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Even the light of daybreak over Zaun looked sickly as it trickled down through clouds tinged green by smog. The skeletal forms of buildings that had once been a bustling harbor district might appear like so much waste to an outsider's eye. The corpse of a city choked out generations ago that had been left to rot.
Sevika knew better. She had always known better. Everywhere the chill swept out from water swimming with contaminants, there was life of some kind. Small boats replaced the cargo ships that avoided their side of the river. Salvaged wood and scrap metal were planted in the rocky riverbank over top of what had splintered and rusted away. Tarps were nailed into the gaps of roofs and into the open wounds of cracked windows, the floors beneath them bustling with bodies that couldn't afford to tire.
Cogs and hexes swapped hands. Papers folded and pocketed. Promises made that might as well have been bound in blood. That was what she would draw if they were broken. She didn't waste time on threats. Her intentions were and abilities were known. She let the last sailor she spoke to bum a cigarillo off her. They lit for themself, and so did she.
She descended further into the shadows of her city before the concealed sun reached its peak in the sky. The Promenade layer had never been the place for her. She preferred walls of natural stone over the structures above them. Smoke and fissure gasses blended together around her head, in her nose, filling her lungs as she slid down ladders and ducked down forgotten staircases hewn out of the bottomless cliffsides. There were fewer disturbances on these routes. Fewer chances to be seen by her targets.
Three goons from the largest shimmer factory had been caught dealing. Skimming vials. Thinking the missing merchandise wouldn't be missed. That she wouldn't be pulled out of her way to the dingy little corner where they were peddling wares that didn't belong to them. Into deeper shadows, through puddles of sludge and underneath walls that had crumbled into steep slants that cut across the open air of the alley.
It was easy to startle them. They didn't have the mind not to abuse their product. Didn't leave it where it should have belonged, sealed in the original vials. No, they were shaking and jittery, irises gleaming violet and mouths filled with saliva. One of them wore a cowl that made it effortless to snatch him back when he bolted.
His skin had split, overtaken by a bulging lesion that had turned his skin a sickly purple like a permanent bruise. Unfit for the factory. To be in such constant, close proximity to the substance that had done this to him. A swift knee to the stomach dropped him. She left him there.
The others didn't last any longer than he had. She ran them clear into the cracked sections of wall that she had ducked under. One split open his own forehead on a jagged edge of rock. The other had been slammed into the wall beside it by her bulk. She recovered what she could from their limp bodies. Half of what they had left with. It was still something.
They would either never show their faces at that factory again or know better than to try their luck a second time. If they survived. She stepped over them, the pouch at her left hip heavier and her prosthetic fingers speckled with blood.
She still wasn't done. She never was, really. If there wasn't something routine demanding her effort, there was an emergency. As was the case that day. Too many days since Silco's daughter had become part of his enterprise. Sevika knew there would be carnage, theatrics, a spectacular mess for her to clean up before the next.
She wound her way across bridges and down more steps, hitching lift rides where she could until she was too deep in The Lanes for the sun to ever hope to reach her. There was light to guide her, however. Flames licking up the stone of another cliffside. One that was hollowed out enough for an entire assembly line to dwell inside.
She didn't know how much had been scorched to the point of uselessness, how many bodies there would be to recover, but she was expected to reel in the chaos of scrambling workers and the wreckage of several horseless carriages.
Her whistle cut through the air and snatched the attention of the goons nearest her. Her orders came swift and decisive. The injured needed to be cleared out of the way. Product already salvaged needed to be guarded. And whoever was able, willing or not, would follow her.
She was already pulling her cloak over her head. It would either shield her and serve to manipulate the flames or it would burn. She couldn't afford to spare a thought for the young woman with a pair of blue braids fleeing the scene. Not even when someone shouted that this was her fault. It didn't matter. Sevika had to deal with the consequences.
The acrid smell of a chemical fire, scorched gasoline, and drying blood clung to her as she stepped past the line in front of The Last Drop. No one protested. The twin bouncers made room for her well before she was within arms' reach. She shoved the door open with her right hand.
Relief washed over when she was greeted with warm lighting rather than the strobing colors of the club nights.
Every seat was occupied, with several people standing around the bar. The blend of music and voices formed an almost pleasant backdrop to the sight that snatched her attention.
