by Dave Austin
They ended up taking a quick shower and wearing yesterday's clothes for lack of others.
"I'm sorry. In the evening I will take you home and you can pack your clothes and utensils. For now, you will have to be satisfied with that. The most I can get is a shirt for you, James." Gordon told us as soon as we entered the room.
"Please call me Crash. My Hunter’s name."
"Do you intend to follow in your father's footsteps? Or did you think we didn't know who you were?" Ashen asked, standing up, straightening his gray cloak, with the black folds raised around his neck, covering part of a syringe's mark.
As soon as he saw us looking at it, he pulled the fold up a notch to cover it.
"My father was the best Hunter I've ever met. He didn't even give up when everyone turned against him." I answered him, approaching him with my neck up.
"And we all know what happened to him," Ashen answered, realizing too late the mistake he had made.
My instinct overcame my rationality and I raised my fist, prepared to punch him, accepting the consequences straightaway, if I were not prevented from doing so by Gordon. He grabbed my arm, deviating it, my skin rubbing against Ashen's face that didn't move, except for a few strands of hair. No one said anything. Silence swamped the house. Neither the birds chirping outside nor the wind gusts that rocked the plants and tossed the dew to the ground, which I could see through the window, pulled us out of the bubble we were in. It took Ashen a few minutes to step forward, place some of his hair behind his ear, apologize, and leave the room.
"For an S rank, he seems to be very impulsive," Kendra said after he disappeared down the hall.
"He has a reason. I'll tell you when you get back. Now focus on your mission and leave whatever quarrels you have here." Gordon said, sweating around his neck, staining the top of his gray t-shirt, "Grab your things. Kendra, contact your sister. Tell her you want to meet up in neutral territory."
Kendra did so. She took her mobile phone out of her pocket, pressed a few keys and we waited until we heard her ring tone, one that came with the mobile phone. What was expected of someone like her. Unlike me, who had a rock song for every message I received, which, to be honest, was also rare.
"At this address," Kendra said, showing us her mobile phone.
"Largo St. Patrick, Lynnaria. Half an hour." was the content of the message whose sender was only classified as "sister". Gordon took his tablet, which was also on the crystal table, and entered the location. Within seconds, a 3-dimensional image of the area appeared on the screen, covered with fingerprints, which Gordon rotated in all directions counting the possible exits as well as places where she could place her men. It was an ample green space, amid Lynnaria city, one of the richest of the surrounding areas. Four roads led to the square; one of them was a detour made on the highway and the remaining three came from the city, each from a different part, from the poorest to the richest. The differences were striking, from the buildings along the streets to the road materials and the shops on each street. In the poorer one only a dried-up drugstore, the announcement on the roof already worn out, the colorless words, other than for a "cheap" that escaped the deterioration, while in the richer alley the lights of two welcoming cafés covered half the sidewalk in blue and purple, having on the other side competition with the neutral light of a gold smithery.
"She must have men here, here and here." Gordon said, pointing to three distinct corners, "At least."
"Probably," Kendra said as if she expected nothing less from her sister.
"Well, you already have your mission. Get on your way. I'll talk to Ashen. We will accompany you on camera and we will speak to you through the communicators. Don't withdraw them. They have a locator embedded." Gordon finished speaking, wished us good luck and left us alone in the room, the heat becoming unbearable, contrasting with the temperature outside.
The naked trees, the ice melting in the light of the sun's rays, the birds with the moist feathers, and the still crystalline lake with some floating moss seemed to have emerged from a painting. It wasn't as cold as expected. The sun smiled, behind several white clouds, and given the time, 11 am, it still had a chance to peak.
We got into the car, the wheels still muddy, warm seats, and the fogged front windows, covered by a thin layer of melted ice.
"Are you ready, Kendra? You haven't seen her for a long time." Maggie said, breaking the silence that followed us on the road.
"Yes, everything will be all right.” She said, looking out the window, her yawn dirtying the glass.
