No one sets in Sun-Downe. Sun-Downe used to be a pit-stop town. People stayed, but not long. For if you stayed, the city, with its archaic rust and ruins, would ruin you.
The city was home to a myriad of characters, the majority of them engaged in petty crime. Its main economy was transportation. Transportation of goods…and people. Jazelle witnessed it all the time, especially when she worked in The Works.
From early afternoon until evening, she toiled away the hours in her workshop, smelling dirt and grime. She pulled out her laser-projected auto-tool, swiped its handle, and clicked a few buttons, changing her auto-tool from a screwdriver to a laser cutter. Gripping the handle tightly, the laser pierced through hunks of metal. Wearing her visor, she watched as the sparks set ablaze. Metallic blue for hitting stainless steel, rainbow for titanium, and white for aluminum. The sparks danced in her eyes as they changed colour. When people meet, some call it chemistry. To her, this was the real deal.
In a day, Jazelle tinkered with several machines. Some clients requested quick repair, others asked for modifications. Work was slow on Wednesdays. As the midday sun beat over her head, she grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow. And that's when she noticed them…the people.
A thin opening in the alley peered open, revealing a cluster of teenagers. The youngest huddled in the middle. They wore anxious, flustered expressions. Tears welled up in the youngest eyes. The oldest in the group bundled together, diligent, frantically scanning their surroundings. All had matching tattoos on their arms, legs, or necks. Jazelle stared at them until a neighbour's shout broke her trance.
"Don't stare, kid!"
Another chimed in, "Once you're a ShArD, you're scrap…for life! Wouldn't want to become Shrap like them."
Jazelle kept on staring. She didn't take orders. ShArDs, she heard about them. People with abilities used or owned by the government. She didn't know what the acronym meant, but she didn't bother to ask. She stared because they were a mirror image of her. Fifteen, the same age as herself.
In some instances, some stared back. This was rare, but when they did, they looked at her with that look, as if they knew something she didn't. She stared through that gap until they were out of sight, before tearing away. Once she did, Jazelle felt the weirdest sensation. Her temples seared like the static of lingering electricity. Her world felt like it was collapsing on itself. Everyday conversations became numb and dulled out, like the fading tick of pocket watches Jazelle secretly kept — underneath her desk drawer. It felt like a heavy piece of metal dislodged like an anvil through her brain. Jazelle heard the sounds of working machines hammering over each other in repetitive loops. One after another, they cried like an unfinished symphony. Her headache pulsed and pulsed. It pulsed, sending a message through her body; it screamed: I'm here, don't ignore me.
-
Jazelle didn't have many memories before arriving at Sun-Downe. She arrived when she was nine. She was in a transporter. Jazelle remembered the model number. She frantically searched for it in books: a GT-038 airship, with a dual propeller. The transporter had a sleek, thermodynamic design, reinforced with Carbon Fibre Reinforced Polymers, and a thick titanium skeleton.
She pressed both her hands against the thick glass and stared out at the view below. Sun-Downe was located within the Scorchlands and the Vale Valley. Stretched between both provinces were landscapes of desert filled with chipped pieces of desert-rock. She enjoyed looking at the multi-coloured layers of sediment. What existed beyond their depths? Lizards? Chameleons? Jazelle turned to face her twin sister.
"Lior, Lior! Look at this. Mountains! Everywhere!"
Lior didn't face Jazelle. Her demeanour was stiff. Lior's back fastened to the back of the cushioned passenger seat. Her focus was on the pilot maneuvering the aircraft in front of them. Lior's hands crossed on top of her crisp, plaid skirt. She wore a long-sleeved black turtleneck, stretched tight, against her chest. Lior remained cool despite the heat. Her raven hair swept back into a neat, tight ponytail. The only evidence of her age was her round, tanned face. Her posture emanated elegance. Contained within her small body were centuries-worth of polished, refined, clandestine crystal. Each miniature move she made only revealed a small fragment of her personality. The light fractured at just the right angles, enough to see what was hidden.
Jazelle scooted over, clawing and digging her nails into Lior's arm. Jazelle clung as if she were digging a hole in quicksand. She gripped tighter, like a delicate ant struggling to find its way. Jazelle pulled Lior, pulling her like a heavyweight to the present. Lior's arm felt like mist. Wherever you clung, it wouldn't matter, for she would evaporate into thin air. Jazelle looked up; she looked like a cub hugging a tree.
