Futuristic Epsilon

[Mr_DC]

Epsilon.

A unified nation under one ruler, steadily paving the way towards a brighter future. At least, that's what all the propaganda says and the loyalists viciously uphold.
A planet larger than Earth but largely uninhabited with dispersed settlements, Epsilon is still a fresh colony in spite of being well over a century old. With a seemingly endless stalemate with Earth, a local rebel threat, and cutthroat corporations fighting to take the biggest share of the Epsilon market, it is a miracle Epsilon is as stable as it is.
Still, most of the Epsilon population is content, enjoying the high technological progress, universally high-paying jobs, and almost limitless civil liberties. Those who aren't content usually blame the non-existent political freedoms, the thuggish police force, and the shadowy ways in which the government operates to eliminate all opposition.
With the corporations reaching the limits of what they can take by law, with the war on Earth heating up, and a decade overdue for another uprising, Epsilon is progressing full steam ahead towards an advanced future.

​

Lore

 

[Mr_DC]

"Technological progress stagnates for yet another month..." The floating image of a young, blonde woman said, her voice coming from all corners of the relatively small office. "Citizens are wondering where the money dedicated to the Sphere is going."
A grunt of disapproval and the screen dissipated. The lights of the office slowly faded in, casting away the darkness brought on by the leathery, black curtains covering the glass wall and doors to the balcony.

"You have no right to complain, One." A man in his late twenties said, a friendly smirk spreading across his face. "It was your call to let them air that. I would have waited." He crossed his legs. Victor Black was one of the most powerful men of the Epsilon Autocracy. The darling of Epsilon. The handsome, dark-haired, clean-shaven face of the autocratic government. With his well-tailored suit, white shirt, and black tie, Black looked exactly how most government officials thought they appeared to the public. His rhetoric had no equal and was respected by both government loyalists and rebels.
His official position might have been that of an advisor to the director but Black had full executive power and was the unofficial heir to the autocracy. All that power never made him stumble. Not even a single thought about taking the wrong step. It was mostly friendship with the director that fueled the fire of his loyalty. After so many years, there was nothing One could do to get Black to turn away. There was a bond between the two.
If not for that bond, Black would still cherish his position. The advisor. Everyone made certain that the fallout from any poorly made decisions never landed on him - the government representative had to be kept clean. Almost all of the power with almost no responsibility.



"Pillar Seven decided to alter its organization." Black said, looking at a screen floating above his open palm. "Roman revivalism." He smirked, passing three fingers through his neatly combed jet black hair. "Better than that Aztec thing Pillar Three tried." He added, pursing his lips and looking up.
The office he was in was moderately sized for the person who it belonged to. The office didn't look much different than Black's own on the other end of the building. One wall of glass and a holographic fireplace opposite to it. Unlike Black's office, the glass was covered by a black, leathery curtain, letting little light pass through. That made the corner Black was sitting at the focus point of the room. Two grey sofas faced each other with the fireplace to Black's left. The door was on the wall behind Black, between him and the glass wall.

On the far end of the room was a large dark wood desk with tall bookshelves on each side and a dark leather padded chair behind it. On the wall behind the chair was the flag of Epsilon - Three black hexagons against a white background. Victor enjoyed borrowing books from the director, especially the older ones. Those with leather covers and faded letters. It added much more to the experience than reading it in a digital form.

Victor Black's eyes landed on him. The director of Epsilon. The person patiently listening to his latest report. Director One. Sitting behind his desk, making the whole room seem much more ominous to anyone not used to his appearance, was the leader of the planet-wide autocracy.
One wore his standard outfit: Black suit, black shirt, black tie, and - most importantly - black bandages. Every person on Epsilon got used to seeing their leader looking like that. It would probably feel unusual to have someone normal in charge. The figure behind the desk was completely wrapped in black bandages, looking like a modern mummy going out for a job interview at a funeral home. It was just one of those things Black was never curious about. What was the deal with the bandages? How did he truly look like under it all? Fighting his natural curiosity never was a problem for Black when it came to One. It was simply something his brain learned instantly. Don't ask too many personal questions.

Other people weren't as skilled at that as he was. It was only natural. Rumors spread that One wasn't human. Rumors that he was something else. It didn't help that One confirmed he was a clone and that the Government's stance on the matter was that One is well over two centuries old. Such claims came right back at him as a shockingly capable cult formed claiming One is a god who needs to die to return to full power. It was one of the topics which could get One almost endearingly flustered.



"The Pillar's governor's first statement was that she was acting completely autonomously from the rest of Epsilon." Black shrugged. A political figure saying something like that in public was suicide. One himself would have to specifically give the order the EICA to keep her alive to prevent her assassination. "In private, though, we received a message to disregard that, that we still have her full loyalty." Black finished, crossing his legs, and resting his hands on his knee as he awaited One's verdict. The decision on what to do was obvious. At least to Black. The conversation could go unspoken. Black would advise deposition, One would decide on death. That was why Black was loved so much.
"Secret loyalty is only useful when you are trying to trick your enemy. She is trying to trick our population." One finally spoke, his voice rumbling through the office. The way One spoke was as if he was shaping words around a deep growl. "Put treason charges on her and send units to silence her." One finally gave the order.

"Ave Imperator." Black commented, starting to type on the screen which appeared above his upturned palm again. It was so simple to mark someone for dead. The governor was counting down her final hours and there was nothing to stop the sentence. No apology, no distance, no protection. Nothing. "Bloody like you did with the Aztecs or...?"
"Make it an accident. Something the right people will see through." One waved off the question. The question was redundant, yes, but Black wanted to make sure what his director meant. They could understand each other without the need for words but matters of life and death were best discussed openly.
"A message, then. One not visible to the public." Black nodded at the confirmation, finishing up the order to be sent to One for confirmation and forward to the EICA. Someone made the wrong move and those were the consequence.
"And..." One started, turning to face Black. "Who suggested her for appointment?" He asked with an almost teasing tone as a smirk appeared under the tight bandages.
There was no way One didn't know who exactly it was. "The Council agreed she is popular among the population and suggested her to me." A bit of distancing himself from the problem before admitting his part. "And I suggested her to you."

"At least the replacement pool is large." One nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "Go home, get some rest. You have a council meeting early morning."
If there was one thing that annoyed Black about his superior, it was that. The worry. Black knew exactly what his own limits were and never pushed himself beyond what he could do. Black understood that One meant nothing wrong but it created a greater distance between them. Black was just human. He had to eat, sleep, relax. One barely had to eat. All those who wanted to replace One with Black definitely didn't understand how inefficient that would end up being.

"I'm fine, One." Victor smiled, waving off the suggestion.
"That's an order." One raised his finger and tapped it on the desk. "You will have to change your schedule for tomorrow and take over some of my duties in the afternoon. I have a private meeting."
With Violet. Black thought, fighting back a grimace. That was what those private meeting meant. He was going to see her for whatever reason. That woman usually came over to visit One but it worked the other way around too. It made him more bitter than he would like. There was just something about her that put Black on edge.
"If it's an order..." Victor stood up. "Then I better go." He took a step to the door, straightened his tie, and looked back at One. "Tell my assistant about the changes in the schedule. I'll review it before the council meeting."
"Good night." One nodded, watching his advisor leave.
"Good night, sir." Black flashed a quick smile back before leaving.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Your loss, you little bitch!" Commissioner Thorn waved her beer bottle around, her yell barely louder than the music thumping in the club. Less than dignified behavior from the head of Epsilon's police force. Wearing tattered jeans and a loose, dark shirt, Thorn never cared much about personal appearance in both her personal and professional life. She cared about results, not how they were achieved. That attitude turned the police into a gang of thugs but most of the population were too terrified to break the law. They knew that shoplifting could easily lead to them beaten to a pulp in an alley or turned over to an uncaring judge who would just send them to a biological recycling facility. Her position as the young commissioner, however, was firmly secured. The director was convinced she wasn't at risk of turning against him like her predecessor. "Just my luck to find the only fucking prude in this city." She turned to the neon blue bar, almost falling off her chair. "Do I need to go to the Third Ring to fuck?" She tried to focus on the smirking bartender. Thorn was a regular in the Shapes club and most of the staff knew her. What was more important, the staff knew when to cut her off before she starts causing trouble.
"The Pleasure Palace is just down the street, ma'am." The bartender smiled, glancing at her bottle to see if she needs a new one. She was their best customer, after all.
"I ain't gonna pay for it..." Thorn mumbled, turning to the snickering figure by her side. Significantly taller and bulkier, the figure wore dark blue cargo pants and a gray T-shirt under a leader jacket. The Zima had the usual thick white fur hiding powerful muscles with black markings decorating the fur.

"Guess you're going home alone." Nika Desh turned to her friend, giving her a one-eyed wink with her right eye. The eyepatch over her left eye, while simple, was tailor-made for her. As a high ranking member of the Epsilon Military Police, Desh was always taken care of.
"I don't see people lining up to suck your dick, cat." Thorn hissed. While calling a Namur a 'cat' was a quick way to start a fight, Desh knew there was no hate behind her words. If anything, it got a quick chuckle out of her.
"I'm not here for sex." Desh turned away and looked down at her bottle. Thorn didn't miss the opportunity she spotted even in her wasted state.
"No, you're here for the fine music and world-class beer." She motioned at Desh's beer bottle. "Come on, Desh, you want to find someone to just sweep you off your feet and carry you off to your place for a night of hot sex." Thorn fought to not slur her words as she spoke. "The only difference between you and me is that I want more than one slut and don't care for romance."
Desh's chuckle got drowned out by the music. She didn't return the jab at Thorn. After all, her friend guessed exactly why she was there. There was no reason to fire back. Seeing how silent Desh went, Thorn sighed. "Listen..." She pushed herself off the stool. "Have you seen this?" Thorn pulled out her phone but stumbled on the two steps it took to get closer to Desh and almost fell. Eyes wide open, Thorn held on to her friend for stability. "This." She showed her phone to Desh, getting a stable footing again. With a few taps, she opened the Anigen app. "It's kinda new but ads for it are popping up everywhere. It's a dating app. Collab between Epsilon Entertainment and Ecstasy so you know you won't run into some third ring shitheads. It normally has a hefty subscription but..." She tapped Desh on the chest. "Government fuckin' workers, eh? We got it for free. Why don't you check it out?"
While she couldn't hide her interest, Desh shook her head. "I'm not good at dating, Thorn. Just not interested in it."
Rolling her eyes, Thorn returned to her stool. "Well, I'm not good at fucking and I still get it every night. Live a little, cat. I know you've got three days to every day I live but I'm in still in the lead."

Thorn took a swig from her bottle and looked around. "Where's that moron your cling to?"
"Hey." Desh raised a finger, her claw not flexed out. "She's cool. I like hanging out with her."
Motioning for the bartender to get her another drink, Thorn shrugged. "Yeah, I like hanging out with her too. At least she has the balls to go out and get someone she can push between her legs. You won't get anyone just sitting at the bar. You know how depressing that is?"
"Thorn, you're going home alone if you don't get someone. You wanna sit here and be depressing with me or you wanna go and score?" Desh decided to change the subject and salvage her evening.
"Shit." Thorn checked her phone. "It's getting late. Only the desperate ones will be left..." She left her drink at the bar and disappeared in the crowd. With a chuckle, Desh returned to her drink. In spite of not having the success Thorn bragged with, Desh enjoyed the club nights. It was an opportunity to relax and let out all the stress her job brought. She just hoped her colleague was having more luck than Thorn.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Them?"
"No."
"Them?"
"No."
"...Them?"
Violet sighed. She didn't know what drained her more; watching the screen flip through image after image of people walking outside Ecstasy Trust headquarters or the large hot tub built into the floor of her office. Regardless, she was having as much fun as she would watching seconds pass. Having nothing better to do, Violet conceded to relaxing in the near-boiling water and making her office smell distinctly of her. "They're all boring." Violet rested her head back on a spongey, purple pillow, her wet, deep purple hair sticking to the tub. She looked up at the zima standing by her. "Millie." Violet slowly raised her thin eyebrow. The zima was nothing like the vast majority of her species. Millie was athletic and not packed with muscle, sporting the physique of a dancer. She looked graceful and her pure white fur lacked any distinct markings. The only thing hiding her nude form was a thin, white robe loosely held closed.
"Yep?" Millie chirped, looking down. The warmth in her ice-blue eyes was paired with a genuine smile.
"Do I have any meetings today, dear?" Violet closed her purple eyes, aching to hear Millie's distinct, melodic tone.
"No, mistress." Millie's eyes closed into crescents, only intensifying her friendly expression. "You cancelled them all. Said they were... Boring." She finished with a short chuckle.
"They are. Why do I have executives if not to run the company?" She rolled her head to the side, ever so slightly annoyed at herself. "I want to teach. At a university. Do you think I can make a surprise appearance?"
"Of course, Mistress." Millie nodded as Violet began fighting the grasp of the hot water to stand up. "What subject will it be today?"
Violet stood up and passed her fingers through her hair which now reached to her lower back. "Chemistry." She smirked. "Mmm, the water was..." She sucked in a deep breath. "So hot." She grinned. "Give me a second while I change, dear." Violet added, stepping out of the hot tub.

 

[0stinato]

Locked in a semi-drunken argument with a man whose shirt was half unbuttoned, the odds were against Tethys even noticing Thorn in the vicinity. It just happened that, during a dramatic outburst from her companion, Tethys happened to respond in an equally dramatic fashion, throwing her head to one side in an exaggerated growl of irritation. Her ferocity dissipated in a moment, a smile taking its place at the sight of Desh's friend. Thorn would surely back her up, or offer her an escape from this guy. Or, at least, let her bitch about the guy until he went away.

"Ayy, Thorny!" she made her way over, slaloming between people, pursued by the man who was now repeating the question, "Are you ignoring me?"

"How's it going? Having fun?" she asked Thorn, but didn't give her a chance to answer before continuing. "I'm not, this guy's being pretty bitchy about me not sleepin' with him. And, to be honest, I'm a little sick of it, how's about you help me out?"

"Not sleep... bitch, I put in all the effort."

"Yeeeah," Tethys drawled. "And it was crap. I mean, I know I'm hairy down there but jeez, I could still feel your ashy moustache. Y'know you're meanna use your lips not your nose right? Right mess you made. I ain't reciprocatin' you." She turned back to Thorn. "How's Desh? Please say she's, like, actually doing something and not just sat on her arse. Dude, can you fuck off? I swear to God I'll kick your teeth in."

She turned back to him, a full snarl on her lips and her eyes bright with the anticipation of striking. She not only matched the man's height, but she succeeded it by a little bit. Although on Epsilon height was not of highest importance, considering the size of the namur, but the primal instinct of intimidation was still exploitable with the right use of physical prowess. Tethys' extra couple of inches, as well as her rather well-built physique, which was accentuated by her lack of sleeves, were used to the right effect. Both of them were completely oblivious to other eyes turned towards them. Some silently rooted for Tethys, others wondered what the hell her problem was. Her loud voice and harsh accent was hard to ignore, even when the music in the place was trying to drown it out.

She took a step forward, "Back off, go find someone else to screw 'cause you're not having me!"

That was that. The man, not with a look of defeat or even sheepishness, backed off a bit, hurled a horrendous couple of words at Tethys, and she eyed in him with feline ferocity until he had made himself scarce.

"Sorry about that. Men are more trouble than they're worth. Especially the clingy ones." She laughed; it was a light, responsibility-free laugh of contentment. It was as if her argument had never happened at all.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Always a pleasure keeping you safe, Mr Fisher." Carmine smiled, looking down at the bank card and seeing his balance grow. "Just make sure you kick something more our way next week." He shrugged, his understanding smile calming the aged butcher. "I can't cover for you too often. You know how it is." Carmine explained, pocketing the transparent card in his suit pocket and giving the butcher a nod.
"Yes, Carmine, I understand. It's just that business is a bit slow these days. Can't cover everything." The butcher mumbled as he waddled back behind the counter, staying safe behind his piles of meat.
"I just don't want us to have to stop watching you. The Koola thugs are just waiting to take people from under us and you know how vicious those animals can get when they aren't paid." And if Mr Fisher missed one more payment, The Community would probably burn his shop to the ground. Their messages simply weren't getting to him. But Carmine's smile didn't betray his family's intentions. That was why he was still walking the fronts and not fighting wars against Koola or the government. He preferred it that way. It was much easier talking things through with shopkeeps than exchanging fire with some hopped up thugs. "Stay safe, Mr Fisher." He added, walking out the door and onto the filthy streets of the Third ring.

"It's the big earner!" Carmine heard a mocking voice to his side. Buttoning his gray, pinstripe suit, Carmine smiled at a fellow associate of The Community.
"Tony. You doing the rounds too?" Carmine laughed, grinning at the large balding man make his way over. Tony 'The Mouth' Guattari was one of the more well-known associates of The Community and had been for years. The only reason he wasn't made was the inability to stop flapping his gums. It got him into trouble too often but never enough to get rubbed out.
"Yeah, pal." His heavy hand almost knocked Carmine to his knees when Tony placed it on his shoulders. "Had to knock that boozer around. Wouldn't pay out a little extra, you know?"
Tony always put Carmine on edge. He would talk about trashing a shop while walking by cops and wouldn't think twice about the risk. What was even worse, Tony would talk about taking more from the protection rackets than he reported to the bosses. When it came up around fellow associates or, god forbid, soldiers, Carmine desperately tried to change the topic to anything else.