We were lucky enough to pick up all the green lights and most of the vehicles on the road at that time were trucks transporting food to the restaurants. Lynnaria was just under 20 minutes away. We followed the indications that took us to the wealthiest street, where our car was seen as just one more, not standing out from the dozens of luxury cars that were in the parking lot, where we also left ours.
Apart from a lady who in addition to a pink hat also had a purse of the same color, held by a gold chain on her left shoulder, and a fur coat, there was no one else on the street. Even the air tasted better there. We walked down the long road, at times, being watched by shopkeepers peeking at the entrance, whispering with customers and other owners.
"They don’t get many visitors," I said, ignoring the looks.
"I wonder why," Kendra answered. Her brown eyes drier than usual.
We got to the intersection. Two old ladies were crocheting on a bench while their dogs chased after a couple of young skateboarders. On a corner a few black dressed men, trousers tight to the body, wearing sunglasses despite only a few rays of sunshine reaching them. The entrance to the garden was open and a young security guard wandered around, eyes wide open, his hand on his gun. He shivered at any noise, finally wiping the blue sleeve of his uniform over his forehead, soaking it up.
In the midst, where all the streets connected, a girl with long purple hair answered a call. She stood out by being so out of place within the image, her black boots with two-inch heels and a black top under a jacket that she had left open. I looked at the buildings around us. The windows reflected the sun, the beam protecting anyone who dazzled in the darkness. If there was anyone hiding in any of them, it would be impossible for us to predict the location. We were at her mercy and she knew it.
"There she is!" Kendra said, pointing to the purple-haired girl, "Don't move."
“What do you mean, "Don't move"? Didn't we move? What do you mean by that?" Maggie asked him.
"She's not distracted. She knows we've been here since we stopped the car in the garage." Kendra said, keeping herself unscathed, waiting until her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She saw the message and walked, "Follow me."
Strangely enough, and only by accident, I noticed that she was only stepping on the white cobblestones, avoiding the grey and black ones. She would twist her foot if necessary, to do so. I wondered if it was her liking, a memory from when she was younger, and I didn't comment. It didn't take us more than a few seconds to reach her sister. She asked us for a minute while she was talking on her cell phone, turning her back to us, acting as if no one could catch her even if she was being sought and there she was, in plain sight, under the unfolding sun, her lycra pants resting on her butt so well that even the young skaters had stopped and wheezed while sharing a can of soda. She seemed to have noticed and loved the attention.
"I'm sorry. Hello!" She said, facing us, her lips thickened by the red wine lipstick concealing a beautiful smile behind it, "I'm glad you still remember the rules, Kendra. Follow me. You have to tell me everything. How do three level E hunters have a car like that? I had to double-check if it was really you and you know how much I hate having to look at something twice." She spoke fast, with no second thoughts, her words being thrown in the air like bullets.
We followed her into the garden. The security guard bowed to her and the sunglasses men followed us as well, spreading themselves in the different corners of the park, two of them acco
mpanying us through detours where there were "stop signs". A man-made trail stretched over long meters, hidden among a sea of enclosed trees, thick trunks that omitted that secret. She guided us to a rustic door, equipped with a metal lock and a delicate sulfur and gunpowder smell. No one spoke all the way. Her purple hair, now caught in a ponytail, swung from side to side as she put a silver key in the lock.
"We can talk in here. Ignore the smell. It's the bombs." She said, pressing a button at the door, the lights went on all over the dark blue-walled corridor, where death seemed to have already stepped. The typical place where it wouldn't be a surprise to find bodies lying on the ground, rotting in the dirt.
"Bombs?” Maggie asked, glancing around.
"Obviously. In the event of this place being put at risk. Remember, precaution is the basis of all escape. That and a beautiful sister, isn't that right, Kendra?" Her sister said and winked at her, "Who is this handsome boy you have with you?" She clung to me, smelling my hair, her tits rubbing against my face.
