Adren breathed a sigh of relief as the town finally appeared over the horizon. It was the only way to pass through the ravine. Nestled snuggly in between the opening, it controlled all of the incoming and outgoing traffic; a key hub in the county's supply lines with Mandra, the neighbouring state.
Pipes carried a cool stream of water into the fortified city, supplying the homes inside of town.
Homes closely sprawled in front of the towering walls, slums clinging to the left of the citadel, narrow alleys twisting like veins. The mines were to the right, railways snaking in and out of the cliffside.
Bronze cannons, darkened by age and wear, topped the scarred walls, steel-clad guards spread across them like ants on an anthill. Smoke curled from factories and armouries as the clinks of the metalworks echoed around the valley.
Adren let out a dry wheeze from his parched throat. He would finally get to try some cold Zharuun beer. A beer only made in this desert; its reputation was finally going to be tested after years of rumors and anticipation.
Vexa's sigh snapped him out of his daydreams. "You couldn't read a map, and you think your 'just reward for getting us lost for half a day is beer?"
He gritted his teeth. Her monotoned voice carried an unusual amount of annoyance, and she wasn't wounded. What the hell was going on? He must have missed something. What? God knows.
"This so-called map was wrong," he replied, careful to control his tone. "The mountains, the main valley – acceptable. The rest? Absolute garbage. It's a miracle we even got here at all."
"I suppose maps were never your strong suit."
She always has the last word, he thought. Must be allergic to letting him win an argument. Still, he wasn't going to dwell on it. He knew from experience it wasn't even worth trying, so he might as well save his energy for something more important.
Like remembering where he put his classification ID. He definitely remembered leaving it in his bag pocket, but unless it had become air, he was wrong. Because as he checked it, it was empty. Bone dry. Desolate of any papers.
Huge steel gates stood open, allowing entry into the inner city. The shouting of bartering merchants could be heard over the walls, and the previous dull thud of the steelworks was now a constant drumming felt in the ground itself.
As they moved closer to the slums, the smell of rot and charcoal quickly filled the dense air. Boarded up windows and steel doors were on every house, and every soulless resident carried a knife at the very least.
Beggars were on every corner, their plates empty. Hopeless eyes watched every move they made, some turning to deep hatred and spite as they saw the weapons holstered on their belts.
As much as he hated the attitude, he also understood it. To any normal resident, they probably looked like the usual bandits that roamed the outskirts, plundering poorly armed caravans and kidnapping any unfortunate soul that fell into their hands.
If that happened, well, a life of slavery was the most merciful. Brass bells sounded over at the mines, signaling the end of the day shift. The bolted doors of the houses began opening up, weary miners heading back toward what killed them, yet also what kept them fed.
"They seem so ready to die from the fumes of mirium and folite, yet they would never risk going outside to hunt. A single core could feed them for two months."
Vexa glanced at him, her eyes questioning his logic. Sighing, she replied. "Do you think these people could kill even a dusk crow? It would rip them apart. They don't have proper guns, and the ones that have any use them for something much easier than a monster."
She paused for a moment to ask a local vendor for directions, gave him a copper sliver and then continued as they trudged along toward a paved pathway.
"Hunters are people that risk their lives daily to feed themselves. Yes, they enjoy certain privileges like access to most places in cities and more money, but it's not stable. One bad day might be your last. But life in the mines is cheap. It's hard work, but also safer than hunting. If you do the math, they all live longer. How many hunters over 50 have you seen? I'll tell you. Four. And one of them I see in the mirror. So three."
By the time they were finishing, they had reached a larger house along the main road in the slums. It was distinct from the others, mainly by the fact that it was three stories, slightly taller than the rest of the homes.
Outside, dusty drunkards leaned against the wooden walls, some with half-finished bottles, some others sleeping in the alley across.
He hoped they weren't staying there for the night. Honestly, he didn't mind the drunks or the shit food, it was that he always ended up in some sort of bloody bar fight. Not to mention the thin walls made a proper night's sleep impossible.
Seeming to sense his worries, Vexa gave a slight smile.
"We are just here for info. We'll get out as soon as I'm done. Don't kill anyone, and don't start drinking. Or gambling. Just have some food and by the time you're done so will I be."
The bar was poorly lit, gas lanterns hanging from the wooden beams of the roof. Some attempts were made at decorating, but that was it. Some tables were arranged near the rough walls, and a band was playing near the stone fireplace. It almost seemed cosy.