"You need to start taking a bit more for yourself." Tony laughed, his roar running down the street. "I've seen the chicks you drag around. They ain't putting out, that's for sure."
Carmine clenched his teeth. Tony was a good friend but he wasn't bright. "That's because they're normal girls and not prostitutes." Carmine hissed. "And you need to stop eating alone." He lowered his tone further and looked around. "It's gonna end bad if you keep taking that much. I don't wanna be the one to clip you, Tony."
As expected, Tony simply waved off the warning and grinned. "It's all just temporary. I'll stop when I become made and get my own racket. Tired of doing all the leg work for old Silvester."

Clapping his hands loud enough to get the attention of a couple of hooded figures across the street who were likely Koola thugs, Tony turned on the spot. "The old man told me to pick you up. He has some jobs for us. He's at his bar."
That was something that lightened up Carmine's day. Silvester, while as old as the pair, was already a made man for years. Being in his early thirties and with several successful rackets under his hand, Silvester was a person Carmine aspired to be one day. Still, he knew that Tony didn't understand nor care about the intricacies of running businesses. What Tony wanted was to have his own associates running his businesses while he smashes heads. That was his plan with Carmine until Silvester picked him up instead and started grooming him.

"Let's go see him then." Carmine motioned his hand down the road but Tony stopped him and motioned his head at a boarded-up building.
"I heard someone bought the old store. Some tourists." He grinned but Carmine didn't see his grin for what it meant.
"Oh. Well, that's good. Another place in the old man's territory." Carmine nodded and continued walking while Tony scoffed.
"Let's squeeze them as soon as possible. Should make us a pretty penny." Tony grinned while Carmine fell silent. That wasn't a smart move. It wasn't a move that Silvester would want either. He would let them grow. Prove profitable. The key was a symbiosis, as the old man called it. Living together rather than living off the people like a parasite. Like Tony.

 

[0stinato]

EICA was overconfident. At least, that was the image one could get from seeing them in action. They weren’t afraid of dragging people out of offices with bags on their heads nor were they concerned with how obvious their agents were in their black suits and ties, sometimes even paired up with black gloves. Everyone knew what was EICA’s doing and knew when to kneel before the intelligence behemoth. That, however, was the brilliance of EICA director Borbett. All those notable actions were the attractive assistant. Just there to take the attention away from the real magic. If people thought EICA operatives wore only fine suits, they wouldn’t think twice about the kind, old lady selling them fresh produce. If they thought EICA only loudly kidnapped notable rebels, they wouldn’t suspect an accident was anything more. And if people thought EICA tried to manipulate the Autocracy behind One’s back, they wouldn’t even be able to imagine how much control they actually had.

The two agents present in the meeting room representing EICA were dressed appropriately for a funeral. Their suits and ties were pure black without a shred of gray. Their shirts were, on the other hand, crystal white which couldn’t have possibly been worn before. In a room bathed in warm light, the pair stood out.

The two men looked almost identical but, at the same time, with obvious differences. Their skin was perfectly clean without a single strand of unshaven facial hair. Their skin without a blemish and taut, the skin of young people but their eyes were pale and experienced. The differences between them, though, lay beneath the skin, in the bones and muscles.

In spite of the pristine white table and chairs being present in the black marble room, the pair of agents preferred standing. The man on the left held a black briefcase in his gloved hand. His partner on the right spoke.

“You are aware of the recent change of the Epsilon News image.” There was no question. Everyone knew about it, most of all the media tycoons. “This left the EICA with several contracts that private entities could receive.” The man’s lazy stare moved to Volkovoi, the man sitting by their person of interest. “As with all EICA matters, this is classified and is not to leave the room.” There was no need to shoo the assistant out nor was there and hint of a threat. EICA knew the enigmatic CEO well enough to know everything was understood.

When the agent’s eyes fell on Volkovoi, he held their gaze without any hint of discomfort. He knew the agents were not actually talking to him, so he could observe them with the interest of a bystander. Sat back in his chair, dressed in a navy polo shirt, Volkovoi was the pin that didn’t fit with the rest of the board. His employer to his left suited the EICA look very well. A pristine black suit, perfect white shirt, no hair out of place… one would be forgiven for thinking he had come in with them. But his employer broke the pattern in his own way: he was leaning heavily on the table and his head was down.

Volkovoi raised a hand to scratch his chin. The coarse hiss of fingernails disturbing the bristles of his beard was the only noise in the interval between conversation. Volkovoi could tell the EICA agents were not uncomfortable with the silence. They clearly knew about and anticipated his employer’s rather infamous foible.

Eventually, a deep, accented voice replied to the agents. “I hope… you have anticipated… my answer before coming here.”

The agents were patient through the man’s reply. They waited a few seconds after he was done to ensure they wouldn’t interrupt him. “There is only so far anticipations get a person, Mr Braithe.” Motioning at the briefcase, he added. “You need to be aware of the opportunity, regardless of your answer.” The man’s partner placed the briefcase on the table and began work on opening it. First, he removed his glove and placed a thumb on the handle. The locks released with a click the man withdrew a simple, plastic screen. “The details are available for the next thirty minutes.” He added when a wall of text appeared on the transparent screen. “Memorizing it won’t be a problem.”

Volkovoi frowned when he saw the text appear. Not because of what it said, but because of its volume. It was a lengthy document, and it was advised that his employer memorise it.

That would exhaust Braithe.

But there was no alternative. Braithe had his eyes on it. He was occupied.

Volkovoi knew it was his time to play host. He stood up and gave an amicable smile to the two agents. “Gentlemen, can I interest you in a drink while he reads? It shouldn’t take him more than ten minutes to memorise it all.”

He moved to the side of the room where, in a cubby, a drinks machine squatted. Volkovoi took up a mug and let the machine make him an americano. He often needed something warm in a chilly room like this. Most of the penthouse was style in the same fashion, though there were comforts if only to ensure Braithe was not in a constant state of work. Black marble floors, heavy worktops, expensive equipment millionaires dream of. It was a penthouse that belonged in a catalogue for the filthy rich, and yet he spent every day in it.

“Thank you, no.” The man refused and resigned to silently watch Braithe read while his partner packed up the briefcase.

Volkovoi shrugged. “Very well.” He stirred milk into the coffee and crossed to the wall of windows. It was an interesting little domain. A good visual distraction from the silence in the room. Volkovoi looked over to the east. He used to live over there, in a nice house working and socialising without a thought nor care to what happened in the layer above the normal person. And he stood now in the meeting room of a penthouse as the right-hand-man to, in his opinion, the most unique mind Prime, or indeed Epsilon, had to offer. But few people knew about it. Vital components of Prime did but beyond them Braithe’s mind was unknown. A scuffed diamond hidden amongst gravel.

This diamond’s brilliance may have gone, but its worth remained.

Volkovoi placed his empty coffee mug down in the cubby and rejoined the table. Braithe’s hand was near to the screen. Volkovoi watched as Braithe forced a finger to the screen, then swiped upwards to reveal the ending of the text. The movement was enough to burn Braithe’s body down to its reserves of energy, and Volkovoi began wondering if the meeting would severely impact him or if a rest would be enough to revitalise him.

Braithe couldn’t move his hands back to their previous position, so he spoke while stuck in his position.

“I will… not be taking this contract… from you. I hold… impartiality… in high esteem… and do not want to be… tied... on what BraitheBright… puts into the world. That is… my verdict.”

The two men didn’t react. At least not for the first few seconds. When they were done processing his decision, the man on the right gave Braithe and Volkovoi a nod. “Thank you for your time. Should your situation change, consider the contract still available.” With that, the pair headed to the door, walking in unison like it was choreographed and well-trained. The men had a military background behind their work as intelligence officers.



Volkovoi let his eyes rest on the slumped form of Braithe for a while after the two agents had left. He would have to put Braithe to rest very shortly, he knew, which would disrupt the usual schedule of rest-and-work. It would be difficult to get Braithe back on the usual track: such is the fallout of meetings. The collateral was Braithe’s lifespan. But, currently, the man was thinking. Volkovoi knew it. Despite there being no visual cues to tell him that’s what Braithe was doing - Braithe held himself very still, his breath coming in cold, shallow gasps - Volkovoi knew it. There was simply an air in the room that dictated focus.

So Volkovoi made himself useful and made a cup of green tea. He had all but placed the tea on the table when Braithe looked at him. Well, the movement didn’t result in Braithe facing him, but his head moved very slightly.

“This will… hurt the company. Badly… Other networks will… take up the… offer… and we’ll be on… the… back foot. Follow… last year’s protocol… and get the company more… money… for me.”

“Can do,” said Volkovoi, leaning on the chair. He knew the protocol Braithe referred to: he had to know. Braithe never had the breath for specifics. “I’ll feed it in slowly. I’ll warn the board of directors of that.”

Braithe’s head went back to its usual position. It was time to rest.

 

[Mr_DC]

The clouds gathered above the ocean. The waves were getting larger and it would definitely rain. She wouldn't mind, though. She loved the rain. There were few things better than swimming in rain or just laying on the beach as the skies opened up above her.
"...Spike..." She heard a garbled word through the white noise coming from the radio by her. She never saw it before but she must have brought it there with her. "...yo...on...job..." The voice on the radio spoke. It was starting to bother her. Adding to it, the wind started picking up and the swirling clouds turned ink black. "...sedat...NOW!..." The yell was like a slap. It dazed her. Made breathing difficult, almost impossible. Something was choking her.
The wind slowed. The clouds turned grey and then white. It would rain. A soft rain. She took a deep breath and looked to where the radio was. Nothing. Just sand. The only sound was the waves hitting the beach.

 

[0stinato]

02:48

He'd turned up then. The numbers were rounded. They played. In his head, at least, if not before his eyes. Just danced. Revelled in their relation to the two-times table. Enjoyed each other. Two went into Four, made Eight. Eight regurgitated Four when introduced to Two. Six wasn't invited: Two and Four never coupled. They played, he remembered, sometime during his morning. He couldn't remember when. Well... wasn't important.

But something was. Something was important. Beyond the haze, the bewitchment, the air that purpled and misted above his lips, something was important. Something that took up residence on half-polished floors, between panelled walls, near a mind that spun with sadism like a top spins with centrifugal force. It filled his bank while his loosely-termed 'enrichment' emptied it. A sibling relationship of co-dependency, of sustainability, of allegiancy: occupation; discipline; something to do with his time. Something that saved him from this curtained purgatory where he was as important as a corpse: the more he smoked, the less important it was he stayed breathing. He was as important as a corpse.

Ah, he'd almost dozed off again. He'd taken a dose without realising, a stinging lungful that hurt the throat until you stopped thinking about it. Think, that was the order, think, think. He had to make himself think. For some reason, he had to. Something was important. More vital than the mist trailing from the pipe, the vapours that fogged his lungs. Ritual was all he had, all he could depend on. Loosing himself from responsibility, he let ritual take over. The forced habit that served as his lifeline to occupation, to living in general. A mental tether round-turn-and-two-half-hitched onto the eye that was daily occurrence. And it was like an eye, wasn't it, the way it curved, screwed, formed a metal question mark that always served as a suffix to the phrase, 'the meaning of life.'

He felt pressure on his elbow which woke him up. The ritual was working. His eyes were on his PA, but his pupils were too glazed over to read. Whatever those four numbers meant, separated into two teams by a colon, he couldn't read them. He heard something, a mumbling, guttural, rusty, like gravel given a mouth. It was yellow, now dark blue, transferring from slightly nasal into throaty, and only when he was overcome with coughing - which stopped the noise - did he remember that was his own voice. He had been talking. Something was important. When he stopped coughing, he let his mouth remember, and spoke it again.

"Six twenty-eight."

Ah. There it was. Six. But where did the Twenty come in? Why was there no Zero? Oh but there was, just in front of the Six. It had become a Twenty, with the Two, but they must be in a spat for they were on opposite sides of the court. Zero didn't account to much anyway, just a hole, a hole that he could tie that round-turn-and-two-half-hitches onto. Six twenty-eight. Six twenty-nine. Time.

The ritual continued for a while. Until six thirty-two, where his tongue was assaulted by the bitterness of the Reverser which sapped all the moisture from his mouth. Grimacing was part of the ritual, then groping to the bathroom to lean his head near the tap to wet his teeth again. Not recognising himself in the mirror was also part of the ritual. He grimaced again. Eyes: bloodshot, grey, yellowed with impossible nicotine stains. Teeth: just as bad, doubly stained, but wet now, wet and dense, hard parabolas of bone. Neck: undefined, rather fat, shadowed hints of masculinity. The rest, quite hidden under a façade of a tattoo.

06:33

He could read again.

"Heading out?"

Lull looked to the other side of the mirror where another regular of the opium bar was reflected. He was propped up against the wall, eyes hazed purple. He'd successfully urinated and was waiting for his body to call up the programming for the hand-washing ritual. There was a shred of it preparing to execute: Reid Melchor's hands were not resting comfortably by his sides but splayed a little in front of his thighs. Lull turned the tap on and stepped away. The running water would fix Reid's mental buffering.

"Got work," said Lull. Something was important.

There were no more words from Reid. Just mumbling. Endless mumbling. He washed his hands, failed to dry them, and sloped out. Lull followed, avoiding the wet patch on the handle left by Reid. Now the most sober it had been in almost four hours, Lull's brain ticked over the usual observations it had every single time he left the bathroom with the bitter taste of the Reverser still lingering. The low futons housed a multitude of regular patrons: Lenard, a semi-homeless man who might have the money to get a menial job if he wasn't doomed to his addiction; Broderick Rhyne, the ex-lover to a disgraced namur politician whose husband had pulled her from her position after discovering her affair; Anton Steward, who worked here but enjoyed it out of hours; and Lynna Nicolau, still dressed in a pencil-skirt and business blazer, stretched out over a throw-covered futon, who had lost one of her heels in the walkway. Lull could see it peeking out from the dozy grip of a curtain. The other was still on her foot, all acute angles and corners.

He yawned. So did someone else. He didn't look to see who.

He returned Lynna's heel, dropping it next to her futon. He was certain she had been here when he had come in at 02:48, but even now, with five or more hours of smoking under her belt, she had the presence of mind to smile gently at him from half-sleep, and mutter something he could pretend was a thank-you. He didn't respond: her eyes closed immediately. Reid's futon was beside hers, and he had the opium pipe to his lips. He still didn't seem to notice his hands were wet.

06:36

He really had to be off.

A man was coming in as Lull was preparing to leave. He had recovered his long coat, checked his belongings and signed out of the facilities while the man was preparing to use them. Another regular, though this one fairly new. A conversion, Lull decided. He didn't have the purple yet. Didn't know what it tasted like. Didn't know what it felt like to taste colours or see voices. But he knew the man.

"You're either disgustingly late, or distressingly early," Lull said.

"I'll keep you guessing," the man said, smiling wider than he ought to. But it didn't annoy Lull right now; there were apparently some quietened emotions not even the Reverser could touch. "Staying out of trouble, I hope."

"You gonna frisk me? Go ahead. Then arrest me for possession, and don't get paid for your overtime."

His name was Raphael Holtz and he'd arrested Lull twice. Once to avoid an escalation of aggressive acts, and the other time for the possession of a firearm. He'd been let out of custody fairly quickly, neither case issuing more than a warning. But to be arrested twice by the same man was aggravating. So much so that Lull had made a point to memorise his name and face, just in case he ran into the man again. Even more annoyingly, Holtz found it amusing. He found it amusing then and he found it amusing now. Maybe it was the way Lull was talking: the Reverser was quick to act on the brain, but it took a little longer to undo the physiological effects of the drug; Lull's verbalisation was still a muffled, slightly slurred script. He didn't sound as intimidating as he wanted to.

At least Holtz took it as a joke.

"Don't give me a reason to," he smirked. "I'll pretend you didn't say that. Go and contribute to society, go on."

"Yeah. I have work. Don't worry." He put a cigarette between his lips. He had work. Something was important today. "I'll contribute."

Lull lit the cigarette as soon as he got out of the opium bar. He had decided, just to spite Holtz, he would litter as much as possible today, no matter what he was doing. He'd contribute, sure. Five minutes later, he flicked the dog-end to the pavement in his own invisible rebellion.

 

[Mr_DC]

Thorn scowled at the man bugging Tethys. As little as she knew the woman, Tethys was out with Thorn and no one her people. “Want me to arrest him?” She asked, allowing a dark expression to surface on her face. It was a well-practiced expression she used when intimidation was the name of the game. “I can make him disappear. No one would ever see him again. Would you like that?” She asked, half hoping to unnerve Tethys, half actually being serious. It always worked on getting Desh anxious but no one ever took her up on that offer. Still, many people who crossed Thorn’s path vanished in the forests surrounding Prime. Many shallow graves hidden among the trees that won’t be found until long after Thorn’s time.

“I ain’t no damsel, he ain’t no dragon and you ain’t no knight, Thorn, calm down. Best punishment for him is bein’ repeatedly turned down, just let it happen,” she gave Thorn a shrug then realised she was not, like everyone else in the club, holding a drink. By the next words out of her mouth, it was obvious she thought this was a tragedy, a tragedy beyond all tragedies that needed to be expressed in language that could only be kindly described as ‘expressive.’

“Fuck you.” Thorn rolled her eyes, scanning the club for any wounded gazelle. “Knight.” She scoffed and wagged a finger. “I’ll take you behind the barn just as I would him. Besides, you aren’t my type. You look like you’re too loud.” She shoved a hand in her pocket and yawned. “Let’s go see the cat. She’s examining the bartop.”

Despite the threats Tethys grinned. “You want quiet in the bedroom? Didn’t think you were that boring. Alrighty, let’s go.”


Someone else had made it to the bar before Tethys and Thorn. A hand more masculine than the face of the man it belonged to returned a conical glass, empty save for a few recalcitrant rings of foam marking the drink’s life earlier in the night. The young man took his place at the bar, smiled at the bartender, asked for the same again.

