Another unmarked door opened to an old, rusty stairwell and they spiraled down level after level. Footsteps echoed in the chamber, the pulsating sound growing the deeper they traveled. Occasionally they would pass a guard, each one showing recognition of Mack in various ways. Once they descended at least eight stories, Mack pushed through a door and into another dimly lit, moldy hallway. The walls might have been a shade of white once. Now darkly yellowed, and spotted with green and black mold, the walls cast an eerie vision of decay.
A man, dressed how Mack fashioned himself usually, leaned against a wall next to a large metal door, dragging on a cigarette. They halted their movements and Mack touched his Cranium again. As they waited for the door to unlock, the man issued Lynden a flirtatious smile, his thoughts clear and evident, making Coal’s blood boil. He was not entirely certain how he would manage this evening. In response, Coal wrapped his arm around her waist once more and glared at the man, who smirked in response. Lynden ignored them both and fixed her eyes on the door while releasing a sigh of irritation. He could almost hear her thoughts, telepathically shouting at both of them about male pride.
The door opened and loud music with slow, seductive beats blared into the hallway. Mack’s normally playful expression sobered as he regarded Lynden, and Coal watched as an understanding passed between them. Then, Mack perked up, looked over at him and said, “Welcome to the Den of Iniquity, desu.”
Coal walked in, already feeling his face flush. People took in their entrance, but with the same bored indifference Lynden applied to most things in life. Mack transformed into an aloof posture as he strode through the throng of people engaged in various licentious acts. As their small group passed several others, many recognized Lynden and started laughing, some even calling out names so vulgar that Coal tried in vain to erase them from his mind. His heart sickened, worried when she noticeably blinked back the hurt.
“Stop staring,” Lynden warned in a low whisper. She draped herself onto him, as if they arrived as a pair, and he hooked his arm around her waist. “You don’t give a shit.”
Panic rose sharply within him. He was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, never experiencing such shame nor exposure to such debased behavior in his life. Lynden sauntered next to Coal as they trailed Mack. Coal was relieved that she did not unzip her jacket nor remove her hood. His eyes jumped between the people massed around them and the dingy floor at his feet.
He could not distinguish gender for many in this room, which made him more distraught. The androgynous culture elevated his social anxiety unlike any other shock to date. In the underground, it apparently was a highly desired trait.
A woman with pink hair caught his eye from across the room, a slow smile spreading on her lips, flaunting a color that matched her hair to perfection. It was a soft pink, like cherry blossoms. Unlike most of the people who presented themselves as women in this room, the woman in pink held a soft femininity that appealed to Coal immediately. Her creamy white skin shimmered despite the shadows, and dark eyes, flirtatious, laughing almost, invited him over and made promises in a single glance. Coal’s heart thrummed loudly and he swept a look to Lynden and then to the flashing lights over her head.
The walls were covered in flat screens, flashing images unfit for any eyes. One particular video created a discomfort so grand, Coal gasped in astonishment. Mack shot a look over his shoulder and shouted over the noise, “Rule 34. Keep your head down, dokyun. We’re almost out.”
“Oh my god!” A female cried out from a nearby group, and a woman in a tight, low-cut black dress fell onto Mack. “Where have you been?”
“Dreaming of you,” Mack said with a subtle smile, then looked away as if disinterested. “You’re far better than any fantasy, though.”
“Where’s Corlan?” She let out a sigh and casually looked around, delivering a lazy, flirtatious for Mack once more. “Is he here?”
“Nope. On Mars.”
“He is out of this world. You’re such a tease.” She smiled appreciatively. “I’ve missed you.”
“I know.”
The woman laughed again, a coquettish sound that grated against Coal’s nerves.
“What happened to your eyes?” She stuck out her bottom lip.
Mack considered Coal, then issued a dramatic expression for the woman, as if he was suffering greatly. “I fought a bad man. Don’t worry, I took care of him.”
“Poor Mack. Let me kiss you and make you feel better.” Her fingers trailed up Mack’s chest to his face and drew him down, but Mack slapped her on the arse and said, “Not now. Later.” With a wink he kept walking and the woman let out a frustrated huff and stormed off.
