Copyright © 2021 - Cover art and written content by J.E. Maurice (unless otherwise credited) - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)
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Icy droplets of rain misted the vacant streets of Lumières Capitales, and the distant resonance of thunder could be heard growling high above the luminescent cityscape. As midnight fell upon the city of lights, the neon blue illumination of the metropolis reflected hazily off of the dark gray thunderclouds above, which seemed as though they may erupt at any moment into a torrent, almost as if they were punctured by the array of skyscrapers that dominated the area. The streets were rarely empty of movement, legal or otherwise, and the constant inclement weather conditions did little to quell it. The city itself always appeared to be in a constant hum of activity. Public transit systems—while undeniably shoddy—were no exception, and said public transport was often where I found myself, having no personal vehicle of my own. In reality, most residents of the city did not; they simply lacked the finances for that luxury. Individuals from all walks of life utilized public transportation, and for this reason, traveling could oftentimes be more of a misadventure than one initially bargained for.
("Lumières Capitales" by J.E. Maurice)
I was first approached by the imps while aboard one of the many robotically driven buses that coasted around the city. Its smooth interior lighting did little to clarify the face of the one who had sidled up to me, dropping nonchalantly into the seat beside mine, their head covered by a thick hood. As the bus slowed to a stop, allowing passengers to disembark, and new passengers to embus, the stranger next to me slipped a note into my hand before quickly departing. I barely had time to register this oddity before they were out of sight.
“We have a job for you, the last job you’ll ever have to work – 653 Morrison Lane, midnight.”
And that was all the message had expressed. Suspicious though it was, I had been unable to procure a job in months, and my income was at a standstill. The note promised that this would be my last job; whether that entailed a massive sum of money, or it meant they intended to kill me afterward, I had no idea. It was a risk I had to take.
Now, as I stood outside 653 Morrison Lane—slowly becoming more damp and chilled by the gentle mist—I recognized where I had been led. The windows and doors were cursorily boarded up, which was a clear attempt to manufacture a look of deserted dilapidation, but I knew better. Several crime syndicates operated out of places like this, and whichever one this was obviously wanted my assistance with something. This realization began to make me extremely nervous. These clans were in constant, violent dispute with one another over turf, and they did not take kindly to being crossed by anyone. I bit my lip in unease at the mere thought of the other gangs discovering my involvement with one of their rivals. The wind and rain began to swell turbulently, and I squinted against the sudden gale.
My thoughts of walking away from this job were interrupted by a gentle creak. My head turned slightly to the right, and my sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a comparably hooded figure as the one that had delivered the note to me hours prior. They were pushing aside one of the vertical boards that covered the entryway to 653 Morrison; the thick wooden plank was held in place by one nail, allowing it to slide back and forth as a makeshift door. The figure beckoned to me avidly, whispering something I could not quite make out above the hiss of the rain on the street. I moved closer.
The hooded silhouette pulled the timber to one side, allowing me to slip through out of the rain, and into the dimly lit recesses of the building. I was escorted through several poorly illuminated corridors, and down a flight of stairs, not even entirely sure what my surroundings looked like due to the lackluster lighting. My guide ushered me into a larger chamber in which there was a human man standing to one side. His bleach-blonde hair was spiny, and his skin was very pale; the fine stubble on his jawline was short and hardly noticeable in the low light. His dark orange eyes contrasted his ivory hair and skin, and I could not help letting my gaze linger on him for a prolonged moment. He used his palm to brush off his dark red jacket as he stared me down, as if finding the dust just as distasteful as he found me.
This moment was ended by something else grabbing for my attention. A sizable desk of gray wood stood near the back of the room; seated at the desk, which held one of the only sources of light in the room, was a tall, thin creature. His ears and chin ended in sharp points, and his eyelids unsettlingly blinked vertically instead of horizontally. His hairless skin—like the human’s—was quite pale, but his eyes were a piercingly bright yellow. He was unmistakably an imp; this realization did nothing to assuage my trepidation about this.
“So, you’re Jayden then,” said the strange creature, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m glad you could make it.”
I nodded in response. His voice was breathy and playful, as I had expected. It was widely known that imps did not benefit from possessing vocal cords—as nearly every other creature across the city did—thereby forcing them to speak by exhaling heavily as they moved their mouths, much like a whisper. The effect of this was something akin to persistent hissing, like a glaring of hostile cats.