"Lior, you have to see this!" Jazelle repeatedly tugged. "A wild coyote?"
Lior remained unmoved. Her focus was on the pilot navigating the airship in front of them. Lior's eyes lingered on the pilot's coordinates. The pointer on the map spun. The screen flashed as the dot moved towards the centre of the screen. Jazelle pointed to points of interest in the distance and continued to bang her fists on the window. In the distance, Lior spotted a settlement full of chipped, clay-coloured buildings. Lior's back straightened. Her voice cracked like scarred ice. "Down. Now." The pilot descended.
The pilot lowered his aircraft until the transporter hovered only thirty centimetres above The Overview. The turbines spun, causing dust clouds to rise to the surface.
"Jazelle. Get off." Lior said.
Jazelle looked at Lior in askance. Lior's eyes resembled stilled water, like millions of thoughts and emotions swimming beneath an ocean.
Lior looked towards Jazelle. "Go on…This is our home."
Home. A home for both of them?
Warmth fluttered through Jazelle's body. All fear and trepidation soon flew out of the window.
The transporter door hissed open, and Jazelle jumped free. Jazelle leapt towards the warm, welcoming door. Lior followed suit after.
Their home in The Overview wasn't luxurious. It was affordable. It had a wonderful view of all of Sun-Downe; it was only affordable because of the climb, and many of the citizens couldn't afford airships to head to the top. Their home was cracked, rough, and clay-shaven. It wasn't spacious, but it was enough to fit both of them.
Her belongings filled the room, surprising her.
Jazelle swallowed, then turned around, "It smells good, I like it!" Jazelle pointed to one room.
"I got the corner! This one's mine, okay?"
Lior glanced at Jazelle. Her face was round and vibrant, with scattered star-speckled freckles. Jazelle's eyes were clear. She was missing a tooth, but that was okay. Lior took long strides towards her. Lior towered over Jazelle, like a pillar with an outstretched shadow. Jazelle's mouth was open in astonishment, and her shaggy hair surrounded her like a shroud.
Unexpectedly, Lior stroked Jazelle's hair. Lior's hands appeared delicate, but they were rough and cool to the touch. Lior bent down on one knee and looked up at her. In this conversation, a room wasn't mentioned.
"I won't be here for a while," Lior said. "You stay here. They'll be nice."
Her own reflection shimmered in Lior's eyes. Jazelle looked into those eyes. Her reflection was distorted, like waves on a rippled surface. Jazelle felt that she only saw the tip of the iceberg. She feared the image she saw in those eyes.
Lior took something from her skirt pocket. A dog-tag necklace. It gleaned from the sun and had a metallic shine. The string was strung together with thin, delicate spheres. Jazelle looked at the tag; it had several glyphs inscribed into it.
Lior took out the dog-tag necklace and hung it on Jazelle's neck. She ran her fingers along one of the strings, separating each of the beads one by one. As she did, the metallic spheres collided and oscillated. Each bead resounded with a tap, one tap being responsible for the next, an endless collision. This was the beginning.
"Keep this with you at all times. This is your identity."
Lior stood up, ran her fingers along the dog-tag necklace a second time, then left, closing the door behind her. Jazelle remained. The light faded from the house. A young Jazelle found a new object to cling to: her newfound dog-tag necklace. Barren to the touch, its lonely sheen was similar to Lior's clean exit.
After that, Jazelle barely saw Lior. Occasionally, she would come back, but each time she did, she looked different. Sometimes her hair was long, other times it was short. Jazelle didn't even receive calls, telegrams, or letters from her.
Everything related to Lior was a mish-mash of memories. Each Lior looked different from the rest.
Lior was like a set of distorted mirrors. Walking down memory lane, people liked what they saw, but with each passing image, images collided. Jazelle felt trapped with each new image. Trapped in a kaleidoscope of memory, never to return.