He turned the smile on Desh. His eyes were deep brown, softened further than usual by the alcohol, but he held his gaze steadily.

“Hiya, it’s just me. Thought I’d come and talk to you, since Tethys and… what’s her name? The other one… well, since they’ve both abandoned you. Can I get you anything?” Moscur Alir, who had come along as Tethys’ friend, laid his elbow on the bartop and looked at Desh.


“Oh.” Desh’s eye went wide when she realized someone spoke to her. Few people could walk up to a one-eyed Zima sitting alone at the bar. “Hey there.” She smiled. “It’s fine, I actually prefer being on my own.” Realizing how that sounded, Desh quickly raised a hand. “Not that I mind you talking to me.” She blurted, catching the meaning not matching what she actually wanted to say. “Not in a weird way. You get what I mean, right?” She asked and then smiled to herself. “I’m taking it easy.” She raised her beer bottle. “Never know what kind of trouble Thorn will get me into so I need to keep a cool head.”

“Oi.” Thorn nudged Tethys as the pair was making their way to the bar. “Is that little bitch of yours trying to get into her furry panties?” She grinned, stopping in place and watching Desh and Moscur speak. “Fuck, and I thought his balls had yet to drop. Way to prove me fucking wrong.”


“Man, don’t ask me, I thought he was gay for the longest time. He said he isn’t though. Ah well, better him than some fuckin’ bastard without a condom, eh? Shit, look at the drink, you see why I thought he was gay?” Tethys whispered.

“Oh, sure, I get it. My dad’s the same, I know how important silence can be to people. Thank you,” Moscur accepted the colourful beverage laid in front of him. Another conical glass, full with blue liquid, its viscosity hazy and hypnotic to tipsy eyes. It appeared to contain edible glitter. He took a deep draught of it. “Ooh, you tried this? I have no idea what’s in it, but it’s sweet as hell. It’s great.”


Desh smiled as the man drank his drink. She smiled even wider when she saw how much he enjoyed it. He was familiar, reminding her of her sister. “Afraid not.” She looked down at her bottle again, keeping the smile on her face. “Got a certain image to live up to. No one would say anything but, you know, I’m meant to be tough. Working my way up to drinking napalm.” She joked.

“I’d pay to see that shit.” Thorn mumbled, passing a hand through her messy hair. “Let’s see if we can actually play Cupid.” She tapped Tethys on the back and started making her way towards the pair at the bar.

Tethys got what she was implying, but was in no mood to be nice-as-pie to anyone. A contagious grin infested her drunken mood, awakening some hard mischief within her. It sounded like Thorn was on the same wavelength. She approached Moscur, taking up the space between his barstool and the next one across, arriving with a thump of her fist upon the bar.

“Ay, Mos, how’s it going? What you drinking? Nothing very manly, clearly.” She leaned down to him, pressing more weight than she meant to upon his shoulders. She began talking in a stage-whisper, purposefully loud enough for Desh to hear. “How are you gonna impress her if you’re drinking the Blue Fairy’s pussy juice, eh? Just gonna make her jealous.”

Moscur, who had started off in high spirits, responding to Tethys’ teasings with mirth and a shrug, began to look a little more worried. He tried to push Tethys off his shoulders, but her size, coupled with his lack of physical strength left him pinned.

“I’m uh, not doing that, Tethys…” Moscur couldn’t help but glance at Desh as he fought stiffly against Tethys.


“Not trying to impress her?” Thorn grinned over Desh’s shoulders. “You don’t like her? Don’t think she’s worth impressing?”
Desh scowled and looked over her shoulder. “Fuck, Thorn. Just let me have a normal conversation for once.” Her head swiveled to Tethys. In spite of her serious tone, there was a hint of a smile beneath her frown. She was actually having fun with the situation and didn’t truly mind the teasing. “And you.” She pointed at Tethys. “You’re running so many laps back at the base.” Her threat was undercut by an involuntary chuckle that followed it.

“I think… she’s… she’s worth… well, she’s worth more than having me impress her,” Moscur said. “I mean, I’m not trying to. But she’s worth more than me trying to impress her.”
“Oh, don’t put yourself down, Mos, you’re so cute even if you are a mile shorter than her,” Tethys poked him in the cheek which resulted in a blush. “Can I have some of your drink? If I’m going to be doing laps, I don’t wanna remember it.”

She didn’t wait for his verdict, just slid the colourful glass off the bar and swallowed a mouthful. In the meantime, Moscur resumed his trying to shake her off his shoulders.


“So, you’re not trying to impress her. Is it because you don’t like her?” Thorn ignored Desh’s previous protests and moved to stand by her, a predatory grin on her face. “Or is it because you don’t think you’re good enough for her?”
Desh, suddenly finding herself deep in mixed feelings, stopped her protests and softly clawed at the label on her beer bottle.
“If it’s the second one, you don’t have to worry one bit.” Thorn motioned towards her friend. “She’ll settle. Not the first time. Just buy her another beer and you can go for a wild ride on Epsilon’s scariest zima.” She laughed while Desh simply rolled her eyes.

Despite being wrestled in his chair by a much stronger person, Moscur smiled. “I certainly am not good enough for her. But then, I’m not trying to be. I’m good at what I do, and what I do isn’t sleeping with people. It’s not her, it’s me.”

Tethys laughed at that.

“I mean, I’ll buy her a drink but that’s more out of wanting to be nice.”

“Buy me one,” Tethys demanded.

“Uh, no? You can buy me another one of those though, if you’re not going to give it back.” Moscur turned wide, expectant eyes on Tethys who grunted and handed his cocktail back as she got off his shoulders.


“Thanks but no need.” Desh smiled but the smile froze. She spotted a figure standing by the group. It was a primitive feeling of noticing the eyes of a predator through a bush. Eyes that have been there long before she noticed them.
Desh turned on her seat to face the figure. It was an aged man who was probably younger than he looked. He looked tired and didn’t belong in the club. Yet, he was there, standing before them. While she herself didn’t look fit for a club, the man wore an oversized olive jacket.
Getting the hint, Thorn turned towards him. “Yeah? Need me to smash a bottle over your head?”


Tethys only noticed something was up when Thorn spoke. She was too busy trying to wrap her tipsy brain around how Moscur had constructed his argument so that he would win no matter what she answered with. She had been staring at a loose thread on Moscur’s sleeve while her brain struggled and clunked along, but Thorn’s authoritative tone broke her out of her reverie. That kind of tone demanded she listen; Tethys had to show solidarity. It was a vital rule. Consistency and solidarity, that’s what made a force like the military so fearsome. A swathe of people, all with the same voice, the same goal, the same brotherhood.

So Tethys stood up and joined Thorn’s ranks. She took a step forward and fixed the man with as severe a stare as Thorn. She waited for his voice, and she would act accordingly.

Behind her, Moscur’s easy confidence was ebbing away. He didn’t take his eyes from the man; the reactions of everyone else told him he should be on his guard. So he sat there, suddenly chilled, gripping his glass like a lifeline.


“You’re commissioner Thorn?” He asked, his voice trembling. His shoulders were raised and his large eyes staring fixed at Thorn.
“The fucking terror of Epsilon.” Thorn spread her arms wide. “And what the fuck do you want?”
The man gulped. Desh examined him as best as she could. He wasn’t much of a threat. Not one of them would be threatened by him. Still, his jacket was large. Large enough to hide explosives. And his hands were in his jacket pockets. Perhaps holding a detonator. Maybe another weapon.
“I’ve been waiting for this.” His tone had a spark of confidence and he moved. While he did try moving quickly, he wasn’t skilled. One of his hands withdrew from the jacket pocket, revealing a small handgun.
Thorn was either to drunk to realize how much she opened herself to an attacker or she didn’t care as she kept her arms spread. Desh, on the other hand, leapt at the man as soon as she saw the glint of steel come out of his pocket. Her hands were aimed at his gun.


Action. But no words yet. Tethys had to be the one to speak them.

She had a big mouth for a reason.

Roaring above the music, bellowing from the diaphragm, Tethys demanded, “Down! Get down!” She heard Moscur abandon his position, swift and panicked, as he did what she demanded. She didn’t see where he went, but she hoped it was below or near to a table.


With Desh’s large form on the man, he was fighting a losing battle. Her hands were on his gun and she secured it by aiming it by her side, at the ceiling. Next, she would have to make sure he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. As the man fought back fiercely, Desh decided it was no misunderstanding. She would break his finger if she had to.
“Oi.” Thorn frowned at Tethys. “Gimme his gun, will you?” She demanded calmly, leaning back on the bar and letting Desh do the fighting.


Tethys was about to step up to help Desh, but she had to set the record straight first.

“If you’re gonna live up to your reputation,” she growled, “do it somewhere where it won’t traumatise young people tryna have a good night out. We disarm him, we arrest him, and you can do what you want when we’re out of the way of civilians.”

She didn’t wait for Thorn to respond. If Thorn wanted it any other way, she was punishing innocents just trying to be happy. So she stepped up to help Desh. Her size in comparison to Desh’s meant she was a secondary help, but he was not weak by any means. Strong arms, masculine hands, and neck muscles purely for intimidation, Tethys was ready to disarm the man. She made eye contact with Desh briefly, a silent confirmation of her support, before joining the effort against him.


Thorn rolled her eyes but she didn’t move from her spot. She was the target, after all, and didn’t intend to willingly step in front of his gun.
Desh nodded at Tethys and showed her teeth. He wasn’t letting go. With the aid of her squad member, they could secure the gun without anyone getting hurt. Handing his gun arm to Tethys, Desh raised herself off the man just enough to get a good swing in. With a single good punch, the man’s grip on the gun loosened.


That was all she needed. As Desh’s fist connected, Tethys dug her thumb into the man’s inner wrist, into the sweet spot of nerves. Just to ensure he would let go. When she felt the resistance ebb away slightly, she pulled with a snarl. If she had any siblings, she thought, this is what it would feel like to snatch their toys from their hands.

She held the gun tight, index finger away from the trigger, but kept a hold of the man’s arm.


“There we go.” Thorn clapped her hands, smiling. “Be a good girl and give it here.” She extended her hand to Tethys.
Desh, on the other hand, was hesitant to hit the man again. The military police were the upholders of the law and she took that duty seriously. Using unnecessary force would go against it. Still, he did his best to wrestle against the strong zima.


Tethys glared at Thorn. What part of ‘don’t kill him in the bar’ didn’t she understand?

“Restrain him, and we’ll escort him out,” Tethys said to Desh and Thorn. “Keep everyone safe.”


“Give me the fucking gun!” Thorn pushed herself away from the bar and stepped up to Tethys.
“Shut the fuck up, Thorn!” Desh growled, twisting the man’s arm until he turned to stop the pain. He was at her mercy. “Do we have something to restrain him?”


“Unless you have your cuffs on you, no, you’re going to have to hold him. Take him outside. Thorn, get some backup, for God’s sake,” Tethys said, her tone now tuned to business. She knew Thorn wouldn’t call for backup, and could tell the woman was getting more and more anxious to get her hand around the gun. Tethys would let her have it, but not in here. Definitely not in here. “Get him outside so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”


Seeing Desh stand up with her would-be assassin was enough for Thorn. She wouldn’t lose the battle. Taking a step back to the bar, Thorn grabbed the bottle and smashed it against the bar. “Alright, you dumb fucking bitch.” Thorn marched up to Tethys. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”
“Not the time, Thorn!” Desh yelled, holding the man’s hands tightly behind his back.
“Shut the fuck up, cat.” Thorn kept her bottle aimed at Tethys but yelled at Desh. “You take one step with him outside and I’ll cut open your pet.”
Looking back at Tethys, Thorn showed her teeth. “You will give me the gun so I can send a message. The point of a message is for it to be received. Get that through your thick skull!” She yelled but shifted her tone to a quiet whisper the next second. “Either I kill him right here, right now or I’ll tell my boys to simply shoot the next ten suspects they see. Suspects. Not convicts. And while that blood may be on my hands, it sure as shit will be smeared on yours too.” Grunting, Thorn lowered the bottle. “Give. Me. The. Gun.”


She would. Tethys knew that. This was a disgusting, ugly version of checkmate.

Tethys decided she didn’t like Thorn.

She flipped the gun in her hand, raised an eyebrow in a casual manner, as if Thorn was offering her a drink from the bottle, and not the jagged edges, and offered the butt of it to Thorn.

“Take it. Show everyone here why they should trust the police.” With her hands empty, she raised them in surrender and took a step back. She wasn’t going to fight Thorn. The most she could do now was make it very clear to everyone in the room that Thorn was… well, they could make up their own minds about what she was. That was all she had; hope that the civilians behind her understood. Understood that she’d tried. Tried and failed, but only failed because her opposing force was… well, they could make up their own minds about what she was.

She also hoped people weren’t looking. But they would be. They always did.


Thorn dropped the bottle, took the gun and aimed it at the man who Desh was protecting with her back. “It’s enough, Thorn.”
“Move, Desh.” Thorn growled, circling the zima, trying to get a good aim at the target. “I’m gonna shoot through you.”
“You’re not that good of an aim. We’re meant to be on the same side, Thorn, not pointing bottles and guns at each other.” Desh tried her best to keep herself between Thorn and her target.
“We would be on the same side if someone didn’t decide to make things difficult for me!” Thorn spread her arms with a frustrated sigh.

“For me.” A calm voice glided through the group of people. “All these people just watching an impromptu execution…” Violet’s form appeared through the crowd of civilians parted by guards in black suits and purple shirts. “The club is closed. Please leave.” She threw on her tabloid smile and people slowly began making her way out.
Thorn’s reaction to Violet’s appearance was nothing like her behavior before. The gun was hanging limp in her hand. Her eyes were darting everywhere except on Epsilon’s VIP. She was ready to jump out of her skin and her assassin was the farthest thing from her mind.


Tethys’ first reaction to Violet came only after she scanned the crowd that was leaving. She had to check Moscur was out. And yes, of course he was; he fairly ran out, after the guards had left the vicinity of the door. He would be out of sight and safe at home by the time Tethys tasted the night’s air again. There was an envy in her for that… his workday ended at 6. Her was, tonight at least, still going.

She turned to Violet, maintaining her stern expression. But her fists, anxious to feel the sting of combat on them, relaxed. The woman’s presence would do that to you. She almost felt neutral enough to drop her grudge of Thorn… but she would hold onto it out of principle. She glanced at Thorn. She let herself enjoy Thorn’s discomfort.


Thorn kept her gaze glued to the ground as she sighed. The war of the club was over. An overpowered third party entered the fray and ended it. “You meant to kill a man in my establishment.” Violet approached the group, her guards keeping their distance with faint smirks. “And what would happen if the soldiers didn’t stop you? There’s only so much you can clean with a thick marketing budget.”
As Thorn squirmed, Desh stepped in, motioning for Tethys to come and take the now calm man. “She doesn’t need to be scolded.” Desh growled.


Taking the man firmly, allowing her fingers their anger as she dug them into his arms, Tethys stood aside with the would-be assassin. As she stepped aside, she muttered in disagreement to Desh. Didn’t need scolding? She was willing to bring fifty innocent pairs of eyes to see a man die grotesquely at the end of a bullet. That wasn’t law enforcement: that was law breaking. All to - what - ensure her reputation succeeded? Rage got you nowhere except in the mouths of those who laughed when your back was turned. Rage earned you caricatures and impressions between drunk friends. Rage didn’t earn you respect.

Scold her, and let her be scolded, damn you, Desh! Damn you.

But she didn’t say anything more than, “Yes, she does,” murmured under her breath as she stepped aside with the man.


“She doesn’t?” Violet cocked a well-groomed eyebrow, one hand on her hip. Her fine, silk dress fit more in a ballroom than a club.
Desh hesitated. Her eye was on her squad member, a hurt frown on her face. Soon, however, she focused back on the target. “Not by you. Just because you have money don’t mean you have power.”
“Come on, Desh.” Thorn mumbled, tucking the gun in her pants. “We’re sorry, miss Violet.” Thorn took a step by Desh but still avoided looking up at the VIP but Desh wasn’t moving. Her feet were firmly planted and fists clenched. She felt dazed, probably adrenaline mixing with the liquor, but she wasn’t going to stand down.
“Listen to your friend, Nika.” Violet suggested in a teasing tone which would be annoying on anyone else. She was ready to say something else when Desh raised her tone.
“Sergeant major Nika Desh. To you.” She scowled. “And where is she?” Her tone dropped as she scanned Violet’s bodyguards.
“Do you think I’d take her anywhere near danger?” Violet teased again but got serious. “Leave. This place is closed for tonight.” She instructed. Urged by Thorn, Desh began making her way out.
“You.” Violet said, watching Tethys. “Could you stay a moment, please?” She smiled, the teasing and the runway posture gone and replaced with something more genuine. More natural.


Tethys, who made to leave like the other two, caught Violet’s eye. Couldn’t say no to that. A direct request. She knew where she stood. She was still willing to fight, even if her surface moods were being quelled. She knew how to control herself under this miasma. She’d done so often enough. The pleasure houses had prepared her senses well.

“Desh,” she said, then shoved the prisoner towards her colleague.

“What do you need?” Tethys asked Violet. She planted her hands on her hips.


Desh caught the man, stared pensively at her squad member before turning and walking out. They were on Violet’s turf and, no matter her protests, Desh couldn’t do anything to stop Violet from doing what she wanted.
“I wanted to say I admire your commitment to your duty.” Violet finally spoke when Desh left. The heavy gaze of Violet’s deep purple eyes fell fully on Tethys. “It may be expected from the Military Police to be the law we need but praise should always be given.” Violet bowed her head to Tethys. “You and your colleague did a great job here tonight. Even if the sergeant major sometimes gets lost in her emotions, she is still one of the finest soldiers on Epsilon.” Violet paused, looking at her guards who were examining the scene, now relaxed enough to turn their smirks into blissful grins. “What is your name, darling?” She asked, looking back at Tethys.