Vexa vanished from his side as soon as they stepped in, and he made his way toward an unoccupied table. Sitting down, he called for the bartender.
"Ale or beer. And whatever meat you have. Thanks!"
A gruff reply came from behind the counter.
"Pay first. Food and drink later."
Adren got out a leather pouch, untied the string at the top and fished out five dull coppers.
"Two for drink, 3 for the food. I'm not staying the night so no room."
The bartender raised his bushy eyebrows, surprised, but not curious enough to ask. The sun was already almost all the way down, and they were the only bar with rooms in this part of the slums.
The chicken was tough and unseasoned, and the beer almost flat. What small amount of broth that came with the food was tasteless. This 'food' is a crime against all cooks, he thought, but still ate it. Bad food beat hunger by a mile, and he was tired of the stringy jerky he had been eating for the past days.
"Hey there mate, ya won't mind donating a tad toward the good cause for people's prosperity?"
A gruff tanned man, perhaps in his forties, waved a bucket at him. It jingled a bit, some coppers and notes moving about at the bottom. He was accompanied by two other men. They wore brown overcoats covering their whole bodies, from neck to dust-covered boot.
Adren tipped his wide-rimmed hat and waved his hand, as if shooing them along. If such donations went toward the ones in dire need, there wouldn't be orphans looking like sacks of bones out at every alley corner, nor mass burials of sick, rotting miners who died of starvation as they were too weak to work.
The atmosphere shifted, the man's piercing gaze hardening over Adren. He drew out the chair across him, its feet scraping the splintered floor, and slouched down over It, drawing a pistol and placing it on the table.
"Mah good friend," his voice deepened as he continued. "It wasn't a choice."
A smile crept along Adren's lips. Vexa told him not to start any bar fights, but he wasn't going to start this one. He was the victim here. A chuckle left his lips as he finished his beer.
"Smiling eh? You think this a joke?!" snatching the pistol back from the table, he pointed it at Adrens foot. "Ima make you a joke! I'm gonna see how much you laughing once yer missing a leg!"
A single lone gunshot cracked across the bar.
Everyone froze.
The tanned man dropped to the floor, missing a fourth of his head.
Adren lowered his fully loaded revolver from where the man's head previously was. He may have been tipsy, but he was pretty sure he hadn't fired yet.
Crouching, he curiously examined the wound. The blast lacked power – not a weapon meant for killing monsters. And the poor control told him shooting wasn't the killer's strong suit. Even he could have made a cleaner shot, he thought to himself.
"I was worried I wouldn't make you out among all the other people here, but you're just like she described."
Adren wiped the blood from his nose as he turned toward the source of the voice and the gunshot. There at the doorway stood a younger man with a pistol in one hand, while his other rested on his sword hilt. Behind him stood Vexa, a frown creasing her forehead as she stared him in the eyes.
He shrugged, not bothered enough to explain. What was bothering him were the legs of the strange visitor. Just anyone couldn't get their hands on augments like those, certainly not anyone from the slums.
The bartender dragged out the body as Vexa gave him some coins to compensate for the trouble, and Adren collapsed back into his chair. He could slow time for a short duration, but it certainly took a toll on him. The slower he went, the more it drained him of his stamina.
"Another beer, if you can!"
"Certainly not," countered Vexa, her voice dead as ever. "You're drunk enough as is. Get up. We're going to meet Betty; she's in the city."
"This man is her partner?!"
Feeling slightly insulted by Adren's amazed tone, Min still introduced himself with 'proper' etiquette.
"This man," he replied, holstering his pistol, "Is her hired hand. Now come on, drawbridge lifts in half an hour."
That made more sense, Adren thought. Getting up, he noticed a good token left to him by the wannabe gangster. An ID card. And what do you say? They looked alike enough that he would pass for him at this time of night.
I certainly am a lucky son of a bitch, aren't I, he whispered to himself, snatching it up as he strode toward the door. But he felt like he was forgetting something. Ah yes. That was it.
He twisted round, drawing two throwing knives from his sleeves, and hurled them, piercing exactly two skulls with them. At least he could sleep well at night knowing they weren't going around continuing with the dead man's business model.
"Now, we are ready to meet our Betty."
END OF CHAPTER 2