Chapter 4: The Harvest of Pure Rage
The transition from the relative order of the Plateaus to the absolute chaos of The Gloom was immediate and jarring, not just visually, but psychically. The Gloom was the lowermost quadrant of Kopel, a vast, perpetually shadow-drenched landfill of obsolete machinery and the city's most dangerous emotional waste. If the Plateaus smelled of filtered apathy and ozone, The Gloom reeked of raw, corrosive, unprocessed human emotion—despair so thick it felt like humidity, and Rage that shimmered in the air like heat haze. This was the place where Fragment Memories too volatile for the Senate's system, fragments containing murder, betrayal, and absolute, irrational fury, were dumped to slowly decay.
Riel pulled the synthetic cowl of his hood tighter, the material now seeming flimsy against the heavy, oppressive atmosphere. His Rank C: Sleuth power, which had felt so sharp and precise in the corridors above, now felt like a curse. His Residual Scent was overwhelmed, choked by the sheer volume of chaotic, overlapping psychic noise. It wasn't merely a scent; it was a screaming wall of sound, a blinding, cacophonous array of violence. He could 'smell' centuries of gang warfare, the pure, animalistic hatred of thousands, and the burning despair of those left behind. The intensity forced him to perform rapid, minute Echo Recalls just to maintain mental coherence, pulling tiny fragments of 'Calm Focus' from the residual memories of a bomb disposal technician.
He moved cautiously, his gait no longer displaying the cold confidence of the Sleuth, but the hesitant tension of a man walking into a psychological minefield. The landscape was a broken cemetery of discarded, rusted architecture. Massive filtration pipes, too contaminated to be repaired, jutted out at impossible angles, dripping black, greasy sludge—the literal runoff of the city's worst memories. The air was a heavy soup of methane and residual psychic energy, making every breath a battle. I hate this place, Riel thought, the instinctual loathing a welcome anchor against the onslaught of foreign emotions. This was the sector he fled from years ago, after his catastrophic Overload that cost him Elara's memory.
His objective was a specific, notorious corner of The Gloom known as The Cage—the site of a historic, brutal gang massacre where the Pure Rage fragments were rumored to be the most concentrated and least degraded. He needed to extract a fragment of Pure Rage for Pev that contained momentum, not just blind fury. He needed the memory of a weapon wielded with cold intent, not mindless chaos.
As Riel picked his way through the detritus, he became aware of other movements. He wasn't the only collector down here. He activated his Residual Scent more forcefully, trying to cut through the din. He 'smelled' desperation, hunger, and the signature metallic scent of low-rank Remembrancers—Scavengers and Leeches—who hunted the easily digestible, low-energy fragments left by ordinary citizens. But there was another scent, one that stopped him cold: the clean, clinical aroma of Siphon tech. Kyra.
He immediately dove behind a massive, toppled water tank, cursing the predictability of Arkham's plan. Kyra hadn't given up the chase; she was merely using the terrain to her advantage, knowing Riel would be desperate for a high-value fragment.
Riel performed an immediate Echo Recall using the drone schematic data he had stolen—he recalled the patrol rhythm of a security detail assigned to The Gloom. Three Siphon units, moving slowly, sweeping for concentrated emotional spikes. Kyra was leading a small, coordinated team. She was harvesting Riel's rising fear as he realized he was trapped.
Riel realized the Siphon wasn't actively hunting him; they were hunting the Fragment of Pure Rage he needed, using his desperate Residual Scent signature as the tracking beacon. They wanted to collect the Rage, then collect the Remembrancer who dared to touch it.
He had to get to The Cage first. The residual emotion was growing stronger, now focusing around a central, agonizing spike. Riel could 'smell' the specific energy—the memory of a broken bone, the sound of a desperate shout, and the cold, unyielding finality of a knife plunged into flesh. Pure Rage.
Riel reached The Cage—a circular ruin of metal and broken concrete—and saw a figure already there. It was a Scavenger, a low-Rank Leech whose only goal was survival, already overwhelmed by the powerful fragments. The Leech was kneeling, convulsing slightly, tears streaming down his face as he tried to absorb a fragment of low-grade Despair. His mind was failing to process the raw emotion.
The fragments of Pure Rage were not contained in vials; they were shimmering like static electricity in the air, clustering around a rusted metal column—the center of the massacre. The air here was so thick with psychic energy that Riel's lungs burned, forcing shallow breaths. He could feel the Rage starting to integrate with his own consciousness, demanding action, demanding violence.