Tethys let her posture improve: her shoulders went back; her chin went up. She looked directly at Violet, if only to avoid the grins of the guards. Around her, the smell of spilled alcohol and other substances provided the air with a watercolour of odours. She tried to focus on that, tried to think about what was most important in the here and now.

“I appreciate the praise.” She was prepared to keep her gratitude short. No one said ‘thank you’ in the military. She allowed a little nod in agreement with Violet about Desh. Fine soldier indeed. She took Tethys’ side against Thorn, holding the man way from Thorn, and had the guts to shut Thorn down. Tethys didn’t have that courage, at least not yet: Thorn was dangerous and had no care for her, Tethys was sure. If she wanted to stand up to Thorn, like a bully in the playground, she had to know her more first… not that Tethys wanted to. “The Sergeant Major has been a great mentor to me. I’m Corporal, Tethys O’Shea, of the 23rd Prime Regiment… ma’am.” She decided to attempt the ‘ma’am:’ she had a feeling that Violet would at least find it funny if not respectful.


Hearing Tethys call her “ma’am” brought a soft smile to Violet’s face. “I believe the only thing good people need to make a difference is an opportunity.” Violet began, lowering her tone. She knew how to force people to pay attention to her. One would have to focus all their attention on her to hear her voice. “You can be kind in the heart but unless you are in the right place at the right time, you won’t make a difference.” Violet lazily raised her hand to her side, expectantly opening her palm. “I like to provide opportunities. Put the right person, in the right place, at the right time.” She smirked as one of her guards handed her a black card with purple letters. “My dear corporal Tethys O’Shea…” She offered Tethys the card. “Of the 23rd Prime regiment if there is anything at all that you need, don’t hesitate to ask. And… If you would like to make a difference, don’t hesitate to visit.” Raising her tone again, Violet held her hands behind her back. “This isn’t a sale pitch. Good people are truly hard to find.”


Tethys’ mind was running on nothing but question marks. Nothing had prepared her for this. She wasn’t even sure if treating Violet as a superior was in her best interests, or if she ought to just be comfortable as herself. Playing around wasn’t an option.

It seemed to her, as she ran her finger down the thick edge of the card, that Violet had seen fit to present her with access. Was it to remain a secret? Was it to be celebrated? Did Desh ever receive one of these? What about Thorn? Was she special? It couldn’t possibly be down only to her actions in the bar, could it?

She let an eyebrow raise, the same neutral expression she’d given Thorn when threatened with the bottle, as she slipped the card into a pocket on her top. She would treat it casually. It was the only way to be, sometimes. Especially faced with people so keen-eyed as Desh. Desh - if not Thorn - would surely want to know what happened when she was face-to-face with Ecstasy Trust’s CEO.

“Well, sure. I’m glad I could be of service. It’s kinda my job, y’know, keep the peace and all that. I just do what I can. It’s nice to be appreciated though.” Her professionalism was melting away due to her uncertainty. How was she meant to play this off when she left? “I hope I won’t almost get me nose sliced off with any more bottles.” Now she was cracking jokes she couldn’t stop herself. The attempt to act natural was strenuous.


Violet let a short chuckle but her face remained frozen in a soft smile. “You have a most curious accent. I’m afraid I don’t mingle with visitors from Earth so I can’t even fathom where it may be from.” With a nod, Violet took a step closer. “What is that delightful accent, dear?”


“It’s uh, called ‘cockney.’ It ain’t usually considered a beaut though. Really quite mingin’ if you’re the only one with it in the room. Which happens to me a lot.”


Violet let herself relax and openly chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more.” She sounded much friendlier than how she usually appeared on interviews. She wasn’t as distant but, rather, was herself. “Are you busy tomorrow? I’d like to have you over for breakfast or lunch. Dinner is fine as well if that’s what you prefer.” Violet’s perfume, while strong, had a way of sneaking into a person’s mind. Enveloping their senses before they even become aware of it.


“Your funeral if you wanna hear more,” said Tethys, and shrugged. Her heart rate was picking up again. The woman was determined to keep proximity. “Best make it breakfast. I’m a morning person. I guess it’s just gonna be me who’s there. Not Desh or… no one. Which is fine, you know, it’s… it’s fine, I been on dates before, I know how it goes.”


Tethys’ humor drew another smile from the VIP. “You, me, and a few dozen members of my manor staff. I don’t intend to call any dignitaries to keep us company. They prefer dinners.” She finished with a half-smile. “Call and a car will be sent for you. I’ll be waiting.” Violet nodded and motioned for the door.


“Okay, can do. Nice chat, nice to meet you and all that shit.” Tethys began edging towards the door. She had to look at the guards, see their grinning, their wide puppet-mouths. All she could hope was that they wouldn’t be present at the breakfast. She flashed Violet a wide, toothy smile of her own. “Glad you was here when you was, everything coulda gone so much worse.” And with that she stepped through the door, forcing her brow into a creased look of concentration. The facade had to be maintained.


“What did she want?” Desh’s voice came like a slap to the face as soon as Tethys stepped out. Desh and Thorn were the only people outside. While Thorn looked dead tired, Desh was burning with energy.
“She just came out. Give her a moment. Not easy to swallow whatever she wanted with her.” Thorn lazily leaned against Desh. Desh only considered Thorn’s words for a moment before her eye went to scrutinizing Tethys.
There was only two law enforcement cruisers in the street with only one of them having a driver inside. There was no sign of the person who attempted to execute Thorn.


They didn’t look the same now, Tethys thought. She was glowing like the attack had happened a month ago, not worried, not concerned about the outcome, just neutral to it and the world. But Thorn looked tired. Desh was still volatile, her body tense. Tethys could see it in her shoulders.

“Well, she said she thought we had a lot in common, and wanted to see me again,” she smirked. “I’m kidding, she just wanted to say she was grateful for… trying to do what I did. Did either of you see Moscur? I saw him run out.”

“Tethys.” Desh looked over Tethys’ shoulder at the door. “That woman…” Before Desh could even get into it, Thorn grunted.
“Desh, for fucks sake. She just said thanks.” Thorn separated from the big zima. “Besides, your sister never looked happier.”
“She’s young, Thorn, and you know it.” Desh threatened but Thorn ignored it and gave Tethys a shrug.
“Saw the bitch-boy. Took off when shit got fucked. He’s clever, ain’t he?” Thorn commented as she looked around for something else to rest on.

There was something they knew that she didn’t. Desh’s tone implied that much, even with Thorn’s cryptic mention of Desh’s sister. That unsettled her. So she patted down her pockets, ensured she had everything - including the sharp edge of Violet’s card in her pocket - and shrugged back at Thorn.
“Well, he’s a bit danger-shy, y’know, bit of a coward. But if that guy had attacked successfully, Mos’d be the only one of us alive, probably. I’m not really in the mood to talk about that, though… I think I’m gonna check on Mos. Don’t want him scared and callin’ his mummy all night. If you wanna tell me more about that woman, then call me. I’ll be waitin’ on it.”
She pulled out her phone as she turned to go, shooting a message to Moscur as she walked.

 

[0stinato]

Ten minutes passed before Tethys got a message back from her friend. After leaving the bar, she had begun to walk vaguely in the direction of Moscur's apartment, but she was uncomfortable committing to the journey without knowing where he was. Off he had run into the night, with a gait so panicked he could, she reasoned, fit in with a population of scared deer. He had that hurried, florid look about him always, just below the paleness of his cheek. It had risen in force tonight, overtaking the yellow of his natural pallor as his eyes widened. Under jovial circumstances, Tethys would have laughed at him and, after a minute or two of sulking, he would laugh too. But that's what she liked.

She had met, and consequently ignored, Moscur during a meetup of motorcycle enthusiasts. She had proudly displayed the love of her life with a fresh paint job and some custom adjustments in the plaza, its front wheel turned diagonally. It was a rather seductive pose, Tethys thought as she took a step away to view her bike from afar. Oh, but it was a beauty: old-skool on the outside, but perfectly modern beneath the chrome. It was the way the culture was on Epsilon. You didn't need hardware of this scale. Every enthusiast knew the fuel tanks on the bikes were storage: fuel was stored more efficiently in the compact engine system. Every enthusiast knew that, but none of them said it. The fuel tank looked like a fuel tank. For all intents and purposes, especially aesthetic ones, it was a fuel tank.

Returning to her bike's side, she let it have the good slap one might give to a horse. It was a beauty.

"You'll want to wipe the hand print off."

Tethys, who, in her reverie had forgotten that she was in a populated area, failed to reply as she turned to the speaker behind her. She frowned a little, blinked a few times, but could not retain the ability to speak.

"We're at a show?" the man said. "So... wipe it off? If I want a picture of your bike, I don't want a bloody great handprint on the tank."

"Oh." Tethys paused. "Forgot where I was for a sec. Where's me rag?" Having retrieved the stained cloth, she attacked the fuel tank with alacrity. "That better? You here just for viewin' or are you showin' too?"

"Thought I'd have a quick look round before it got too busy, but yeah I'm showing too. Mine's an off-roader." The man, who was of Tethys' height and stocky build, hoiked his thumb over his shoulder. "I can show you if you like. But first, can I...?" he indicated the bike, then his phone.

Tethys got the message and stepped away, smirking, amused by his manner. She watched him hunker down and squint at the bike before beginning to snap a few photos. His hair was the colour of mud, that odd sort of mud that cracked regardless of its moisture. He must know a lot about mud, if he preferred off-roading. Then again, most bikers knew about mud. Even Tethys, who much preferred the odd sneaky bit of street racing in the Third Ring with a few friends, knew about the damage of mud. How often had she got the hose out at two in the morning to spray mud off her bike's wheels after some racing in the rain? How often had the jet forced mud to splash onto her? Tethys had soon learned to keep her helmet on while she had the hose out.

"So... I don't know much about bikes. Is customising easy?"

"Eh? Oh, em... if you know what yer doing, sure. Y'know, you kinda gotta know, for instance, the pressure your exhaust is under before you go sticking a growler on there. Too low pressure and yer growler will just be dead weight. Too high pressure and you could... well, definitely damage something. You got to know that sort of stuff. It don't take much to learn."

She found herself talking to a shorter man who had, despite his blond hair, a trimmed chin goatee of the same mud colour as the other man. The goatee gave his appearance a masculine, confident air, as he had evidently made the conscious decision to go without a moustache to combo with it, but his eyes, of a deep brown, were round and curious. They were fresh, drenched and bright, and Tethys was surprised to see eyes like this above the beard that held the bright colour of a twenty-something year old.

He looked at her bike. He nodded. "So, it's all in the theory then?"

"Well... I dunno about that. I couldn't tell you the number for the pressure of my exhaust, I just know it's pretty strong."

"Well, look at the size of it," said the brown-haired man, moving round to get another angle.

"Yeah. Well, I modded it a bit. I'm Tethys, by the way."

The blond man smiled, drawing Tethys' eye down to him again. "Moscur." There was a pause, evidently meant to be filled by the brown-haired man's name. When he did not make an effort to even look up, Moscur sighed. "He's Tobor, my brother. He's the one to talk to about bikes. I just thought it'd be fun to come."

"Well, I'm sure you'll pick some stuff up. Oi, big guy, you finished ogglin' my wheels or what?"

Moscur had floated at the edge of Tethys' first conversation with Tobor, more like a mosquito than a conversationalist. Tobor had a laugh of equal volume to Tethys', and the two formed an acquaintanceship. But fate had something else in mind, Tethys considered as she turned onto Moscur's block. Tobor had a strong personality, to put it nicely. To be realistic, he was a bully. He found it all too easy to set Tethys into irritation or amusement at his expense. She smiled at the thought of one of his explosions: she had not been able to stop herself from laughing at how red his face was. He had this way of puffing out his cheeks, pulling up his shoulders, scowling like a bulldog. Even when they had both cooled down from that, Tobor couldn't laugh at it as Tethys did. He would look at her coldly, be terse and rough until Tethys got the picture and left early.

It wasn't long before Tethys ran into Moscur again. He liked to visit his brother, even if Tobor never returned the effort. Tethys had largely forgotten Moscur by that point. But when she met him again, his own attitudes juxtaposed by the nettle-patch of his brother's anger, she found him refreshing. When she told Tobor to, "Pull that stick outta your arse, stop holdin' a grudge," Moscur had chuckled and said, "Sticks up asses are kind of hereditary, if I'm honest."

"Family of bloody ice lollies."

He laughed again while Tobor's face got progressively redder. He stretched his arms behind his head, completely relaxed. "Wonder what flavour I am?"



Tethys had to wait for a few moments until Moscur buzzed her into the apartment. That was all she needed to see to know he was paranoid. She couldn't blame him. Her fists were clenching and relaxing during the ride up to his floor in the lift. His nervous energy was infecting her. She had to push that away from her. That woman... she didn't want a nervous wreck at breakfast. She wanted someone who could control a situation... stand up for... whatever it was she'd stood up for earlier. Moscur was one thing she'd stood up for, she knew that. Imagining Thorn executing the man at point-blank range was horrible enough. Tethys could stomach it, but it didn't mean she wasn't shaken and sobered by the mere picture of it in her tipsy mind. She was meant to be able to stomach it, she'd been trained to. Moscur - and every other layman there - wasn't trained for it. They'd dream and tremble about it for weeks. Tethys, at least, would be able to dissociate enough to sleep through the night.

Moscur would have been terrified. There was a high probability he'd have fainted. Despite his fortitude with alcohol, Moscur could not handle threats of that scale. He could barely put up a shelf without eye protection and thick gloves. And yet there he was on a daily basis at work, planning, designing and constructing some of the most ludicrous ideas Tethys had ever heard of...

Moscur opened the door to his apartment just as she reached to knock.

"You're alone right?" his voice was low, in a state of pre-panic.

"Obviously. Shut up Moscur. I wanna talk to you without you going barmy. Everything's sorted."

He sighed but stepped away, letting her in. The room was dark, so she took the initiative and switched on the light, which caused Moscur to wince. There was a comment to make on that particular fact, but Tethys decided to leave it. She could tell it would only fray their nerves more. When she caught his eye, she knew he could read her. He was rattled; she was tense. Arguing would do nothing but upset him and anger her. She kicked off her shoes before putting her feet up on the low table that today housed a family of tools appropriate more for an electrical engineer. That particular world was often too finicky for Moscur, but she decided not to question it. Other questions came first. She turned her eye to him, and towards her he came, smiling uneasily.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said. "Glad you ran."

"Um... sorry. I wouldn't have been much use to you."

"No, seriously, I am glad you ran. I'd feel so bad if you got hurt."

He sat down, chewing his lip.

Tethys let the silence hang there for a while. She was tired. It wasn't just her body, it was her mental state as well. A long day at work would be draining, but never this badly. she wondered if it was the tension, the after-effects of whatever that woman had... done to her. It was like she was manipulated, like she was meant to feel a certain way when the woman smiled at her. And without that woman's smile, she felt so heavy, so exhausted. The warmth of Moscur's apartment comforted her down to her muscles. Its scent - a welcoming, nostalgic one rarely found in one's own house, but common amongst the abodes of grandmothers - invited her to ask Moscur if she could stay. But it was out of the question. She couldn't go to the woman's breakfast from here tomorrow; Moscur would be launched into panic again if the woman knew which building he lived in.

"So... why did you get so worried I wasn't alone?" she asked. The question was there, but her thoughts had brought it to the surface. "Do you know something about the woman I don't?"

Moscur shrugged. "I've seen her on TV. I asked my parents about her and they... kind of didn't really give me a straight answer. I don't know. Just the way my parents seemed, I just don't want to really be involved with her. So... and then she got all us out which I'm grateful for but I didn't see you come out so... I just came here."

"And hid with the lights off under your covers like a little pussy?"

He shrugged again.

"I'm just kidding. I guess I kinda knew about her? I dunno, I can't really remember her. But I guess I'll get to know who she is. She, uh, invited me to brekkie tomorrow, to... like... well she thought I was a good person. And she said, 'Good people are hard to find,' and gave me this." She pulled Violet's card from her pocket, the little purple-and-black rectangle that could, she thought, win her immense respect in certain circles.

Moscur glanced at it, looked away, then looked back and took it. "So it's... is she scouting you or?"

"I dunno really. It was just me she asked, not... Thorn or Nika Desh."

"Well... if she was looking for good people I'd not... choose the Commissioner. I mean, no offence to her... don't tell her I said that..."

Tethys smiled. "It's fine, you're right. She was a right cow. But I won't say nuffin'."

"Are you going to go to breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Oh God. Well, alright. Let me know if you're alive after."

"She ain't gonna kill me, Moscur, stop being so dramatic. I wanted to tell you 'cause I thought you might have some advice."

"Oh..." Moscur frowned. He was quiet for a little while, then he gave a small, "Ah," and got up, scurrying to his bedroom.

"I don't need condoms, idiot," Tethys yelled after him, grinning as she delivered the punchline, "not that you'd have any, anyway."

He ignored her as he returned with a little plastic case with the Ecstasy Trust's logo printed on it. He threw it to her as he sat down. "Reversers. Just in case. She runs the Ecstasy Trust after all."

Tethys made a face as she examined them. "You have reversers? What kinda hookers-and-coke parties are you having that I don't know about? Since when did you do any drugs other than ibuprofen?"

