and imparting a data-stream of info into her ReflectNet chip. Her second, illicit chip, that is.
She pulls away as soon as the transfer is complete, and they both hurry away from the statue. He goes left; the way he came — and Sierra goes right, sifting through the data.
“HALT!” shouts the Astra Argus, and she freezes. There’s no other choice. The statue stomps over, the draped anti-acid cloak flowing in the wind. “TURN AROUND.”
She does so, looking into the silver-eyes of the Trone. It looks her up and down. “FROM 18-12-2089 06:16 TO 18-12-2089 06:21, YOU WERE UNACCOUNTED FOR. EXPLAIN.”
“I took shelter from the rain.” She says, her heart beating like a rabbit’s. “My coat isn’t up to snuff.” The trone must be 3 meters tall, with one flexible hand for grabbing; and another with a laser-array built into the arm — able to melt steel in seconds.
How does she know? It’s more powerful than the 4m x 10m array they use to slag metal in the junkyard. Her eyes can’t rip away from it — both excitement and dread.
What it can do to flesh is… indescribable.
Gears seem to whirr in its head, then it spits out a list, mechanical voice rattling with machine precision.
“NAME: SIERRA — FAMILY NAME: HARPER — CASTE: EREBII — HEIGHT: 188CM — SKIN: #9F7C56 — HAIR: BROWN — OCCUPATION: JUNKYARD OPERATIVE — SPECTRUM: N/A.”
It stops. “CITATION GIVEN. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE LIGHT AGAIN.”
The second after that her — legal — ReflectNet chip receives a ping. She opens it, and her anger burns bright. “300 fucking LUX? For 5 minutes!?”
The eyes turn red. “CALM DOWN OR YOU WILL BE PLACED INTO A LESS AGGRESSIVE STATE. YOU MAY APPEAL CITATIONS AT THE CUSTODIA CENTRALIS.” It shouts, and Sierra takes a step back.
“LEAVE THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY. RETURN TO THE MAIN STREET IMMEDIATELY.” It commands, and she turns and escapes, pulling the PVC-coat over her tighter to shield herself from the cold and the wet.
Futility. Anger. Both mix together into a cocktail… and then simmer on low heat. She connects to her illicit chip, reviewing the information. It’s a simple message; with a connected beacon that attempts to lead her into a different part of town.
She reads the message…
’To whomever this message reaches; you are in danger. You’re an Indigo, and eventually you aren’t going to be able to hide it. You’ve already had it — the times where you’ve been walking normally only for a trone to say you weren’t accounted for. Not purposely, but just walking down the main streets.
You’re blinking; going in and out of the network. They’ll find it, eventually. They’ll kick down your door, and they’ll find you. We don’t know what happens after that. We just know that we’ve never found them again.
Instead, come to us. We’re in need of an Indigo. It’s good work, and dangerous work. What isn’t, huh, in Iridon?
We’re the Vanguard Alliance for Mirrors, Privacy, and Individual Rights Enforcement. You, hopefully, have never heard of us — but if you have, you’ll know us by another name.
V.A.M.P.I.R.E.’
--
Rust. That’s what this place is. Rust and dust. Some scrapper-hideout, once, but now not even worth that. The acid-rain protection coating is gone, letting the steel underneath tarnish.
She’s only been to the Chroma District once before, and it was an experience she had never wanted to repeat. Yet, here she is. The abandoned structure is old, possibly a storehouse for the Solar Arrays before Iridon was even a thing — the steel tells anyone that. Bits of ragged paint still survive, most of it having been stripped away for years.
Sierra wonders if it was once vibrant if the building was once something children would have loved to look at -- if it has always been the same desolate palette of grey and brown.
The answer is obvious.
In the background, the clangs of labour sound. The Chromatii get the most menial of work — the swing of sledgehammers, the clearing of the sewers. Sierra is Erebii by birth. Manual labour, mostly — but not anything quite as ’low’ as the Chromatii must endure.
She pushes open the door. An open space that had quickly become the place-to-be for any who decide to partake in Luminaferum — a hallucinogen — evidenced by the empty capsules that litter the ground. She’d never tried the stuff, though she wouldn’t be against it.
A few of the other junkers had — and they suggested, in no uncertain terms — that it made everything better. Sex, other drugs… life. Sierra shakes her head.
This is exactly where the beacon points her to. Yet there’s nothing here.
Her mind reels. She’s stupid, so so stupid. What if this is a trap?
She looks around. Open holes in the roof; broken windows — and nowhere to hide.
A voice breaks out of the silence. It’s quick, and distorted — not through a respirator, but actively muddled by software.
“Welcome, Sierra.” It speaks. She can’t quite tell where it comes from, or what sex they are. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I’m simply to ask you a few questions.”
Sierra doesn’t speak, continuing to look around.
“First, we are VAMPIRE. We’re called that — or Vanguard. You can pick whichever you prefer, it doesn’t matter. We’re looking for an Indigo. Could you show us that you are, in fact, Indigo?”
She crosses her arms. “This… this is right outta the bad books. How can I trust this?”
The voice chuckles. “That’s reasonable. Suspicion is good. But it won’t help you here. If you are who our mutual contact says you are, then you need our help — and we’re willing to give it.”
The voice pauses. “In fact, we might be able to give you what you’ve been searching for… or, at least, a way to find it.”
Sierra’s heart jumps. She seeks Lily. It’s always been that. From the moment she dragged herself out of the Erebii building, to the place she stands now. Lily’s the only family she has left. That… and finding him.
The question that races through her mind is… is it worth it?
Well… if it’s a trap, she’s fucked either way.
She puts her hand onto her temple, closes her eyes, and in a second she’s wreathed in shadow. Cold runs through her veins, and as she moves, it feels like forcing her way through thick, slimy mud.
The effect lasts a second, if that, and then she’s back, the cold recedes, the shadows wither. Her breath is torn from her chest, as though her body was a permeable barrier.
The voice doesn’t say anything for a while. “I see. Thank you for showing me.”
“Is… is that enough?” she asks through tired breaths. “That’s about all I can do.”
The voice is silent, and then changes. It’s nowhere near the same, not a drop of the friendliness; replaced by a thick sense of satisfaction. “Yes, my dear — you have given me everything I wanted. Our mutual contact will be paid handsomely for your capture.”
A thousand things happen at once. A massive rumble; and the roof of the building is ripped open, a giant white-stone statue staring down at her with massive silver eyes. Blinding, nearly searing lights — actual light — pours down onto her from a thousand angles. Her heart drops. Men appear from thin air. They point weapons. They shout instructions. She shuts down. Her mind reels — telling her to do one singular thing.
Run.
Yet she can’t. They’re all around her. She’s trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. It was a trap, all along. Her knees give way, and she falls to the ground. It’s over. Everything is over.
A sound like thunder erupts and her vision swims as she’s knocked to the ground by a wave of force. The massive Astra Argus reels, falling backwards, crushing decrepit buildings and sending a storm of dust over the men surrounding her. Light falters and weapons point away, scanning for the attackers.
A massive, angry red brand sears into the dust cloud.
V.A.M.P.I.R.E