Even up to this day, Jazelle wondered what Lior was thinking. Before that, they both used to spend their time in a cool, roomed facility. Jazelle remembered through her blurred, splotched memory that Lior was particularly skilled at Tantreez. Tantreez was a puzzle-unlocking game similar to a Rubik's Cube (an invention from centuries past), with a combination of wires and ropes. Jazelle picked up the game out of habit. She loved deciphering puzzles, but when she first played Tantreez, she was puzzled because she couldn't figure it out. The locking mechanism was too tedious. When the puzzle wasn't solvable, it would be locked mid-way, forcing the player to use another method to open it. However, Lior looked at the other kids playing it, then with copy-cut precision, was able to unscramble the cube in an instant.
Although she felt at home. Home was Lior. Sun-Downe was rough. However, as time passed, and Jazelle understood all the edges and terrains of the concrete jungle, she sharpened. She sharpened like a fine blade over steel. Forged by tenacity, by the iron willpower of The Works, the home that once consumed and terrorised her in her solitude became her long-standing fortress.
Living didn't become just surviving. The city wasn't kind, but as long as you minded your own business, no one cared. Sun-Downe had lots of shadows, and the cracks in the city showed. At night, the shadows ran deeper. The city, rampant with vices, attempted to swallow anyone who was within it. But that was all cities. With light, there was shadow. And Jazelle, being who she was, preferred to focus on her view in The Overview. It was desolate and barren and empty, but as Jazelle heard the wind rustling against the great rocks of the canyons, she found solace in the glistening music in her ears.
-
It was another Wednesday afternoon, and Jazelle tended to her workshop. She preferred to make it a habit, even though Wednesdays weren't as filled with clients in The Works.
She had graduated from high school two years earlier. While in school, she took on clients. After graduating, she continued working. Jazelle was the youngest and choppiest one in the block. She was speedy and diligent. Sometimes, clients complained about her unconventional approach to materials (she used barbed wire for fastening things one time). But she was starting to garner a good reputation in the community.
Jazelle opened up the shutters of her shop. Unexpectedly, she heard the sound of squeaks and steps behind her. She turned around cautiously. Today, The Works, the mechanical, dingier area of town wasn't as crowded. Jazelle's was the only shop open, and behind her were two people lingering in her trail. One was a mother. Jazelle looked at her; her hair was greyed, and she wore a shawl around her head like a headscarf. She was covered from head to toe, and her clothes did not look the greatest. They look worn and travelled. Next to her was the daughter. She was ten. She had a wide, long forehead, and her blond hair was long, reaching past her waist. Her eyes looked up sharply, inquisitive. She was fastened to a wheelchair. Jazelle normally wouldn't have paid attention, but it was a mother and child; she couldn't refuse.
"What do you want?" Jazelle asked. Her voice was sharp and gruff, like the noisy interior of her workshop. She shook her head, pulled out her auto-tool, and continued melding metal. This interested her more than the people in front of her.
The girl responded. "You fix receptors?"
Receptors. Communication-based devices with lots of aluminium resistors.
Tricky, but doable.
"Yes," Jazelle responded. "What type?"
The girl swallowed, eyes steady on Jazelle. "An advanced model. MG-273."
The latest one in the market broke that fast? Jazelle was surprised.
"Price?"
"250 silver."
In cash, not digital payment. Didn't want to be traced.
"And why me?" Jazelle inquired.
The girl looked at Jazelle as if she had always been there.
"Seems like you're new here. Thought you'd have the highest-tech."
She didn't speak like a ten-year-old. Lior didn't either.
Jazelle looked at the girl's hand. There was a tattoo similar to what the teenagers had in the alley. Jazelle gripped her auto-tool tighter. She pretended to stare at the wooden workbench in front of her. In Sun-Downe, it was rude to ask about other people's business. Jazelle started to feel another headache. The dulling ache was becoming a miasma spreading in her brain. The headache was becoming part of her. The girl noticed Jazelle staring at her hand, then, with her peering eyes, she looked back up at Jazelle.
"I see," the girl said. "You aren't aware of it yet."
Jazelle was surprised by the statement.
What do you mean? She wanted to ask.
Jazelle heard gears clacking, twisting, and spinning in her head. It was the hammered works all over again.
The girl passed a covered device to Jazelle. It was small, but heavy. Jazelle guessed it weighed at least 2.5 kilos on its own.
"I'll be back to pay," the girl said. "Hide, and fix that in your shop. I'll be back."
The mother pushed her daughter in the wheelchair. As they walked away, the girl suddenly held up her hand, causing her wheelchair to come to a halt. They paused for a minute or two. The girl from her wheelchair, sharply turned to face Jazelle.
