Ziggurat Part 1

An orphan finds himself at the center of a plot to destroy Magitech, a large corporation.

//NAME: VASSAGO AEIDER

//CIN: 180-65-3564

//AGE: 20

//SEX: MALE

...

//CMD: INITIALIZE PLAYBACK

Fear has ruled my life almost as much as money. Not because I ever wanted wealth, but because on the streets, fear and money are what keep me alive--the true goal of every humanoid on Kiral, stretching back to the days when we still had fins instead of feet.

My feet carried me to a Magitech warehouse in the outskirts of the city, chasing money--and survival. A billion-coin company wouldn't miss a few documents or prototypes, right? I crept across the deserted, poorly lit parking lot outside the colossal warehouse, my heart hammering in my throat. Ducking from truck to truck, slipping past the sweep of spell-lights, I leaned on years of street-honed stealth. The snow betrayed me, every crunch beneath my ragged shoes echoing too loudly in my ears. And the icy wind cut through my gray hoodie, finding gaps in the cloth.

Crouched by the front wheel of a parked Druathane truck, I sat ten or twenty feet from a warehouse door. Shoving my hands deep into the torn pockets of my jeans, I settled in to wait. Every entrance here had a card reader, and I wasn't bold enough to risk the roof, so this door was my only chance. I'd cased the place for several nights, and someone always left through it eventually. The only question was how long I'd be stuck here--minutes or hours.

A crow dropped from the sky and landed a short distance away. It lowered its head to a small carcass, tearing into it with sharp, deliberate jabs. Most people saw only filth and cowardice in birds like that--harbingers of death, scavengers too weak to kill for themselves. I didn't. To me, they were survivors. Fiercer than rats, cunning enough to never waste strength on a fight they couldn't win.

Pale organs glistening under the spell lights,I watched as the crow ripped a wet strand of viscera free. Then its head turned, one unblinking eye fixing on me. The message was clear enough: when I fall, it'll be waiting. And could I blame it? I would do the same. In the end, survival wasn't moral.

Hours dragged by. The last tenth of the year showed me no mercy, the dead of night biting deep. I shivered, breath hissing out between chattering teeth as I fought to stay awake. I'd survived worse--nights spent in condemned buildings after the Vizier rolled out its so-called anti-homeless architecture--but three nights in a row tracking patrols had worn me thin.

The sharp click of a doorknob and the scrape of a deadbolt jolted me alert. I crouched lower, peering beneath the truck to follow the guard's legs. Usually, anyone leaving went straight to their car, shift done--that's what I expected him to do. But not this one. He turned toward the truck I was hiding behind, cutting off any chance of a dash for the door.

His voice carried clearer as he drew closer, undoubtedly speaking into his message stone.

"Yeah... I know, I'm working on it."

If the truck backed away, I'd be exposed in its headlights. My hand plunged into its aether engine. Stripping cars for parts was another thing I did on the side, and it gave me enough know how to sabotage this one. Luck was with me--an older Druathane model, with no casing. My fingers slid through a nest of steel tubes, searching blind until they found the fragile bundle.

Above me, the guard stopped at the driver's door.

"And why can't this wait for the morning shift? This isn't my job, Alkear."

The hinges groaned as he opened the door. I readied to pull down on the tubing, every nerve on edge. When the door slammed shut I yanked down hard, the pipes straining, then gave way with a sharp snap.

The ignition turned, and the engine sputtered weakly--choking on the aether bleeding from its broken manifold. It coughed once, twice, but never caught.

"Fuck's sake," he muttered, the words muffled through the glass windows.

The door swung open again and he stepped out, his boots crunching across the snow as he complained under his breath. Each step brought him closer to the warehouse, and my chest tightened with the rhythm of my pounding heart. It was now or never.

"It's too damn cold out here, and the truck won't start! Get a mechanic in the morning," he barked into his shoulder where the messaging stone sat under his coat.