"Let's get down to business," I answered her, holding her arms and pushing her away.
I hadn't even let her go and the two security guards already had guns pointed at me. The lasers roamed along my body, the little red ball going from my forehead to my genitals.
"Lipa. Stop." Kendra said and grabbed her sister's arm. An electrifying exchange of stares took place in front of us.
"You're the same as always. So serious, not living life. You should have fun, you know? I bet the boy knows how to have a good time." She said, winking at me, "Let's go inside before someone sees us. My security guards will control the garden and change the surveillance cameras. The guard will take care of the cops who patrol this area."
We walked down the arched corridor, through the medieval walls, to a sizeable windowless warehouse, into dozens of stacked boxes and a white-haired man with a beard all the way down, sitting at a wooden table, counting banknotes.
Kendra's sister raised her hand and instructed her bodyguards to position themselves on opposite sides of the room. The old man didn't even blink at the sight of our presence. He had a small mobile lamp in the corner of the table, one of those that are molded, and one can change where the light points, and at that moment it fell on his wrinkled fingers and the green and purple notes. The whole place was illuminated by a single chandelier on the ceiling, the light spreading to the tiniest corners, revealing the mold that crested in the corners where the walls hadn't been cleaned for dozens of years. A fly swirled around our bodies, sometimes landing near my eyebrow, sometimes ascending to the light where a dozen other insects were warming up.
It was the typical criminal location; where there weren't any laws, where today it could be a money laundering warehouse and tomorrow a gathering place for illegal fighting, the fighters' blood seeping into the sewers, the voices muffled by the roof thickness and the surrounding garden shut at sunset time.
There was no sun there. It was always day or night, depending on whether they lit the lamp or sought refuge in the darkness.
Kendra's sister sat on one of the wooden boxes, "Shall we get down to business? Dr. Asa, right? What do you want from him?"
"Don't bring that up. You owe me one. No questions asked." Kendra answered her. I had never seen her with such bulging eyes, tired of being there, no longer looking like the first time she put her feet there.
"Oh, they don't know, do they? You didn't tell them why I owe you one..." Lipa said, jumping out of the box, her boots tapping the floor, the sound echoing through the room.
She walked up to me and, once again, leaned over and whispered in my ear, the perfume rising through my nostrils, "She's not as tough as she looks."
I strove to hold my attention on her words and keep control of my body although the growth in my boxers was noticeable. Her breasts, even bigger than Kendra's, rubbed against my lips, with her a few inches above me due to her high heels. Her erect nipples rubbed against my chin, or maybe it was the other way around. Her amber eyes remained on Kendra, just like a long-standing challenge, as her warm breath tickled my ears and a chill descended through my spinal cord.
"That's enough! Just tell us what you know about him." Kendra said, breathing fast, her chest rising and descending.
"I know that he makes objects that can be imperceptible on radars, some of them practically invisible to the naked eye. I know where he is, and I have an idea why you are here." Lipa began, wearing a smile on her face, "She told you that it was thanks to her that I managed to escape when I was almost caught? That she hid me in her house? What better place for a fugitive to hide, don't you agree?" she said, licking her lips, loving my and Maggie's stunned look.
"You what?" Maggie said and stepped away from Kendra, eventually tripping over a pebble and as she wobbled, she put her hand on a spider's web, "Shit." She let it slip.
"She's my sister! She knocked on my door, wounded, what was I supposed to do? It's not like you haven't been protecting your father too!" Kendra said in retaliation, "You're loving this, aren't you?" she asked her sister, who was leaning against the same box, the arched smile rubberizing her cheeks.
"Maybe." Lipa replied, "Your father is involved in a number of shady businesses. You didn't really think I'd bring you here without knowing who you are, did you? Or do you think I haven't noticed your comms? Don't worry, they don't work here."
"I'm leaving," Maggie said and then turned, walking down the long corridor.