“Yeah, glad I could be here,” I lied unenthusiastically, eyeing my surroundings with vague distaste. While the room was only faintly lit, my vision was keen, and what I could see of the environment was uninviting, to put it mildly. I could hardly expect a crime syndicate of brutish imps to have a full-time sanitation department, but the filth on every surface was nonetheless revolting.
“I’m Segnur U’sevig,” said the imp, his face breaking into an off-putting smile. “I run this dump.”
“Nah,” I protested half-heartedly. “I wouldn’t call it a ‘dump’ exactly… maybe a slum.”
“How gracious of you,” U’sevig replied flatly, but with an amused glint in his eye. “But I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here.”
“I’m marginally curious,” I said flippantly, casting a dubious glance in the direction of the blond human standing to my left.
U’sevig leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “We have a proposal for you,” he said. “One that I think you’ll find compelling. If you accept, then Mr. Zachary Katotori here will be your accomplice.” U’sevig gestured to the pale man to my left, and the two of us made uneasy eye contact.
“If you’re successful,” the imp continued. “You’ll both be able to retire comfortably. If you fall short, you’ll likely be killed.”
I raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and my mouth was halfway open to deliver my mordacious perspective on his presentation thus far, but he held up one of his three-fingered hands to stop me. I acquiesced, albeit aversely.
“Before you get defensive,” he elaborated. “That’s not a threat from us; rather I want you to understand that the job itself is dangerous. We want you and Mr. Katotori to break into Vallume, and get something for us.”
That sentence hung in the air for a long moment before I scoffed audibly. Vallume housed the biggest criminal organization in the entire city, and the cyborgs involved with it were the last people on the planet I would ever desire to trifle with. The mere suggestion sounded absurd.
“So, you want to send me into the most powerful criminal syndicate in the city with nothing but this albino porcupine?” I asked, bewildered. “Are you shitting me?”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Zach send an annoyed glare in my direction as he self-consciously ran a hand through his spiny, white hair, but I ignored it.
“Don’t underestimate the albino porcupine,” U’sevig replied humorously, causing Zach to roll his eyes. “He’s got a penchant for technology, and he assures me he can keep Vallume’s security impaired long enough for you to get in and out.”
“How exactly do you propose we even get in?” I asked incredulously.
“Through the front door,” Zach spoke up, his deep voice taking me by surprise. “You might know that the heads of the organization keep the front of the building open under the guise of being a religious temple. You’ll go in as a visitor, and I’ll take down internal security so that you can get into the off-limits areas.”
“A religious temple?” I reiterated, skeptical of this claim. “Why would they pretend to be a temple? That seems really risky.”
“You’d be surprised,” U’sevig interjected, shrugging lightly. “Pretending to do charity work actually keeps the constables from poking around too much.”
“So, are you in?” Zach asked me impatiently. “Or do we need to look elsewhere?”
I ignored him, and focused my attention on U’sevig. “I need more specific numbers if I’m going to get involved,” I told him. “And I need to know every detail of the plan.”
. . . . . . . .
The late evening brought a chill in the air, and the ceaseless rain pattered down on my head and shoulders as I stood in a short line of religious congregants just outside the temple doors. I had walked by Vallume on only a handful of occasions, but never slowed or stopped to observe it closely; the reputation it had in the criminal underworld made drawing the attention of its leaders to myself seem unwise, and loitering outside their headquarters was certainly one way to draw their eye.
As I idled with the dozen devotees grouped around the entrance—waiting for the double doors to open for the evening religious service—I had an opportunity to inspect the building without arousing suspicion. The establishment was only three stories high, which was rather small in comparison to most structures in Lumières Capitales; the front of the premises was adorned with finely crafted pillars of marble, and statues of some deity that was unfamiliar to me. Between these sizable pillars was a truly beautifully decorated archway; its twisting design resembled climbing ivy dangling down from above, and I took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship. As subtly as possible, I adjusted my earpiece that Zach had provided to me; this was the device we would employ to communicate with each other during the heist. My ears were fairly large, and the earpiece was easily concealed inside, so neither Zach or myself were apprehensive about it being noticed.