On the lefthand side of the room was the pool table. It had always been there, and it was always occupied. The butch bent over it was dressed entirely in black and white, a mass of choppy fringe shifting in front of their handsome face as the red glow of the table caressed their pale skin. They glanced her way after striking the ball and their full, darkly painted lips curled.
A wave of their mechanical fingers caught the attention of those watching them, piled onto a couch and into chairs that filled the corner of the room by the pool table. An outward ripple of joy began with a grin breaking out across the round face of a younger woman, dark eyes framed by coils such a deep purple they appeared almost black in the dim lights around them. A long, thick beard in the same shade sprouted along their cheeks, bloomed down their jaw. Broad shoulders filled out a purple shirt criss-crossed with straps in different shades of leather, bandoliers of pens and ink and small rolls of paper shifting as they poured a drink.
A set of claws dense and sharp enough to slice stone curled around the glass they held up, the amber liquid inside vanishing into a mouth filled with fangs in a flash of motion. Whatever comment she made got her glass snatched back even as a wave of laughter passed through the group as a whole. The tall, well-built chirean grabbed her cue off the wall between seats and circled the table to face off against her opponents alongside the butch who had just taken their shot. Plump lips stretched in a toothy smile, twin sets of silvery rings catching the bloody lights underneath her.
A far shorter young woman with a line of dark curls cutting across her forehead pointed at the fighter across from her and gestured with her thumb jutting toward herself. A slow slicing motion as if her throat was being slit. The blades strapped to her back and thighs would have been more intimidating if she didn't have such a soft face. Her features didn't make her aim any less deadly, however, as anyone who had seen her wield the pistols holstered at her hips knew.
The butch lining up his shot beside her nodded as if in agreement with the threat, though he didn't look up from his cue. Tight green coils were piled atop his head and shaved short on the sides in a way that reminded her of her oldest friend's style at times. The glowing red of the table made the tattoos on his face more visible as it drew into a concentrated expression. He struck a ball that sank into a hole across the table and slapped it with a grin. He and the taller butch mirrored each other, tapping their cues against the floor before their attention was stolen by an approaching figure.
A young, slender vastaya with antlers branching out on top of their head brought a tray to the group. The taller butch sporting black fringe reached out to ruffle their head full of orange and violet waves, making them smile wide enough to stretch the dappling of the colored fur across their cheeks. They dodged the swiping arm of the chirean, nearly sloshing the contents of some containers out over the rims. As the group at large admonished her for the stunt, the bar attendant handed out drinks.
A short, wide glass of amber liquid with a piece of skewered fruit was offered to a woman with a cascade of black waves gathered out of her face. Tapered fingers covered in rings accepted the glass and raised it to the vastaya in gratitude. She turned to tap it against the scribe's as the tray was cleared.
The scribe's melodious laugh soared over the music and din of voices as a young woman in stained overalls and a lavender braid crawled over their lap to grab a her glass. The liquid inside was clear and swished nearly over the rim as she was wrapped up in a pair of thick arms and settled in place. She swung her feet as she threw an arm around the back of the scribe's neck.
Her braid flapped in the face of a person who batted the rope of pale purple away with a gloved hand to accept its glass. Two pieces of loosely curling brown hair framed its face, the length covering the wide straps of a plain white tank top. They reached down and produced a small tin they set down on the edge of the pool table. The scribe produced a lighter while the stocky butch nearest them opened up the tin to start a rotation.
The first person he handed the lit cigarillo to was a petite woman who would have been swallowed up in the chaos to the point of invisibility without her bright clothes. Strawberry blonde hair styled in finger waves curled in contrast to deep, dark brown skin that made pale pink lace and ruffles almost glow in the corner she was perched in. Thin fingers with shimmering nails brought the cigarillo up to glossy lips that were billowing with smoke within moments. She passed the cigarillo on as more were offered.
When it reached the scribe, they met her eyes again as they drew on it. They waved to her with a luminous smile as they handed it to the butch who had been shooting when she arrived. Their fingers brushed together. Lingered before they separated again. She felt a blooming warmth at the gesture.
She continued her way further into the bar as the chirean threw her arm around the butch playing with her. She allowed them a couple of puffs before her claws plucked it from their mouth. Sevika would join them soon.
She squared her shoulders again as she climbed the stairs to Silco's office. Whatever faced her behind his door could be endured. She had her people waiting for her.