Even as the sun reached its peak, it brought no warmth to the cement and steel crevices deep between the towering glass monoliths of Nukan City. The direct light only lasted seconds in some places before becoming obstructed by another tower. As days grew shorter, the fickle light barely reflected down through the mirrored buildings, leaving the Depths of the city in perpetual twilight.

Nukan City was built when the need for secure servers outweighed the need for comfort. An underground cavern, naturally hollowed out eons ago, was remodeled, lined with lead, and reinforced with steel. Once secure, concrete thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast was poured on top. The city above could be leveled, and the servers beneath would barely register a blip.

But that much power needed tending, and the city grew upward, clustered tightly as workers poured in. The buildings rose ever higher, using partially transparent mirrors to reflect light down to the barren surface, and the poor who had no other choice but to live there.

The earth was filled with cement and steel, not dirt. In buildings that could still see sunrises, gardens and trees floated in glass prisons, carefully manicured and meticulously groomed. Every fruit and flower were tended by tanned horticulturists with expensive haircuts. Those who could afford to live at the top never looked down.

Everywhere in the Depths, the hum of daylight screens filled the air, the false white light as abrasive as it was necessary. Fragile weeds tried desperately to grow between the cracks of concrete, but they were always doomed to be crushed beneath the feet of the determined people looking up, hoping to see sun, and hoping for their chance to rise.

Of course, not everyone looked up. There were always those who thrived in darkness. There were other ways to rise, just as there were other ways to fall.

Weaving between sky-eyed office workers and children with sallow skin, Alex didn’t look up. He had no need. He knew what was up there, and knew there was no place for him. He belonged in the Depths.

Neon lights promising illicit pleasures glowed down empty covered alleys of everlasting darkness. It was noon, a time for honest and good people to be outside, and for those who were not so honest or good to be at their jobs, struggling for promotions that led them to offices with longer daylight hours.

When true night fell, the alleys would not be empty, but Alex didn’t plan on staying long enough to see the first customers stumbling in for the night.

Alex had business with one of his usual clients, the owner of an exotic dance club called Mercy. It was a play on the man’s name, Mercato, but he was anything but merciful. Legally, he ran the strip club. Illegally, he did everything else.

However, that was precisely why Alex needed Mercato. Alex wasn’t one to judge, not when he was looking for a pusher for his newest batch of Blue Dust.

The bag with the carefully measured glass vials of the blue drug hung heavy against Alex’s back. It was a blend he had designed himself, which made it rare and expensive, but people craved it. A tiny bit cut with any other substance not only heightened the substance’s effects, but made it incredibly addictive. There were other effects, too, but only Alex concerned himself with those.

What hung on Alex’s back was everything he had manufactured over the past six months. He would ask a few million credits for it, and Mercato would gladly pay. He always did, because he could quickly turn around and sell if for triple.

Had Alex wanted to, he could have found the individual dealers to divide the Blue Dust up among, but he didn’t have the patience for that. It wasn’t about the money, anyway.

Despite hauling half a year’s supply of the most sought after drug on the market, Alex wasn’t worried about being mugged in the Depths. No, not that it didn’t happen occasionally. Some people saw a very tall, thin man with a bag and couldn’t help themselves. Alex would always quickly correct their mistakes, and continue on his way. Depending on the assailant, that could mean anything from leaving them terrified, to snapping their neck.

Nothing in the Depths scared him, because nothing could hurt him. They were all just humans, after all.

Mercy’s neon light flickered, the ‘y’ burnt out on the sign. As Alex neared his destination, he realized it was not burnt out, but broken. Shattered by a bullet. He could smell blood from within the building, and the harsh chemicals being used to cover it up before opening.

Something unpleasant had occurred, but it didn’t concern Alex, so he opened the front door and entered anyway.

The club contained a stage, dancing platforms, tables with chairs turned on top of them, and an unhappy bouncer mopping the dance floor. He was someone new, someone Alex didn’t recognize. It was always the new employees who got the worst jobs.

The man saw Alex as an intruder, and immediately abandoned his blood-tinged bucket and mop to stomp over. “We’re closed, get out!”

