She woke up coughing, ‘Why would I fall asleep in a puddle?’ her muddled thoughts worked out. She tried to get up, but the world tipped her on her head. Rain. It was raining, water was dangerous, she never slept in the rain. She struggled to her hands and feet, coughing, strange there was no sound. Looking up, she saw people sprawled over the ground in front of her. ‘Oh no!’ Crawling forward, she reached for someone she hoped wasn’t who she thought it was. 

Ra’dan was a tall, stern-looking man with gray streaks in his hair. He liked to dress nice, claiming it was essential to show character through his dress. In his case, honesty and dependability. It had been; it was hard to be dependable when you were dead. Next to him was Garthon, who was the opposite, large, burly, and cruel; no one trusted him. In his hand was his Creatch knife sparking and arching in the rain. Not thinking, she crawled over to pull it out of his grasp. She shouldn’t have stopped to stare at it, but her thoughts still weren’t clear; his hand grasped her wrist. Shocked, she pushed it back towards him, and the tip pierced through his Sladder jacket spasms racked his body. Jumping to her feet, she dropped the knife; it crackled against the pavement. Her ears started ringing, and the world spun as she tried to gain her balance, her feet seeming to slip beneath her. Staggering, she leaned against a lamp pole and looked around her. The service entrance to Spire Tower was a smoking ruin with dozens of bodies thrown randomly. ‘They’re dead.’ Her thoughts finally caught up to her. ‘Someone had sabotaged the shipment; it must have been Garthon; he still had a bounty on her head after she got his son arrested. He had killed his competitor and nearly her, all in one blow, and himself in the process. Wait, that didn’t make sense.  On second thought, she had killed him, and Garthon was too smart to get himself so close to a sil-bomb. Stumbling, she picked up the Creatch knife and made her way toward the lift tubes.

POLICE REPORT- MULTIPLE EXPLOSIONS IN THE MERCHANT QUARTER WAREHOUSE  DISTRICT. GANGS HAVE BEEN ACTIVE IN THIS AREA. DISCIPLINARY FORCE IS ADVISED. INVESTIGATIVE PERSONNEL CAUTIONED TO AVOID CONFRONTATION TILL FORCES ARE SUBDUED. 

Lieutenant Adam heard the metallic voice give out its report, not planning to follow its advice. Fixing his grip on the shock bar as the police carrier touched down in the street, he began his count. 20..19..18.. the crash-troops came online at fifteen; the doors opened at twelve, their blasters were in position at ten, the carrier settled at seven the first row was out at six like clockwork. Every time, no deviations made themselves present, he thought that something should go wrong; nothing could be so precise every time; it must have been lingering expectations of his past. Stepping out after the third row, he surveyed the scene. Bodies littered the ground, the large doors of the warehouse were torn open, and electricity crackled across the pavement. Sil-crystal detonation mixed with creatch flakes for extra lethality. He left the crash-troopers to secure the area and dissipate the electricity; and scanned the area around him. The strip lights were dimmed as it was nearly midnight, making the light of a lift tube coming online jarringly obvious. Pulling out his hand blaster, he jogged towards the light keeping to the shadows. There was a figure crouched at the controls; they seemed like they didn’t want to be seen. 

As the person slowly stepped into the tube, he rushed forward, placing a hand on the hatch; he commanded, “Turn around and place your hands on your head!”

The person just leaned against the tube, not even acknowledging him.

“Hands up!” he said louder. When they didn’t move, he tapped their shoulder with his blaster.

The first thing he noticed was the blood matting the side of their head; the second was that she was only a girl, at least sixteen, not yet a full citizen; the third and most strange were her eyes. Her irises were pale amethyst shining with an inner light. He took a step back as he lowered his blaster in shock. 

