AS SOON AS THEY WALKED through the entrance, the temperature dropped drastically, so the night was unusually refreshing. Loud noises, bright lights, hurried conversations. The bustling marketplace was alive in a way that felt overstimulating. It came with a pressing reminder of their situation.
The air was thick with the mouthwatering smell of grilled meats and spiced pastries. It looked like it was about to rain, although there were practically no clouds in the sky. Ratelsi absently tapped her fingers on her thigh, counting the rhythmic footsteps scraping the metal road.
Her dark hair ruffled in the breeze, while she could feel the heat from the floating halo orbs above her shoulders. A few strides ahead, Timoth walked with one hand in his pocket and the other carefully balancing bags on his shoulders. He glanced back from time to time to make sure Ratelsi was still close by.
She caught sight of a woman with oaken features and a mane of leafy hair strolling hand in hand with another Peculiar. The guy had his brand emblazoned on the back of his palm and was casually munching on a cream-filled bun. Ratelsi watched them go, her eyes glued to the half-eaten pastry, mouthwatering as she imagined how warm and fluffy it must be.
Licking her lips, she redirected her attention to Timoth, matching his pace. The way she ground her teeth seemed to bring him down a bit. "Quit eyein' other people and look at me." Timoth joked, making a show of studying her from every angle. He reached out and gently turned her face towards his, locking her in his gaze.
"Ah, there you are! Now, what do you say we find Hexoset? I have a feelin' you could use a good pint right about now."
She seized his hand, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "I wasn't staring at anyone, if that's what you think. Do I look paranoid to you?"
"You look ravenous," Timoth chuckled, a teasing glint in his blue eyes as he tugged her closer to steer past a group of Peculiars with marbled patterns on their skin. "Like someone itchin' for more than just food." Holding her gaze, a knowing smirk played on his lips. "So, let's find that pint, hm? Maybe then, you'll spill what's got you so curious."
Her expression darkened as she considered how to respond, but no words came. Tch. She didn't even bother denying it; her irises had already revealed everything. Their amber twinkled with restless energy, drawn to movement, colour, and mystery like moths to flame. Timoth knew that the capsule hidden in her skirt was the real reason behind her craving for adventure, but Ratelsi wasn't going to stroke his ego by admitting that.
Biting her lip hard, she let go of him and walked on purposefully. "Is Hexoset where that scum's waiting?" she asked. Timoth snorted. "If you mean Broco, then yeah, he is a regular there."
"Wanna bet on how much he spends on the strippers per night?" she asked with a cheeky grin.
Timoth mirrored her mirth. "You're on! I'd wager it's at least five hundred quads. The man's an easy target." "Five hundred? What a joke," she scoffed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes dramatically. "More like a thousand. The way he throws his Creds around, he practically keeps that place running."
Their chat flowed effortlessly as they strode down the winding paths of the black market. A playground where all the shady stuff happened. Here, you could score just about anything if you asked the right questions. Even the wrong ones might work, but never too many. Because, c'mon, you wouldn't want to find yourself at the bottom of the river, now would you?
Getting around this sort of place required a certain level of street smarts. You had to have a mental map of exits and safe routes ready to go, because one misstep could turn your night upside down. Those offering the most tempting deals might just be the same folks who'd make sure you didn't return for more.
Trust was in short supply here. All it took was a little suspicion.
Just like the nightclub Hexoset, The Basin housed many treasure troves; Red Light Street with its pleasure houses indulging every hedonistic whims. Spillpits, where Peculiars fought to prove themselves to paying sickfucks who gambled in blood sports. Armsmiths, repair shops, food stalls, The Basin had it all.
But amongst its clandestine activities, only two operators were most prevalent: Mongers and Mercs.
The first were gatekeepers of access, peddling pretty much everything from random junk to stolen weapons, drugs, mutated animals, and most importantly, intel. If you had a talent for being a sleazy piece of shit, then being a Monger was a pretty sweet gig.
Hence, the unspoken rule is never to trust them. Ever!
They were as sketchy as they come, the apex predators in this somehow thriving hotspot for vice. Second to them were the Mercs. If you craved thrills or had a taste for danger, this was your calling. Say delivery runners, miners, bodyguards, escorts - the list goes on and on.
Mercs were freelance operatives, mostly Peculiars, who took on high-risk gigs in The Basin and beyond. Though the gigs varied widely based on the client and contract terms.
