[6:45 pm. An alleyway near the entry point]
Not quite ready to part with the comfy afternoon, hues of pink and tangerine splashed across the sky, gradually deepening into darker shades as the sun sank lower. The usual breeze was soft and calming, winding through the long, narrow alley.
Chrome gleamed on slitted pupils, intensifying the charm in their phosphorescent gaze as Ratelsi leaned back against a wall lit by backlights and LED strips. A rebellious strand of white in her dark curls slipped from behind her pointed ear to mischievously brush against her delicate shoulders. She raked her fingers through her mussed waves to put them back in place.
The brick walls surrounding her came alive with explosive graffiti, colours and designs were huge with grinning smiley faces, chaotic tags with bold letters and cartoonish eyes. Orange swirls playfully danced with vibrancy. Clearly, the artists had let their inner kids go wild, expressing their creativity on the brick canvas.
However, a glassy feather levitated, spinning lazily above Ratelsi's hand. It flickered, split. Two obsidian feathers now drifted between her fingers. Lost in thought, she examined their blades with an impassive gaze. The air reeked of piss and dampness, mingling with the city's constant buzz; muffled gossip and conversations, receding and approaching footsteps scraping against the concrete, the alley, backlit by glaring billboards advertising what looked like a new Intercell version.
But all of that faded into a blur as Ratelsi couldn't shake the nagging thoughts about the engraving on the capsule. E.X.O.N. echoed relentlessly in her mind. What could it mean? And, most intriguingly, what connected it to the Venerites? Oddly enough, those four letters seemed to lure her interest even more than the crystals themselves. Soon enough, she found herself wrestling with a strange urge to uncover the source of this newfound fascination. Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. There wasn't much to be done right now.
Just then, the low thrum of an approaching Strider interrupted Ratelsi's musings. Disturbed by the breeze it kicked up, candy wrappers and cans tumbled all over the ground, chasing each other across the pavement. She looked up to see Timoth bring the machine to a smooth stop. With a casual flick of Ratelsi's wrist, the feathers disintegrated into an iridescent mist, and the emerald light in her eyes went dim. Timoth hopped off the Strider with his casual swagger and walked over, holding three bags stuffed with contraband.
A delightful grin spread across Ratelsi's face. "Well, look at you…" she drawled. "You actually thought ahead. Such foresight! My weary limbs are practically singing your praises."
Timoth let out a low chuckle, standing close enough to catch the faint scent of resin clinging to her neck. "Hey, I'm just a humble man on a noble mission," he said, and playfully winked. "I have to ensure the lady doesn't collapse from exhaustion before the sun finishes its retreat." He moved closer, invading her personal space just enough to be bold, but not enough to be a nuisance. He knew she was looking; Timoth could feel Ratelsi's appreciative gaze tracing the line of his shoulders. "Because if you do go down," he continued, mischievous, "I'll be forced to hoist you into my arms like some tragic heroine and parade you through the streets. And we both know how much you hate bein' the center of attention."
She didn't look up immediately, only tapping across her HoloSmart, the corner of her mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. The projected light illuminated her face in ghostly blue strokes as she filtered through 3D icons. "Tragic heroine?" she scoffed, finally picking a wireframe cube that collapsed into her wristband with a soft shhhht. She turned to look Timoth dead in the eye. "Keep talking like that, and I might just faint right here to see if your back is as strong as your ego."
"Try me."
"Pssh. Fuck off."
They snickered, laughing.
The device lit up again, casting a wireframed beam around them. Ratelsi aimed it at a huge smiley face painted on the wall. The scanner pinged as it swept up and down, then zeroed in on a single brick that was slightly recessed compared to the rest. She tapped the identified brick. A distinct hollow sound followed, and she easily pried out the brick to reveal a metal sheet behind it. Timoth's pupils dilated with excitement; everything was happening as it should. Fingers splayed, Ratelsi's nails elongated into sharp talons. She tore the metal sheet open in one quick slash, sending it clattering to the ground. There was an electric keypad lock with dimly glowing buttons.
"Passcode?" she asked Timoth, who quickly checked his HoloSmart. A series of encrypted numbers projected above his wrist, eventually coming together into a clear sequence.
"Six-nine-zero-three-seven," he replied. One by one, Ratelsi punched in the code.
Beep.
The walls shuddered, sliding sideways with a mechanical sigh to reveal an underground passage bathed in ultraviolet light. A gust of cool air whooshed out the doorway, bringing with it the scent of damp soil. What lay beyond was a narrow staircase flanked by vividly decorated walls. The backlight enhanced the psychedelic vibe of the fluorescent graffiti, each step of the stairs adorned with neon phrases in Latin.
Ratelsi and Timoth exchanged a look. "You all set?" he asked.
"Yep. Let's get this shit over with." She grabbed the smallest of the bags with the capsule inside, while he slung the other two bags over his shoulder, geared up and ready. The woman strutted into the hidden passage with her best friend right on her heels. The door hissed shut, locking them in.
