Xerïon's headquarters are situated in the most luxurious part of the business district. Only their executives know their exact wealth and power, but the corporation has enough to topple smaller nations. It's her first time working for Xerïon, hopefully not the last. No one pays as well as them because no one is as rich as them. It is every assassin's dream to be contracted by Xerïon. They also have connections for the best weapons and gear credits can buy. And besides credits, weapons and gear are what assassins care most about.

You can't see through the smog into the Abyss from the Third Circle. Convenient not to be reminded of the suffering of those who sweat, bleed, and die for your wealth. So easy to forget who built City of Slaves upon their bent and whipped backs. To the rich, the city's very name is abstract, eroded in the stream of history. Only once a year, they pretend to remember. During the day of the Great Giving, the free people throw food into the Abyss for the slaves to eat. Even that is primarily an opportunity for them to flaunt their wealth to their peers. There isn't much compassion in this world. At least not for those who cannot demand it.

She never got used to the luxury of Xerïon's headquarters. The people in nice and well-fitted clothes that are as expensive as houses in the lower circles. The goddamn mosaic floor depicts scenes from myths and legends: the fall of Old Onthariz, the hold against the Western Tribes, and Teremeres leading his people to settle the mountain that would become known as the the City of Slaves.

A courteous guard takes her to the elevator. That is what she likes most about this place. Everyone behaves civilized for once. She doesn't care if it is fake. She pretends they respect her as a person and not only as a potential source of violence and profit.

She doesn't like handing over her weapons in the lobby. She feels naked without them. The elevator door opens directly to the office of the leading executive. Presumably, they think this matter is too important for anyone else to handle than the top bitch herself.

The executive woman sits behind a massive mahogany desk. She's looking down into a large book. Its pages frayed. The only other object on the table is a pen in its stand. The grain of the wood forms swirls on the open surfaces. The woman doesn't as much as glance at Vyss when she enters the room. The guard closes the elevator door behind them.

The woman looks up at Vyss but says nothing. It feels like the woman can read her thoughts and sense her intentions. The woman closes the book and reaches for her neck and removes a key from her necklace. She opens a drawer and takes out a steel case onto the desk. Beautiful, engraved, gilded, fucking expensive. She swaps the key and opens the case.

"You have retrieved the box, I presume?" she says.

"Yes," answers Vyss, taking it from her satchel and showing it to her. A small black puzzle box. No distinguishing marks. It could be obsidian if not for the shimmering surface that seems living.

"You have not tried to open it?"

"No, you told me not to."

"Good. Well done. Place it in the case," says the woman, pushing the case forward.

Vyss hesitates and says, "I'm sorry. When will I receive my payment?"

"Tomorrow," answers the woman.

"I'm okay with that. Begin the procedure today, and I'll return tomorrow. You'll have your box. I'll have my credits."

"Please place the box in the case. Come and pick up your check tomorrow. Xerïon always pays its dues. We have a reputation to uphold."

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Vyss puts the box into the satchel.

"Give me the box," the woman says, planting her hands firmly on the table. "I can't let you run around the city with it."

"I've kept it safe for three moons already. I'll see you tomorrow."

Vyss turns her back on the woman, goes to the elevator, and takes hold of the door handle. The guard grabs her wrist and yanks her away from the elevator. Almost ripping her off the floor.

"Fuck you,” hisses Vyss.

"Hand me the box, and you are free to go," says the woman as she taps on the desk with a slender finger. Jet black nail polish.

The guard drags Vyss to the desk by her wrist as she pleads, "Stop, or I'll have to make you stop. Before I know I'll be paid, I'm not giving you the box."

"Put the box in the case," says the woman.

Vyss wrenches free and takes a few quick steps away from the guard. He slowly approaches her. She backs up against the wall.

"I'm not giving it to you before I know I'll get the reward we agreed upon. I have been fooled too many times before. I swear I'll be back tomorrow, and you'll have it. The box is safe with me until then."

"Take it from her," says the woman.

The guard lunges at Vyss. His arms hug the air where she had been in the blink of an eye earlier. She circles him to the middle of the room. She turns to the woman again. "One last time, I beg you. Don't make me do this," she says, grabbing the air where her sword's hilt usually is. She clenches her fist.

"Kill her," says the woman.

The guard draws his sword and rushes towards Vyss. She sidesteps as the blade cuts through the air and severs the satchel strap left behind by inertia. The guard stumbles a couple of steps forward before regaining his balance. He turns around and sees Vyss take apart his gun. There is a glint of disbelief in his eyes. Maybe even fear.

He lunges at her as she throws herself onto the floor and away from his frenzy and rolls and returns to her feet. He pursues her, slashing as she backs away until she's against the wall. He lunges at her again. She dodges. The sword embeds itself deep into the wall. He pulls it out and swings as she steps in closer. Too close for the blade to cut her. She grabs his arm and twists the sword out of his grip. He growls and pulls himself free with strength far beyond her to contest.

Vyss dodges his fist. Almost hitting her face with bone-crushing force. He bends to pick up the sword. She seizes the moment and kicks his head with power far beyond what her petite frame should allow. He collapses onto his side. Convulsing as blood pours out his nose and mouth onto the carpet. Vyss picks up the sword. The woman sits huddled in a corner. Clasping the satchel. Vyss takes it from her. Searches it. The box isn't there.

"You're dead. You're going to die," hisses the woman.

"Where's the box?" says Vyss.

"You'll never find it."

"Where is the box?"

"She's killing me," the woman calls out. "Hurry."

"No one is going to hear you," says Vyss. "You were too paranoid for a communication tube. Where is the box?"

The woman does not answer. But her gaze flickers ever so quickly at the desk. The case is missing. As are the keys from the necklace.

She pulls her from the corner by her hair. The woman struggles and shouts profanities as Vyss straddles her and says, "You've one last opportunity to make everything right. One."

The woman spits at her.

"It's ultimately your own decision," says Vyss. She thrusts the sword into the woman's stomach and slices down towards her pelvis. The woman only whimpers. Vyss sticks her hand into the wound and rummages until she finds the keys covered in gore. Vyss embeds the sword deep into the woman's eye and springs to her feet. She fumbles with the greasy key as she unlocks the drawer. She takes the case, unlocks it and puts the box in her pocket.

The people in the lobby don't seem to think anything is out of the ordinary when she exits the elevator. She hides her bloody hands as best she can and goes to the guard by the locker holding her weapons.

"I would like to have my weapons back, please. Ghost is the name."

The guard opens the locker but stops mid-motion.

"Is there a problem?" she asks.

"Where did Grett go, the other guard?"

"The lady wanted to talk to him. It didn't sound good," says Vyss, shaking her head in pity. "Didn't sound good at all."

The guard turns to the locker and gives her the weapons.

"You got some dirty hands," he says.

"Yeah, sorry. In my profession, you get so used to having dirty hands that you forget to wash them, even for these occasions."

"Didn't notice it before," he says.

"Weird. Farewell," she says. Then walks through the lobby and out the front door. It's a mere question of moments before the message goes out that makes her prey for every goddamn assassin in the city. And in City of Slaves, there are many of them.