The truck that had been my haven was left behind as I slid out and fell in behind him, close enough to shadow but far enough to stay unseen, fingers gripping the broken coin card in my pocket. He slapped his access card against the reader, yanked the door open, and stepped inside.

As the door swung closed, I broke into a frantic run, almost slamming into the door frame. The moment before it swung shut, I slipped my coin card into the gap, wedging it against the bolt before it could lock.

A sigh of relief left my lips, frosted by the chill. I waited a few seconds for the guard to walk away before opening it slowly, peeking in from the crack in the frame. A dark, empty hallway was on the other side, light bleeding in from a few of the doors that flanked the walkway. I opened it carefully, stepped inside and closed it, making sure the card kept it from locking.

With my hood up and mask on, the divination network couldn't pin me down. I'd be gone before they realized anything was wrong.

Through the silent halls, I stepped with my heels lowering first, weight rolling onto my toes to keep the echo of footsteps from carrying through the empty building. Del promised that important people would pay handsomely for whatever documents I pulled from this warehouse, and when he named the price, it outweighed any fear of being caught. Survival had its own math.

The hall opened into tall windows that rose from my hip to the ceiling, granting a sweeping view of the warehouse floor. Towering shelves loaded with boxes--some sturdy steel, others little more than cardboard--stretched into the distance. My gaze climbed higher, past the scaffolding that spanned the vast space, until it found the office perched above. And there it was: a bright, glass-fronted box where the guard I'd sabotaged slumped in a chair, pouring his grievances onto his colleague that didn't wear a coat like he did. I felt a flicker of gratitude--his whining kept their eyes and minds well away from the orb feed.

The guards had to find their way out of the security office before I could ransack it. Damaging a scrying orb might lure one away, but it wouldn't get both. I wasn't a tech wiz, but I could always flip the breaker to shut the network down--though I'd still have to deal with any backup generators. If the streets had taught me anything, it's that breaking shit was way easier than fixing it. If I pulled some of the servers off the racks they would probably have to get the IT guy on call.

With the wall-mounted signs to guide me I found the server room, and as expected, found it locked. From beneath my hoodie, I drew the most expensive thing I owned--a slim set of lockpicks. I wasn't a professional, but most interior door locks were cheap and uninspired. With a pick in one hand, and tension bar in the other, I knelt to the three-tumbler lock and prayed to the White Gods that the coated guard wouldn't run out of complaints anytime soon. Every tick of the clock made my grip tremble, my hands slick with nerves, until the sweetest sound cut through the silence: a soft click, the door yielding to me.

The door revealed rows of racks humming softly in the dark, each lined with servers pulsing steady green and amber. The air was cool, tinged with ozone and the faint tang of dust. I slid inside like water spilling through a crack, closing the door with the barest whisper.

The first rack stood to my left, cables hanging like veins. I put my foot low on the rack, gripped the cold metal, and yanked. The frame groaned before the server came loose, the sound of snapping cables sharp as breaking twigs. They'd know something was wrong soon enough, but with luck, the first place they'd check wouldn't be the security office.

One by one, I moved down the aisle, the work rhythmic and deliberate, each tug pulled another machine into limp silence. Then I found the rack for the server room itself. This one I left untouched. I could track the guards later on through the divination network if I left it working.

Back into the hall I flowed toward the warehouse floor, keeping low and quick. The office wasn't far, and I could just make out movement--footsteps, muted voices. I waited, breath held, until the scrape of a chair and the hiss of a door opening told me they were finally on the move.

"What, you think someone fucked with the servers?" the coated guard said to his uncoated counterpart.

"Its hard to tell with how dark it is in the room, but none of the lights are blinking on any of the servers, it can't be a coincidence they all went down at once," The uncoated guard replied walking down the stairs.

"And you need me for?" The coated guard retorted.

"Cover, in case it's sabotage and whoever did it comes back while I fix the system."

The two of them walked off before I could hear the rest of the conversation, but it was just my luck that the IT guy was on duty tonight instead of on call.