“Dreaming of her?” Lynden snorted. “Wow. Do you even remember her name?” Mack slid her a mischievous glance and kept walking. “God, you’re a winner, Mack.”
He smirked. “Don’t kill my sexy henshin.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have to. You’re doing a pretty damn good job of it yourself.”
“Whatever, Rainbow. I’m the King. I just let Fillion think he is so as to not destroy his fragile ego. I’m a good friend like that.”
His face remained serious, but his lips twitched and Lynden could not hold in her mirth and laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but a genuine laugh of amusement. Mack’s face softened with the sound and he tugged on a red strand peeking through her hood. She continued to chuckle, but it halted abruptly when spotting the woman with pink hair. Lynden’s body tensed into haughty coolness and she pushed Mack forward. He tossed a casual, inspective glance in the woman’s direction, his eyes darkening. In his typical laid-back way, Mack ambled forward until he reached a metal door, acting as through nothing was amiss. Coal knew otherwise, but not why.
Another room opened up, featuring high tables and chairs with unusually long legs. People sipped drinks, their low chatter barely audible over the music, the same sounds from the previous room.
“You passed the first circle of hell,” Mack said, shrugging his eyebrows.
“No, I do believe that was the second.”
Mack laughed. “Different inferno.”
“Most assuredly.”
“All other rooms are unicorns, kittens, and rainbows in comparison.” Mack paused in front of another door. “Noobs rarely make it past the Den of Iniquity.”
Coal lifted a corner of his mouth, to hide his trembling, and said in a dry tone, “A celebration is in order then.”
“Let’s kick some cage-fighting ass. Betting money on you. Don’t disappoint.”
“Go,” Lynden said, pushing past Mack into the next room.
They passed through several doors and rooms, each one with its own flavor of fetish or purpose. The farther they went in, the more industrious the rooms became, people working rather than playing. An engineering room piqued Coal’s interest the most, and he wished to observe the mechanics and diagrams. But Mack was on a mission and, therefore, so were they. The quiet of these rooms eased Coal’s growing nerves, but the experience was short-lived.
***
Our Sire’s age was worse than our grandsires’. We, their sons, are more worthless than they; so in our turn we shall give the world a progeny yet more corrupt.
— Horace, “A Progeny Yet More Corrupt,” Book III of Odes, circa 20 B.C. *
Fundamental to the tournament was the idea of chivalrous and romantic conduct. A knight selected a lady; beautiful and preferably married to a husband of slightly higher rank. In her honor he would fight.
— “The Medieval Tourney,” National Jousting Association, nationaljousting.com *
***
A tall, lean man—at least, Coal thought he was a man—no, maybe a woman?—with very pale skin, shoulder-length black hair and equally as black eyes waltzed into a room as if floating. The person’s eyes lacked pupils, a shocking and creepy appearance that sent cold tingles up Coal’s spine. A long coat with a high collar covered his or her body. Coal panicked even more with the lack of physical cues as to gender.
Was it human?
“Mr. Ferguson, you requested me?”
“Mel, I have a proposition.”
The otherworldly being gestured toward three chairs in the corner of the room. They walked over and Mack indicated with his head for Coal to take a seat. Lynden, playing her part, slinked onto Coal’s lap, with a bored yet flirtatious expression, and returned her attention to the other men. Unable to bring himself to look at Mel, Coal focused on the small, seemingly private room.
Dark, rust-tinged pipes patterned the ceiling in a grid. Three of the four walls were painted black. The last wall boasted a dark red. As Mack spoke, the otherworldly being studied Coal, with nary a blink nor movement of any kind. It was if this person fed on Coal’s fear, enjoying the elevated blood pressure and throbbing heart rate.
“So,” Mel said with a soft, smooth voice, a voice not too high, not too low. “You wish the underground to crack the sealed files and erased cyber activity of the world’s leading Corporate King.” Slowly, Mel’s head swiveled in the direction of Mack. “What protection do we have against your target?”
“None.” Mack eased back into his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody does, regardless of the situation. I could do this myself, but I’m a nice guy. I like to help out my community. Corlan will make it well worth the risk. And, separate from Corlan’s offer, I will hire the best cracker as an additional cryptographer for my father’s team—with full benefits and set-up housing, of course.”
