The Hollow Warden

The bazaar, once a raucous chaos of sights and sounds during the day, turned eerily subdued under the steady patter of midnight rain. Its neon signs, normally brash and loud, now shimmered faintly, distorted by water droplets. Jarek tugged his hood tighter, not that it helped much. The maze-like alleys of the Shatterzone had a way of closing in on you, didn't they? He kept his steps soft, his shoulders slouched, a ghost among shadows.

He wasn't far now. The sign was barely visible in the gloom, its flickering holo-text stuttering out the words Tek's Salvage. Subtlety wasn't Tek's strong suit. Figures.

Leaning against a leaning pile of what looked like rust held together by spite, Tek busied himself cleaning his nails with a knife that gleamed a little too sharply. He looked up at Jarek's approach, and his lips curled into that infuriating smirk that always made Jarek want to turn on his heel and leave.

"Color me shocked," Tek said, mock astonishment dripping from his every word. "Jarek Vayne, early?. Hell must've frozen over."

"I'm not in the mood for your mouth," Jarek shot back, voice clipped, like a knife slicing through Tek's theatrics. "You got it?"he asked.

Tek's chuckle came low and slow. "Relax, my friend. You're too uptight you're gonna snap like a synth spring." He fished in his coat pocket and produced a small data chip, twirling it between his fingers like a street magician showing off a coin. "One fresh, clean, totally untraceable code. Custom-made, no less. Pretty, ain't it?" he asked.

Jarek didn't dignify the show with a response. He snatched the chip and gave it a quick glance before tucking it safely away. "What else?" he asked again.

Tek leaned back, folding his arms like he was settling in for a chat. "Same old drill. Don't mess up, don't trip the alarms, don't die. Oh, and for the love of credits, keep whatever mess you make far, far away from me." he advised.

"You're a real fountain of wisdom," Jarek deadpanned, already turning to go.

"Hey, hey," Tek called after him, hands raised like a saint blessing a heathen. "Don't shoot the messenger. The job's a piece of cake. Get in, grab the prototype, get out. No muss, no fuss. Okay?"

Jarek paused, glancing back with an arched brow. "You've never called me for 'cake.'"

Tek grinned wide, showing teeth. "Touché. But this? This is a payday worth sweating for. Fifty grand, Vayne. That's more than pocket change, even for you."

Jarek's eyes darkened, his voice dropping low. "Leave Lira out of this."

Tek's smirk faltered for just a second before he held up his hands again, feigning innocence. "Alright, alright. No family. Just credits and business."

Jarek melted back into the shadows without another word.

Tek called after him, the grin returning. "Good luck, Vayne. The Upper City's no playground for gutter rats like us."

The lift hummed as it climbed, its sleek steel walls reflecting Jarek's tense silhouette. The Shatterzone shrank below, a patchwork of grime and desperation giving way to the pristine arrogance of the Upper City. Clean, sterile air replaced the acrid tang of the alleys. Was it filtered, or just better to begin with? That was hard to say.

Jarek's fingers itched as he flipped the data chip over in his hand before sliding it into his comm. A map bloomed in soft holographic light, the target blinking like a beacon on the tallest tower in sight. "You've got this," he muttered under his breath trying to encourage himself. Did he believe it? Not really.

The lift chimed softly, breaking his thoughts, and the doors whispered open. The pavement beyond gleamed, almost too clean to step on. Jarek moved fast, head down, eyes scanning. The code worked like a charm, getting him past the outer perimeter with all the finesse of a phantom.

Inside, the building was a different world. Every surface shone, polished to a mirror finish. No graffiti, no grime, just cold, calculated efficiency. It felt wrong, somehow. Like walking into the belly of something alive.

Jarek stopped at a junction, consulting the map. Left or right? The fastest route pulsed on the display.

"Straight shot," he muttered.

But in Erethis, straight shots always curved.