Hands on the railing of the scaffold stairway I threw myself up and tried the door handle. Locked. Damn him for being thorough. Still, the frame left just enough of a gap for me to glimpse the bolt. No deadbolt--good.

Once again fishing around inside my hoodie I pulled out my pick set and got to work. This lock was the same three tumbler as the other door, and probably using the same key. It only took me a second or two to get it open.

The office was dominated by a six-monitor setup cycling through different scrying orbs on the divination network. One screen remained fixed on the employee database. Smart enough to lock the door--lazy enough to leave the system logged in.

The chair creaked under me, eyes darting to the orb feed that tracked the guards. They had turned the lights on and the IT guard was plugging them back in one at a time while the coated guard watched the hall. They knew someone was here, now.

Turning back to the database, I felt my stomach knot. Del hadn't been clear on what his client wanted, so anything that looked important would have to do. I navigated quickly, each click punctuated by nervous glances at the network screens. The closer the guards came to finishing their cleanup, the tighter the fear clawed at my throat.

Then I found a tab labeled special inventory. I wasn't sure this is what I was looking for, but it felt the least wrong. Anything listed under special had to be important right?

The data was a wall of abbreviations and serial numbers--dense, unreadable. Each entry opened to a picture and a short paragraph, but I didn't have time to sift through thousands. The IT guard moved with practiced proficiency plugging each server back in.

On the hunt for anomalies, I scanned the database. Then I found entries without serial numbers.

When opened it had no pictures. Just text. Kenic, packed with scientific jargon: paraphysial noosphere tap... divine cartographic pulser.

Burner phone in hand I snapped pictures as fast as my hand would move.

A glance at the scrying feed--empty. The guards were gone.

"Fuck."

In a panic I scrolled for a log--arrival dates, destinations, anything. Voices echoed closer.

No time. I snapped the screen, shoved the phone away, and bolted from the chair.

Down the stairs, two steps at a time, just before the guards rounded the corner. I slid into the shadows as the IT guard climbed.

"I thought I locked this," he muttered, spotting the door ajar.

"Maybe you forgot," the coated guard said.

"No. I definitely locked it." His voice hardened as he pushed into the office.

As I eased back toward the exit the guard scanned the now operational monitors. His eyes widened, snapping straight to where I crouched.

"Fuck--he's right there!"

He didn't bother elaborating to Coated Guard. He bolted from the chair and thundered down the stairs toward me.

"Shit, shit, shit." I spun, slammed through the door, and tore down the hallway.

Both followed, yellow arc casters flashing in their hands.
"Stop or we'll fire!" IT Guard barked.

The halls twisted, every turn a dead end waiting to happen. I sprinted to a T-intersection--and froze. A third guard blocked the path. His arc caster came up, aimed square at me.

He fired without a word. A streak of blue light split the air, like a smear of lightning across glass. It wouldn't kill me, but it would hurt like hell.

A window shattered as I hurled myself through it and landed on the warehouse floor. The arc screaming past, sizzling, close enough to burn. My rough landing knocked the wind out of me, costing precious seconds.

After a hard fought breath I scrambled to my feet, behind me IT Guard roared.
"You fucking idiot! You hit Vallery!"

Neither of them spared a second more for Vallery as they vaulted through the shattered window. I needed a fire exit. Now.

Using the shelves as cover I shoved boxes over as I ran. Crashes thundered behind me, slowing pursuit. Then--red door. Salvation. I burst through it, hope flaring--

A Warden patrol car screeched into the lot, lights flaring.

"Please don't be Del. Please don't be Del." The prayer was silent, frantic, useless.

Two Wardens stepped out. Shadow made flesh--caps marked with a red six-pointed star, faces hidden by mesh masks reinforced with hard plastic. Amber scarves broke the void of dark blue synthread windbreakers stretched tight under camo plate carriers stuffed with black ammo pouches. Cargo pants strapped with holsters, knees padded, tucked into black-and-grey boots. Not sentinels. Soldiers.

"Vassago!" The male Warden's voice rolled across the lot, deep and commanding.