The security guards pointed their guns at her. She stopped and came back to us without saying a word. We would only get out of there if Lipa wanted us to, or if we forced our way out, regardless of whether we endangered ourselves or not.
"What do you want from us?" I asked her.
"Better that way. A promise is a promise, Kendra. We, who live on the verge of the law, have not much more than our word. Agreements are made based on it. If you want to know about Dr. Asa, there is someone you have to know. Let's get going." She said and motioned again to the bodyguards.
They marched to the other side of the room and diverted an old closet until a dried-up wooden door appeared. They didn't take more than a minute and didn't make the slightest noise.
"Where are you taking us?" Kendra asked. She adjusted her clothes and walked behind her sister, who was heading towards the door.
"To the best place in the world. Where everything happens. The black market. I advise you to keep your Hunter apps in your pocket. Pretend to be potential customers and never, ever, show fear to anyone. Just because there are anti-violence rules on the market doesn't mean there isn't always someone willing to break them."
She advanced on her own, hopping, leaving all three of us alone in an awkward environment, the words stuck in the back of our throats.
"Kendra..." I started, but her voice overlapped mine.
"I know. I know. There should be no more secrets between us, and I hid something. But how the hell could I tell you that I helped hide my fugitive sister? One of the most wanted? Do you know the worst? I would do it again. She's my older sister! She saved me more times than I can count with my fingers."
"Does anyone else know?” I asked her.
"No, I never told anyone. I couldn't."
"Let's keep this between us for now. Ashen and Gordon have no idea and right now they're waiting for us to do our job. That is what we are going to do. Understood? Then we'll sort it out between us."
"How am I supposed to work with someone I don't trust?" Maggie asked and I could see from her look that she was sadder than upset. A few wrinkles in the corner of her eyes and her teeth grinding as soon as she finished talking.
Before I or Kendra could answer, Lipa told us to hurry. Behind the wooden door a narrow corridor, torches on both sides providing the only light that existed there, stretching endlessly. In the hall, we could only hear our footsteps, almost like a stone thrown into a well. There was an echo, but we didn't know how deep it was.
I was in the middle of them. They refused to talk an
d, to replace the silence, Lipa nearly had an orgasm as she told us how beautiful the black market was.
She spoke of the cobblestone streets filled with all kinds of stands, selling everything from weapons to shields, of the neon blue lights that bounced off the floor and reflected on the medieval walls. She told us how beautiful the dark cloud scenery was together with the broad streets, the piss smell and the songs that came from the tavern. She ended by describing it as "a poor city for the rich".
The tunnel came to an end. An open round space, with several small corridors around it, where delicate rays of sunlight entered through the cracks in the degraded and oval roof. Dozens of people, ranging from ones wearing stained and torn clothes to others wearing new T-shirts, visible in the way the fabric was not creased along the arm and shoulder, were in queue. There were still more people coming from all the tiny hallways. Most of them seemed to know each other or, at least, were polite enough to say hello when walking past someone. A row of 6 security guards, 3 on each side, led to a grey door, with two more checking the people in the queue.
One by one, the people stopped, looking at Lipa with a particular disdain, raised nose, and half-closed eyes, but also fear, paving the way for her to pass.
"Follow me." She said, giving us time to get close to her, "I never like to come here. People always look suspicious, expecting something from someone. It's strange." She added, sticking to a straight line, avoiding contact with anyone.
"What is this place?” I asked, looking around, noticing the decaying skin of two ladies who were a few meters from us limping, as well as the grandeur of the roof, reminding me of a few churches with their large-scale works, containing lines carved into the material itself.
"The entrance. Do you see these different paths? They all lead to a different place. Some of us, like me, have an entrance for ourselves, but most of them use the ones in the major cities." She explained as we passed the guards. None of them asked us for identity, as they were asking the rest of the people, and in no instance did they show fear or any suspicion of our presence there.
