Everyone wants their last moment to mean something.
Most are not enamored by a glorious, brave death in battle, nor a flashy one displayed on holograms. Most will settle for a more quiet affair, enveloped by those nearest to them as they pass on profound wisdom to the next generation.
The truth is that very few realize when death's hand is near. I've seen it firsthand, stalking a citizen on the streets or lurking in the corners of their homes. Every time, the citizen follows a normal routine, unaware that their mortal clock ticks down. Those glimpses of a moving shadow, those lost echoes of footsteps are disregarded until I creep up from behind, gun poised at the base of their skull.
If they turn around or catch me in their peripheral, there's always a flash in their eyes that widens into terror when my hand removes a gun from my belt.
And then it's over. The last exhales captured by my belt are almost always silent, without a wise-word uttered. It's easier that way, less chance of discovery.
Most of the time, I report my kill back to my superior, whoever offered the right price. But tonight, I am my own highest bidder.
Blue and pink lights reflect off the glass apartment building looming high above. I slip into an alleyway, my cape absorbing the darkness around me so I blend in. Slip in, slip out, leave no trace — that's the motto of every Elyminai prowling the streets. And that's exactly what I intend to do: break in, demand answers, execute, and disappear.
I tap my wrist twice, and a light spews from my watch into a 3D image of the building's layout, filled with brightly colored dots that represent different sources of electricity within the building. My finger drags along the digital alley as I step deeper into the darkness, aligning my path with the virtual x-ray. The dots enlarge and shrink, dim and brighten: blue for the heating source, green for basic appliances, and so on.
Then, a red dot with an orange center balloons in the image. I stop just beyond a trash can, peering closer at a glass panel embedded in the building. According to my watch, a major security system access point lies just beyond it. From my belt, I draw out a slender, electronic drill, less than a millimeter in circumference, and press it to the glass. I move the point over the panel, a degree here, a degree there, watching until the silver dot on my screen aligns with the red one.
That's where I drill. A pinprick hole carves through the glass. With my right hand, I shine a beam of light through it while my left expands the triangle that popped up in the hologram's corner. I pick apart the security system's code, run an override, and click "enter."
Seven seconds. That's how long it takes for the code to activate. I return to the hologram, watching red-and-orange lights peter out across the building. I wait an extra minute after the last dies out just to be sure. Then, I remove a diamond pen from my bag and slice the glass. The panel comes away in a single, square sheet just large enough for me to fit through.
I shine a flashlight inside the opening. All I see is darkness ending in a distant, black reflective surface. On my wrist, a message pops up reading "five meters."
There's been worse. I lower myself through the opening, then release my grip on the edge. I freefall onto a hard surface, landing in a crouch. The impact shudders through the bones in my legs, rippling outward from my knee braces. It takes a moment for the pain to ebb, and I push myself to stand.
Around me is a large, empty basement. My watch shifts to a single, floating beam of light that helps me to pick my way to the door on the opposite side. I take a moment to scan the door, searching the various electrodes flowing around and through it. There is a digital lock on it, but it doesn't appear tied to any active alarm systems.
There are a few ways to trip the unlock mechanism. I opt for the voltage stealer, placing a dead charging port against the lock. The dead door releases the lock and slowly opens. I slip into a hallway lit in dark-blue light. My cape emits the same shade as I walk through the passage, to a stairwell with a rusted railing. My holographic map pinpoints the location, and I trace a path to the twenty-ninth floor.
I hurry up the stairwell, ducking into corners and behind the stairs anytime a janitor or repair worker passes. My face and cobalt-gray hair shrouded in a wide hood, only those who bother a second glance can distinguish me from my surroundings. Of course, no one does.
A tiny window provides a viewing portal into the twenty-ninth floor hallway. A man passes in an electric blue suit and tie, triggering numbers to flash on every door he passes by. I wait for him to duck inside a room before I steal the electricity from the door and enter the corridor. Not a sound emanates from my boots, even though the floor is solid, dark-gray technoglass. As I pass, the numbers flicker once more.