However, despite being the second biggest operation, Mercs were still at the bottom of the social ladder, often exploited by Mongers and distrusted by clients. Their Peculiar status was what made them valuable in the first place. And don't fool yourself into thinking Normies weren't at least a little curious about what happened in this underbelly, because oh man, that would be so naïve.
How else would they get a taste of lawlessness without getting their hands dirty?
Most were wealthy folks who'd probably never tasted leftovers in their lives. They paraded in as patrons, or just curious clients looking to indulge in whatever erotic and bizarre shit this black market had to offer. Y'know, the usual fun stuff. It wasn't uncommon to see them flinging Creds around for the oddest schemes you wouldn't find in Balun.
It's not like they had to worry about ticking off street scanners or raising an alarm with the Watchdogs at checkpoints. That's what Mercs were hired for. To be the shield and sword for those with money but no guts.
Still, it took three to tango in this dance of dubious dealings: Mongers needed Mercs to handle the heavy work, while Mercs relied on Mongers for gigs. Both groups depended on client demands to keep the Basin's ecosystem running. It was a well-oiled machine of transactional dependency where trust issues abounded, but everyone knew their role and worked to maintain the status quo.
Tonight was a big night for the two Mercs, about to wrap up their six-month contract with Broco Aqqa. Finally, fi-na-lly, they wouldn't have to deal with that balding puss of a boss anymore.
Freedom was tantalizingly close, Ratelsi thought as she ducked under some leopard skins hanging from a Monger's kiosk.
She scooped a jelly cube out of a plastic cup she was holding. It wobbled awkwardly in the crook of her finger, barely holding its shape. "This jelly looks kinda….pale," Ratelsi said, eyeing the dessert skeptically. "And why's it a bit sticky? Is that normal?"
Timoth sighed resignedly. "It's just one of those cheap treats us slum rats can afford."
Proceeding to poke it with her tongue, a glimpse of dark ink, her barcode tattoo, revealed itself before vanishing into the darkness of her mouth. The gelatinous morsel jiggled in response to her teasing. "I don't get it. Isn't 'jelly' s'pposed to have some fruity taste? What am I even putting in my mouth here? This just reeks of….regret."
Timoth shrugged and guided her hand to his mouth, taking the jelly from her finger. Ratelsi watched as he slowly licked off the pathetic imitation of strawberry flavour from her skin. "Mhm, regret is basically the main ingredient here. But if you pinch your nose and wolf it down fast enough, you might trick yourself into thinking it tastes better."
Ratelsi tilted her head, expectant. "What does it actually taste like?"
"Stale water and disappointment," Timoth replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But hey, it's better than nothing. Hexoset is just around the corner anyway." He nodded toward the last bit of jelly in the cup. "Your turn."
"As if!" Ratelsi scoffed, almost offended, and chucked the plastic cup into a nearby garbage bin. "What a rip-off. Why do I have to eat shit like this, huh?" Timoth just chuckled.
In the sky, colourful auroras danced like spirits across the dark night, breathing life into the endless canvas with their luminous beauty. Even Los Te'pan's force field did nothing to taint the stars twinkling in hues no artist could replicate. Halo orbs lit up the street with their bright balls of light, casting long, inky figures on the ground.
Everywhere, the noise was a living thing.
The hum of generators was drowned out by the bustling market. Underneath corrugated tin roofs, a sea of bodies surged. A man with six eyes, each a different colour, was haggling over a canister of goo, his low growl punctuating the frantic gestures of the Monger.
Across the way, a woman with chitinous wings was selling tiny vials of Zlyf to a hulking brute with hands the size of dinner plates. He looked eager to enjoy the hallucinogenic effects of the drugs. The percussive clang of a cybernetic arm being hammered into place echoed nearby, while a telekinetic strained to lift a crate of metal animal parts from the ground. Shrouded in the shadows, a figure discreetly slipped a purse of quads into the hands of a Normie.
Quick, clipped conversations about deals mixed with clinking coins and the hiss of a pressure cooker from a food stall. Ratelsi's eyes darted around, noticing silhouettes moving on rickety platforms where the homeless folks had settled.
Her stomach nagged at her, getting angrier by the second since she hadn't eaten yet. But Ratelsi was running low on Creds from her tight food budget. So, her brain, impregnated with ideas, birthed a sneaky plan to swipe something. Amber eyes scanned the labyrinth of stalls, looking for a shortcut in case she needed to make a break for it. Timoth would find her anyway; he always did.
