Where am I? I opened my eyes to cold stone above me and a floor that felt like it could steal the heat from my bones. My head throbbed in time with the drip from somewhere beyond the iron bars. For a moment I forgot the city existed outside this little rectangle of concrete.
Right. Prison, of a sort. A holding cell, more like. The fluorescent light buzzed like an angry fly. The bench I was lying on had more rust than comfort.
What the hell did I do again?
Memory returned in pieces, like a corrupted file loading only the headers. I leaked a location, and the rest came after. I had passed on the coordinates of where a wanted drug lord was hiding to a local gang. They had a score to settle. One of the gang's men had been killed months earlier, and they wanted payback. The tip set off a small scale war, a manhunt between the gang and the dealer's crew. Bodies, sirens, cameras rerouting to the wrong streets. It was messy, dirty, human, and for once my hands felt stained.
I had not meant for people to die. I never do. I do things fast, efficient, cold sometimes, because that is the only way to survive in my line of work. I sell answers, not morals. But information is a blade. You hand it to someone and it finds blood.
How did I get caught? That one was sharper. I replayed the night in my head. The alley beside the old data café, the encrypted packet shoved into a burner device, the taxi that smelled like cheap perfume and diesel. I remembered the static in the transfer, a hesitation in the handshake protocol that nagged at me afterward. I should have cleaned the trail better. I always clean the trail better.
A laugh escaped me. Not funny. Not clever. Just a breath that tasted like iron.
Footsteps, boots against concrete, echoed down the corridor. Someone was coming. Maybe the officer in charge, maybe someone who thought I was worth more than the usual small-time rat. Maybe someone from a high government. Anything was possible, and right now anything felt dangerous.
I pushed myself up, muscles complaining. The cell door rattled as it opened. Light spilled in and I saw the silhouette of a man who looked like he had been wearing his patience longer than his uniform. He held a tablet in one hand, like a priest clutching a bible.
"You Kael Merin?" he said. His voice was flat, official. No curiosity, no threat, only procedure.
"Depends who asks," I answered. My voice was quieter than I wanted. The sound of it surprised me; it sounded like someone else testing the fit of my mouth.
He scanned something on the tablet. "You were found near the third district on a callout that led to a latched grenade in a gang hideout. Witnesses say you were seen arguing with the informant before the transfer. You admitted to sending location data."
"So they brought me in." I shrugged. "Good for them. Saves me a walk."
He looked up, like he expected remorse and found indifference instead. "You do understand the gravity of handing coordinates to a violent group."
"I know exactly what I did." The words were sharp, precise. They were what I lived on, what I traded in. Information, honesty about information, the cool arithmetic of cause and effect. "I did it because someone needed to be taught a lesson better than the courts could manage. Now what?"
The man's face did not change. "You have a right to counsel. You will be held for questioning."
He turned and left me to the stale air and the buzzing light. The cell door clunked shut.
I settled back onto the bench. Questions rolled around inside me, polite and dangerous. Who arranged the leak to reach that specific gang? Why me, when it would have been safer to sell the location quietly? Had someone wanted the hunt to escalate? Or had I simply been sloppy for the first time in a very long while?
Outside, the city moved on. Somewhere beyond the concrete and metal, trains still cut through the night and coffee shops stayed open late for people like me who worked by other people's timelines. The thought made me both calm and furious. Calm because life was stubborn, it kept spinning; furious because sometimes it spun people into pieces.
I pulled my knees to my chest and listened. In the little space of a holding cell, with nothing but walls and the memory of stupid choices, the world felt both farther away and unnervingly close. I had climbed out of worse holes, and I would again. But first I had to survive the questions. Then the answers. Then whatever came after.
Gosh, can't believe I have to be hauled in for questioning.
An hour passed before the same officer returned. This time, he wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a woman — tall, confident, and out of place among the gray walls and fluorescent light. Her long brown hair framed a face that carried the kind of calm only people from well-off families seem to have.
Who is she? Some kind of nepo baby?
"Mr. Kael," the officer said, scrolling through his tablet, "your bail has been paid by this ma'am. You are no longer required to remain in custody."
Two police officers approached from behind, their keys clinking as they unlocked the gate. One motioned for me to step out.
I blinked. "Wait, what? Paid by who?"
The woman stepped forward slightly, her expression unreadable.
"Come with me, Mr. Merin," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We need to talk."
Obviously, I had my suspicions about what this "talk" would be, but I doubted it would involve sunshine and rainbows.
The officers escorted me only as far as the station's exit. Parked just outside was a luxury car with a sleek red streak running along its side — the kind of vehicle you only see in corporate districts or movies.
"Come inside," the mysterious woman said.
I hesitated, but eventually followed. People with money are scary, especially the kind who can make you disappear without paperwork.