“Are you sure this is gonna work?” I murmured to Zach, my nerves creating an unpleasant butterfly feeling in my stomach.
“I wouldn’t say I’m totally sure,” Zach said diplomatically. “But I’d say our chances are pretty good.”
“As long as you really can keep the security field impaired—like you say you can—then I think there’s a chance this doesn’t end badly.”
Zach snickered. “Yeah, as much as I genuinely don’t like you,” he said. “And as funny as it would be to watch this thing go south for you, I want this payday way more.”
“Just so you know,” I answered dryly. “If they do catch me, I will give you up immediately; there’s no way I’d go through an interrogation for you.”
“You’re hilarious,” Zach said sarcastically, and I could visualize his eyes rolling just by the tone of his voice.
“No, I’m serious, I’d snitch on you in exchange for a pat on the head; I just want you to know that.”
The doors before us began to part slowly, and I was briefly taken aback by the amount of sapphire light that spilled out into the street as they opened. Shielding my eyes from the cobalt gleam with one hand, I began to move forward, the shambling believers leading the way as they all tried to courteously make room for everyone else. I passed under the ivy-emulating archway, relieved to be shielded from the rain.
("Vallume Stained Glass Window" by J.E. Maurice)
The interior of the building struck me as unexpectedly orthodox, as if it had been modeled after a traditional church sanctuary. Wooden pews in perfectly parallel rows lined the walls, which themselves were plastered with some kind of religious iconography I knew nothing about. As the congregation began to remove their overcoats, and hang them up on the array of hooks on the back wall, I noted that most of them were cyborgs; including myself, there were only three non-cyborgs out of the dozen worshippers that had entered the building.
“I see we have some new faces,” said a calm, synthetic voice to my left. I turned to face the possessor of the voice, and found myself facing a strikingly tall cyborg. His voice sounded manufactured, seemingly produced by artificial voice-generating technology. Cyborgs always had mechanical elements built into their bodies, but to varying degrees; the one in front of me now appeared to have very few biological parts left, which was fairly jarring, and his slim coat looked strangely bulky over his robotic portions. He shook my hand politely in his cold grasp.
“I’m very glad you could make it,” he continued. “This has traditionally always been a cyborgiot religion, but we accept organics of all species, including… whatever you may be.”
I felt my eyebrows twitch at his obvious hesitation, but concluded that he probably meant nothing rude by it; it was likely he was merely unfamiliar with my species. I opened my mouth to speak, but the cyborg got there first.
“I’m Wendevil,” he carried on, apparently unaware that other people generally contribute in a conversation. “I’ll be your minister this evening. I must go greet our other visitors, but I genuinely hope you enjoy the service.”
The cyborg swept away from me—in a surprisingly graceful way for his size—and began to interact similarly with the other guests that had entered with me.
“That was weird,” I muttered. “But I’m relieved that he didn’t pay much attention to me.”
“Yeah, you’ve gotta keep a low profile,” Zach agreed. “This temple is a front for criminal activity, so if he’s a minister here, that means he’s probably involved. The less attention you draw to yourself, the better.”
Admittedly, I had neglected to consider that possibility. I cast a suspicious glance at Wendevil, suddenly wary of being in his line of sight.
“Now,” Zach went on. “Grab a seat near that wooden door in the back left corner of the room; that’s the door you’ll take when I distract everyone. I’ll give you directions from there.”
I furtively took a seat in one of the uncomfortable pews—which was near the door that Zach had indicated to me—and waited somewhat impatiently for him to initiate a diversion, so I could slip away. Soon after, everybody else also began to find their seats around the chamber, interspersed among the pews as if they were afraid to sit beside each other.
“Good evening, my fellow believers,” Wendevil said, sauntering up to the lectern near the front of the room, his volume augmented by some unseen amplifier. “Thank you for joining us tonight here in this sacred place. I’m thrilled to see so many new faces here.”
He paused for a moment, letting his greeting settle into the audience before continuing.
“As believers, we know that as we transform ourselves, moving ever closer to a higher form—just as Aphanox did—the closer we are to achieving enlightenment as a society. Yes, we welcome organics into our family—and with open arms—but the sooner we convince them to begin cutting away their shackles of blood and bone, the sooner everyone will be free.”
