Aurablade

05

I glance at the number of my wrist, glowing seven o'clock in the pale as pale sunlight brightens the piercing, holographic street lights. People are beginning to traverse the Skybridge running overhead, and a few people pass by on foot. I wait by a small comic shop, in a brick alcove that shrouds me from view.

After receiving my assignment yesterday, I sent Talc an encrypted message, changing our meeting time to now. He messaged me back saying it was fine and that it'd give him more time to search higher databases. He isn't as inept as I initially thought, managing to unlock the message I sent with record speed, which is good. I just wonder if he knows more than he lets on.

My hand closes around my dagger's hilt. If this turns into a trap, I will take care of it.

A few paces up the street, a boy in a black hoodie and dark-washed jeans heads toward the comic shop. Talc. His shaggy, black hair sticks out in places, like he just rolled out of bed. Both of his tawny hands clutch at two backpack straps running over his shoulders.

As he passes by, I emerge from the alcove. "Talc!" I whisper.

He jumps, one hand flying to his chest. "Aurablade! I didn't see you there."

That's the point. "What information do you have for me?" I shift back into the shadows, and Talc takes up the other side of the alcove.

"Whatever the CryoFuture is, it definitely isn't ice-related. I hacked into a level-three purchase log, and I don't see any references to ice-related equipment, though they are buying lots of wires and other electronic-related items. Oh! And I got the names of the team of scientists they work for."

"Good. Any information on them?"

He shakes his head. "A couple are recent graduates, the rest seem pretty old. Other than that, I don't know what their expertises are. Interestingly, I researched some scientists who are involved in human preservation through ice efforts. None of them have been contacted by The CryoFuture." Talc pauses. "That's about it."

I mull over everything Talc just told me. It's solidified now that the CryoFuture's true purpose is not being revealed to the public. And yet people continue to sign up for it, continue to subject themselves to whatever it's true intent is. My blade feels hot against my leg, an electric burst ready to be unleashed on Argon.

Not yet. I blink away the angry sparks at the corners of my vision. I must find out more, find out what truly happened to Stellae.

"Can you get the top files?" I ask Talc.

Talc shifts his stance. "I-I can try. They're locked away, though."

My lips press together. "What do you mean?"

"All the level one information is kept on special pods locked in Argon's office. I need special clearance to even get onto the top floor of the building."

"Than that's your job."

Talc is silent for a moment. Then he whispers, "any news on my aunt?"

"No. So far, I haven't seen any bounty out for her."

Talc sighs, his whole body caving from weighted worry.

"But there's one more place I can look for her," I say. "Before we start searching death records, that is."

"Where?" Light brightens Talc's gaze.

"The underworld."

***

I don't really consider myself as having a home, but the closest place I have to one is a small flat under a subway tunnel. In this part of town, the sky-high buildings lack the shiny, glass and metal of the business district. Dingy flats and rooms stack atop each other, some with splintering wood boards or crumbling bricks hanging onto the sides, about to smack a passerby on the head.

I pass under the tunnel overhead, ducking out of the way of a liquid droplet that falls from the cloudy glass exterior, and stand outside a rusted, reddish-brown door. My thumbs press a ten digit code into the keypad mindlessly. The door slowly opens, and I rush inside, pressing it closed behind me.

The ground begins to tremble, and a tremendous, whooshing sound sweeps through the flat. I continue to the small fridge in the corner, next to a sink that spews out foul-smelling liquid every time I turn it on. Inside, there's a small take-out box that I grab along with an ElixerEnergy, pinkmanglo sunrise flavor. The grocery stand I frequent has been out of the flavor I normally go for, frosted pyrus, so the pinkmanglo will have to do. I crack open the can, taking a few swift gulps, then pop a few bites of sticky chicken in my mouth. Sufficiently refueled, I cross through a doorless doorway. Amidst two shabby chairs, there's my motorbike. I detach a silver, metal square from my belt, the one containing the three final breaths of last night's victims, and place it inside the bike's fuel tank, located above the rear wheel. A display lights up beside the tank. I click the option to deposit all breaths. The tank spits the silver square out, and I reattach it to my belt.

I swing my leg over the side of the bike's black chrome body. The engine revs, and when my fist lightly squeezes the handle, it rolls forward, all the way to my door. I tap a button on the wall, raising the door. Once I'm outside, my flat locks behind me.

The bike rides soundlessly through the streets. I press on the accelerator slowly, feeling wind comb my short hair behind my shoulders and ripple the edges of my cloak. My hood flops onto my back, exposing my face, but the bike's speed increases to a lightning pace. It's impossible for one to glimpse my appearance at this speed. I swerve out of the way of other motorbikes in the street. Some call after me, but their words are clipped by the air rushing in my ears.

A pitch-black tunnel yawns by a side alley. I turn the handles in its direction, and the bike effortlessly swerves inside it. All around me, I'm encompassed by a dark void, unable to see or smell anything. My ears begin to ring. I can only feel the bike still under me, feel the blood beating in my veins, the adrenaline flowing in my blood, making me hyper aware of this vacuum of my senses.

This is what it's like to be alive.

I twist the handles a little to the left, a little to the right, feeling my way through the passageway. The first Elyminai I ever met, you might say she was a sort of mentor to me, taught me the exact science of the passage. It has to be precise. If it feels a hair too fast, slow down. A hair too slow, speed up, until your body finds the symmetry in the speed.

The first few times, you count the seconds between the turns. Now, I feel the distance, sense the angle that the handles must be placed at. My senses become the navigation, and the navigation my senses.

The ground slopes. I accelerate one more time, the wind gushing at my sides, at my feet, under the wheels. Then the ground disappears, and I fly through the air for one, two, three, four...

My bike crashes to the ground. Shock ripples through my muscles, and the bike slows the slightest bit.

The darkness lightens, transitioning from pitch to black to gray to dawn...

Stone walls appear around me, and at the end of the tunnel, a faint, reddish glow lights up a far-off cavern. I speed toward it, now pressing the brake on my bike. The red light is brighter now, and I can make out metamorphic holes in the rock. My bike decelerates more and more until at the very edge of the passage, the wheels roll to a halt. I park the bike on the side, then swing my leg over the side.

I stand at the edge of a large precipice, overlooking rocks filled with hills and valleys. The images of people float over the barren landscape, some speaking in hushed voices, others off by themselves. In the distance, tunnels carve their way through the dry, bone-colored stones, all tinted with a reddish glow. Sweat beads on my brow from the heat emanating from this place.

Once again, I have made it to the underworld. I just hope that this time, I'll actually find something useful down here.