The rain had eased when Dot reached the meeting point.
The Zion sign, the stubbornly flickering N, shimmered against the building's dark glass façade. Imposing, but nothing unusual on a street full of nightclubs, the building hid in plain obviousness. Dot pulled back her hood and waited casually in line behind a cluster of people: a trio of teens, probably in their twenties, already wound up and ready to push their madness through the night. Exactly the crowd you'd expect there.
Which is exactly why it worked as a front.
Each time the main door opened, a blast of cold air escaped mixed with the club's bass, pulsing like a second heart in the chest of anyone waiting. Sweet hookah smoke mingled with expensive perfume and cigarette smoke, a thin fog that clung to the skin before you even entered.
Inside, chaos ruled: strobe lights sliced the dancing crowd, the floor vibrated to the beat, and the whole place seemed to inhale and exhale with the same hunger as its patrons.
The contrast with the rain was almost deafening. As usual, it took a few seconds for Dot's ears to acclimate to the pure chaos she stepped into.
After forcing her way through the sea of bodies dancers ragged and high on every kind of drug, Dot found a discreet back door and stepped into what contrasted with the previous room: the heavy gazes of faces marked by time, struggle and greed.
Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. This had been her new ordinary for a long time. She'd lost count of how many times she'd walked into this.
She kept going; the thumping music faded and the murmur of corner conversations and chuckles rose. Some people glanced sidelong at her; others looked on with judgment or curiosity.
Dot had passed the point of letting looks bother her. "Looks don't pay your bills," her old mentor used to say.
At least some lessons were useful.
Her hunter's look softened as she spotted Walkyria in a corner at the far end of the hall, her contract contact.
Her Conduit.
Walkyria was a mix of sophistication and elegant chaos. Her voluminous hair was almost always tied in a loose topknot, as it was now, a true tide of light strands spilling over darker hair, some streaks with grayish hints, with a heavy fringe falling at her face.
Her glasses seemed more accessory than necessity. Her eyes were dark and intense, and Dot always felt there was another layer there if she focused hard enough. Walkyria literally lived up to the saying "the eyes are the windows to the soul."
She raised her glass in a brief salute, an expression that mixed respect with worry.
— Hello, darling. I thought you'd only come later.
Walkyria took a small sip of what looked like single malt. Her eyes watched Dot approach, a half-smile on her lips.
— What I've got for you sounds easy, but... — her voice had that mocking tilt, a slight shrug. — ...nothing new for you.
Dot sat as Walkyria opened her coat and pulled out a small datapad, handing it to her. Dot took it automatically, but her brow knitted when she saw the document had barely more than two lines.
Her gaze flicked between the datapad and Walkyria.
— Retrieve an artifact?
Walkyria inhaled deeply from a cigarette that looked like it had been burning for a long time with little draw. She held it in for two long seconds as if weighing her words, then let the smoke out slowly.
Dot watched. She knew her Conduit; when Walkyria acted like this, trouble was coming. She sighed inwardly, set the datapad on the table and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.
— Seriously? A pickup? — Dot pointed to the datapad. — Nothing more... challenging this time?
Walkyria tapped the cigarette in the ashtray; ash fell from the tip. She looked back at Dot.
— You know what this means, Lyn. Low-info jobs are usually a red flag. — Walkyria's tone hardened a notch. — And you know who might be behind this.
When Walkyria used Dot's given name, it was a clear alarm: she wanted Lyn, the person, not the agent, to pay attention. Still, the warning didn't seem to faze her.
On the contrary. The mere suggestion sparked a mocking smile on Dot's face faster than any retort.
— Imagine that...? — she arched an eyebrow, the grin widening. — Now that would be interesting.
Walkyria leaned back on the bench, glass in hand, an expression of disapproval and resignation, then returned her attention to the drink. She knew that obsession well. Dot dove headfirst into any lead that might bring her closer to her old tutor.
But as a Conduit, Walkyria couldn't make things easy or interfere openly; the Order was strict and the penalty severe. So she helped when she could: slipping dubious Contracts into Dot's lap that occasionally steered her toward him. She suspected it might put Dot on a collision course with her old tutor.
She didn't approve, but couldn't deny the results spoke for themselves. Excellent results, in fact.
She sighed, pocketing the datapad with a careful motion that hid more than it revealed.
— Anyway... — Walkyria said, leaning back. — just be careful.
— And who do I hand it to?
Dot asked, popping open the zero-cal drink Walkyria had already anticipated and requested. She watched Dot crack the can; some fingers showed signs of peeled skin, a small physical sign of the anxiety Dot tried to keep private.
— Good question, but the right question is who will call you.
Walkyria reached into her coat pocket and took out an old phone. She looked at it with a hint of contempt and tossed it to Dot, who caught it out of the air.
Dot frowned, doubtful. Walkyria ignored her pupil's expression and said:
— What I know is: you collect, you leak, and then you switch on this... relic. Then you'll get a call. From whom? Who knows. — she lifted a hand for effect. — What I do know is the client is one of those anonymous high-society types... — sarcasm laced her tone, but then she grew quieter and more concerned. — So... stay sharp.
— Huh. — That's all Dot could murmur.
Unconsciously, one of Dot's fingers went to her mouth and pinched lightly — a clear sign she was still considering it.
— It's your call to accept or not. — Walkyria's voice was neutral. — The pay is attractive, but... there are risks.
Walkyria leaned forward until the movement caught Dot's attention, who until then had been lost in thought. The Conduit's voice took on a darker, measured tone, as if gauging her reaction.
— You understand there's a big risk in who you might meet on this job, Lyn?
— Send the accept, Wal. Dot's answer was dry.
For a moment Walkyria opened her mouth, words ready to question... but they died before leaving. She couldn't; both of them knew that.
Dot gave a small smile and nodded.
Her comm unit buzzed.
The contract was sealed.
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