"Ahh, shut up," he smiled, "it's for work. They block some of the dopamine and serotonin receptors in the brain, as well as counteract stimulants, so they're really useful when, like me, you might be working with stuff that causes fumes. If you're soldering onto certain metals, or using some pretty strong chemicals, they can quickly make you really dizzy. Reversers really help against that."

"You serious?"

"Mmhm. I only really take them if I'm on a long project for a long time, otherwise I just put a mask on. But yeah, take them with you."

"Alright. I'll be able to read her better if I'm not off me tits I guess eh? Might actually be able to have an intelligent conversation. Cheers. I'd not have thought of that meself."

"Good thing you came to me then. I mean they might be totally useless. But let me know. It'll be a good test. I want to know the results."

"Oy, shut up, I'll have other shit to focus on, like breakfast. I'll try to remember if I can but no promises mate."

He smiled when she did. They were at ease once again. The night had been eventful to one of them, and terrifying to the other, but both were at ease. Tethys almost wished she could bring Moscur with her tomorrow; he had a knack for thinking about things in ways she didn't. He was always considering the other options, or able to turn things round in his head and come at them from another angle. She never would have thought of reversers, but it was a good idea. Looking at the woman, being in her presence, had certainly done something to Tethys. She hoped that whatever effect it was could be cancelled out by the reversers. If it didn't, maybe Moscur could think of something else.

It was, at the moment, a private game to her. Moscur didn't know about the woman's effect, so only she could play with the idea. The guards the woman had had behind her certainly seemed like they were under some influence. Their grins were unsettling, too happy for the situation and too detached from their eyes. Tethys wanted to see if she could beat the woman's influence. If she could, she might have a hope of understanding what Violet wanted. And she was worried that, if she was under an influence, she wouldn't be able to refuse.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Heeey, it's Millie!" The young man sitting on the sofa with two other women, one a ciri and another a hotas who both greeted the young zima who appeared on the doorway of the living room.
"What's up, guys?" Millie smiled, tossing her backpack by the large sofa and sank into a soft armchair.
While the man went back to playing some platformer game on the large projected TV, the two girls focused more on Millie. "Just bored. Not going out tonight so we're playing. Well... Mike is playing. If he wouldn't be a dick and died, maybe we'd get our turn." Said the hotas.
With a short chuckle, Mike replied while keeping his eyes on the screen. "Don't hate me because I'm better."
"You aren't spending the night with your boss?" The other girl asked.
Millie shrugged, reaching for her backpack. "Nah, she has some business so I decided to come back home. I also got tomorrow off so we can chill together." She explained as she pulled out a plastic bag full of herbs. "Can you roll us a few?" Millie gave the small ciri girl a wide grin, shaking the bag from side to side.
"Oh fuck yeah." The ciri chirped, grabbing the bag and disappeared to another room.
"We going back to the VIP area again? Maybe I'll build up the courage to ask someone for a number this time." The hotas smiled, looking at the end table in front of her.
"Yeah." Millie nodded, leaning back and throwing one leg over the armrest. "I'll text Violet. She'll get us in again."

Originally, she felt bitter about using Violet's power and influence to make her own life easier. After all, while they never spoke about it, there was something more between them than a business relationship. She cared about Violet and the thought of using her and abusing the trust they shared was simply wrong. Violet, however, seemed to have a way of knowing what was going on in someone's head. Didn't take long for her to bring that topic up. To explain that Millie isn't just her employer. That Millie was with her and that meant experiencing all the good and, sometimes, the bad parts of the Epsilon VIP life. Eventually, Millie began relaxing. With time, life without Violet began seeming too tiring. Too difficult.
Millie still remembered when she met the enigmatic woman. The normally confident woman was probably the most anxious watcher of the graduation ceremony at the academy. At least, she was when she tried approaching Millie. Stumbling over her words, mumbling... She had Millie curious from the first interaction.



The large steel door parted and air rushed into the darkness as dust rushed out. The stale, rotten air was almost toxic but she wore a mask. A small mask over her mouth and nose with six vials of oxygen plugged in keeping her safe. It would be enough for a short visit. Wearing thin, leather gloves, she reached into her pocket for a box of matches. The scratch of the match on the box followed by the hiss of the flame was the only sound in the massive room before her. She knew the layout of the room. Of the entire place. She extended her arm to the side to light one candle on the tall, steel candelabra.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath as the warm glow flooded the room. She could hear the room. The screams. The moans. The cries. All the sounds she relished in. Opening her eyes, she examined it. It was familiar. She felt like she visited an old home from her childhood. A place from deep in her memories that was only slightly off. It was bigger in her mind. Warmer. More populated. As the door began rumbling again to close, she put the box back into her pocket and sighed. The huge stone bricks on the floors and walls were only barely visible beneath splashes of brown over them. In the middle of the room was a steel cage. The focal point of the room. Her steps echoed as she approached to examine the crumpled skeleton inside. With a thump, the door closed, nearly extinguishing the candelabra. With a beep, the tiny green light on one of the oxygen vials turned red. It would be enough for a short visit.

 

[Mr_DC]

Koola Cartel Corporate Headquarters was an uninspiring building. A grey block of concrete that looked like it could take a missile. It was much like Koola Cartel factories, laboratories or distribution centers: aiming for nothing more than functional. While the corporate HQ was where most of the Cartel's business deals were negotiated and signed by executives using more product than they were selling, the true power came from the Koola Cartel compound. The walled-off mansion on top of a hill where Veronica Koola herself resided resembled a fortress.
Tall walls with barbed wire on and in front of them, guard towers, floodlights, even a minefield. Any uninvited guest would have difficulty getting to the walls. Inside was another layer of security with dozens upon dozens of armed guards and trained animals. In spite of the excessive security, the villa still looked beautiful and was among the most luxurious places on Epsilon. Gold and silver, marble and jewels, mounted beasts and designer guns, even a sports center. While Koola Cartel's relevance was often questioned, a short visit to the compound would be enough for anyone to realize that the cartel was not only surviving the competition but thriving.

At the center of the manor, far from any windows and at the focal point of the maze of secret tunnels spreading through the manor, was Koola's office. A carved desk of imported wood and a chair more fitting on a throne looked down the elongated office. No chairs were placed in front of her desk. The visitors would have to stand, surrounded by her personal guard distinguished by forest camo bandanas hiding their faces.
In public, Veronica Koola could easily be mistaken for a wealthy and aloof socialite who inherited her wealth and cared for nothing but her appearance. She was often seen in front of cameras as a well-dressed woman with long, flowing, blonde hair and a knock-out figure, sporting a bored expression. In private, she almost always had blood splattered on her, bruised knuckles, and wickedness in her eyes.


After snorting deeply from a pile of yellow powder on her desk, Koola leaned back and trembled as her eyes rolled back. "F-f-fuck..." She grunted, slamming her fist on the desk. "Fuck!" She roared, getting ahold of herself. "Yeah." She spoke through her rapid breaths. "Yeah, fuck, that's good." Her eyes went sharp again as she stared at the man in front of her desk, flanked by two of her guards carrying shotguns. The man seemed like he walked through a desert to reach Koola. His face was sunken and he was sweating profusely. The man's simple clothes were hanging on him, far too large for his size.
The silence of the meeting was kept thin by the occasional banging of the hammer on Koola's wall as a guard was busy putting up a frame for a new gold-plated rifle. A simple symbol of defiance to Epsilon where personal weapons were highly illegal.

"Fine, yeah, yeah, you can make this shit for me." Koola threw her legs on the desk and grinned at the man who seemed like he was regretting every decision that took him to that moment. Dipping her finger in the powder, she brought it to her nose and snorted once more. "Mmm..." She murmured, closing her eyes. "Yeah, that's it..." She looked at the man again. "So, where's your fucking lab? How many cooks you got?" As she asked that, two of her guards with handguns moved to stand by her sides. It wasn't just a regular meeting where she would be hiring some freelance producer and they knew it.

 

[0stinato]

Perhaps a second reverser was necessary. As Lull entered the network of tunnels and navigated towards Koola’s office, he had the worrying suspicion he was acting out of muscle memory rather than conscious thought. Take a left here… right there… second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning. Those nostalgic little poems kept entering his mind, no matter how feebly they struggled to remain relevant in his brain. There were tidbits and sayings that surfaced here and there, the ilk of which would ordinarily have been discarded in preference for more useful thoughts. But these thoughts struggled when he was high too, with the thick clouds of static muffling the synapses and penning those decades-ago memories close together in some obscure cavern. But he was mid-way between those points now: the reverser ushered out the clouds, but hadn't directed his intelligence to fill the void.

Things surfaced when they could. Here it was the memory of that film, that rather annoying film, that kid who never grew up, that wonderful land of pirates and drowning flowers. There it was the recollection of a song about the future, about living underwater, about a great-great-great-grand-daughter, and maybe she drowned too, like that other girl with the headband, whose name Lull couldn't remember at all.

It was thoughts just as those which had him suspicious the opium was still there, still lazing in the background of his brain, wearing a toga and inviting him to drink - what would he like to drink now? Something still, something sweet, something cool, he thought, maybe iced berry tea from the café on his block - from a silver goblet. But the goblet was forever too far away: the opium pipe had left his lips a while ago.

He blinked hard, and several times. He had to make himself think if the reverser wasn't going to do it for him. So he fixed his eyes on the surroundings. He was in the corridor that led to Koola's office: there were the guards ahead, armed but still. Thick jackets, most certainly bulletproof armour beneath, face shields, anonymity in uniform. He realised he'd never said a word to them other than the very occasional, "Thanks."

That was the nature of Koola's place though, he thought. Guarded to the point of paranoia on one side, fancy to the extreme on the other. Only one of those he understood, though he didn't empathise. Who would launch an assault on Koola? If one wanted her dead, it'd be easier to pay off someone in her organisation already, or to poison her with her own drug supplies. And as for the decor... all Lull could think - and why he thought this was definitely down to the ebbing opium - was that he felt like a Protestant standing amidst Catholic sumptuousness, preparing to haughtily describe the place as 'popish.'

How Lull knew the word he wasn't sure. The culprit was probably the television, those late-night programmes spouting old Earth history as it spoke of the comparative glory of All Faiths while he watched, half asleep, half high on cheap weed, from that blue leather sofa at home. He hated that sofa. He wanted his old sofa, that nice black one whose only fault was the wobbly back left leg. He wanted his old sofa and his old apartment, where it did smell of damp in the bathroom and kitchen, but at least there was a decent view. He wanted his old sofa and his old annoyances, that she would stay up and watch those awful comedy programmes, those programmes he couldn't watch anymore without the bile rising in his throat and his brain screaming at him-- go and kill who did that, whoever they are, go and kill them, or kill until you find them, kill everyone involved, take your gun and kill them, take your gun and find them and kill anyone who stands in your way, kill anyone and everyone who said it was okay, and it doesn't matter after that, as long as you find them and--

And so on. Lull felt sick. He couldn't tell if it was that thought making him ill or the reverser's aftertaste that still lingered at the back of his tongue. But he felt sick nonetheless.

He was very close to the guards now and raised his eyes a little as he went to move between them. They knew him. They didn't stop him. He didn't say, "Thanks." He felt too ill for that.

The sight in Koola's office would have made anyone else more ill, but it calmed Lull somewhat, though he didn't know why. He had walked into some kind of deal going on, that was for sure, based on the drugs in front of Koola and the provider facing her. The man seemed anxious, like Koola was a cruel judge and he a guilty defendant. Or maybe it was the closeness of the guards. Maybe it was their guns. Lull often forgot guns made people anxious.

He decided he was going to stay out of it, unless Koola wanted him to do something. But he drew up just behind the man, opting for the sort of closeness that makes anyone uncomfortable, and looked round into his face. Lull wasn't doing this for himself: he did not care what this man looked like, what he wore or who he was. He was just kindly letting this poor soul know that there was another audience member now, an audience member who could command the room just as Koola could, an audience member with the face of a skull and the ever-glaring eyes of a crow, standing just behind him. It was a voiceless hazing process, a careful ganging-up.

After holding his stare on the man for much longer than the man would have wanted, Lull stepped back, opting for distance. This deal wasn't his. Koola would call him if she needed him. Sober or not, or somewhere in between, Lull was prepared for anything.

“What…” The man stared at Lull, trying to focus on the questions. On answering the question correctly. “What-uhh…” He managed to tear his eyes away from Lull and returned to Koola and her predatory grin. “What does that matter?” He asked, rubbing his already red eyes.
Koola picked up the plastic bag with what little of the yellow powder remained. “Why doesn’t it fucking matter!?” Koola yelled, slamming a fist on her desk. “Did I ask you a fucking question or not!?” Koola’s mad eyes turned away from the man to Lull. One of the few people she could rely on.

“Check this out.” She tossed the bag at Lull. “Seems familiar?” She asked, looked back at the cook. “Tastes familiar to me. Almost like…” She smacked her lips a few times. “Like my people made it.” She nodded, frowning. “Yeah. Like it came from a dealer of mine who got mugged.” Standing up, Koola kept smacking her lips. “Yeah, you can really taste the mugging. There’s a certain tang to it.” She paused by the guard putting up the frame, letting the cook sweat.

The bag almost seemed to move in slow motion, but Lull caught it regardless. That reverser wasn’t doing the trick. He examined the bag and the powder within with those tired old eyes. It was an upper, he knew, and looked like Edge. He didn’t have dealings with Edge, or many of its ilk, but he knew it when he saw it. Koola was right. That faint crystalline quality told him it wasn’t high-end stuff like from Ecstacy: if Ecstacy was making Edge like this, it would be smooth. No, the Koola Cartel drugs went down rough, especially the snortable stuff.

“Hey, kid,” Lull took a step forward, drawing his attention from the bag to the man, whose face was covered in a film of sweat. “You know how to count down from ten? If you do, start doing it. Who knows, you might reach six before you die.”

Koola nodded, glad her soldier knew exactly what she wanted to hear. “That’s a good fucking idea.” She said, shoulder-checking the guard putting up the frame and snatching the hammer out of his hand. “You should start fucking counting.” She swore, walking around the desk and standing in front of the man. “What did I say!? Start counting!” She yelled, her voice conveying much more power than someone her size might hold. “Let me start you off. Ten!”
“N-n-n-nine…” He stammered, tears welling up in his eyes.
“That’s it, good job. Keep going, keep fucking counting.” Koola encouraged the man.
“E-eight.” The man bowed his head.
“That’s it, that’s it.” She nodded.
“S…” He barely let out a sound before Koola swung the hammer. With one hit to the side of the head, the man collapsed into a twitching mess on the ground but Koola wasn’t done. Straddling him, Koola put herself to work like she was hammering away on a particularly stubborn nail. Hit after hit, the man’s skull slowly turned into paste, mixing with chunks of brain to turn into a pink mess of gore. It took Koola the better part of a minute to tire herself out but, by then, there was little left to hit.
“Fucking moron.” She stood up. “Try to sell my shit to me!?” She yelled at the corpse, giving it a kick.
Handing the hammer back to the guard, Koola warned. “Get blood on the wall and you’re next.” She growled, sitting back behind her desk.”You gonna finish that bag or should I?” She cocked an eyebrow at Lull.

The floor would need steam-cleaned after that. But Lull’s janitorial days were over. He wasn’t the one doing it. Still, having to stand there and watch Koola destroy a man’s skull wasn’t comfortable. Just noise, maelstrom and a cloud of thoughts from guards trying to pretend they weren’t looking. Sickening too. Lull was nowhere near the top-end of mental health, but he still didn’t enjoy this entire thing. There was a reason he didn’t use melee weapons very often and this was it. But Koola had her own methods and he never - well, not never, but certainly not often - critiqued them.

At least it wasn’t carpet.

He was glad when she stood up, when she was done, satisfied. Got her rage out. Killed a man to feel better. Or whatever. It wasn’t romantic, and Lull’s brain wasn’t exactly ready to romanticise anything.

“Mm… it’s yours. I took a reverser but I’m still a little high, so I shouldn’t mix poisons,” he said. He threw it back to her. “Reversers aren’t so effective on me anymore. But why did you want me? I guess not just to be a witness to that. Unless you want me to clean up, in which case, I’ll need a bonfire, a saw, several garbage bags and a map of the city.”

Catching the bag, Koola grumbled to herself. “Can’t believe people have the balls to steal from me.” She looked at Lull. “Why don’t you have a fucking crew of your own?” She yelled at Lull, gripping the bag in her hand. “Why the fuck don’t you have guys sending messages all over the city?” Smashing the bag on her desk, she snapped back, remembering she was talking to a loyal member of her cartel. “Because you already have a job, fuck!” She threw the bag at the wall. “Why the fuck do I have so few fucking people who can get shit done?!”

Sinking back in her seat, Koola sighed. “That purple bitch.” She looked at Lull. She was already down and exhausted. “Remember when I imported that cocaine shit from Earth? It blew up. Couldn’t sell enough of it. I guess purple did the same thing because she called some reporters tomorrow. Adapted the plant to grow here. Already has samples ready to give away.” She leaned in, pointing at Lull. “There’s no way I’m getting that plant but I know where she’s holding the reveal.” Speaking through her teeth, she gave the order. “I want you to utterly destroy that product launch. Go there and make the press shit all over it.” Smirking, she leaned back. “I already have a few on the payroll. I’ll think of a way to stomp all over it while you do your thing. Can’t give her that edge.”

A slow blink Koola had seen many times before was Lull’s only reply to her outburst towards him. He just waited until she was done, until she redirected her paroxysm towards the bag of Edge and the wall, until she was back in her chair. As she collapsed into it, he glanced at the guard holding the bloody hammer. Looked like he wanted to evacuate as quickly as he could. Well, Lull couldn’t blame him; Lull wanted to do the same. Standing so close to a body seeping blood across the floor wasn’t the way he usually liked to spend his mornings.

