Aurablade

01

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.