As we both sat in the backseat, she handed me a folder.
I opened it — and froze. It contained everything about me. My name. My age — nineteen. My history as an orphan after my parents died in a car crash caused by a drunk driver who escaped punishment. At least, until I handled him myself, off the record.
"You seem to know a lot about me," I said carefully.
"You're calmer than I expected," she replied, her tone faintly amused.
In truth, I was about to break a cold sweat. I just didn't have the ability to show it anymore.
"We bailed you out after you managed to survive being caught in the crossfire between the gang you informed and the drug lord you placed a bounty on," she continued.
"We?" I asked.
"I'm from an organization called Codex. We're a collective of skilled individuals who target injustice — the kind that hides behind systems and power."
"So I can assume you're from the underground world," I said.
"Yes," she answered. "And it seems you already know enough about it to draw that conclusion."
"I've only seen bits of it," I replied. "One time, I had to recover a client's lost case file that contained corrupted data. It wasn't supposed to show what it did."
"Oh, so you're an information and technology breaker?" she asked.
"Not officially," I said, leaning back. "That's just my skillset. I'm still studying, so I can't exactly advertise it."
She smirked slightly. "You do dirty work outside your education, and look where it led you. Still, you're lucky the syndicate that found you was us and not someone else. Don't worry — your information stays with me. No one outside Codex knows who you are."
"So, what does an organization like yours want from me?" I asked.
"Now that you've caused such a huge scene, we can't risk others getting their hands on you," she replied. "It's better if we bring you under our protection before someone else does."
"I see. Seems I caused quite a commotion."
"Yes, really. We were racing against time when you got locked up," she said, exhaling softly as if remembering the chaos.
"So the reason you bailed me out is to make sure no other underground syndicate could take me first?"
"Correct. And as of now, one of our hackers is already erasing your records from the police database."
"You work fast," I said.
"We always do."
I leaned back, studying her. "So what's the catch?"
"Oh?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "You make it sound like we're about to give you a task in exchange for your freedom."
"Isn't that usually the case?"
She smiled faintly. "Well, since you started the conversation... yes, actually."
I sighed. "Alright then. What is it this time?"
"Something that's going to cause quite a ruckus," she said.
My brows furrowed. "What?"
"You'll find out soon enough — watch the news in the coming days," she replied, her tone turning mysterious. "That's when you'll understand what we wanted you to do."
Now that was quite the suspense.
She dropped me off at my apartment and drove away without another word. I stood there watching the car disappear down the street, the red streak on its side fading into the night.
For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to happen — something everyone would be talking about soon.
But what was a syndicate like Codex doing here in the Plateau Area? This wasn't the capital; it was just a quiet provincial city.
Am I really that much trouble that they had to come all the way here for me?
I sighed. "Whatever."
First things first — I should probably get ready for class tomorrow.
Morning… I hate morning classes.
Damn this morning class. I tried my best to stay awake through the lazy droning of the old professor in front.
How long does this subject even take? Why is it three hours?
He keeps making small mistakes in his lectures too, but who's going to question it? It's not like a student can really do anything about it.
I hardly talk to my classmates. At most, just a few small exchanges about lessons or assignments. I mostly stick to a small circle — four others who, like me, prefer to mind their own business.
Most of them come from the lower cities near the capital, while I'm just a local here in the Plateau. A city known for its fog schedules, cold weather, and people who like to keep their heads down.
Right now we were in the library, just sitting in silence — the usual routine during long breaks.
That silence didn't last long though. One of my friends finally spoke up.
"Hey, do you guys think Jenny's kind of an ego? She acts like she's the top-of-the-class princess."
"I mean, yeah…" another replied. "But we also have Riche, who treats everything like a competition. He learns something first and suddenly acts like it's some big secret. Then there's Cedrick, who can't go a class without dropping side comments or trashing someone."
"Yeah, he was bitching about you in class today," I said flatly.
"Wait, what?"
"It surprised me too. He suddenly started ranting about you, yelling 'Damn, I could've gotten it right!' when the professor showed the exam results."
"Yep, heard it," I added.
"Damn that Cedrick—just wait till I get my hands on that ladyboy's mouth," he replied, clearly irritated.
He called him that because Cedrick was always hanging around the girls in class.
There were only seven girls out of thirty students, yet somehow, they caused more chaos than the guys ever did. One of my friends even mentioned that Jenny and her sidekick Coleen were nearly caught vaping in the women's restroom.
Not that any of us planned to confront them — we were just waiting for the day they'd slip up and get caught on their own.
After all, we were in college now. We were supposed to act better — or at least that's what Carl, the extroverted one among us, kept saying. Ironically, he was the one they seemed to hate the most.