So, he was to destroy a product launch. A rather direct route from the rather direct Koola, to be carried out by someone who couldn't really afford to be direct himself. But that was fine. Her order was the fuel his brain needed to engage his intellect. He had a job. He had a purpose.

Lull's intelligence was not the sort you could measure with a test or with qualifications or even through a debate. He had no real mark of education on his mind, nor any traces of smarts in his vocabulary. His charisma relied on intimidation and wit of the driest sort, and his raw intelligence was the cause of it.

Deviousness, cunning and manipulation were all weapons in Lull's mental arsenal, weapons he often didn't realise he was using. When Koola's order trickled into his ears, his mind sharpened up at its arrival. Destroying a product launch had to be extreme, especially if it was the launch of a product from 'purple,' the Ecstasy Trust's famous CEO. She was launching a drug, and that was easy to tamper with. Lull could simply plant false samples, or samples of another substance - probably an extreme downer - that would, when its effects met the effects of Violet's cocaine, probably kill them. Mixing an upper and a downer was always warned against, and Lull knew he could do that. It would be easy.

But that wouldn't be enough. If a large frequency of consumers died at Violet's launch, there would be a scandal, yes, but sabotage would be the first thing assumed. But Lull knew how to combat that. It wasn't hard.

The Koola Cartel, by rule of thumb, produced garbage in comparison to the Ecstasy Trust. He knew because every form of opium he succumbed to - whether it was the expensive, strong stuff championed by Ecstasy in their own lounges, or weaker and cheaper version they provided to various other dens he frequented when money was tight - ultimately came from the Ecstasy Trust. Koola Cartel's version of the stuff brought on a sickening rather than a euphoria. It gave him a grittiness in the brain and gut when he took it, and a worse grittiness when he was pissing out the drug over the next few days. It was detectable. It was noticeable.

Lull would guess that it was different chemically too, but he didn't know how.

Approaching this job with that devious little gyro spinning, Lull settled on the idea of toying with Reversers. Everywhere had them, and the release was bound to supply them: the press wouldn't be doing their jobs too well without a Reverser to combat the cocaine's effects. They were easily toyed with too, due to their insides being coated with a slightly sweet shell, preferable to the tongue than the bitterness of the drug-combatant inside. The only question now was, with what substance did he fill Reversers?

The entire thought process took only a few seconds as Lull stretched his neck. "I can do that. Shouldn't be hard. I assume all the regular channels are open to me for resources? I need Reversers. Individually-packaged Reversers and a lab."


“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Koola nodded, rubbing her nose. “Go to one of the labs in the city. Third ring.” She opened a drawer in her desk. “Not a legal lab. A black one, one we didn’t register.” She added pulled out a small handgun from her desk. While Epsilon was lax when it came to regulations - the attitude being that the market will handle those companies who don’t treat their customers well - there was still the occasional inspection to make sure no bombs, weapons, ammo or any other contraband wasn’t being produced. While the labs the government knew about weren’t anything to be proud of in terms of quality, the Cartel’s many underground labs were some of the most disgusting and dangerous places in the city. Fires and explosions happened on an almost daily basis. Even though having such laboratories was illegal, even loyalist companies like Ecstasy Trust had things to hide.

“I’m going with you.” She stood up, putting the small gun in her pocket. “I need to remind them who they are cooking for.” The guards exchanged nervous looks and the one closest to her cleared his throat.
“Ma’am.” He turned around to face her. “You have the charity dinner in two hours.” He cautiously reminded her.
Koola’s face sunk into a deep frown. She took a step towards him. Then another. And another until she was right in front of him. Having learned how to behave in such situations by now, her bodyguard lowered his gaze and waited, hoping he made the right choice in telling her.
“Fuck.” Koola rolled her eyes. “Fucking PR.” She cursed, turning back to her desk and throwing the gun onto it. “I have to play nice so the army doesn’t storm my gates.” She grunted, looking around the room at her other guards. “And none of you had the balls to remind me?” She raised her voice. “Only him? Fuck you.” She returned to her chair but stood behind it this time. “Go. Next time I hear about her product, I want it to be about what a shitstorm the event was.” She nodded at Lull but her hungry eyes fell on the traces of the powder scattered over her desk.

“Yeah yeah… sure… I’ll make sure they shit on it. Don’t worry about the lab either. I’ll make sure they know who the boss is.” He wanted to go and sleep, but alas. “Any change of plans, tell me.”

Now came the long slog out of Koola’s fortress. At least he knew the cut-throughs. Although, Lull thought as he walked, maybe he’d be better off savouring this place, because he’d soon be somewhere much worse. He’d walk out of a clean, maintained - if a little intimidating - fortress, get into a pod and be shot over to the Third Ring to face the comparative squalor of a drug lab. Lull knew the Third Ring. He knew what it was like. He used to live there. In an apartment that had the presence of damp more than intelligence. The only good thing about it was that he couldn’t be evicted for smoking weed indoors, simply because the whole place stank of it anyway so identifying a culprit was impossible. In his place in the Second Ring, smoking indoors was risky. Checks could be done on the carpets and furniture for smoke. He’d lose his deposit if they found evidence of him doing it. So, he tried not to. But sometimes, when it was raining, or frosty, or too hot, or there were too many people, or there were too many birds, or there was someone who looked like the landlord, or it was too foggy… he would open his bedroom window and light up then. Not being allowed to smoke indoors was the only thing he missed about living in the Third Ring.

Oh, but those were thoughts he couldn’t afford to have. History and memories, memories of that house, the house where both bedrooms were being used. Not like now. He had a two-bedroom apartment, yes, but the second didn’t have a bed in it. It had weaponry, it had drugs, it had a hole in the wall that he still had to discreetly fix before the next inspection. He’d forgotten about that.

But where was he now? Yes, that was it, he had to live now, not then. Live in this moment, not in the one two years ago.

Being sober didn’t help.

 

[0stinato]

Handwash would've be nice.

Ah, shit. Shit.

There was a dead animal lying about 30 yards away. It was so greyed and manged that it was difficult to tell the species. Cat? Possibly. Raccoon? Maybe. Rat? Probably. There were lots of rats here, all fat and all ugly. Their stomachs swelled. How many generations lived beneath the street here, and how many of them were smart enough to dodge poison put down to kill them? Lull didn't often gamble, but he would bet all of them would dodge the cheapest poisons. After all, no one who worked or lived in this dump could afford anything else. Their money went on other poisons.

If he was to walk back towards the road, he'd get a lungful of pollution. And that would be clean in comparison to the air here. Somehow, the air seemed too greasy. Lull wasn't even sure how that was possible. What were they cooking in this lab to create a miasma of phlegm-inspiring air? The more he breathed, the more it built up on the back of his tongue. He couldn't swallow that. It was uncleanliness and lack of hygiene made far too physical. It was the very definition of the word 'gob.' And so he gobbed, spitting the mixture onto the pavement beside him.

Lull never spat in public. It was a filthy habit. But alas, it was necessary. And so his frown darkened further. The place made him spit. What other heinous acts was it going to have him perform?

The building was the sort of place where you couldn't imagine a toilet that was clean and in one piece. That toilet would also be absolutely free of all water due to the plumbing being shut down or clogged months ago, so all that was in it was a soupy concoction of various bodily fluids, all glued together by their kinship in repulsiveness. New shades of yellow and brown were invented in those filth-splattered bowls. Syringes were crushed under feet of hurried people wanting to avoid vomiting on the floor. The grout was rotting. Lost teeth were becoming sand.

The occupants of the building could be felt sorry for if you bothered looking long enough. They cooked drugs, stole what they thought they could get away with, and spent the credits Koola sent down to them on Koola Corp drugs. It all fell back in Koola's pocket, in the end. They were hamsters trapped in a more complicated wheel. They injected, they blacked out, they passed blood-clogged fluid into whatever was empty enough in the bathrooms and vomited in the sinks.

Probably, anyway. Lull couldn't look at any of them without picturing something like that.

The only clean person in this entire area wasn't even in the lab. He was sitting on a bar stool with a whiskey. Or scotch or brandy or something. Lull didn't know. He'd stopped by briefly, long enough so the guy knew what he was there for, but short enough so he didn't have to breathe in. It was a breath-long discussion framed by the dim light of the bar.

"You know who sent me. I want no questions asked."

The manager gave him eye contact, held it for a couple of seconds, then shrugged. He tipped the glass back. By the time he put it down, Lull was gone.

As Lull approached the lab he had to spit again. When he got in, he suddenly became aware of all the smallest details of his body. The areas between his fingers were oily, his scalp was gritty, his ankles were sweating. He shuddered. Two people were looking at him. One of them Lull had never seen before. She looked quite young. Maybe on the cusp of her 20s. The other Lull recognised. So he was still alive. He was maybe early to mid thirties, but he'd not live to see his fortieth. His teeth told Lull that. Whenever the man opened his mouth, his blackened teeth came into view. Teeth of someone who used for purpose, not for pleasure. Stick the needle in deeper, it'll keep the shakes away, eh, keep the stomach from flipping. Gotta feel normal. Gotta feel perfectly normal.

As for the girl, she seemed to have tipped the scale. There'd be no coming back from it now. Maybe if she'd used once, twice, she'd be able to get back to life. But she had a few scabs on her chin, dry lips and dry eyes. She was hungry. Lull could tell. She had deep brown hair in a high ponytail, unwashed for four or five days. Her eyes, however, were bright. She had glasses. She probably still laughed sometimes. There was no point in talking to her.

"Right." Lull looked at the man, putting his hands in his pockets. "I need some serious shit. Anything that'll fuck people up who're on coke. And I need it all disguised as reversers."

The man raised his eyebrows.

"You'll hear about it. Can you do what I said?"

The man nodded. "Might have to get a few other labs on it too, if you want lots."

Lull shrugged agreement.

"Get on with it, then I'll see if I need some more of you tossers on-task."

The man shrank back into the recesses of the building, leaving Cow alone with the girl. He lit a cigarette and for the first few drags didn't acknowledge her. But he could tell she was sizing him up. No matter how mad she might be, there was no doubting he weighed three times what she did. That hungry look in her eyes told Lull that money was the forefront of her mind.

Of course it was.

It always was.

"Haven't met you before have I," he said, taking the cigarette from his lips.

Head shake.

"Know who I am?"

Head shake.

"What's your name?"

She parted her lips for the first time. They were dry, chapped. It wasn't cold outside. Looked like she chewed them. She probably chewed them while he was talking to the guy. He just didn't notice.

"Alice," she said.

"Alice," Lull repeated. "Mm. This place isn't exactly a Wonderland is it. How old are you, 12?"

"I'm 22. Almost 23."

"Jesus. White rabbit did you dirty. You know what, I could do you a favour. If you like."

Eye twitch.

"I've got something I could give you. Make your life less pathetic."

Lull raised his eyebrow at her. Her eyes had suddenly wettened, but she wasn't crying. It was the wetness of the hunt, an eagerness.

So he pulled out a gun, the handgun he carried with him pretty much always. Permanently loaded, always ready. It'd taken lives with him.

"I'd be doing you a favour if I just..." he pointed the gun at her. Right at her head. Forehead, square, boom, "put you out of your misery... Would you like me to?"

She shook. He wanted to pull the trigger. He felt like doing it. Just, take the life, clear his head, get her out of here, do her a favour, mercy kill. It'd make him feel better. He wasn't sure why. Do his good deed for the day. If he thought about it hard enough, doing this would be the same as giving to a charity. But instead of giving money to help, he'd be taking one needy person out of the mix.

Same result, either way.

"Know what would happen if I killed you?" Lull said. "Know what would happen? Nothing. Nothing would happen. I'll forget about you within the week, Koola won't give a shit, your... friends here, they'll use you as an excuse to shoot up, and you... well, you'll rot in a ditch somewhere where they dump you. Will your parents cry? Or do they not care about you? Or is this your choice? Is this life your choice?"

He tucked the gun away.

"I'm not going to be so kind, Alice. I'll let the drugs kill you. I'll lose no sleep over it. What's your poison, meth? H? Crack?"

She took a step away from him. Still shaking. Eyes dry. Mouth dry. Skin oily. All on an attractive face. It was a shame.

"Fuck it," Lull put the cigarette in his mouth and waved her away with a snarl. "Get out of my sight. Go and kill yourself in the back somewhere. Fuck off."

He didn't look at her as she stumbled away, just put a hand to his head. He had a headache. Something needed to give. And soon. He took another drag.

 

[Mr_DC]

Violet was going through her mental notebook in the back of her limo. It was a technique she forced herself to learn when she was getting far too old her mind to handle. Every bit of information she acquired was thought on, categorized, and then filed. Even that would, with time, fail. She would have to adapt and pick another form. Evolve.
The power games she played in Epsilon's underworld required a lot more attention than leading her corporation. Violet, however, would never go back. If not for the enemies on their pedestals around Epsilon, her life would be even duller than it already was. She enjoyed being challenged and it was satisfying, if easy, to show off her strength. All of those enemies started with one mistake. They all thought she was just like them.

"And miss Baldwin?" Millie asked, jotting down notes in an actual, physical notebook. She would never need to be as cautious with her mind as Violet. Still, the girl was smart. Names, dates, locations, tasks, they were all coded. It was just notes and hints in the form of anything from shopping lists to diary entries serving to jog her memory.
Violet smiled when Millie's ice, blue eyes looked up at her mistress. The girl was hungry for information. Starving for advice and instructions, she was nothing like the classic zima. She didn't just take orders and act on them, even if that was the act she put up in front of others. Millie devoured any additional bit of information Violet would give her and remember to write it down if they didn't have privacy.

"Chloe isn't as aggressive." Violet continued, looking back out the tinted window as Millie immediately started writing. "The only hostile act from her lately is hiking up the prices for our targeted apartment complexes."

Chloe Baldwin was an anomaly on the Epsilon scene. She played a dangerous game that went against all major players. EICA, the autocracy, Law Enforcement, Military Police, loyalists... They would all have strung her up if she showed her hand a moment too soon or too late. Even Violet who saw through what she was doing decided to allow the proper authorities to handle it on their own, not seeing her for the threat that she truly was. A charismatic young girl, Chloe began uniting citizens in various tiny, unconnected groups. Building maintenance teams, nature walks groups, open-air yoga classes. Everyone was too busy with the rebels to care but it wasn't long before Chloe had a large following of people willing to do whatever she proposed. Her story would have ended there with a tragic car accident or overdose if she hadn't picked her side there and then. Asking for a meeting with One - and being allowed to meet only Victor Black - Chloe offered to sway her people to approve of whatever the government wanted.
And so, Chloe became an Epsilon VIP. The first, and only, citizen representative. The old guard in the VIP circle shunned her at first but with a demonstration of how easily she could get major swaths of the population to boycott certain goods, relations warmed.

"It's annoying, yes, but we end up with a lot of people who are ecstatic we didn't low-ball them. They appreciate us." Turning back to Millie, Violet smirked. "If they appreciate us, they buy from us."
"I actually like her." Millie looked out the window as well, frowning in thought. "She doesn't treat me like a waitress. Or like I'm not even there."
"Chloe isn't as elitist as the rest of us." Violet noted, examining her protege. "She does have a knack of winning over the common man. But be careful, my dear, she-"
"Is only nice because she needs something." Millie smiled. An expression of deep satisfaction on her face. "I know you're the only one in that room who has my best interests in mind."
Violet almost groaned with delight. Millie was something else. She wasn't like the rest of her staff members. Millie wasn't loyal out of dependency. She was loyal out of love. Every time Millie showed it, Violet could barely contain herself.

She smirked, observing her star student. There was well over an hour before she had to arrive at the opening. They could take the scenic route.
"Yes. I. Do." Violet whispered as she slid over.

 

[Mr_DC]

Violet stepped out of the limo with a look of deep satisfaction. Right behind her was Millie who was busy fixing her uniform. Whenever her role shifted from being Violet's lover to being her bodyguard, Millie made sure to wear her law enforcement uniform. Not only did it give her the proper authority, but it also conveyed how much power Violet truly had. If anyone wanted to get to Violet, they would have to go through her bodyguard and if anything happened to a member of the law enforcement, hell would bring down the door of the culprit.

Violet looked around after thanking her driver for holding the door open for her. The production center was prepared well. The exposition area in the front of the factory where most guests would congregate, the factory area behind it where the product was prepared and where a select few would be given a tour, and the farms further back.
The security of the exposition area was relatively lax; The event was invite-only and none of the guests were militantly opposed to Ecstasy Trust. Most of the security forces, however, were concentrated in hydroponic farms. It was the key to her unique product and the longer she kept it exclusive, the larger her profit would be. Still, with the facility still being under construction, a lot of workers moved from one site to the other.

"The things you do to me..." Violet whispered to Millie and slid her hand up to the back of the zima's neck. She watched one of the executives in charge of the project make his way over. "How about" Violet whispered, taking the opportunity before she would have to talk about business. "We have some fun with the staff back home."
Millie, trying to keep up a professional posture while melting from Violet's fingers playing on the back of her neck, looked up hopefully. "All of them?"
"If you insist." She winked and quickly looked up at the executive. "Mr. Berba. It is always a pleasure to see you." She offered a hand to the well-dressed executive who immediately kissed it. "Miss Violet, please, call me Robert."
"Mr. Berba, I would be delighted to call you whatever you desire when we are not on official duties but, I'm afraid, we have to stay professional. For now, at least." She wooed the man and headed to the exposition area, followed by Millie on one side and Robert on the other.

