The grating hum of a rusted ceiling fan mingled with the satisfying clack of a physical keyboard. Wincing at the stale cigarette stench clinging to the room, Danang cracked his eyes open, catching two girls peering at a monitor in his peripheral vision before shutting them again.
He’d dreamt of something nostalgic—a memory from his days scraping by in the undercity’s alleys. A dim reel of blood and gunsmoke. Pressing his mechanical arm to his forehead, Danang sighed deeply, rising slowly and shuffling toward the fridge.
“Danang? You okay?” Rilse asked.
Pulling a meat can and a jelly pack from the fridge’s pale fluorescent glow, Danang grunted, “Yeah.” He popped the can’s lid, spooning the contents into his mouth, then twisted open the pack.
The sharp saltiness and synthetic meat’s rancid tang hit hard. Eating canned meat—meant for cooking—raw was odd, but Danang, never one for culinary effort, opened a second can, shoving it down.
He craved food, his body screaming for calories, water, nutrients. Normally, he’d never down two cans at once or rely solely on nutrient-dense jelly packs for meals.
Draining the jelly pack, Danang sank into a worn leather armchair, lit a cigarette, and inhaled.
Thin purple smoke tore apart under the fan’s blades, scattering. Filling his lungs, he exhaled a plume, his gaze shifting to Eve, who stared intently at the monitor. His hand quietly gripped a pistol hidden under the desk.
“…”
“What? Staring like that makes me self-conscious,” Eve said.
Her prismatic eyes, sharp and multicolored, flicked to Danang under the monitor’s pale glow. Arms crossed, she sat on the guest sofa.
“Nothing. Just got some questions,” Danang replied.
“Like what?”
“You got ties to the upper city… the cleaners?”
“No way,” Eve said flatly.
Releasing the pistol’s safety, Danang’s finger rested on the trigger. Cocking the hammer halfway, he exhaled the last of his smoke, grabbed another cigarette, and spun the lighter’s flint.
The flame flickered, sparking, igniting the cigarette’s tip. The smoldering ember, feeding on air, seemed to mirror the suspicion between him and Eve. The tobacco’s ash felt like time dissolving.
“You smoke with your left hand, huh?” Eve remarked.
“…”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“Bad habit. What’s that mechanical arm holding? A gun, probably,” she said.
“How’re you so sure?” Danang asked.
“The ash tray’s pile of stubs and the cigarette you just tossed—still had some leaf left,” she replied.
Glancing at the ash tray’s mound of filter-tip stubs and the slightly unburned cigarette atop it, Danang clicked his tongue, aiming the pistol at Eve.
“What’s your deal with them? Spill it, Eve,” he demanded.
“I told you, nothing. Got proof?” she shot back.
There was no proof—just a gut feeling, a post-facto hunch. Eve could’ve made deals behind their backs while he and Rilse were out cold, or she might truly have no ties. Danang wanted certainty, something from her mouth to justify trust.
Aiming at her forehead, he was about to pull the trigger when Rilse spoke. “Eve’s got nothing to do with them. Lower the gun, Danang.”
“…”
“If she was upper-city or a cleaner’s ally, she wouldn’t keep us alive. Mid-level folk wouldn’t even care about the undercity. And she wouldn’t take the irrational step of implanting Lumina in you,” Rilse reasoned.
“Could be a setup to screw us over. Betrayal, murder—maybe that’s her game. You expect me to trust her that easily?” Danang countered.
“I’m not saying trust her blindly. But logically, Eve’s actions don’t benefit her. Thinking like undercity scum won’t cut it. Understand?” Rilse pressed.
Tension grated his nerves, a prickling unease. Danang’s mechanical arm still aimed at Eve, who met his gaze calmly.
“Fine,” Eve said.
“…”
“I don’t expect anyone to save me, and wasting time on shameless trash is pointless. Lumina’s yours, Danang. Rilse, it was short, but kinda fun. Thanks,” she said, standing from the sofa with a fleeting, fragile smile. “Goodbye,” she whispered, opening the door.
“…”
No need to stop her, no reason to grab her hand. No desire to comfort a girl holding back tears. Silent, gun still raised, Danang watched Eve vanish from view, then exhaled heavily, rubbing his eyes.
“That girl…” Rilse began.
“…”
“She nursed you the whole time,” Rilse said.
“So?” Danang muttered.
“She didn’t sleep, not until you stabilized. Then she smiled. I’m not appealing to your heart, but… if your old man saw Eve, saw you now, what would he say?”
“Dead men don’t talk. Besides, Lumina’s a useful tool,” Danang said.
“That’s not what I mean!” Rilse shouted.
Stepping close, she grabbed his collar and slapped him.
“Calm down, Rilse,” Danang said.
“…First time,” she said.
“…”
“First time you made me sick. Don’t you get human feelings? Sure, in the undercity, kindness and softness are weakness, but… you have to embrace that weakness, turn it into strength, to truly live! Was your old man… that weak? Well, Danang?!” she demanded.
Surviving as a weakling in the undercity was near impossible. Human morality was treated like garbage; injustice and vice were badges of strength. Kindness invited betrayal, softness invited cruelty. Pleasure was good, humanity bad—survival demanded it.
Yet… the old man who raised Danang had a shred of justice, an elusive strength. Rare in the undercity, he didn’t prey on the weak, slew the strong, and lived by his own power—a true strength, a way of life.
Danang admired the old man’s blinding radiance, drawn to a strength he could never wield. But he knew he’d never be like him. Reaching for a distant star was futile—he understood that.
The old man once said: Anyone can help others like a fool. But for a woman crying without tears, lend a hand silently.
“…Was Eve crying?” Danang asked.
“Yeah,” Rilse said.
“I see.”
Donning his armor and coat, Danang sheathed Heres at his waist.
“Rilse,” he said.
“What?” she replied.
“Hold the fort.”
“…On your way back,” she said.
“What?”
“Pick up some ingredients. I’ll… cook something for a change.”
“…Sure.”
Holstering an assault rifle and high-caliber revolver, Danang felt Lumina’s pulse in his chest. Opening the door, he plunged into the chaotic crowd.