“W-wh-what?” she stuttered, raising one hand to her head, keeping the other pressed against the tube. Looking closer into her eyes, he saw her pupils were dilated and not focusing on anything. Glancing back at the robots, seeing they were still occupied, he reached into his pocket for a tracker. Then thinking better about it, he chose an isotope tracker instead of an electric one. Reaching out, he placed it on her sleeve and watched it dissolve; he would be able to find her anywhere in the city. on his own, without alerting Headquarters; no need to let them know about this encounter. Stepping out of the tube, he let it slide shut and sent her up and on her way. Turning around, he strode over to the troops to take over the investigation. No sense in sticking around here; he had a lead to follow.

****

Zilia trudged through the rain; she felt better after leaving the contents of her stomach in the lift tube, allowing the rain to wash her boots. Her ears had started ringing, and some of her hearing had returned. Her head seemed to throb with each step she took. She tried to recollect what had led up to the detonation, but her brain was having none of it. She made her way through the Harrows, climbing one ladder and sliding down another; several blocks away. By the time she made it to her apartment, she couldn’t care less if one of the gangs had followed her home. Stumbling through the door, it sealed shut behind her; not bothering to peel off her soaked clothes, she collapsed on the couch and became oblivious to the world once more. 

****

She awoke to someone shaking her arm. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw her mother standing over her.

“Uma, what is it?” she asked as she lifted herself from the couch, her still-wet clothes making it difficult. 

“Dead. Not dead.” Her mother mumbled as she worried her fingers with her teeth. 

“Uma, I’m fine; I just had a late night. Sorry, I worried you.” Zilia said as she stood to steer her mother into the corner where they kept their kitchen. Her headache was gone, but her body still felt wrung out. She pulled off her Scrappers’ Jacket, leaving it near the stove so the heat would help dry it. She pulled out some mushroom porridge and set it on the burner. She sprinkled her mother's medicine in with a small spoon and stirred. Her mother came up next to her and held her arm. 

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“Danger out there. Safe here.” She mumbled as she hung on to her. 

“I am here now. I am safe.” Zilia patted her arm to assure her. “Here, eat this.” She said, placing the porridge into a bowl on the small counter they used as a table. 

“Not hungry.” 

“Uma, you need to eat.” Sighing, she pulled out the small jar of sugar and scooped out half of the little that remained. “Here, I made it sweet.” Her mother sat down then and began to eat.

Grabbing a protein bar, she made her way up to her room. It was just the loft above the main living area, near the power coils. The humming of which always soothed her. Pulling out a pair of clean clothes, she saw herself in the mirror.

“Rusts!” the entire left side of her face was caked in blood. Indeed she looked half dead; she felt even worse for worrying her mother. After washing, she found that the wound had already started scabbing over; there was also a nasty bruise surrounding the area. 

“Sliming rust.” Checking on her mother, she saw that she was asleep on the couch. Turning on a receiver, she set it to her favorite broadcast.

‘Late last night, a Creatch explosion occurred during a delivery at Spire Tower. This is what official channels are saying. The president of mining and shipping is using it to up taxes and lower the payroll of workers, claiming that more funds need to be allocated to safety and inspection so as to, and here I quote, "to ensure the safety of our workers and their families.” which we all know to mean his pockets and coffers. Our sources have discovered that the leading figures of the Ra’dan Guild and the Drake Gang were among the casualties. Reports from the Harrows claim these two rival factions have been at odds for months and that peace negotiations had been underway last night. Now that both factions are dead, we are seeing that the City Workers Union is trying to secure its place within this power vacuum. We ask all local residents to refrain from joining the Union. Time will tell which of the Guilds or Gangs will rise to challenge the Union's power grab. We can only hope that they are more efficient than their predecessors. We ask that you tune in again after the floods. Stay safe, stay strong; life rises from the Deep.’

Zilia turned off the receiver as it turned to static. The Lost and Forgotten Guild only broad-casted three times a day and only if there was prevalent information to be shared. Part of that was the constant need to relocate to avoid being traced. Like all residents of the Harrows, they feared and despised the Upper City. It was wise to be wary of those stronger than you. 

