Treading the resplendent golden corridor, Danan pressed his back against the wall, breathing deeply as he stepped on the crimson carpet. His heart pounded as if it would burst, each beat accompanied by a splitting headache, like a hammer striking his brain. His vision blurred, and he vomited bile, shaking off Aeshma’s lingering sweet decay. Clutching the information terminal under his arm, he descended the stairs.
The objective was secured. Now, he just needed to return to his hideout and connect it to the Deck, the reward for the Parade of the Dead’s contract. Moving heavily through the palace’s lower levels, Danan sensed something off in the eerie silence of the corridor, raising his assault rifle with his flesh left arm.
No hum of Dragonfly wings, no screech of their machine guns—just unnatural stillness where their relentless noise should have been. Aiming his rifle, he tossed a vase around the corner. The crash of shattering porcelain and the stench of murky water echoed, plastic flowers scattering brown droplets over withered, hidden blooms.
“…”
The Dragonflies’ guns, their compound lenses, might be watching. One step could mean bullets piercing him, outpacing the Lumina bugs’ regeneration. Swallowing hard, Danan smashed a mirror propped against the wall, picking up a large shard to reflect the passage ahead.
No enemies in sight. The Dragonflies that hunted him were gone. Confirming the absence of the relentless flying units, he exhaled a stuck breath and opened a comm to Lils.
“Lils.”
“Danan—? Can—you—hear—!”
Static drowned her voice. She seemed to be shouting, but Danan couldn’t make out the words. Piecing together fragmented phrases would take too long. Cutting the comm, he walked the palace corridor, catching a faint, fading voice.
“…”
It came from deeper in, near a door to the courtyard—or so it seemed. Perhaps just the wind through a crack, tinnitus, or a hallucination from tension and fatigue. Either way, escaping the pleasure district with the Hakara Deck was priority. Ignoring the sound, Danan passed the door, his footsteps matched by faint knocks echoing behind.
“…help.”
“…”
“Someone… help.”
A weak groan, fragile as a candle’s flame or ash crumbling from burned paper. Pausing, Danan stared at the door, rifle still raised, silent.
No need to help. Saving a stranger offered no benefit. Someone locked away in the palace, in such a hidden place, was likely the Crucible’s property—a captive commodity. Even if rescued, a tracking microchip would betray their location, dragging them back. Helping was pointless.
“Someone… there? Please… get me out.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“…”
“My body… itches…”
Gripping the doorknob, Danan tugged. A metallic clank signaled the lock. “Step back,” he muttered, shooting the lock and yanking the broken knob with his mechanical arm.
A choking stench of death hit him—ammonia, rotting blood, and decay stinging his eyes. The scene was hell itself… no, hell would be kinder.
A woman’s corpse, clawing at a chained collar, her carotid artery torn by her own nails. Maggots swarmed her decayed flesh, clustering around a dead fetus, blackened flies buzzing over a discolored umbilical cord. At the room’s center, a dissection table held a man gutted and dead. A dark doctor in blood-soaked surgical garb sighed, “Oi, it ain’t shift change yet, is it?”
“…Who’re you? New face,” the doctor said.
“…”
“You ain’t with reconstruction, so grab a storage container. I’ve sorted ‘em already. Damn… handling these alone is a pain, right, newbie?”
Tapping a packed organ tank, the dark doctor lit a cigarette, swatting flies with one hand while igniting the tip with his precision prosthetic arm, soaked in corpse blood.
The voice’s owner was an emaciated woman. Her eyes showed jaundice, her pale skin yellowed. Bruises, a sunken face, and cranial damage distorted her features.
“Hey, brother, watch out for her,” the doctor warned.
“Why?” Danan asked.
“Why? HIV. Full-blown AIDS, basically. Brain cancer, liver cancer, uterine fibroids, breast cancer, leukemia… she’s a disease department store.”
A gunshot echoed. The woman, shot through the forehead, collapsed lifelessly. Danan turned his rifle on the doctor, saying coldly, “Die.”
“Whoa, what’s that? You ain’t with the Crucible?” the doctor asked.
“Don’t lump me with them.”
“Then what? Hired like me? Hah… let’s not kill each other, eh? I’ll keep quiet.”
“…”
“Quiet guy, huh? Tell me your name. I’m Chikuan.”
“…”
No intent to fight, but no interest in allying either. Chikuan exhaled purple smoke, his single-line cybernetic eyes glowing red as he stared at Danan.
“…Danan,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Danan. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“…What? A ghost now? Danan… Danan, Danan. You really Danan? I heard—”
Heard you were dead… Chikuan’s cybernetic eyes glinted, his ceramic implant teeth bared.
“What’re you on about?” Danan demanded.
“I should ask you that, brother. Enough games. I spent a fortune looking for you, not believing you were dead, and got no answers. Where’s Sasha? Tenebrae? Met anyone you screwed over? Playing young, acting clueless? What’d you do while I was in mid-city? Speak, Danan.”
What’s this guy talking about? Chikuan, dousing his cigarette in corpse blood, approached, dodging a warning shot with ease.
“No, wait. There’s still a possibility… Yeah, that’s most likely. He’s dead. That idealistic fool, that stupid, trashy idiot deserved to die. So… you’re his successor, huh? What’s it, brother?”
“…I don’t get a word you’re saying. I’ve never met you. Sasha’s that kid at the commercial district’s shop, an old lady’s worker. Never heard of Tenebrae. You high? Or just crazy?”
“…”
Staring into Danan’s black eyes, Chikuan sighed, disappointed, shrugging. “Go. You’re not the Danan I know. But I owe you. Need my skills, come to Tene… Liars’ shop.” He tossed an electronic business card.
“You—”
“Go quick. I’ll dispose of the bodies with some excuse. If you get a message from Danan… a last will or something, let me know, brother.”
He waved Danan off like shooing a rat.
“Oh, and—”
“…”
“Don’t stick around the pleasure district too long, brother. This place is coated in carcinogens.”
“Carcinogens?”
“Live here long, and the Crucible… it turns your body and mind into cancer cells. Like crushing flowers for perfume, it’s all abnormality and madness. You smell it, right? That sweet rot.”
“…”
“So go. Get out while you’re still sane, brother.”
Pushing Danan out, Chikuan grinned, his wrinkled cheeks creasing. “It’ll be interesting to see how you live, eh?”
“…No need to tell me.”
No reason to stay in this city. Glancing at the closed door, Danan, rifle raised, stepped toward the palace courtyard.