He was hoping for a fight. Anything to get out of cleaning the mess. Alex didn’t flinch as the man got close in his face, sour breath steaming. “I have a meeting with Mercato,” he said calmly.

With a sneer, the man said, “You want to audition to dance, you come back when all the other whores do.”

“I understand you’re new, and probably having a bad day, but I’d like to give you the chance to rethink your words.” The man was probably a very good bouncer. He was intimidating. He hovered in Alex’s face, threatening and aggressive, but didn’t actually touch him. It would be a shame if he had to lose his job so quickly.

“Fuck you,” the man spat. “Get out.”

Amused by the misguided bravado, Alex said, “If I leave, you tell Mercato I won’t be back.”

“Good,” he sneered.

“Wait, Mr. Black,” called another voice, one Alex was familiar with. The man entered through the staff door, looking as proper as always. Glasses and tie, Tony was ever the dutiful accountant. Also, he was a skilled butcher with a switchblade.

“Tony, good to see you,” said Alex. “But it seems I’m not welcome here anymore. Should I go?” He backed toward the door, keeping a hand on the strap slung over his shoulder.

“Please, Mr. Black, forgive our rudeness.” Tony shot the bouncer a look that could have cut through stone. The bouncer recoiled and hustled back to his mop. “Mr. Mercato is expecting you, but you are early.”

“I’m told to leave, then asked to stay, but I’m still wrong?” Though Alex had no intention of leaving, he did like to see Tony squirm. “What kind of game are you playing? How about I come back later, if there’s anything left to sell.” He opened the door to leave.

“No, wait!” Tony sounded desperate, reaching out for Alex across the room. “Mr. Mercato will see you now!”

“Now? He suddenly has time for me now?”

“Yes, please, right this way, Mr. Black.”

Alex grinned to himself and closed the door. “Well, since you insist.”

He let Tony usher him into the staff offices, and caught him harshly whisper to the bouncer, “I’ll deal with you later,” before he followed Alex in.

White lights yellowed from smoke lined the hall’s ceiling, castings a sickly pallor to the backstage area of the club. They walked toward the end, where two of the little rooms had been combined into Mercato’s large office.

“Please, let me to go in and announce you,” said Tony.

“If you must,” Alex allowed.

Tony entered, barely opening the door wide enough for himself to squeeze through. Alex could hear harsh whispers through the thin walls, and from the tone, he could tell Mercato wasn’t happy about taking the meeting early. That was fine, Alex didn’t need Mercato happy, just useful.

Some sort of agreement was made, and Tony came back and opened the door. “Mr. Mercato will see you now,” he said.

Alex entered the lavish office, which included a full wall monitor displaying an epic aerial view out a eighty story window overlooking a beach and yachts. Lots of bright light and tropical decor filled Mercator’s office, including a real palm tree diligently growing beneath a purple growth bulb.

Wealth. So wasteful.

Mercato sat behind his big desk in a power pose, fingers touching in a triangular steeple and eyes narrowed. “Alex, you’re early.”

“You either want it or you don’t, Merc.”

The man’s eye twitched with clear rage, but he kept it contained. He was good at what he did. “Please sit,” he said in a very controlled tone.

Alex sat in the offered seat. A shift of movement on the couch against the wall caught his eye. One of Mercato’s enforcers stood at attention, except he wasn’t there for Alex. He was standing guard over the person sitting on the couch in an oversized white t-shirt, bound wrists, and a big black hood.

Following Alex’s gaze, Mercato said, “Pay no mind. We had an incident this morning, and this one might be able to help recover our losses.”

Normally, Alex wouldn’t probe. Bad things happened all the time, especially in the Depths. But something about the person on the couch bothered him, like a loose thread in a burlap sack. The urge to pick at the feeling until it unraveled filled him. “I doubt it costs that much to replace a broken sign.”

Mercato turned his hands so his palms were up. His skin was calloused. He wasn’t afraid of getting in and doing the dirty work along with his cronies. He probably liked it. “The sign is an unfortunate tragedy one of our own inflicted when he missed. That one there, though…” The crime boss shook his head like he still couldn’t fathom the absurdity of the act. “He and two of his buddies tried to rob us this morning.”