Focus, Riel. The one with momentum.
He focused his Residual Scent to filter only for the memory Pev needed—the cold, calculated intent behind the chaos. He found it: a small, intensely concentrated cluster of energy glowing a deep, angry crimson. It contained the memory of a single, highly efficient, brutal execution—a strike delivered with cold hatred, not blind fury. That was the momentum Pev needed.
Riel advanced, the chaos around him fighting for control. He felt the absence of his mother's lullaby acutely now—there was no comforting wall to retreat behind. It was just him and the terrifying emotion.
Just as he reached for the crimson fragment, a Siphon unit—a basic Harvester unit, Rank B—stepped into The Cage, blocking the exit. The Harvester carried a weaker, cone-shaped Collector Net designed to stun and contain, rather than absorb.
"Target identified. Remembrancer Class: Ghost. Surrender the asset." The voice was synthesized and devoid of thought.
Riel was caught between the Siphon and the volatile chaos of the Pure Rage. He had to act.
The Clash of Fury and Logic: Riel knew he couldn't beat a Rank B Harvester in direct combat. He had to use the environment, and specifically, the Pure Rage.
He lunged not at the fragment, but at the kneeling Leech. The Leech, already unstable, screamed in terror. Riel performed a massive, controlled Echo Recall, not on a skill, but on an Ambient Emotion—the raw, paralyzing Despair that the Leech was already absorbing.
Riel's Recall (Despair as a Weapon): The memory of absolute, immediate emotional collapse, focusing the psychic energy and redirecting it.
He slammed the concentrated Despair back into the Leech's mind. The Leech collapsed, not stunned, but completely overwhelmed by philosophical futility. But the true target was the Siphon unit. The Harvester's sensor array, tuned to monitor and collect emotional energy, was instantly flooded and confused by the sudden, concentrated spike of pure Despair from the Leech. The Harvester's net flickered, short-circuiting momentarily.
That was Riel's window. He used the brief delay, leaping over the convulsing Leech, and seizing the crimson Pure Rage fragment. The moment his hand closed around the energy, the effect was immediate and shattering.
The Integration of Rage: The Fragment didn't just give him a skill; it integrated a feeling—a blinding, intense hatred for the entire system, a sense of raw, animalistic power that threatened to completely override his Sleuth logic. Riel's vision swam crimson. He was no longer thinking about Elara; he was thinking about destruction. The strength was intoxicating, making him want to tear the Harvester unit apart with his bare hands.
He fought the impulse, forcing his newly acquired Sleuth stability to take over. He used the Rage not as fury, but as raw, physical speed and lethal intent. He didn't attack; he used the intense momentum to propel himself up the nearest vertical surface—a massive, rusted ventilation pipe—with impossible velocity.
The Harvester unit recovered, focusing its stun net. But Riel was already high above, a Rank C Ghost using the speed of Rank A Rage.
Riel scrambled higher, the Fragment of Pure Rage searing a new, volatile template onto his consciousness. He fought the urge to stop and destroy, remembering his objective. He had the currency; now he had to deliver it.
He finally reached a section of the pipe high enough to provide cover. He collapsed onto a ledge, immediately performing a Reverse Recall—a painful technique to expel the volatile, non-essential parts of the Rage fragment, retaining only the pure momentum and the lethal intent. He needed a controlled dose, not an addiction.
As he stabilized, he used his Residual Scent to scan the area one last time. He sensed Kyra, closer now, her psychic signature filled with cold, professional annoyance at the failure of her Harvester unit. He also smelled the distinctive, faint trail of Pev, The Cartographer, who had been here recently, leaving a faint Residual Scent of calculated curiosity and greed.
Riel realized Pev wasn't just waiting for the fragment; Pev was monitoring the exchange, watching to see if Riel had the courage to enter The Gloom and survive the Rage.
Riel knew the next move was critical. He had the Tainted Diplomat Memory and the Pure Rage currency. He was moving from the physical battle of Rank D to the psychological and political battle of Rank C. The game was no longer about running; it was about manipulating the archives.
He secured the stabilized fragment of Rage in a specialized, dampening canister he kept in his satchel, ensuring the volatile emotion wouldn't bleed out and affect his own mind. He had paid the cost for the diplomatic façade. The descent into The Gloom was complete. Now, he had to ascend into The Spire, armed with the cold, controlled certainty of an executive, and the philosophical paralysis of a dead ambassador.