"You should close shop soon," the girl said. "Danger is coming."
The girl uttered those words, and the duo left.
Jazelle thought about these words carefully, but didn't pay too much attention to them. After, she realized her mistake.
Hours later, when she was trying to tinker with her machines. She saw the flashing of red-and-blue patrol lights. For the first time, the security force arrived in The Works. That day, as patrol forces barged in, the city she loved so much turned into shambles. They trampled over everything. The security force wasn't meant to show up in Sun-Downe. It was a division of the provincial government, and usually Sun-Downe was exempt from this rule, including all its day-to-day illicit activities.
She saw a detective, in a long black coat, questioning everyone at The Works. Again and again, he opened his Digi-Tele-Communicator files and shoved the holographic digital files of the suspects into everyone's faces. He questioned each mechanic individually. He came across Jazelle while she was in the middle of her work. She was finishing orders from the previous day.
The detective stood over her. He was in his mid-forties, but his head was full of combed-back hair. Despite the weather, he managed to wear a full-length coat. Jazelle wondered whether this was the fashion outside of Sun-Downe. It seemed like the majority of the people that stood out to her were covered head-to-toe. The detective stared down at Jazelle. Now fifteen, she had a round face with a sharp chin. Her face was bordered with a straight fringe, with two asymmetric bangs angled away from her face. Her hair extended long at the front and short at the back. Her fashion was unlike that of other girls her age. Bob-cut. A comfortable, baggy, military-style tank top, and baggy cargo pants. Practical and suitable for the dusty climate.
Jazelle looked at the detective with a fierceness that surprised the detective himself. Her hair was shaggy, her eyes were large, and her face was scattered with freckles, which gave her a likable disposition. What was surprising was the way Jazelle looked at him with steadiness. It was do or die. Jazelle was young. Detective Tru noticed this and approached differently.
His hand extended towards her. He smiled.
"Nice to meet you." Jazelle ignored his hand. "I'm Detective Tru."
Detective Tru repeated what he did with the others. He opened his Digi-telecommunications device fastened to his wrist, brought up two files, then sent them over to Jazelle.
"I'm looking for information about these 2 suspects. If you have any information, let me know."
Jazelle's face glowed with neon-blue light. Her eyes scanned the holographic text in front of her. There were no images, but the description burned into her viscera.
Female. Around 30. Long silver hair tied in a bun. Fair-disposition.
Female. Child. Age 10. Waist-length hair. Huge blue eyes.
Jazelle read and looked at the pixelated blanks between each of the letters. As she looked at the blanks, she filled in the gaps in her memory. Like a flash of bright light, the realisation dawned on her who the suspects were. The holographic screen sliced between her and the detective. Jazelle looked at the detective through the transparent screen.
She extended her finger and flicked the screen back to Detective Tru.
"Haven't seen them," she shook her hands. Jazelle busied her hands on her workstation. She cleared out some of the items and dusted her workshop before working on her next project. She looked down. "But sure, if I have something, I'll let you know."
Detective Tru wanted to question further, but one of his subordinates ran over and whispered some information in his ear. The detective briefly looked at Jazelle, then ran towards the location where his subordinate was standing.
Jazelle remained crouched on the stool at the front of her workshop, back facing the remains of workshop chaos. There, at the back of the workshop, in a corner, carefully stashed amongst a pile of things, lay an object bulged by cloth. Compared to the other items in the shop, it stood out like a glaring anomaly. She remembered how she touched it and cradled its curvature on the palm of her hand. Previously, she tossed it like a ball from one hand to another. It was weighted on the left compared to the right. She remembered the various intricacies that lay beneath its surface. Jazelle felt the tech in her veins.
After the detectives cleared the area, she turned around, took a few steps forward, and looked at the spot with excitement. She felt the adrenaline rush to her head. Jazelle took several steps back until her knees buckled. She slumped against the wall. Her heart thumped fast against her ribs, and her face was slick with sweat. She exhaled and sighed.
"What a day!" she exclaimed, crackling in nervous laughter.
The Works in Sun-Downe was an absolute mess, with business obstructed, lanes blocked by warning hurdles, and the flashing sirens of security patrol.
Business closed.