Oh. Well. That was dumb.

Alex looked at the hooded person again. The oversized t-shirt made it difficult to determine gender, but he supposed they could be male. They were definitely young and helpless. And scared. Very scared.

“Three kids robbed you?”

“Tried,” Mercato corrected, as that was a very important distinction. “They tried to rob me, but the little shits scattered when they realized the club wasn’t empty. They fired off a few rounds from a plastic pellet gun, and tried to run away.” Mercato sneered. “Two of my employees needed stitches.”

“That where the blood on the dance floor come from?”

“Oh no,” said the crime boss, leaning in with delight. “We caught the punks before they made it out the alley. Made them kneel, and pop, pop!” Mercato made two sharp finger gun motions. The person on the couch flinched with each pop, even though he couldn’t see through that black hood.

Alex frowned. “You shot a couple kids for almost robbing you?”

“It sends a message,” Mercato said wickedly. “But this one might have some other uses. Maybe that, or he’ll join his friends.”

Alex shook his head. Such mindless violence. Humans were consistently vile. It reminded him why he was there. “Newest batch,” he said, sitting his bag on Mercato’s desk.

Pulling the bag to him, Mercato started lifting all the packaged vials of Blue Dust out and placing them on his desk. He usually took time to examine the goods, always making a show of how thoroughly he checked Alex’s work. The drugs would be counted, then tested, then counted again, all before they could discuss a price.

Rather than sit and watch the man, Alex stood and started wandering around the room. There were some books on a shelf with a nice coating of dust. Only for show, never read. Tacky sea shell animals lined the fake sill in front of the wall monitor, plastic googly eyes staring helplessly into the office. What horrors must they have witnessed? There were two dead pixels in the monitor playing the beach view. Nothing too interesting, but Alex examined them all because he was trying desperately not to turn his attention to the trembling hooded person on the couch.

It was like sandpaper in his brain. He could feel him like a bright spot in the room no matter where he walked or where he looked. Before long, Alex gave in, unable to withstand the unfathomable tug the mystery person presented.

He neared as close as he could before the lackey standing guard grunted.

Mercato lifted his head, awkward six-lensed spectacles perched on his nose. “So you do have a type,” he chuckled. “Figures you’d go for the bound ones.”

Alex ignored the brand. “Can you take off the hood? Only for a moment?”

“You serious?” Mercato had the drugs all sprawled across the desk. He was concerned about how that would look. The man had just killed two of the kid’s friends while he watched, and he was worried about him seeing some drugs?

“I’m serious. Just for a moment.” If Alex could see his face, maybe that would relieve that nagging tug he felt every time he looked at the bound figure.

Mercato made a mocking face behind Alex’s back, then signaled the okay to his guard. The man didn’t hesitate, just ripped the hood off.

The frightened young man cringed back, looking up at Alex only briefly before his panicked eyes darted to the desk, Mercato, and the drugs. They had gagged him with a sock, tied in place with a necktie, but the unmistakable sound of begging was clear even through the fabric.

Instead of closure at seeing the young man’s face, Alex felt the string he’d been tugging at in his mind pull loose, unraveling the whole bag in a blazing burst of recognition.

Scared eyes turned back to Alex, meeting his gaze only briefly before the guard slipped the hood back over his head.

But those eyes stuck with Alex, like an after image burned into his retina. They were eyes that haunted him in his sleep. Nightmares of betrayal and murder and those eyes. Russet colored, a brown that could almost be considered red. So afraid.

Like being hit by a train, Alex realized how dangerous and deadly the situation was. A few seconds and a third bullet, and those eyes would be gone once again. The weight of the buildings above and concrete below threatened to crush him. Every shadow in every corner felt like a monster waiting to spring out with ravenous jaws. Death and destruction reigned in the Depths, and Alex was afraid. With dreaded certainty, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to protect that fragile, terrified life before him. The weight of centuries filled him with doubt and dismay.

For the first time in a long time, Alex cared about something other than himself, and he was fairly certain it was going to get him killed.

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