Chapter 3: The Game Begins
The corridor leading to Queen Li's private suite at the top of Nexus Tower felt like a journey into another dimension. Its frosted glass walls reflected Devara's image in faint, shimmering distortions, as if she were walking among mirrors hiding secrets. Two guards in black suits stood before the door, their faces expressionless, eyes concealed behind dark sunglasses. The plasma weapons at their hips glinted softly under the neon light. Devara swallowed hard, her heart pounding. The urge to turn back, to flee from what felt like a trap, flickered through her mind. But the words from the message—"Don't be late"—clung to her like a curse. She knocked on the door with a slightly trembling hand. The sliding door opened with a soft hiss.
The room beyond was a world apart from the grimy, smog-filled Nusaraya. Dim lights cast a golden glow from antique ornaments lining the walls, luxurious furniture arranged like an ancient palace, and the scent of sandalwood filled the air—sweet, yet somehow making Devara's skin prickle. In the center of the room, Queen Li sat in her wheelchair, draped in a black silk gown that clung to her frail frame. The light illuminated her face, pale yet captivating, like a living painting harboring dark secrets. Her eyes locked onto Devara, sharp and intense, as if peering straight into her soul.
"Welcome, Devara," her voice was soft, but carried an elusive tone, like a breeze heralding a storm. "Sit." She gestured toward a leather chair across from her with a graceful hand.
Devara obeyed, though her body felt rigid. A table between them was set for dinner: porcelain plates with artfully arranged synthetic meat, vegetables that seemed grown in a lab, and red wine in crystal glasses. In Nusaraya, such a meal was a luxury reserved for the elite. Devara felt like a mouse invited to a lion's table.
The dinner unfolded like an intellectual duel. Queen Li posed questions that seemed simple but felt like traps. "What do you see in your dreams, Devara?" she asked, twirling her wine glass. "What do you fear from the past?" Devara answered cautiously, but the questions pressed against her soul, unearthing memories she wasn't even sure existed. She spoke of her nightmares—black shadows, shifting faces—and each time she finished, Queen Li offered only a faint smile, as if noting something she'd never share.
"You're different," Queen Li said at last, her voice low, almost a whisper. "You still believe in the sword of justice, in fairness upheld by data and logic. But that sword isn't enough in this world, Devara. I want to know… can you be more?"
Before Devara could respond, Queen Li slid a thin folder across the table. It was black plastic, plain except for the faintly embossed Nexus Corp logo in the corner. "Deliver this to District 9. Tonight," she said, her voice flat but brimming with authority.
Devara froze, her hand hovering in the air. District 9 was the city's abandoned fringe, a den of thugs, drug peddlers, and—according to rumors—the haunt of the Night Shadows. "Tonight?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Why me? This is a job for armed couriers, not a data analyst."
Queen Li stared at her without blinking, her eyes like twin black voids swallowing the light. "Because I chose you," she replied simply, a challenge lurking in her words. "Don't disappoint me."
Devara wanted to protest, but Queen Li's gaze silenced her words. She took the folder with a trembling hand, feeling its strange weight—too light for important documents, yet heavy with the burden of the world. She stood, nodded stiffly, and left the room without a word. In the corridor, the guards watched her with empty stares, as if they knew she was walking into danger.
The journey to District 9 was a nightmare come to life. Devara chose to walk, avoiding the subway's prying eyes. The city's night streets were darker than usual, neon lights flickering erratically, and the smog felt thicker, like a blanket meant to choke. District 9 lay at Nusaraya's edge, where glass towers gave way to crumbling concrete buildings, streets littered with trash, and the stench of metal mixed with sweat. Coarse laughter and faint screams echoed from narrow alleys.
As Devara stepped into a dimly lit street, its broken streetlamp flickering, a group of masked men emerged from the shadows. Their masks, made of cheap metal, were painted with eerie glowing symbols. Without warning, they attacked. The first swung a steel pipe at her head, but Devara—somehow—dodged with swift, precise movements. Her body moved on its own, guided by an instinct she didn't recognize. She struck, kicked, and parried with motions that felt alien yet familiar, like muscle memory from another life. Within minutes, the attackers lay sprawled on the ground, some groaning in pain, others motionless.
Devara gasped, her chest heaving. She stared at her bloodied hands, stunned at herself. "What… just happened to me?" she muttered, her voice trembling. She had never trained in combat, never fought. Yet those movements felt natural, like a buried part of her awakening.
From a distance, a hidden camera embedded in the alley's wall swiveled silently, its red lens blinking. In her private suite, Queen Li watched the fight on a monitor, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. "Yes… her memories are stirring," she said softly, her fingers tapping lightly on the arm of her wheelchair.
Devara stumbled, her knees nearly buckling from the pain of a bleeding gash on her arm. Dizziness clouded her head. Suddenly, the roar of an engine approached. A black car screeched to a halt before her, its door hissing open. Queen Li appeared inside, her wheelchair pushed by the same ever-present guard. She regarded Devara with a cold expression, then smiled—a smile that felt like a mix of savior and predator.
"You owe me your life now," she said softly, her cunning eyes glinting in the dark. "Get in."
Too exhausted to argue, Devara climbed into the car. Inside, the air was cold, and the sandalwood scent from the suite clung to Queen Li. The car glided smoothly, leaving the dark District 9 behind. Silence hung between them, broken only by the hum of the engine. Devara tried to process what had just happened, but her mind was a mess. The folder remained in her hand, intact, though her clothes were torn and her body bruised.
Suddenly, Queen Li leaned toward her. Her small, pale hand adjusted Devara's torn collar with a gentle yet controlled touch. "Next time, go for the throat first," she said, her voice low and chilling. "Like you used to."
Devara froze, her blood turning to ice. "Used to?" she thought. The words echoed in her mind like a cracked bell. How could this frail woman know about killing, as if she'd known Devara long before their meeting? She wanted to ask, but her mouth wouldn't move. Queen Li leaned back in her seat, gazing out the window, as if she'd never spoken.
The car sped through the night, the city's lights blinking like sleepless eyes. In Devara's mind, one question rang endlessly: Who was Queen Li, really? And why did it feel like she was a pawn in a game that began long before she was born?