That's when pixels shimmered before her, materialising into bright shapes and colours until a hologram came into view. She was a candy-colored avatar in the metallic surroundings with bubblegum pink pigtails, bulbous eyes, and a smile so wide it looked like it belonged on a toy.
"Hey, you! What a great night to be out, huh?" the avatar chirped cheerfully. Probably an advanced AI gimmick since she sounded surprisingly warm and almost human.
"Name's Joji, and my scanner tells me you look like someone tough. Ever thought about a career upgrade?"
Ratelsi didn't even break her stride to acknowledge Joji and instead let out a big yawn, covering her mouth with her hand while keeping her eyes on the path. Then she walked right through the hologram.
"Ugh, wow, that's rude!" Joji exclaimed, blinking in surprise as a digital tear threatened to fall. She dabbed at it, then instantly brightened. "Okay, okay, I totally get it. You're busy. But this is important!"
A weary sigh. Ratelsi shifted her shoulder to avoid colliding with a Normie whose cart was piled high with what looked like confiscated LuBot drones. The Normie shot her a nervous glare, unfazed by the hologram he just passed through.
"Look, I already got a job and you're in my way," said Ratelsi.
Oblivious to the Peculiar's urgent need for food, Joji simply floated in front of her. Her digital form flickered with static as a colourful flyer appeared in her hand, showing off the Cura's emblem, a stylized shield with an eye in the center, along with bold text saying, "Mercenary Scouting. Join the Cura today!"
Ratelsi gave a sarcastic laugh, arching an eyebrow high. "You're not fucking serious. The Cura? That's like asking a junkyard dog to prance around in a poodle show."
Joji burst out laughing, earning a few annoyed looks from nearby vendors. "A poodle show, that's good! I'll have to remember that one." The joke wasn't even that funny. "But hey, don't sell yourself short! We're always on the lookout for new talent. Join us and you'll get access to top-tier gear, awesome pay, and the coolest missions in the city! You could really stack up some serious Creds."
Ratelsi scoffed, finally stopping to face Joji. Her gaze hardened as she spoke in a low, threatening tone. "So, you're just pulling names out of the hat, huh? I'm a runner. A delivery girl. The toughest mission I've got is getting packages where they need to go without getting ripped off. Why in all that's unholy would I risk my life for a bunch of oversight idiots who turn a blind eye to the very thing I'm tryna avoid?"
Joji tilted her head, still sporting an annoyingly cheerful smile despite Ratelsi's obvious irritation. "Because a runner's a courier, and a courier is just a Merc dealing with smaller packages. Clearly, you've got the skills and know how to navigate this….well, this 'grime'. Do you really want to spend your life delivering boring packages to boring clients, or do you want to be a legend?"
"I just wanna stay alive," Ratelsi replied flatly, starting to walk again. "Besides, legends have a nasty habit of ending up in pieces, so if you don't mind, I need you to move out of my way; you're literally blocking my path."
"Fine," Joji huffed, her pigtails bouncing a bit. "But just so you know, the Cura offers free Medipod services! Not to mention a pretty awesome snack bar. Seriously, think about it, okay? Free snacks!"
The bribe almost worked. Almost. Ratelsi mumbled about her sore feet and how she'd kinda lost interest in the idea of snagging something to eat. Still, she kept her pace, leaving the flickering hologram to bother someone else.
Amidst the crowd, Ratelsi caught sight of a flash of honey-coloured curls weaving through the tightly packed bodies. It was like a lighthouse in a stormy sea, beckoning her closer. She dove into the throng, pushing through the mass of people, keeping her eyes on the familiar bounce of Timoth. He paced anxiously in front of a vending machine, looking utterly frazzled as if he was about to combust.
When he finally saw Ratelsi, his face crumpled to pure relief. "Ratel! I swear, you're tryna drive me insane! Don't disappear like that again, please. Do you even know how many terrible things I thought might've happened to you?"
There was a desperate edge in his voice that just made Ratelsi grin wider. "Sorry. The crowd just sorta carried me out. Also, you look like a lost puppy, I'm actually considering getting you a leash."
"Not cool."
"C'mon, it is a little funny…"
"Yeah, you're not getting out of my sight again," Timoth said, taking her hand to guide her away from the thinning crowd. "Tch, I'm not a kid. I won't get lost, yunno," Ratelsi shot back, trying to hide her blush. But Timoth wasn't letting go; he interlaced their fingers, holding a bit tightly like he was afraid to lose her again.
"I know you can take care of yourself, but let's not forget what happens when you get distracted. Remember that time you ended up in a back-alley poker game with a guy sporting a three-eyed snake tattoo? And who had to bail you out with their last few Creds? Oh yeah, that was me!"