Getting a hold on himself, Robert quickly began briefing his boss. "The security has been instructed to handle the exposition entrance and a few of them have been assigned to the parking lot. Most of the security in the exposition area will stay focused on keeping you split from everyone else and managing your visitors. Some security guards will be dispersed throughout the area in case some of the guests get aggressive but the entertainment staff serving our product and offering services will mainly handle monitoring and summoning security."
Violet's silence signaled approval so Robert continued. "We also pulled some strings so there are two MP platoons on standby in case the rebels try something. If there's a major problem, we can even pull an entire company but that would have to be something serious." He explained, wringing his hands as he obediently followed Violet while she explored the exposition area.
"We also have one medical team on site but the entertainment staff will try to moderate offered dosage to avoid overdoses. It's just a precaution. We don't expect injuries so if the rebels do attack... We are underprepared there." He was anxious to admit but the marketing team decided having a high presence of medical teams would send the wrong message.

Violet finally stopped. The exposition area didn't feel exactly exclusive nor luxurious but the limited number of guests with controlled access to her should raise the class. The prevailing color was, of course, purple. Purple table cloths, purple tents, purple napkins. Violet pulled a purple flower from the bouquet spread on the table. "Perfect." She concluded. "I think it will go well." She looked at Robert, giving him an approving nod. "Just instruct the entertainment staff to keep the product coming. These people are connoisseurs so there is no worry of them overdosing." She dismissed the concerns, putting the flower back. "I don't want them to see an empty plate. It wouldn't look good."
"Yes, miss Violet." Robert made a mental note to pass on the instructions to the staff.
"Other than that, it is perfect. You did a terrific job, Mr. Berba." She gave the man a smile, enhancing her effect to make the man feel satisfied. "Perhaps we can go for a drink if this goes well. A celebration." She offered while not having the slightest intention of enjoying the man. He had nothing interesting to offer her. Nothing she hadn't experienced hundreds of times already.
Flustered, Robert scratched the back of his head. "Thank you, miss Violet." He chuckled.
Violet looked towards her limo. Her driver and a security guard were keeping a close eye on it. Other guests would come soon. "Could you get the entertainment staff? I think we can begin."

 

[Mr_DC]

Nika Desh sat in the shade of one of the buildings as her team carried out their daily exercise. They had the privilege of being stationed in Epsilon's most significant base - Fort Shark. The base wasn't tasked only with protecting Prime and, thus, the autocracy but it also housed the only weapons of mass destruction that existed on Epsilon. At least, those were the stories. They all took their primary duty seriously. Since they were so close to Prime, they responded to any serious incident and occasionally carried out patrols of the city.
The base itself had several military buildings and some administrative offices but the center of the base held a vast bunker complex with many levels accessible only to the highest-ranking officials. It was a point of pride for Desh to serve in the famous fort. She took her position and duty extremely seriously and made sure that any fresh trooper appreciated what it meant.

Desh sharpened her combat axe which was the staple weapon of her squad. Being used almost exclusively in urban combat scenarios, the squad needed a good utility weapon. After much deliberation, it was decided on the military axe as Desh was already extremely proficient with the weapon. She usually sat out those pieces of training but actively watched for any corrections in style.

This time, though, she couldn't focus on her squad and their training. Something else was worming through her mind. Thorn's behavior the previous night put a strain on her relationship with Tethys. While she didn't know if Tethys felt the same, Desh always saw Tethys as her protege. The girl had promise. She was a diamond which wasn't even that rough. She was someone that could be relied on and that was invaluable. Tethys, however, didn't approve of protecting Thorn's actions.
Desh understood. After all, years ago, Desh would feel the same way. Since then, though, Desh began viewing Epsilon differently. Her values changed. While she still maintained the importance of honor, she didn't expect the same from other people.

Her blue eye scanned the edge of her blade. Perfectly sharp. It was one of the main lessons she taught to her squad.
She would have to speak to Tethys. Be direct and justify her actions. If necessary, apologize as well. Most importantly, though, she would have to warn the girl to be warry of the Ecstasy Trust CEO. That private talk didn't sit well with Desh and she wasn't comfortable with one of her favorite soldiers being friendly with Violet. To Desh, the woman was simply evil.

 

[0stinato]

Brass plagues were as common in this corridor as lights. Each one presented the name of the office's inhabitant and their title: Finley Arizona, Financial News Editor; Klaus Sprints, Political News Editor; Kimberly Spenz; Foreign Affairs Editor; Bernadette Horowitz, Editor-in-Chief. This corridor was located in the BraitheBright Broadcasting tower in the First Ring, a high point around the Ring's other high points. It wasn't a memorable tower, but it was attractive, with dark tinted windows from the outside and blocks of light-blue colouring decorating certain areas in that retro-modern style. Bernadette originally hadn't taken to those block-colour panels, but she welcomed them now. The tower was a beacon, something that made her name. Her father had made the Horowitz name known to every second household, and she'd inherited his house after his death. But living in that shadow wasn't enough: her 31-year-old self had something to prove.

She was 52 now, and had proved it. A talented writer and even more talented editor, she knew the colour words had. Some were powerful alone, while some needed the accompaniment of sentences and appropriate punctuation to secure a spot in the mind of even the most docile of readers. But newspapers were in her past. She had honed her critical eye for ten years on visual news, and had done as much to raise BraitheBright Broadcasting as its founder had. She liked to believe so. And she knew Braithe did too. He trusted her. He hand-picked her. He chose her.

He didn't see her anymore. Occasionally she got visits from Yulian Volkovoi, his aide, but never from Braithe himself. That had stopped five years ago. For a few months while she had meetings with Volkovoi she didn't mention it. But finally she did. Why did Braithe not come here anymore? Volkovoi's reply had that tone of undeniability to it, and his smile softened the edges.

"He's not fit to travel much."

It was equivocation, it was saying something but hiding another thing, it was being economical with the truth. Something else was going on with him, Bernadette was certain. His visits hadn't wound down, interspersed with Volkovoi. They had just stopped. At one meeting, Volkovoi wheeled Braithe in. At the next, Volkovoi came alone.

It wasn't Volkovoi she was suspicious of: the man was accommodating and friendly enough, and she suspected his intellect was pinned comfortably below hers. Braithe, however, became a question mark. For about 8 months she took special attention of everything Volkovoi said, going so far as to keep a dictaphone on record when he visited, hidden within a drawer of her desk. Any memo sent by Braithe she analysed against his previous ones. There was a pattern only fit to be described as degradation.

When he'd picked her out and invited her for an interview, his correspondence had been affluent and detailed, constructed with complex sentences punctuated by shorter quips. It was charming, if blunt in some areas. Reading emails from him was always a delight to her narrative eye, even if they spoke of the most mundane of tasks that had to be completed by her hand. But now, they were short, very blunt and read like a single bullet point.

She had one of these waiting for her. It was sent encrypted, so she ran it through the software Braithe had paid for and read the resulting message.

As she did, she scowled at the screen.

"All other news companies will experience a temporary spike in attention. BraitheBright will experience a drop, but we will maintain our course."

That was it. A fortune teller's prediction, the news that the company under her active hand would lose viewers, attention, and, as a result, BraitheBright would lose money and influence. A news channel was only as good as the news it told, and getting to that news often required a certain level of gravitas within the appropriate community. An unspoken Catch-22 of the industry.

BraitheBright had a position to fight for, and it was a constant war, one Bernadette had served in for all these years. She kept it more than afloat. She kept it successful, steered its prow through the murkiest depths, plundered and pilfered all news, decided what was necessary and threw the rest overboard.

Her opinion had been thrown off with the cargo every time.

She couldn't argue against the memo sent to her. It came from the top. All she could do was relay the information to the rest of the company. That would involve numerous emails, meetings and a company-wide seminar.

She took a sip of her tea, sweetened to counteract the bitterness, and unlocked her phone. She would send the email, organise the meetings and pitch for a seminar later. She had an old contact to call up first.

 

[0stinato]

The woman knew how to co-ordinate. Everything was edged with, set off by, and included the colour purple. Even the tents and gazebos sported the colour. They were high-quality materials, the sort that wouldn't stain by contact with thin air, like every other gazebo Lull had ever seen, nor would they ruffle madly in the slightest breeze. The atmosphere was that of a tea party, but tea and scones weren't on the menu. Instead, each table was weighted with silver trays so pristine that the reflection of a face would dirty it. Each try was topped with a dome. Servants stood around, no doubt to whip the domes off as the party began.

Lull didn't like this. He was prepared with everything he could possibly need. Two handfuls of small-scale smoke bombs, coloured purple for ease of blending into this landscape, two combat pistols, some personal Reversers and his fake Reversers. When he had compared a fake to a real, they had been indistinguishable. A hound or a piece of scientific equipment would be needed to test the things, and neither were on site as far as Lull could see. A sickly overdose of benzos crammed into the thin sugar-shell of a Reverser. To someone unacquainted with benzos, even this could be a deadly dose. And, when paired with cocaine...

Drawing out the invitation gave Lull a moment to survey his surrounding people. He knew which ones were more likely to take the Reversers. News people, bloggers, politicians, VIPs with a review to give, they would all have to return to a state of sobriety at some point. But those who wanted a good time wouldn't be likely to take one. They wouldn't have to. They didn't have a report to give nor a place to be. They could revel in their euphoric state. At least, that was what Lull hoped coke did to the brain. Euphoria.

He'd have to take some. He knew he would. A guest coming to the party and not taking the item specifically laid out would be immediately flagged by the security gathered around. He would have to bide his time, choose a metal straw, and introduce his nose to the drug.

He was sure his nose could take it. It was large enough, after all.

The invitation was everything he despised. Pointless, pandering, unnecessary, over-produced, glitzy, popish, stinking and completely capitalist. And he wasn't even sure why he thought it was capitalist. It just seemed that way. Light purple paper, black calligraphy, perfumed purple signature. Capitalist. Probably. Felt it. Smelt it. There was no alternative. At least it'd be destroyed before sunset today, along with any trace of Lull's infiltration. The only issues after that would be superficial: Lull's face would have been seen by everyone, and remembered by, he guessed, almost everyone. Pink hair framing a skull-tatted visage wasn't hard to remember. He just had to hope his protection under Koola would be enough to ward off any extreme countermeasures. And, at least for now, he was fairly anonymous. He worked for Koola sure, but hadn't shown his face in the big leagues til now. Violet - surely - didn't know who he was.

And even if she did, it didn't matter. The job currently on the table required only the finest sleight-of-hand. Take with one hand, give with another.

He'd have to interact with others too. Here and there were newspeople, each one armed with a microphone and flanked by a posse of cameras. He'd not be able to hide himself from a camera. Oh - but he was getting too intricate. Just act natural. It didn't matter, after all.

There was someone he could target. A youngish man, maybe late 20s, wearing a jacket that was clearly too big for him and a tie that was wrinkled in all the wrong places. Lull didn't know that a tie could be wrinkled, but this man had changed that. Clearly, didn't look comfortable. But he held a smile between his colourless lips, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the edge of the invitation.

Lull approached him, purpose growing with every step.

"You look like you belong here as well as I do," he muttered, raising an eyebrow to extend the wit that might be lost in the rust of his voice.

"Oh... I got an invitation," he said, holding it up. His voice was lower than Lull anticipated.

"So did everyone here, that's not what I mean... never been to one of these before, have you?"

The guy shrugged, "I went to a wine-tasting last month. And a gin-tasting a month before that. I'm not new to this sort of thing. My father, actually, got the invite but he couldn't go, so I came instead."

"Who's your father?"

"Darrel Firm, big name in pharmaceuticals."

Lull blinked. "Sure."

"I'm set to inherit all of it one day, so he's urging me to get my PR on board. You wouldn't believe how much of society life is just... hanging around richer people."

"Yeah."

"What about you, what're your creds? What arena do you play in? What industry are you in? By the looks of you, probably pleasure?"

What the fuck did that mean?

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Just saying, you look like you live for yourself, no one else, you know, anyone tells you to go to the gym, why should you, it's your life. Dunno what to think about your tattoo though. But you must be a decent guy. I'm gonna guess pleasure industry. Lots of people here are from the pleasure industry, they would be, new drug on the market and all. Do you own a den or a bar or something?"

The time had come to bullshit, and Lull had to do it fast.

This had been a mistake.

"No, no. I tend to invest in them. Drug bars I mean. If I can smell one is doing well, I'll pump a bit of money in, secure some equity, work with them a bit." Yeah, that all sounded good enough. "I was glad to be invited, coke could really expand the market."

The guy nodded, a rather sage nod, a rather princely nod. "It's going to be expensive though, considering it's so new. But, I'm glad we're able to cultivate it here, finally. Ecstasy is going a great job of that."

"Yeah."

"A complete monopoly on coke is so valuable. Every other company is going to have a hell of a time trying to keep up. Best get in with the Trust while you can, eh? Especially the businesses you're invested in, eh?"

"Yeah... I'll... I'll see what friends I can make here."

"Best do it sooner rather than later," the guy smirked. "Or maybe wait til someone you've got your eye on is high, pull promises out of them. Just make sure to write things down. Even a napkin can be a contract with the right terms on it."

The smirk wasn't pleasant. It was serpentine. Lull expected that narrow black tongue to come flicking out from between those colourless lips any second, tasting the air for someone high or drunk enough to take advantage of financially.

He was out of his depth.

"Mm well," he put his hands in his pockets. "Ethics in business isn't exactly the way forward."

"You have to have some ethics... just have to choose the right ones."

"Guess so. Well, cheers for the warning. I'm not going to be signing anything you might offer me, though."

The guy gave a dry-throated chuckle. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you that method eh? Keep it to yourself, man. You seem decent."

The man offered his hand to shake.

Something immediately spiked in Lull's brain. Don't touch him, do not touch him, something bad will happen if you shake his hand. He might have some sort of device in his palm, send you to sleep, tranquillise you, kill you. Or a patch, like a nicotine patch, skin-coloured, it'll kill you. Or he'll realise you're bluffing.

So Lull offered a fist. The guy's smirk grew but deteriorated in friendliness, of which there wasn't a lot to begin with. He went for the fistbump.

With a twitch of his eyebrow, Lull moved on, determined to never lock eyes with that man again.

That sort of conversation wasn't one he could excel in. Lull knew nothing about business, nothing about the economy, nothing about the industries of Epsilon and even less about cocaine. Weaving that shallow story was all he had. Investing in drug dens? Was that viable? Surely it wasn't, why would a drug den need an investor?

He gritted his teeth, silencing that part of his brain that was determined to overthink, and sidled across to a table. One hand would take the Reversers, the other would drop in some benzos.

He dipped his hand into a pocket in his cargo trousers and grabbed a pinch of them. His little secret weapon, his little sabotage. The little way to show the Ecstasy Trust that things... weren't all roses and poppies for them. His other hand scooped the white Reversers from the neat square box, and he covered himself by taking one there and then. Pre-emptive attempt to not get too high from the cocaine. Then, with taps so soft they couldn't be heard over the sound of his own swallowing, he let the benzos go.

One down.

Who knows how many left to go.

People were getting their noses involved, chatter was high and spirits were positive. Lull moved away from that table, scanning each one for a fresh metal straw. He wasn't about to shove someone's herpes-ridden straw up his nose - could herpes be transferred like that? - so he wanted a fresh one.

He chose a table surrounded by the fewest patrons and made his way over. Some looked at him with interest, others with distrust. He offered an amiable query and a half-smile.

"Is it as good as I hear?"

They smirked, indicating the person currently penetrated nasally by stainless steel. Lull watched them. He could almost feel their experience, the sharp edge of the straw against the septum, the thin powder shooting up, threatening their sinus, coating the inside of their nasal cavity, nostril turned white with substance. Where was the romance in that? How was this romanticised to that extent? It was true he'd just come from a string of cooking houses, run-down and surviving on desperation alone, but that was the Koola way. Ecstasy probably had labs, white-walled labs with marble floors, sinks within arms' reach of each other, working plumbing, disinfectant.

The man taking the stuff straightened up, and was immediately accosted by a news crew, asking all the usual questions an expectant addict might have.

Lull shuffled behind the camera, drawing close to an untouched straw. The white line was laid out there for him, ready for inhalation. But first... swipe Reversers with one hand, drop benzos with the other.

He picked up the straw. He drew a wipe from his pocket, ran it down the length, then let it drop to the floor. He leaned down to the line. He debated which nostril to use, and ultimately close the right one - his septum was squint, the result of a broken nose somewhere in his childhood, and the result was that his right nostril was far narrower than the left. It'd take longer, he reckoned, for the cocaine to enter his system. He took a breath. He let it out. He did the line.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Hand off the gun." Millie heard a melodic whisper from her right. "You're my companion, not a guard." Feeling a pinch of annoyance with herself, Millie clasped her hands behind her back as naturally as she could. Whenever she was on duty, her hand always hovered around the handgun on her hip. Of course, Violet had a point. The image they were trying to build for Millie was that of a socialite rather than a bodyguard even if that was her job. "Go work the crowd. See if you can catch someone." Violet teased.
"Mr. Ryan." Violet said softly as she offered a hand to an aged gentleman who was allowed into her area of the reveal. The man was old but his eyes were full of life. He was a member of the upper classes Violet invited to portray cocaine as a luxury item.
Millie never liked his kind. They always looked down on her even after all the introductions Violet would give. She wasn't born into wealth nor did she earn it. She was adjacent. That made her beneath them even though her name was more famous than some of them.

Millie passed the purple velvet rope and was among the guests who weren't deemed worthy of meeting Violet face-to-face. Most of them were various online celebrities and journalists who counted themselves lucky to be invited to an Ecstasy Trust event. While she didn't know anyone specific, she knew the type. Ecstasy events were peaceful so she always took it upon herself to get to know the people coming to them. It was a grinding point between the pair and a lesson that Millie never seemed to take in. Exclusivity. People were meant to come to her, not the other way around.