She rested her back against the power coils and wondered how it had all gone wrong. All the Guilds had been betting on Ra’dan winning the turf war or convincing Garthon that unity was better than submission to the Union. Now both were dead. If only she could remember what had happened that day.

****

Throwing on her Scrapper’s jacket and hat, she made sure her mother again was sleeping before leaving and locking the door. There was only one other Guild other than the Lost and Forgotten that dealt in information. Ra’dan and been against supporting them but had seen the benefits of having a more extensive information network than the Upper City’s spy network. The Salamanders were an inter Guild network, part of their Creed was family first. They would never sell information to an opposing guild and were wholly made up of boys. It had been a hard sell to the other guilds, but once they had seen the effectiveness of the network against the gangs, they had all wanted at least one Salamander of their own.  Walking past apartments, she hopped catwalks to take another ladder down. After three levels, she crossed two more intersections and took two more ladders up. Slipping beneath the water drain, she squeezed between the service pipes; after an agonizing moment when she thought she would get stuck, she made her way up the impromptu ladder. 

“I had thought you were dead.” Came the voice of Newt. His real name was Francis, but all the Salamanders called their leader Newt.

“Came too rusting close,” Zilia said as she brushed the water off her clothes. 

“Some of the boys saw it happen; they ran when they heard the Choppers coming.” Newt was looking out at the Harrows between two sheets of metal he used as a windshield.

“What did they see?” Zilia asked as she made her way to sit beside him. “Did anyone else survive?”

“They say Garthon’s body wasn’t among the incineration pile.” Newt still wouldn’t look at her.

“What does that mean? Newt, come on, look at me.” Zilia said, frustrated at talking to his back.

“It means I thought you were dead.” He turned around then. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been crying for a long time.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Frog says you were right next to the explosion. That Garthon was choking you against the crate when it exploded. You shouldn’t be alive. But then Wart saw you going home last night. We didn’t want to believe him. But here you are.” Newt laughed, “Or are you a ghost to give me one last piece of advice? Which is it?”

Thoughts tumbled through Zilia’s mind; how had she survived a Creatch detonation? It made sense why Garthon had tried to kill her. But who had planted the bomb? 

“Newt, I’m sorry I don’t know what to say other than I’m not dead. I think I would know that.”

He snorted at that.

“I don’t remember much of what happened before or after the bomb. The first clear thing I remember was waking up just a few hours ago. 

Newt sighed as he brushed his long dark hair from his eyes. “Where to start?”

“I remember taking the job for Ra’dan. I wasn’t supposed to get close to anyone. Just hit Garthon with a paralyzing round if things started to go down the pipe.” 

Newt nodded, “That matches my intel. The boys say the drop off went as planned, but you came running out shouting something.”

“Really?” Zilia asked, not remembering any of that.

“Yeah, Frog said it seemed weird up to the point the bomb went off. He and Slick were too far to hear anything that was supposed to be Toad’s job.”

“He was caught in the blast, wasn’t he?” 

Newt nodded. Toad had been friends with Newt before she had helped them found the Salamanders. “I wish I could have done something.” She said bitterly. 

“By all accounts, it looks like you tried. It was Garthon that stopped you.”

“Was it one of his packages?”

“No, it was one that had been sitting there for a couple of days. The boys have seen it sitting there for months.”

“It must have been a plant. What we need to find out is who put it there.” She said as she grabbed a tablet. 

“What I want to know is how you survived without a Sladder suit and how you knew there was a bomb there.”

Zilia paused as she held the magnet to the tablet. “I guess that is something I would like to know as well.”

“I’ll let the boys know you’re back,” Newt said as he settled in the seat opposite her.

“Let the older ones know, but tell them to keep it to themselves.”

“Will do, boss,” Newt said as he fell into the game. “We are gonna catch these sliming eels.” 

“Not to mention take out the rest of the Drake Gang.”