Attempting to pull her hand away, Ratelsi grinned cheekily. "That was just one time, and I was so close to winning! Plus, that guy looked like he was doomed to lose anyway. I saw his cards."
Timoth shook his head, but a small laugh slipped out, breaking the earlier tension. "Let's just get moving before our wallets get snatched, or worse, before some holographic scout tries to rope us into a gig for the Cura." He didn't notice how her body stiffened at the mention of Joji. They continued on, the market noise fading as they approached the quieter areas.
"Yunno, I thought this was gonna be a quick run. Like, grab what we need and bounce. I didn't think I'd be stumbling into a crowded circus of…. weirdos." Ratelsi said.
"We're weirdos too, Ratel," replied Timoth.
******
"ALRIGHT, LADIES, CLUB BADGES UP. One at a time," announced the bouncer in a gravelly baritone that resonated at the entrance. Standing imposingly at the door, he was a mountain of a man with pale skin and a dyed mohawk, his tank top straining against shoulders as broad as those of a grizzly bear.
A group of three young women adorned in sequins exchanged light-hearted whispers and giggles, playfully nudging one of their own, a girl with bright pink hair. "He's all yours, Chloe," one of them said in a conspiratorial tone.
Somewhat flustered, Chloe approached the bouncer and extended her hand. "Hi there," she greeted him, her voice a little squeaky. The hexagon inked on her wrist glimmered faintly beneath the neon lights that announced: CLUB HEXOSET in vibrant blue and pink hues. The bouncer, identified by his name tag as 'Snigel', smiled broadly, making his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Hello yourself, darlin'. Let's see that ticket to paradise, shall we?' he responded with an engaging charm as he produced a scanning device. It emitted a soft beep as it passed over the hexagon ink on her wrist. A holographic profile materialized above Snigel's HoloSmart, presenting her photograph, name, age, and a green check mark next to "V.V.I.P." The absence of further details indicated her status as a Normie.
"Chloe," Snigel pronounced, elongating the syllables melodically. "Pretty name for a pretty woman. You look like you're gonna stir up some trouble in there."
At his compliment, Chloe's cheeks flushed a bright pink that matched her hair. "Only the harmless kind, I assure you," she replied playfully.
"The harmless kind is indeed my preferred variety," Snigel chuckled, offering her a nod. "Welcome to Hexoset, Chloe."
The next young woman, exuding confidence with her long, dark hair, approached. "It's my turn, big fella," she stated with a playful wink, extending her hand toward him. "Be gentle on the wrist there; I've got a hot date waiting for me on the dance floor."
Snigel's gaze lingered on her appreciatively for a moment. "Oh? I was just starting to get used to the view," he remarked smoothly while scanning her hand. "It appears we have a Scarlett on our hands. I would presume you possess a fiery temperament. Planning to break some hearts tonight, are we?"
Scarlett let out a clear, melodious laugh. "Is that an invitation?"
"Perhaps," he replied, mischief glimmering in his eyes.
The third woman, a petite blonde with an effervescent smile, couldn't contain her giggles at their banter. When she finally stepped forward, Snigel's demeanour softened. "And who are we welcoming here? You're new, aren't you?" he inquired warmly, bending down to scan her hand. His massive frame seemed to dwarf the smaller woman, who shamelessly fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up. "Ah, a sweet angel named Lily. Be cautious, and don't let these two troublemakers lead you astray, Lily. Hexoset is full of distractions."
Lily beamed up at him, her sweet nature evident. "I'll try my best, Snigel. But no promises."
Snigel's laughter echoed in the open space. "That's my girl. Now, get on inside, all of you. And remember, should anyone give you any trouble, you know where to find Snigel. I'll be right here." With that, he offered them one last charming smile before stepping aside to allow the trio entry into the thumping atmosphere beyond the doors.
The girls giggled, and Scarlett winked once more. Snigel observed their departure, his smirk unwavering, before turning his attention to the next group of eager patrons in line.
"Next!" he commanded in a booming voice.
Ratelsi winced, sucking her teeth sharply. "Is there any need to shout when we're right in front of you?" At the sound of her irritated response, Snigel's smirk faltered, replaced by a fleeting look of annoyance. Dressed in a bold outfit, with brown skin and slitted amber eyes, he quickly recognized Ratelsi as the Peculiar who had humiliated Mhode. Consequently, he felt a sudden reluctance to allow her passage. Snigel regarded the delivery runners with a sidelong glance, sizing them up with noticeable disdain.
