Location: The Upper Grid, Maatari – The Syndicate Loft
Time: 9:45 PM
The elevator whispered like an expensive engine.
Khaz watched its glass panels rise through layers of shadow, the city shifting from steel rot to filtered light. Below, Maatari sprawled in flickerlight—neon veins, drifting smoke, a city trying to forget it was still awake. Up here, everything smelled like clean air and money that never touched dirt.
When the lift doors opened, sterile air and silence spilled first.
The Loft sat like a penthouse shrine, all black glass and subtle gold seams. Holoscreens flickered across the walls with data graphs, pulse market charts. Effortlessly shifting through of Musa streams that meant more to Drev than to any church.
Khaz stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the synthetic carpet. His reflection wavered against the mirrored panels, a ghost inside the glass.
Drev stood by the window, coat half buttoned, the city's glow staining his outline gold.
One hand around a half-empty decanter of T'alü Moon whisky. The bottle glowed faintly, refracting streaks of violet through the smoke trail of his cigar. He didn't turn when Khaz entered.
"You walked here," Drev said. His tone wasn't a question.
"Didn't feel like riding."
"That's a long walk for someone who nearly flatlined a pit."
Khaz said nothing. The chain on his chest pulsed once, faint and rhythmic.
Drev smiled. "Good. Don't explain. Silence earns more than apologies."
He turned now, eyes glass-gray, sharp but not cruel. A gold glyph ring flickered faintly on his finger as he raised the glass.
"Drink?"
Khaz shook his head.
Drev smirked. "Didn't think so. You look like a man who indulges in purpose more than vices. And maybe the two are synonymous."
He moved to the console, tapping a screen alive.
Holo-feeds expanded: name strings, bounty lists, shifting contracts coded in glyphscript.
"The Shatter Syndicate runs on rules," he said. "Three, to be exact. Clean. Silent. Final."
Khaz's gaze stayed steady. "And if it's not?"
"Then it's not us."
The silence returned, but weighted, not awkward.
Drev poured himself another slow drink. "You've got a rare pulse, Khazim. People like you, people who fight like a hound, pun intended, don't come from the rich end of Maatari. They crawl from the void and make everything in their path pay."
He flicked the glass once, and a holo projection bled into the air with an image of a balding man, dark coat, nervous eyes.
"Guy we're after's a mid-tier glitch runner named Vorrin Kett. Been lifting packs from his boss, hiding them out in Neon Verge. You both find him, take the stash, and erase the habit"
Khaz studied the projection. "You want him gone."
Drev nodded. "Plus the product he stole, the names of whoever helped him, and the ledger he keeps. Shadow Bit files. I hear he's a keeper of quite a few secrets and it's not like he'll need them after tonight."
Khaz's head tilted slightly. "Why me?"
"Because you don't talk when silence works."
Just then, a door opened behind them.
Scars stepped in.
He looked like trouble built in a lab: tall, narrow, movements too casual to be harmless. His hair hung in jagged coils, the ends dipped crimson. His jacket carried Syndicate etchings in white glyph thread, faintly luminescent under the low light.
The smirk hit first. "So this is the phantom. Doesn't look like much compared to what I remember."
Drev didn't turn. "He doesn't need to."
Scars chuckled. "Guess we'll see." He looked Khaz up and down, stopping on the chain at his chest. "Still wearing relics, huh? Must be sentimental."
Khaz didn't answer.
Drev finally faced them both. "You'll work together tonight. This is Scars' show, so he runs point. Khaz, this is your one shot. Make sure Vorrin doesn't get another sunrise. You fail, you're done. Clean. Silent. Final."
Scars grinned wider. "I've always loved the 'final' part."
Drev ignored him. "When it's done, bring me proof. Don't leave a trail that doesn't need leaving."
Scars snorted. "Sure. I'll be sure to watch out for breadcrumbs, boss."
Khaz moved for the door.
"Khazim," Drev said.
He stopped. Scars went ahead.
"The Syndicate doesn't need noise. It needs ghosts. Bring back something I can believe in."
Khaz gave a slow nod.
The elevator ride down was colder.
Khaz's reflection caught his own faint pulse glow, the pale indigo threading across his scar.
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open into the night.
The city's pulse hit him in the face—neon noise, steam vents, a siren wailing somewhere distant. Maatari at its truest.
Khaz adjusted his collar, eyes narrowing as the smog light reflected off his dead eye.
"Let's get this done."
Scars' grin sharpened. "Now we're speaking the same language."
Scars' boots clanged against the metal walkway. A row of dull street lamps buzzed overhead, their light catching puddles of oil rainbow. He thumbed a remote and a burner car coughed to life in the lot below.
Old, unregistered, stitched together from whatever the syndicate didn't want traced.
"Get in," he said. "Don't mind the smell. Last guy that rode shotgun had nerves."
Khaz didn't answer.
He slid into the passenger seat without a word. The interior was a collage of cracked vinyl and hanging wires; a NullTone drive unit blinked weakly on the dash.
Scars smirked. "Be as quiet as you wish, Ghostboy. Just don't freeze up when things get messy."
They pulled out of the tower lane, merging into the arteries that fed the lower districts. Billboards flickered above them—TapWater+, Khe'zaar Brew, Fontaine's Fashion Warehaus—all washed out by rain. The car's heater fought itself and lost.
Scars tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the wipers. "You from this side?"
Khazim's gaze stayed on the window. "Every side looks the same after midnight."
"That's cute. You talk like a monk."
"Only when I need quiet."
"Then you must be deaf by choice." Scars grinned, teeth catching dashboard light.
He turned the car down a main road, neon leaking into puddles. They passed markets half closed for the night, tarps sagging under drizzle, vendors still arguing over unpaid Musa. A smell of fried cevi-root and synthetic citrus drifted through a cracked window.
Scars flicked his bakky out into the rain, and then lit another. "Ever kill for someone else's paycheck before?"
Khazim's reflection didn't blink.
"People talk too much. I'd kill for silence. Payment's just a bonus."
"Right." Scars laughed once.
"Drev's gonna love you."