Siala: Part 2 - 1

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Garrison Road was a grotty street in an even grottier part of the HeadCore Area.

Sufficed to say that there was nothing of particular interest in HeadCore, no great monuments or headquarters or even well-known restaurants. It was, for all intensive purposes, strictly functional, and the buildings as such reflected this. Celestrian architecture, for those that are unaware, as a general rule of thumb, gets nicer the lower the Region number. It tends to make a shift every ten Regions or so, 1-10 being the nicest with its beautifully sculpted business districts and apartment complexes with nicely rounded edges at the tops of the building, Celestrian-blue neon outlining all the buildings like advertisement billboards. The next ten regions are still fairly nice for the most part, and still display a reasonable amount of wealth wherever you went under normal circumstances.

HeadCore seemed to have missed that particular memo.

As we left the heart of the HeadCore area, having managed to grab an hour-long ride on the Magna-Train into the centre, the buildings and streets seemingly began to walk backwards through the regions, before ending up somewhere around the same respectability of Region 62 or lower, by the time we got near to our destination. Graffiti was all over the walls, discarded condoms and needles were littering the pavements and K-Crows fed upon discarded vermin carcasses in blocked drains. Added to this, as was to be expected, it had begun to rain.

I gave my jacket to Siala who took it with thanks, Rena tucking her wings in and hiding underneath the hood. The night time was beginning to run down, everyone making their way back from the pubs and parties and nightclubs to their homes, aside from the few that only headed back when the slight blue tinges of dawn hit the sky. I tried to steer away from the sight of staggering souls as they rummaged in their pockets saying 'I knew me, had me keeeeeys here somewherrrre...'

Once or twice, down the backstreets, I saw hooded figures shrouded by the darkness. Smoke trailed from their shredded lips and bitten fingertips. Dirty Work might have been in a place notorious for sex and prostitution (The Great Complex Area, the birthplace of Prosterothal's business which would eventually buy out the planet now bearing the same name), but this was a place for thieves, drugs and murder, bloodied knives flashing in the dark. I told Siala to keep moving.

Garrison Road itself was a street comprising of great, lumbering, ugly uprisings of square steel. No imagination had been given to making it look even vaguely attractive to prospective buyers, and I was fairly sure that people bought places here for two reasons. Firstly, they had dodgy business to be done in the locale, or secondly, they had connections for money, but not enough to get them out of squalor. You might raise eyebrows when you said you lived in Region 15, where those who had raised said eyebrows would think 'wow, he's not doing too badly for himself', but a run-down shithole, no matter where it is, is still a run-down shithole.

We walked along, looking on the doors for our building. My hair was dripping but I didn't care. The 58 Alpha in my pocket was getting cold however, and as it was pressing against my side it was making me cold. That was something I did care about.

'This looks like the place,' I said, to myself as much as the other two. Siala and her little friend had become incredibly silent and introvert since we had been told to come here, and I hadn't pressed them for information why. It wasn't the time or the place. There would, hopefully, be time for it later.

We walked in out of the cold. A battered floor of cracked tile greeted us, and the soft light meant we had to stand there for a few seconds before our eyes could adjust. The reception desk was empty, and judging by the scribbles and gashes in its side, long since abandoned.

'Up there, I think,' Siala said. She pointed to a sign above the main staircase. She was right. 1765D was the fourth floor up. I nodded.

'Let's go,' I said. I didn't want to be out in the open for any longer than I had to. We had already been discovered and attacked once, and I didn't want to be standing in a large, deserted lobby when we got gunned down after they had tracked us.

I took the lead, Siala keeping close behind me. The stairs creaked as we ascended, the railings thick with dust. I wondered if the authorities knew that people still lived here. I wondered if they would have cared either way. I decided not.

We were soon outside the door to 1765D. Motioning for Siala to stand to my left and out of the way, I knocked.

'Who is it?' said a voice from behind the door.

'My name is Xayne, Mr. Harly' I said. 'I've been told to come here for sanctuary.'

Inside I heard a chair being pushed back, followed by footsteps stumbling from one place to another; along with something metal being grabbed from a side table. A gun of some sort, most likely.

'Who told you where I live?'

'My boss. Grasslea, owner of Dirty Work in Region 26.'

A small pause. I heard fumbling at locks on the inside of the door. The door was pulled back, holding on a chain lock. A nervous, twitchy eye stared back at me. It was blue, but the whites were cracked with red, not from drug usage but from staying up for too long, looking at screens and monitors.

'This for real?' he asked. I nodded.

'Show me your card...' he began, before casting a nervous glance to the side and spotting Siala, who had walked close to behind me. Her hood lifted up and Rena peeked out.

'It's definitely ol' Grizzly,' she said.

The man Harly stared at the two of them for a second, then back at me, before sliding the chain back and opening the door up.

'Come in,' he said. 'Just make sure the Harpi keeps her trap shut, if at all possible.'


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