"Say, Timoth," Ratelsi inquired of her companion beside her, "how much satisfaction do you imagine I'll derive from punching him the next time he glares at me?"
"I'd say that it would bring you immense pleasure. Some people simply possess faces that provoke a desire to rough them up a little," he replied with a smirk, clearly entertained by the idea.
Snigel's sneer deepened at their exchange, and he muttered with contempt, "Verdammt widerliche schweine."
Ratelsi's amber eyes narrowed menacingly. With growing audacity, she closed in on Snigel, her gaze dissecting him like butcher appraising cattle. The previously calm ambience became palpably charged with tension. An instinctual awareness triggered the fine hairs on the bouncer's arms to rise; his entire being felt threatened by her presence.
This sensation was akin to confronting a wild creature, unpredictable and ready to pounce.
Ratelsi's lips parted in a playful smile. She could tell from the Normie's increasingly scornful expression that he sensed her intent to provoke, and this realization evidently displeased him.
At that moment, the club door swung open, and out came a tall blond man with his face smeared in red lipstick. The initial whiff of booze reached the queue first, followed by a mix of sweat and sex as the tipsy dude clumsily staggered past them.
Timoth turned to Snigel, seemingly unfazed by the latter's malevolent glare. "Listen, man, we obviously don't like you any more than you seem to like us. So how 'bout you just tell us where Broco is, and we'll take our leave, yes?" He discreetly gestured toward the bags they were carrying.
Snigel's gaze flickered between Timoth's face and the bags in question. The mention of Broco, coupled with the implication that they possessed something of significance for him, momentarily disarmed Snigel. His aggressive stance softened a bit. Although he still looked like he'd rather knock them out than speak to them, the threat in his posture eased.
"How do I know you're not here to cause trouble afterwards? Broco's already occupied with important guests and is not anticipating any other visitors. Especially not…." He shot a venomous glare in Ratelsi's direction, who met his look with an assertive tilt of her head that silently dared him to take a swing.
Timoth exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. "Clearly, you don't know we've been his runners for the past six months. Call him or whatever, but you gotta let us through, alright? At least let us wait in a different area."
Snigel looked indecisive. He evidently struggled to trust them, having never encountered them before. But the boss would never send for these Peculiars unless he required their specific services. Still, Snigel felt the need to be thorough. After all, it wouldn't be the first time someone used Broco's name to gain unauthorised access to Hexoset.
"Hand over the bags," he instructed, extending his hand toward them, expecting compliance.
Ratelsi's arm shot out across Timoth's chest, stopping him in his tracks. "Like shit he will," she responded defiantly, then deviously smirked. "I would like to see you attempt to take them." The invite was not only clear but was so compelling that Snigel hesitated, caught between his pride and his instinct. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the standoff between the two opposing forces commenced.
As Snigel's disgust began to intensify, a static crackled from the earbud positioned within his ear. He instinctively reached for the small device. The jarring intrusion was quickly followed by the familiar, slurred, and impatient tones of Broco.
"Let 'em in, you idiot," He hissed through the speaker. "They got my gifts, so I'll deal with them. Don't fucking make a scene."
With his jaw tightly clenched, Snigel directed his gaze to the hidden camera within the signage, his sense of pride clashing with the direct order. He was clearly pissed; he had a job to do, more people had joined the queue, and his guts screamed that these Peculiars were trouble. Nevertheless, an order must be followed, despite his strong desire to prevent Ratelsi's entry and to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face.
The Normie and Peculiar remained engaged in their silent stare down, a battle of wills tested to measure the other's resolve.
Timoth scoffed and crossed his arms under his chest. "Understand this bro, there's absolutely no way you stand a chance against those eyes. Trust me, I speak from experience." Finally disentangling his gaze from Ratelsi, Snigel felt the tension in his fingers as he fought against the urge to form fists. Nodding toward the entrance, he spoke quickly. "He's in the rear. Through the main hall, make your way to the bar, then hang a left. You'll find the VVIP section. Vesir will escort you to him."
His words flowed hurriedly, as though the Normie was eager to rid himself of their presence. He gestured vaguely toward the mezzanine, already turning his attention to the next group in line, as if the last two minutes hadn't happened at all.
"How disappointing. I was hoping to savour your pitiful howls of pain. That would've been quite amusing." Ratelsi remarked as she strode in, with Timoth closely trailing, a chuckle escaping his lips.