I stared in genuine bewilderment in Wendevil’s direction upon hearing this; I truly hoped my astonished facial expression was not largely noticeable to the adherents around me, but I was not able to refrain from making it; the cyborg’s avowals about his ultimate goals sounded insidious and radical. I regretted not taking the time to educate myself about the tenets of their religion beforehand, and frankly for not working on my poker face, too.
“Many are not ready to leave their prisons of meat and marrow,” Wendevil proclaimed. “But I can confidently testify that with every natural piece of me that is superseded with mechanical parts, the closer to awakening I am. This is the next step in society’s reconstruction.”
“This guy’s full of catchy slogans, isn’t he?” I murmured to Zach as Wendevil continued to rave from his pulpit. “Are you hearing this crap? These lunatics are hitting a whole new level on the ‘yikes’ meter with this piffle. Can we please move things along?”
“I’m trying to figure out the best distraction that won’t arouse suspicion,” Zach answered via my earpiece.
“Whatever gets me out of this room faster, dude,” I said, scrutinizing my immediate vicinity with growing aversion. “Set off the fire alarm, or something.”
“That’s actually an excellent idea,” Zach admitted. It was only a short moment later that the fire alarm sounded, blaring piercingly throughout the temple. Wendevil seemed just as startled as the sectaries in the pews, who were starting to rise from their seats. As Wendevil stepped down from his lectern, and began steering the agitated crowd in the direction of the front entryway, I quickly left my seat, and slunk covertly toward the side door.
“Alright, here we go,” Zach said, breathless with anticipation. “I’m in their security system, and it looks like you’ve got a clear path. But expect the unexpected.”
“By definition, that’s not possible,” I argued.
“You know what I mean,” Zach grunted. “Just open the damn door, and proceed with caution, smart-ass.”
Staying low and out of sight, I unlatched the door, and slipped through the opening. I shut it softly behind me, keeping my eyes forward for any signs of trouble. I was standing inside a lengthy, marble passageway that was brightly lit with blue lamps along the walls.
("The Halls Of Vallume" by J.E. Maurice)
“Ugh, it was super cult-y in there,” I remarked with disdain. “I’ll die happy if I never have to hear that creepy tripe again.”
“You and me both,” Zach concurred. “I’m disabling their security feed completely, so they won’t see you snooping around the place. They’ll know something’s up when they notice the system is down, but they won’t know where to start looking. Just stay sharp, and follow my directions.”
I proceeded vigilantly, my paces making very little noise on the glossy floor as I skulked onward. The alabaster walls and ceiling were bathed in pale blue luminescence, sufficiently irradiant to make me squint against the glare. The air was very still, and the only audible noises were my soft steps on the tile, and the rapid thudding of my heart.
Zach’s voice crackled in my ear. “Turn left right here, and go straight to the end of the hall.”
His signal was gradually becoming weaker, and our wireless connection more distorted the further into the building I crept. The second hallway I passed into was unsettlingly identical to the first, utterly indistinguishable. I hastily padded to the end of the pastel corridor, approaching a reinforced metal hatchway; I tested it by pulling on its single handle, but it was sealed tightly.
“Where you need to be is right on the other side of that door,” said Zach. “Let me see if I can open it up remotely.”
“Right,” I replied, waiting with bated breath. I was not one to easily lose my composure, but my nerves were gaining on me, and this delay—while merely momentary—only served to exacerbate the sensation. To my vast relief, the hatch opened with a soft hissing sound; working under the assumption that Zach had successfully opened it, I quickly slipped inside without hesitation. A wave of cool air met me at the entrance, and I took a moment to get my bearings, surveying the titanic room around me as the hatch behind me automatically resealed itself with a sibilant whir.
“This should be it,” Zach stated. “Do you see the Qornox?”
("The Artifact Room" by J.E. Maurice)
“Not yet,” I responded in a hushed tone, allowing my eyes to scan every centimeter of the room that was not shrouded in blackness. The entire area was illuminated very poorly, casting long shadows in every direction. The ceiling was at least two stories above my head, and enormous pillars stood near the edges of the room with crisscrossing, metal beams between them for structural support. Glimmering glass tubes were situated throughout the expansive area, each one housing strange items within. Zach’s voice came in amongst the static of my earpiece.
“They’ve noticed that their security system is on the fritz,” he told me. “They’re investigating. We’d better work fast.”
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