She looked around. Her eyes darted from one guest to the other, examining expressions, clothes, movements. There was one journalist frantically looking around, scribbling note after note on his datapad. It was the behavior of a few reporters who arrived. Whatever effect Violet's new drug had, it clearly also gave people a lot of energy. If it was any other company, Millie would be on edge. Ecstasy, however, ran plenty of tests. There was no risk of anyone going berserk.
Millie frowned. Her body disagreed with her assessment. Her hand was on her hip again, her finger resting on the barrel of the gun. Giving a quick look over her shoulder, Millie relaxed her posture and began gliding through the crowd, examining the guests. Suits, casual outfits, ball gowns even. A few purple eyes in the crowd - Violet's misdirection campaign was working perfectly. One man caught her eye, however.
A scrawny, young man with jet black hair, countless earrings, and several piercings. His outfit was woefully mismatched but still revealed plenty of tattoos beneath. He wasn't the type Violet would allow by her side on photo ops but the fact that he was there meant he was likely more important than anyone else.

Rolling her shoulders to get the tension out, Millie began making her way towards him, feeling drawn by curiosity. As she got further away from her mistress, Millie could focus more on the other smells her sharp nose picked up. Perfume, sweat, perfume, perfume, cologne, propellant.
Millie abruptly stopped. She took another deep breath. Standard grade, not home-made. She looked to her side and fought back a scowl. Corporate security. They must have recently fired their guns, the scent sticking to their uniforms. Trying to get relaxed again, Millie continued.

Alcohol - the young man must have come straight from a bar. Smoke - she must have lit something up on her way here to relax. Chemicals - the pink-haired man was probably given a tour of the factory. Perfume and... Sex - they must have used the opportunity on the way to the reveal as well. Perfume - Ecstasy Enchant. Whenever she smelled it, it lured a smile onto Millie's face. It was a copy of Violet's pheromones but it missed that special something. The uniqueness that Violet alone possessed.

"Hello." Millie said, sliding up to the alternative-looking man. She was overly focused to keep her hand away from her handgun.
Slowly, the man turned, his black eyes looking Millie over. He was shorter up close but so were most people when compared to a Zima. "Yes, officer?" He asked in a voice much deeper than she expected. It was as if his speech was artificially slowed down.
Millie decided to practice. She mimicked Violet's entrancing smirk to the best of her ability but with her own twist. While Violet could give a person the feeling like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, Millie took on a more predatory approach, inviting her target on an adventure. "Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked, shifting her weight to one leg and putting her hand on that hip - the one without a gun. She looked over him again. He wasn't anxious in the slightest. It was as if he was in his own living room.

The man blinked, slightly confused and taken aback. "I-I guess. Did I do something wrong, officer?" As he spoke, Millie focused on him further. No smell of narcotics or alcohol. No perfume. He was clean, almost perfectly so. Not even the smell of food.
Millie clenched her teeth, inadvertently making her smirk sharper. It was the damn uniform. Of course, he thought she was there on business. "Not yet." Millie teased, giving him a wink. The crinkle of his brow almost made Millie roll her eyes. She would have to go all-in. "I'm coming on to you." She explained with a short chuckle.
"Ooh." The man suddenly relaxed and even worked up a smile. "I apologize." He laughed in a deep murmur. "Yeah... Perhaps I could do something wrong..."
Millie showed her finest grin, satisfied with the outcome of her hunt. That was all she needed. She wasn't as interested in having the man as she was in getting him in the first place. She needed to prove to Violet that the lessons were paying off.

 

[0stinato]

Tethys stood at the firing range, taking up spot number 5 of 10. The rest were taken up by some promising young soldiers she had taken a shine to. She preferred to groom these little seedlings privately and personally, and often took a few hours out of her day to round them up and bring them in. She wanted them better than she was.

But her rifle's nose wasn't behaving itself. She would have moments of violent accuracy, shredding target after target through the middle. Then, she would waver, losing her touch. She kept her frustrations inside, feeling like a gambler trying to find his sweet spot, trying to get on the updraft of luck. Accuracy wasn't about luck, it was about consistency.

Her mind was wandering. Wandering to the job she had to do and how she was going to pull it off. She could use her connections so far - she was trusted, loyal, determined and, most importantly, curious. She liked to ask questions. She just needed something to come up naturally, a question to bubble up from a conversation and make itself known to her. A way in.

She pushed the thought from her mind, steadying her pistol and emptying the clip into the target. Straight shots, accurate shots. Evaluating the targets of those around her, Tethys could see her training was paying off. Accuracy levels would be much higher. She would have to access the targeting programme to see exactly how each of her soldiers was doing, but so far she was pleased with them. She laid her gun down and called them over. A few commented on how short their session with her had been, but she just laughed.

"I don't think any of us need to waste time wiv shooting anymore eh? You're all doing real well like. I'll have a look at your accuracy reports a bit later, but anyway, I don't wanna just keep you all here when clearly none of you need it. If any of you want a bevvy, I'll be in the pub this evening."

"You sure you will be?" one of her soldiers asked. At her raised eyebrow, he explained. "Well, you've said that before, but the accuracy of your prediction is only about 50%."

Mirth spread through the cluster, and Tethys capped it with an uproarious laugh.

"Guess I got to work on that 'en I? Well, alright, I'll try to be there this evening. Honestly I need to get good and pissed. Now shoo, off with ya. Oh, actually, someone put the guns away? Probably shouldn't just leave them lying around."

A couple of soldiers began collecting the guns together, sparking a chat between them.

With a couple more quips, she headed towards the door that led out of the range. The sun greeted her as she exited, and she knew if she didn't keep to the shade she'd be sweating in her uniform within half an hour. At least, she thought as she picked up her pace, the light colour of her hair kept away the worst of it aimed at her head. If her hair was still black, as was natural for her, she'd be cooking already.

Desh was her first move.



Tethys found the woman exactly where she expected to, given her schedule. She cut across the sunlight, yelling an encouraging few words at her friend's squad, and came to a stop in front of her.

"If it weren't so hot out, maybe I'd do a bit of running or sommit. But hey ho, far too hot out here. Bring on the rain, I say." She took a seat by Desh and stretched. "God. That whole bar thing, we haven't actually talked about it, have we? I dunno if we should... if you have different opinions about what I did, I'm not sure I wanna hear them. But, you know, thanks for supporting me on it. I suppose I'm just... a bit wary at the moment. Was the guy a rebel, was he just someone Thorn pissed off... who knows. Probably not worth speculating on. But yeah, the whole thing kind of got me to realise that I'm... not the best at knowing what's going on around me. I'm not as involved with things as I should be, especially as I want to keep risin' through the ranks here, y'know?"

She folded her arms.

"Honestly, same goes for Moscur... but he's not perceptive because he's got bare brains, and always has sommit going on in his 'ead. Gets distracted by 'is own mind, y'know? For me, it's just 'cause... well, I dunno. But yeah, I just want to know what's going on more. Just be aware of things. Do you reckon that's the right thing to do to... you know, catch someone's eye for a bit of-" she hoiked her thumb upwards, "promotion?"

She finished the question with a cheeky smile, raising an eyebrow as she waited for Nika to respond.

 

[0stinato]

The Reverser he'd taken before didn't feel like it was even working. He'd taken it as a precaution so as to not get too high during the hit, but here he was, soaring, stimulated, wide-eyed, and trying desperately to remember which Reverser boxes he'd already messed with. He needed another one. Needed it. Otherwise he might make a mistake: he might be too obvious, too loose-tongued. He needed another one. Another Reverser, another clean Reverser. If he fucked up, took his own benzo pill, OD'd himself, it'd make for a great cover-up, but he'd also die, be discovered - his cargo trousers would certainly spill their contents if he was to keel over - which would lead to-- to-- to Koola, right? It'd lead investigators right to Koola.

Though this whole operation would likely put Koola in the spotlight for suspicion anyway, but suspicion was different to confirmation.

Oh, but who cared about her? If she tried to make cocaine, it'd be dreadful anyway. Useless bitch. He should just abandon her now, announce his plot to one of Violet's guards, be declared a hero for saving so many lives, pretend he was an undercover agent all along, and he had to plant those benzos or else Koola would have him killed - there are snipers watching his every move, he'd say, because it's Koola, of course there are - and Violet would take him in and let him have all the best drugs in the city. He'd be treated like the pet of a queen, opium available to him whenever he wanted it.

He'd get away with it too, he knew. He was a good liar. He was so good, he'd begin to believe his own lies.

Lull let himself down slowly into a chair. It was much more comfortable than it looked from the outside, upholstered with - of course - purple materials. Felt good to sit in. He loosened his collar a bit, finding the entire tent to be stuffy all of a sudden. Heavy materials in bright weather, and he was dressed in dark colours just to finish the ensemble of discomfort. Sweat would come, perspiration was imminent. He'd just have to take it. He wouldn't be the only one sweating in this tent. Then he closed his eyes.

He had to be careful.

He'd read about the effects of cocaine. He had to use it to his advantage. Be alert, aware, and fit in with the other white-nostrilled individuals chatting in too-loud voices. Blend in, but don't say anything stupid, don't do anything stupid, and don't-- don't, uh, lose bowel control. That was a side effect he remembered reading. But he'd smoked opium numerous times, which was known to have a - how to say this nicely - loosening effect. He'd never suffered that to a rigorous extent. He'd be fine with the coke.

Retracing his steps would help. This wasn't weed: it wouldn't take his memory away bit by bit the higher he got. He came in through that tent flap there, talked to the son of Darrel Firm - whoever the hell that was - and started replacing Reversers with benzos-- yes, he knew where he was. There were tables still to be hit.

He got to his feet, feeling much lighter than his heavy body usually allowed, and rolled his shoulders. He'd strike up a conversation somewhere along the way, hopefully hold it long enough to keep himself out of trouble, after making a couple of hits on the Reverser trays. He headed towards one of them, head up and eyes open. The lids weren't slouched over to create that half-moon stare anymore: he was stung with energy.

There was a table with a couple of people waiting their turn for the metal straws, watching people currently using them. Lull clasped a pinch of benzos, and-- swipe, drop, tuck the Reversers away, while pretending to take one.

"God," he muttered after swallowing hard. "Hit me more than I thought it would... though I'm not often one for stimulants. But still - can't come to a cocaine launch and not try it, can you?"

"Is it that good?" one of the people waiting asked him. Petite man, well-educated accent. Sweater vest. Tie. Sweater vest? Yes - but why? Who wore sweater vests these days? Or ever? What was he doing?

"Uh, yeah, sure, as I said, I don't do stimulants. But you know what, I feel like I could... run at least 50 metres. Maybe 51 if I'm lucky. And, ordinarily, I barely feel like I can walk up a flight of stairs." Was he calling himself fat? He was - why was he doing that? Self-deprecation, was that the price to fit in around here? To make someone laugh, throw them off the trail? This guy wasn't even on his trail. Why was he talking to the guy? Was he attractive or something? Well, he was a bit attractive. Look better without the sweater vest on though. "You more used to them? Oh."

Lull stopped as the guy held up a finger as he took the straw from one of the servants that had wiped it down with what looked like a pipe cleaner and a purple cloth. The small man plugged one nostril with the straw, held the other closed with his finger, and hoovered up a line.

"You'd expect it to be dyed purple wouldn't you," Lull said. He couldn't stop. He had to talk. He was just saying anything now. Words came into his head and trotted off his tongue, and God was his tongue moving flawlessly. Not a stutter, not a mispronounced syllable. "Why don't you guys dye it purple?" he addressed the servant. "Would that interfere with the... chemicals? I don't know. Why don't you?"

"Are you enjoying it, sir?" the servant said, smiling hazily at him.

"Dunno. I think so. I wish I wasn't because it seems like an expensive habit to have, you know?"

"There are payment plans we can set up, sir."

"Oh don't say that, you'll just tempt me."

"For a limited time, there will also be offers for new people signing up to a monthly payment plan," she said.

"I said stop! Please. I can't maintain a coke habit in my schedule, are you kidding? I already have opium in my life, I can't cheat on that." What the hell was he saying? "Coke is, like, a whole 'nother thing. No more talk about payment plans, shh. Please. Shut up."

The servant nodded slightly with a half-smile and turned to clean another straw.

"Dude, I had a Reverser earlier, before I even snorted this, and I'm still high as fuck," Lull said to the small man who had thrust his head back.

"Yeah... I should be fine..."

"Yeah yeah. Just warning you." Was he still talking? He'd said more in ten minutes than he did in a whole month sometimes. He just wanted to go on forever, talking coloured words and breathing the air, because the air just tasted so good. It was gold. He could drink it. Heavy and warm and gold, and he was sweating yes, but he didn't care. So was everyone else. And before long everyone else would be sweating when people were dropping and ODing all around him, and then what, all the servants would panic, all the security would go into high gear and he'd be simply a bystander, innocent, just as panicked as them, surely?

He had been putting pills of certain death into silver boxes all night, giving people the ability to accidentally kill themselves at a drug lord's launch, and what did that make him? A demon? A devil? A god? Goddess, as it were? He would be responsible for people losing their loved ones tonight, and that thought got caught in his throat and made him sigh.

Leaving before people started dropping was important. The place might be shut down otherwise.

"This is good," Lull said to the servant who wasn't listening anymore. "You did well."

He wandered off. Five more minutes, then he'd make his getaway. Time to start doing the old act, look at the watch, make a considering face to himself, mutter, "five more minutes," then get back to it.

The drug was good.

Damn it.

 

[Mr_DC]

A smile. Nika felt sad, the weight on her chest pressing down hard but she couldn't help but smile when she saw Tethys, even if it was a short one. Nika cared about all members of her squad but Tethys was closer to a friend than a subordinate. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to have such a talk.

Her smile vanished without a trace once she caught it. It was faint but there. That perfume clinging to her skin, getting lost in her hair. It was impossible to wash off on the first try. She learned that from Millie. No matter how many showers the girl took, there was always that faint smell marking her. Belonging to someone else. Like a pet.
Nika looked at Tethys. It had to be from last night. She just hoped that would be the last time she found it on Tethys. Not another person becoming Violet's pet.

"We... Should talk." Nika finally spoke, laying her axe by her side, passing one finger down the length of the blade as she withdrew her hand. "About Thorn." She added, shaking the frown that involuntarily surfaced from thinking about Violet. Now she was more concerned. Apologetic. She looked away.

"Thorn is an ass. Hell, a monster." Nika sighed. That was not something she could deny. There was little she could defend Thorn on and even less that she could openly talk about. "But she is good for Epsilon. As fucked up as it is, Epsilon can't survive on the shoulders of virtuous people." She quickly placed a hand on her chest, looking back at Tethys. "I try. There are lines I'll never cross!" She looked away again, wringing her hands. "But that doesn't mean I will stop those fewer scruples than me."

Nika paused. The pause between words turned to silence. It was difficult to keep going. Keep defending and explaining. But she wasn't defending Thorn. She was defending herself. Explaining her actions. Inactions.

"Thorn..." Nika took in a deep breath. She exhaled. "The things she does, she does for Epsilon. She does little for herself. If anything. Like me." A weak shrug. "We have a job and we do it. For Epsilon."

Slowly, she turned to look at Tethys. This time, she looked more determined. "Violet doesn't." She warned. "Violet... She is rich and powerful and can have anything she wants. And she takes what she wants." Placing a hand on Tethys' knee and squeezing gently but not releasing, she continued. "She turns virtuous people into animals who live only for pleasure. Shells of their former selves..." Nika took her hand back and gave a final warning. "Promise me. You won't let her sway you."

 

[Mr_DC]

Millie watched with a smirk as the man - now introduced as Nolan - wrote down his number on a napkin. Only years ago, a scene like that would have been impossible. Millie wouldn't have been able to even imagine herself in a leading role, let alone get a number so easily. That was the thing about Violet, she assumed. The woman aired confidence and it was difficult to stay immune to it and not let it rub off.

"What are you doing aft-" Millie's head snapped to the side following a metallic crashing sound. She wasn't the only one as the noise got the attention of most visitors. Ultimately, it was nothing. Someone used too much and fell over on one of the servants.
Her eyes snapped to her mistress. An amused smile on her face. A short laugh at a comment someone in her inner circle made. But Millie was around her enough to understand the story her eyes told. Violet was annoyed. By the servants for allowing it to happen. By the man for not controlling himself. Perhaps by Millie for not controlling the situation.

As everyone seemed to be getting back to their pleasure, another person collapsed. Then another. A switch flipped in Millie's brain. She was back on duty. She snatched the napkin from Nolan and began weaving through the startled and collapsing guests. If it was a chemical attack or something worse, Millie had no place worrying about them. She was there for one person only.

Boss. Millie mouthed to a couple of corporate security, pointing at Violet. Move. She pointed to the factory. They would escort her away. Millie had to determine the threat.

Some were vomiting, others were knocking into things, some... Just not getting up from the ground. If it was a chemical attack, Millie would feel it. Smell it. She took a deep breath but there was nothing unusual. Just more sweat.

"Get the guests out." She instructed a short servant who seemed way out of her depth. "And call the emergency services." She didn't want to make such a conclusion but she had no choice. "Tell them it's a case of poisoning."

Violet wouldn't be happy but there couldn't have been anything else. Her new drug was simply toxic. Perhaps they got the dosage wrong or maybe it was a poor batch but that was the impression Millie got. That would be the impression everyone got.

With a huff, Millie looked around as people rushed past her. There was nothing she could do.