Aurablade

03

Dark, putrid liquid ripples with every pounding step my boots take on the streets. I stalk past mazes of alleys with barrels of overturned garbage and chemicals, dismembered limbs littered amongst it. Wanted posters clutter the brick walls, some disintegrating to white mush on the ground.

Rotting flesh and blood hang in the air. All the more reason for the black mask stretched across my thin cheeks. It not only preserves my identity amongst enforcers and other assassins, but it staves off a little more of the assault on my nostrils.

A day ago, I thought I'd never return to this wretched maze of alleys. I thought I'd be on my way to finding my sister, or if not, in custody for breaking into Argon's apartment.

Arrested, or dead.

I have to remind myself that technically, I am on my way to finding Stellae. The next step just requires me to fuel up again.

Two breaths. That's all I need. One to get there and one to return.

As I round a corner, I spot a man in a leather tank top and pants leaning against a wall. White paper flecks his blond hair, and he twirls a dagger between his fingers. He glances up from the ground, and a cheshire grin spreads on his large, rounded cheeks.

"Aurablade! Haven't seen you 'round lately."

I grit my teeth. "Took a break."

"I've got customers counting on you." Boro's gaze drifts to the blade weaving between his fingers. Glowing light casts a green hue on his fat, stubby fingers, on the wide space where his index and middle fingers should've been.

"Well, I'm here to take on two more jobs," I say.

Boro raises a bushy eyebrow. "Two at once?"

"You heard me."

"Getting back in the game. That's what I want to hear." Boro shoves his knife into his pocket. "You know the way."

I follow Boro through the alley. The first time I came here, I tried to avoid the slush coating the ground. Now, my feet plow through it. The squishy substance is familiar in a way I never would've imagined.

Music and raucous laughter greet me part way through the dim passage. A grizzly bass thrums in my skull while metallic chords scrape the air. The ground underfoot practically trembles from the deep vibrations. A few people pass by, most of them clad in leather and sporting piercings and tattoos. My gaze flicks to my wrist, where my own assassin's symbol is inked into my flesh.

A brick wall rises before us, connecting with the subway tunnel that runs overhead. Four men stumble from a door by the end. Three have wild, bloodshot eyes, and I try to keep my head low. No matter how long I stay in this business, there's some people I just don't mess with, and that includes substance users.

One man, about a foot taller than me, breaks into a delusional grin, displaying a full set of tarnished silver teeth. He sways from side to side, and his entire body swings in my direction. I gasp, stepping toward the opposite wall. I wait for the men to teeter past before hurrying through the door that Boro holds open for me with a smirk.

The steady, electro-music burrows under my skin. Each beat of the drums is a pulse in my veins, and the guitar strumming is cold and metallic, like the braces encircling my knees. Clashing notes remain suspended over the din of conversation so that the very air I breathe emanates electricity.

This is the music of the city, of an cybernetic realm composed from metal, wires, and electrons.

This is the music of villains, a dark market where debts are enforced and revenge is bought with cash.