I stop at number eighteen. For this door, I crouch down and slide a hairline metal twister through the crack. It magnetizes to the door, and I maneuver it higher and higher until three thin prongs close around a metal knob. Twisting it to the right, there's a slight "pop" as the door unlocks. I turn the handle, slipping right into my target's apartment.
I stand in the entrance to the apartment. My chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. It's so quiet, so still, I can feel each inhale of my lungs, each beat in my chest. I poke my head inside, then take a few steps forward. My cloak ensures that I am masked by shadows as I scan the room for signs of life.
Neon pink and blue shines against dark curtains, casting the faintest electric glow on the room. The living space is sparse, just a table and chairs, a couch, a fridge in the corner. I peer into a connecting room on the right, an empty study. The final room on the left brings me into a bedroom, where a man sleeps face down, covered in a blanket.
Warnings flare in my brain. I would expect more of a security detail for a man with two gangs' worth of enemies. Are they in hiding? But no, my hologram confirms that there are only three rooms inside his apartment. Could there be a hidden room unreported to the public? It would make sense from a security standpoint, but also, I would've expected to be caught by now if someone were watching.
I glance around me. I'm alone, except for the sleeping man. Going against every instinct I've learned over the past two years, I slink to his side. My right hand latches around his throat, dragging him upright, while my dagger gleams gold against his throat.
The man jolts awake, tossing the comforter off him. "Huh? Huh?"
My expression sours. This is not the man I seek. He is a mere teen, like me. Shaggy black hair hangs into his round dark eyes, and his scrawny neck squirms to look at me. I keep it angled forward.
"Who are you?" I state flatly.
"T-Talc. Who are you? W-what are you doing here?"
"It's none of your concern anymore." The blade starts a cut into his skin.
"Wait!" Talc raises a large, bony hand overhead. "I'll pay you. Argon has tons of money laying around. He's a very rich man. I'll pay you my next year's worth of salary."
"Your death is more useful than your money."
"I'll stay quiet! I swear it. Not a word about you will leave my lips."
That's what they all say. My eyes roll, but somehow, I hesitate to strike. This is the longest conversation I've had with a target, or in this case, a casualty. Still, his desperation sparks an idea in my head.
I lower my weapon, and the teen breathes a sigh of relief.
"What would you do to save your life tonight?" I ask.
"Anything."
My molars scrape against each other as I think. "How do you know Argon?"
"He's my uncle. He has me watch the place while he's away."
"How often is he away?"
"Most of the time. I don't think he sleeps." Talc forces a chuckle. I remain deadpan.
"Do you have a position at The CryoFuture?"
Talc gives a jolted series of nods.
Nepotism. Figures. Either that or the whole family tree is rotten, and he's just putting on a very good show of naivety.
And yet somehow, he seems convincing, eyes wide in terror and fingers gripping the bedding. His shoulders tremble in the dim light.
I should get rid of him. No witnesses, no mess for later.
But a small part of me remembers the reason why I took this job in the first place. Now that my entire world has been turned on its head, I don't need more necrovolts, more deaths to fuel my way to the underworld. There's no reason to be visiting that dreadful place when Stellae isn't there — at least not until I get some crucial information from The CryoFuture.
"What tier are you?"
He swallows. "Thirty."
Dardroids, that's low. It must really be nepotism. I need someone who can hack and code, or at least someone high enough to access useful information. I do not want a spineless errand boy.
"Tell me." I lean back against the wall, turning my dagger in a glowing, golden circle. "If you're at the bottom tier of your company, what can you do to get me the information I need from the top?"
The slightest of smiles edges Talc's lips. "I can get you anything you want. I know where it all is."
My eyes narrow. "What's your position?"
"Coding department. But I've already hacked my way onto higher levels."
Huh. Maybe he'll be of use after all. I glance around, spotting a laptop shoved under the bed.
"You start tonight," I say, nodding to where the device is. "If you can hack into a higher level by morning, then we'll come to an arrangement. If not, this blade will glow red."