Moisture clung stubbornly to the cracked concrete walls. Drip… drip… drip, water leaked from broken pipes, plopping onto the grimy floor and gathering murky puddles in the corners. Old spray cans were scattered around, some rusting away from the moisture that had seeped in over time. Ratelsi tore her gaze away from the weeping walls smelling of rotting copper and the kind of humidity that clung to your lungs when you breathe. The Peculiars walked beside each other into the dark throat of the passageway, lost in the sort of heavy silence that usually preceded a disaster. It rubbed Ratelsi the wrong way, so she decided to break the tension by nudging Timoth against his shoulder, her voice echoing too loudly for her liking.
"Broco says this is the back door. Or one of them, anyway. But entry point is a generous term for a hole that looks like it leads to a meat grinder." She tightened the strap around her belt, adjusting it to fit her small waist. "Knowing our luck, that Monger's shortcut could be a one-way ticket to a fucking trap."
Timoth finally looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a grin. "Ever the optimist, Rat," he joked. "But it's flagged as low risk with green light security and minimal time spent on foot. Broco's an idiot about alotta of things, but he sure knows his way around Altown's passageways better than anyone I've met." He jumped over a puddle. "Besides, if we're going to slip in, grab our pay, and ghost out before Broco whips out another contract, this is the safest needle we can thread."
Ratelsi took a whiff, filling her lungs with the acrid sting of old paint fumes. It thickened with the smell of rats scuttling around a worn-out shoe, eagerly licking up a sticky substance smeared on its tattered leather. "Safest, huh?" she murmured, casting a wary glance toward the silhouette of another stairwell at the next turn. "I take it the Palashits don't even know this route exists?"
Haha, Palashits. This joker.
Timoth offered a lopsided grin. "Eh, not really. Since they're creatures of habit, they stick to patrollin' the main streets where the sensors are most sensitive, and they've got Jojis everywhere. This alley?" He swept an arm over the grimy space. "It dodges their perimeter entirely. We're ghosts down here. No scans, no pings, no problems."
That logic made sense. Ratelsi exhaled an anxious breath she didn't know she was holding, finally seeing the method in Broco's madness. "Cool. Definitely lowers our chances of getting pinched."
"Exactly," Timoth said. "And let me tell ya, I have zero interest in spendin' the night, or the next decade, in Turris. That place isn't exactly my idea of a five-star stay."
Ratelsi let out a sharp, cynical snort. "With what we're loaded with? If we get caught, a cell in the tower would be a mercy. They wouldn't even bother with rehab. They'd gladly wipe us off the grid. Permanently."
Timoth shrugged, "You don't know that. They might be bothered enough to put us on trial. We're entitled to that, yunno?"
Ratelsi's indignant retort died in her throat, only to be immediately replaced by a deep gurgle vibrating through her ribs. The traitorous sound was a wet groan echoing through the tunnel's silence. Blushing a furious shade of crimson, she slapped a hand over her stomach and cursed, squeezing her eyes shut, praying to Liyuen that the acoustics of the cavern were less efficient than they seemed. But in the damp, echoey stillness, her stomach had sounded like an engine stall.
Timoth didn't say a word, only arching a judgmental eyebrow.
"I should have eaten when I had the chance," Ratelsi muttered to her boots, her voice small and defeated. "Stupid, waste of space..."
"Is that why your stomach is protestin'? The waste of space?" Timoth finally asked, trying his hardest not to betray the amusement in his voice. "Dream big, Rat. We might actually have a shot at a decent meal before bed."
Ratlesi's embarrassment evaporated instantly, replaced by an excited gleam in her eyes. "The Aures!" she exclaimed, suddenly energetic. "I almost forgot we actually have the buying power to be picky!" Rubbing her palms together, she licked her lips. "Honestly? Anything that doesn't have the texture of wet cardboard sounds like heaven right now." Then she wiggled her fingers, letting them trail upward like wisps of smoke. "I want something that's actually been near a flame. Something hot, something seasoned, something I don't have to spend twenty minutes bartering for." Groaning, she let her hands fall. "Ugh. If I keep talking about it, I'm actually gonna start drooling."
Timoth watched the woman at his side with a fond smile softening the boyish features of his face. Even with the weight of their situation pressing down on them, Ratelsi moved with a feline, unbothered grace. Beautiful as it is, to Timoth, who knew her better than he knew himself, she was more of a coiled spring held in check only by her own willpower.
Boots squelching in mire gradually became the only sound in the narrow corridor as they made a turn toward another stairwell lit up by fluorescent lights. Eventually, they reached the top step, where a big steel door stood covered in a plethora of warnings written in bleeding red:
"Rule #1: Never let them catch you."
"Si te tutum esse putas, non satis diu hic fuisti."
"Go ahead, paint over this. If you dare,"
Ratelsi rolled her eyes, looking around with an apprehensive frown. Obviously, she wasn't unsettled by the ridiculous signs; she simply disliked being underground. It felt too tight and made her skin crawl, unlike the open sky where she was free to take off whenever she wanted. Down here, the claustrophobia was hard to shake.
Timothy grabbed the electronic lock on the steel door and entered a code. The device's screen lit up with "Access granted," and the door swung open.