Chapter 11 - Pilgrimage
Coin's fingers moved rapidly across the screen of the holo-pad, the glow from the console casting lines of blue on his face. His eyes focused intently as decrypted seals flashed across the screen.
Cash leaned against the side of the packed train, still fuming. He hadn't spoken since they left sector ten.
Coin didn't need to ask what he was thinking. He knew.
After a while, Coin exhaled softly.
"It's a forgery"
Cash's head snapped up. "You're sure?"
"I traced the asset tag to the Ministry's server. It's been overwritten, not certified. Whoever did this has clearance, but not legitimacy." He paused, eyes narrowing. "They used a ghost key. Someone inside the Sanctuary's Asset Unit."
Cash pushed off against the wall, jaw clenched. "Little Sack couldn't have pulled that off on his known."
"No, he's a pawn," Coin replied. "Someone wants Cash Corporate buried."
A silence fell between them.
The train rattled along the rusted tracks, its metal bones groaning with every turn, its metal shell groaning with every turn.
Cash's fists remained clenched. The more he thought about Sack's smirk, the more his blood burned.
"Then we dig." He muttered.
Coin glanced up. "Digging takes time. We're blasting the ground open."
Coin went back to his console after that. After a while, the speakers announced the final stop.
"Approaching Slum access point."
They stepped out into the slum district, the smell of smoke, sweat and rust instantly swallowing them. People crowded the streets, clutching bags of rations as the tolling bells counted down the final hours before the Pilgrimage.
But there was something else in the air.
An uneasy current.
Crowds were gathered around holo-screens of billboards., their faces displaying multitudes of emotions. Some were horrified and shocked while others showed gleeful expressions.
Coin slowed. Cash frowned. They stopped by a corner where a mob had formed around a cracked holo display. Static cut through the air before a news drone's voice stabilized.
"Breaking report from the Estate District. At approximately the fifth hour of shroudphase, the entire Woodland was attacked. The victims, renowned lightening mutant Dervin Woodland, his daughter and several members of the honorable Woodland family, were found dead at the scene. Officials describe it as, 'unnaturally clean.'"
The crowd erupted in an uproar.
"The mighty Woodland family??? That family of insane mutants???"
"They say the vault was emptied."
"Not a trace left."
"Must have been a very powerful mutant.
"The protectors have been all over the place looking for the culprits"
Cash's eyes stayed fixed on the holo-screen. The broadcast showed a grainy image of the Woodland Estate. The once luxurious estate was charred black, smoke curling from its ruins. Search drones hovered over the wreckage, their beams cutting through the haze.
He turned to Coin.
"You think they can trace it back to us?"
"No". Coin replied with absolute certainty. "No they cannot."
"The Wasteland Converts are calling it divine judgment," a woman shouted somewhere in the crowd. "A sign before the Great Devastation."
"Judgment?" another spat. "No, it's a message. The elites aren't untouchable anymore."
The crowd's murmur grew louder, tensions rising.
Coin tugged at Cash's sleeve. "Let's move. It's almost time for the pilgrimage."
Overhead, the tolls of bells rang louder.
The pilgrimage.
This phenomenon was an undecipherable mystery of the sanctuary. Once every thirty cycles of the corruption fog, the ground would tremble and the world outside would shift. Forests would vanish and mountains would disappear as if they were never there.
The sanctuary would move!
No one truly knew what the Pilgrimage was. Some said the Sanctuary was alive, a wandering colossus crawling endlessly through the ashes of the old world. Others whispered that it didn't move at all. Rather, the world around it shifted.
No book in the archives explained how the pilgrimage had begun. Even the oldest records began after the first pilgrimage. No explanations, no origins, only warnings.
"Seal your doors and stay inside."
As the bells continued to toll, the slums lights dimmed. The air grew heavy as if the sanctuary itself was drawing breath. Drones circled overhead, sirens blazing.
The ground gave a slow, deliberate tremor.