Aurelia is a Courtesan, not an Assassin. Her world is turned upside down, however, when she kills a high-ranking Senator in self defense. Given his status, and the political power his family wields, Aurelia knows she will be executed without a trial...
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Countdown: 5 days, 14 hours, 6 deaths
Once she makes her way out of the Entertainer's Guild complex and back out onto Fifth Street, she realizes that the concert must be in full swing. The music floats on the air, the deep, quick beat of the drums and lilting melodies of the reed flutes twining with the jazzy, generically heart-throb male voice of a singer. Aurelia can't hear the words, but she recognizes the catchy tune.
The crowds are thinner now than they were before, but there are still enough people that she can blend in with little effort on her way back to Lierte Ave and the bullet train. She squeezes into her seat, the bag of rice balls Bryna had given her balanced on her lap. The thought of hungry little bellies and sunken brown eyes makes her throat tight.
She steps off the train onto Tenth Street, and then makes her way Northwest on Hock under the bullet bridge.
As she walks, she scans the flyers plastered to the bridge- many are faces of the missing. Perhaps they were put there in the hope that the bullet brats would have seen them. Perhaps they think the bridges offer the most exposure. More likely, though, is that outside of Midcity, the bullet bridges are the only places that aren't cleaned off and scrubbed down every night. They are one of the few places in Glascoast where a flyer could last for weeks or months rather than hours.
The faces of all the missing are smiling- warm eyes set over rounded cheeks, teeth winking through their grins. Aurelia wonders if those who post the fliers realize that the people pictured will not be smiling if they are found. Many of the pictures are of dark skinned, green-eyed girls. Amaliem. Outliers. Many more are of taint-lines. The types that are invisible. Easily forgotten.
Besides the flyers, there are also plenty of graffiti, many of it still fresh. 'No justice, no peace,' is scrawled in massive black lettering, the logo of the terrorist organization below it. Aurelia shudders at the sight.
The children spot her immediately, and don't bother waiting for her to come to them, this time. Two of the little ones scurry over on skinny legs, and she sees their eyes brighten in delight at the sight of the little parcel she carries in her hands. She smiles at them, and hands each their very own rice ball. The children shove it in their mouths, and squeal with glee as the chocolate dribbles out from the corners of their lips.
The oldest boy- the leader who'd led her to the brothel- stalks over and gives the little ones a stern look. They scamper away, casting questioning glances over their narrow shoulders.
"You killed him," the boy says, immediately, not bothering with pleasantries.
"No one will ever know you were involved," Aurelia promises, and the boy glares at her.
"What do you want now?" he demands, and Aurelia holds out the parcel of rice balls to him. He glances back at the other children who stare at the package with hungry eyes and wet lips. She sees some of the fight leave his shoulders as he heaves out a sigh, and some of the fire drains from his eyes. He takes the parcel, his movements slow with resignation.