Del's voice--of course. He must have been waiting for the call. How else could my luck sink low enough that he'd be the one to show up here?

Mid-stride I halted. Behind me, the guards closed in, arc casters leveled at my back.

"Get on the ground!" IT Guard barked.

My gaze darted from the two of them and back to Del and his partner, Shara.

If I were fresh, I could make it out of this without a scratch. But after the chase, lungs seared and legs dead, I wasn't outrunning anyone. And they knew it. They never liked it when I ran.

Ice coiled around my nose as I exhaled, and dropped to my knees. Hands laced behind my head. The guards swarmed me.

My face hit the snowy pavement, cold and wet biting into my skin, leeching warmth by the second. Third wheel--my impromptu name for the third guard--drove a knee between my shoulders, pinning me down as Del and Shara closed the distance.

"Silent alarm went off. We came as fast as we could." Del's eyes cut down at me, full of disdain.

"Thank you, Wardens," IT Guard said. "He's a slippery son of a bitch."

"Not so slick now, huh?" Third Wheel sneered. He pressed his arc caster into my ribs.

White-hot fire tore through me. My scream ripped free before I could swallow it down, nerves flayed raw under the surge. When the weapon lifted, I gasped against the snow, his knee grinding into my spine.

"I've always admired what you do for the city," IT Guard said eagerly. "I want to join one day, could you maybe give me some pointers?"

"Is it really the time for this, Alkear?" Third Wheel snapped.

Shara's gaze was cold steel as it cut over me. "We can handle it from here."

Alkear flushed, stammering. "Of course, ma'am. My apologies."

Third Wheel pressed the caster to me again. Another jolt--my body went rigid, fire clawing up my arms, neck, and spine. My teeth clamped down on a scream that tore through my throat.

"Don't give the pretty lady any trouble," he hissed.

Then he hauled me upright while Shara cuffed my wrists.

"Can you take him to the car?" Del asked, hands on his hips. "I'll get the statement from these guys."

Shara nodded, hauled me up, and dragged me toward the squad car. Soaked through, fried twice at point-blank, and now under arrest--hell of a night. The only comfort came from the car's spell heater, the first warmth I'd felt since the last time Del and Shara dragged me in.

She slid into the front passenger seat and murmured a command word in Waric. The scrying orb dimmed, its symbols fading into nothing. I didn't understand a lick of the language--soldiers' speech, mercenaries' tongue. Supposedly easy to learn, but food had always been more important to me than being bilingual.

"Did you really have to let him shock me twice?" I asked, pain throbbing in my ribs.

Shara pulled a laptop onto her knees and glanced back through the partition. "I still remember the hell you gave us a few weeks ago. Family in the Grey Quarter--you could've made it easy with a few words."

She turned forward again, screen glow painting her mask. "Three hours. That's how long you dragged it out, Vassago."

A short, bitter huff found its way out of me. "Then let's get on with it."

"Not today." Her fingers rattled across the keys, deliberate and steady. "Del didn't send you on this at random. A higher-up wanted you here."

"So no slap on the wrist and back on the streets the next day to keep doing your dirty work?"

Shara, still typing, retorted, "They wanted you arrested and knew we'd been feeding you jobs like this." A tang of bitterness in her voice. "Threatened us if we didn't bring you in."

"Who?" I moved closer to the partition, voice sharper than I meant it to be.

Her typing slowed. Stuttered. Then stopped.

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the hum of the heater and the muffled voices outside.

She exhaled through her mask, long and irritated, as if scolding herself for what she was about to say. The laptop closed with a soft click.

Turning in her seat, she leaned an elbow against the headrest, her hat and mask casting deep shadows across her face. For a moment, she only stared at me. Her amber eyes caught the dim light and seemed to cut through it, sharper and sharper the longer the silence dragged on.

Finally, her voice dropped low, deliberate--like the word itself weighed a ton.

"The Arbiter."

//RSP: PLAYBACK TERMINATED