The stairs brought them up into an old warehouse tucked away in a rotting corner of the Great Complex Area. They watched the old bay doors open up and several great trucks of cargo left for the highways. Crysis, Doone and Rhama left the warehouse by a side exit into the streets. They brought up their hoods against the rain, collars to the wind. It was definitely Celestria.

'Where did Hourla want us to go?' Doone asked.

'Zaddison Boulevard,' Crysis said, 'a place called Stormbrewers. The guy we're meeting has a tattoo of a hyuntiger on his arm.' They emerged out into the distinctive crimson lights of the district. It felt as if they'd never left Androssios, though the weather would argue otherwise, and the distinctive feeling of dirt and grime clambering under his fingernails washed away any thoughts along similar lines.

'Sounds like a strip-club,' Doone said. 'But then, we are in 26.'

'Since when have you ever been in a strip-club?' Rhama asked him, to which Doone merely tapped his nose and winked. 'You know what? Forget I asked that question. I don't want to know.'

The Great Complex Area had a horrifically carnivalesque atmosphere. Everyone was running and shouting and having a good time. HoloAds flew down at them like a murder of crows, trying to get them to go on this holiday, or get this product, or this package deal. The street vendors leaned out of the stalls and followed the AI's ideas. A few street brawls had broken out in foggy alleyways.

They turned onto Zaddison Boulevard. Ahead of them in the distance, a great holographic young man was turning, arms up and exposing an unnaturally muscled physique, jock strap hiding nothing much. 'You could look just like me,' he said over the crowds. 'Just with three weeks taking Numb Zone! It's that easy! Sign up today!' He danced over a large fountain at the front of a forty-storey building, lights all the way to the sky. They looked like painted smudges through the rain.

Crysis walked confidently, but inside he was a tumult of confusion. He didn't know what was going to happen. Once they got the box to a specialist and dealt with them, their task ended. What was he to do? Return home? There was no way to contact the others and get them out of wherever the hell they'd ended up.

Unless he could track down the hooded men, find out what they were doing. It was reckless, but sometimes reckless is what is needed. Crysis didn't want to go reckless, as he had done many times before. He wanted to think this one out. Pretend to be Heratrix.

He wanted to think because he felt something brewing, like thunder in the air. It was an enormous gulf waiting to swallow them whole. He didn't know what was coming, but it was big. Maybe too big for them. If they were all together at that moment, the whole gang huddled together for solidarity, then maybe they could fight it off.

He just didn't know. Normally he was fine with that and he would plough on regardless, but right now it was scaring him shitless.

'Crysis,' Rhama called from some way behind him. He had walked off ahead of the other two, in his shimmering blue bubble of thoughts, and managed to walk straight past Stormbrewers.

'Just making sure you two were paying attention,' he said, turning around and running under the seductive red and white porch.

'You weren't paying attention yourself. Police could've cuffed you and marched you into the cell and you wouldn't have noticed until you had to go piss in the bucket in the corner.'

'Been in many jail cells in your time?'

'Who knows? Who knows?'

Stormbrewers, thankfully, was at least warm, and it was absent of girls, guys, and go-betweens shaking their stuff on stage. It was slick and elegant, devoid of clutter. They wandered to the bar, open on all sides and running up all three floors like a booze-filled test tube, and Crysis ordered three beers from a stiff and proper barman with a thick moustache.

'They're on me,' said a voice behind them. Crysis turned to see a young man with a hard jaw and a slight bump under his left arm. He looked to see a sign on the door that read 'No firearms, even concealed ones.'

'They friends of yours, Mr. Markro?' asked the barman.

'Business associates,' said Markro, flashing them a smile. 'New ones.'

'Certainly,' said the barman, trading bottles for credit. 'Enjoy.'

Markro led them to a secluded booth on the top floor which looked out over the entire bar. He cast a glance around, found the place to be safe, and then slid in on the opposite side to the three newcomers. The neon strip around the rim of the table gave the four of them a ghostly, hollowed look, though their pallor was mostly achieved sans lighting.

'The boss told me to pick up a package from three people at Stormbrewers,' Markro said. 'Said his associate was sending them over. One of them was a Merkiosen.'

'You're very good at spotting your species,' Doone said.

Markro shrugged. 'Got pulled out of a ditch by a Merkiosen chick once. Feel like I gotta pay you back somehow.'

'So we're all the same, now? One of us speaks for us all? That's racist, don't you think?'

'Calm down, Doone,' Rhama said with a pat of his hand. 'You've been fired up and jumpy for days. Stop picking a fight with absolutely everyone.'

'Sorry,' he said, half-closing all his eyes to Markro as a sign of apology. 'I've not been sleeping well.'

'No apology needed. You haven't tried to shoot me, which makes this the easiest meeting with someone I've had in months.' He turned to Crysis. 'You the top man of this crew?'

'That'd be me. Crysis.'

'Markro.'

The two shook hands cordially.

'How am I meant to know you're who we're meeting?' Crysis asked.

'You're always this distrusting?'

'I've run into some bad luck by trusting people before. I like to make sure I've got things right.'

Markro nodded. He pulled up his left sleeve and showed off a tattoo of a hyuntiger with purple fur, claws extended, pouncing out of the arm into the cold harsh reality of the world. 'This proof enough? Usually is.'

Crysis studied it for a moment before nodding. He looked out over the balcony down the three floors to see if anyone was lurking around. Nobody was in sight. Crysis reached into his bag and took out the small red pouch he'd been given. 'This what you're after?'

Markro extended his hand and Crysis dropped it into his palm. 'Not a clue,' Markro said, scratching his head. 'But I'm sure it is. What is it?'

'We were told not to look inside.'

'There would be consequences,' Doone added.

'Bad ones?'

'Icky, limb-related consequences,' said Rhama.

Markro nodded, slipping the little pouch inside his coat. He tapped a tiny red button and the opening sealed up like a wound being healed by white magic. Never going to fall out accidentally now.

'Pleasure doing business with you. Enjoy the beers, folks.' He got up and pointed to the bottles. 'They're decent here.'

'Thank you for paying,' Rhama said, always careful of her manners and conscious that her companions had not even thought about thanking Markro.

Markro gave them a swift salute and headed down the stairs.

When he was out of sight, Crysis felt his whole body sink into the leather couch. It wasn't the comfiest of seats in the world, (Stormbrewers was a place of sleek, vibrant efficiency. Comfort wasn't on the cards) but the partial weight off his shoulders meant that these seats suddenly felt like a lover, embracing him in the largest, softest of beds.

'Needed to breathe out that loudly, did you?' Doone asked.

'Always, my friend. Always.' He hadn't realised he'd sighed.

'What's the plan?' Rhama asked.

Crysis responded by raising his bottle. 'You've got the chance to breathe for a moment. Enjoy. You always enjoy a small miracle you didn't have to pay for.'

The three of them sat there in silence and drank. The carnival continued outside. Despite the chaos of the world, the white and red of Stormbrewers gave them the pink comfort of the womb. For a brief moment, they forgot the universe existed.