“Very generous of Mr. Ferguson.”
“Like I said. Community player.”
“Yes, your father is a valued patron of the Open Source community.”
Mack did not comment. Rather, he activated his Cranium and fingers commanded the air. “Sending you the proposal right now.”
A white hand lifted, the nails long and painted black, and Mel brushed the air with graceful strokes. A few seconds later, Mel stared into space, the black eyes moving back and forth. “Double it, three-quarters up front.”
“No, a tiered plan as outlined. Gov docs cracked earns the money indicated; social media cracked, another sum. Only those who accomplish their task get a cut. I’m not paying for a hacking field trip. No full disclosures. And everyone involved will sign legal statements, drafted by my lawyer, agreeing to not dox the target family with their findings. They’ll disappear if they do.”
“Corlan agrees with such drastic measures? Does not sound like his way of handling situations.”
Mack offered a cocky smile. “Doesn’t really matter, now does it?” He sniffed and leaned back in his chair. “Deal?”
“Tiered plan, double the monetary values outlined.” Mel stared at Coal.
“One-and-a-half times the set values.”
“With a non-refundable retainer.” Mel’s tongue slid over fang-like teeth with a wicked smile, and Coal shivered. At this point, Coal had decided that Mel was either Satan himself or one of his lead demons. He resisted the urge to cross himself. Perhaps they really had descended into Hell.
“Of course.” Mack pushed off the back of the chair and leaned on the table. “Quarter as promised in the proposal.”
“Third.”
“Twenty-eight percent. Shit, I’ll throw in another half-percent for kicks and giggles.”
“And him.” Mel’s smile widened while staring at Coal.
Mack shifted his angle on the chair and contemplated Coal as if inspecting him for the first time. “He’ll be there. Draken is part of my team. My cousin from the UK, works at New Eden Enterprise’s London office, and will be our insider to decode the info.”
“London underground?” A faint smile lit Mel’s thin lips. “Interesting.” Black eyes stayed on Coal, then flicked to Mack. “Any other ... talents?”
“Terrible singer. God, all musical attempts will make your ear drums commit suicide.” Mack shook his head as if it was indeed a great loss, and Mel remained unmoved. Coal tried not to laugh, especially when Mack flew a deadpan look his way. “But,” Mack dragged the word out for emphasis. “He’s a well-known cage fighter in his parts.”
“Excellent. I wish for a show.”
“Of course you do. We’re happy to oblige. Draken is a bit jet-lagged, but he’ll put on a good show.”
“Draken...?” Mel inquired, black eyes riveted onto Coal.
“Smyth. Draken Smyth.” Coal steadied his voice and tensed his muscles as he dipped his head. “At your service.”
“And your companion?”
Coal placed both arms around Lynden’s waist. “Rainbow Leigh, my personal assistant.”
“Mr. Smyth,” Mel began, “I will agree to Mr. Ferguson’s and Mr. Jayne’s proposal to involve the underground in a collaborative hack against a certain high-profile individual provided you entertain me.”
Coal licked his dry lips and pushed out a confident, “Yes, I understand.”
“Miss Leigh, I insist you sit with me during the fight. Shall we?” Mel rose from the chair as if formed from the thick, dark air of the room. “I look forward to your exhibition, Mr. Smyth.” The demonic-looking being held out an arm to Lynden, who accepted with a sensual smile, not a trace of fear in her movements. Mel looked down at her. “How is your brother Corlan, dear?”
With head lowered, Coal walked behind Mel and Lynden down a long hallway, ignoring the conversation. Cheers and angry shouts rumbled, growing in volume as they neared a door at the very end of the narrow passageway. The door opened before they arrived, and a young man dipped his head as Mel entered, as if he knew the pale being approached.
Bodies blocked Coal’s view from the doorway so he looked up, following a persistent deafening noise. Large vents in the ceiling forced cooler air into the space. Their sound mixed with the crowd’s vociferations and with the loud music, and Coal wanted to cover his ears. But he remained impassive, appearing bored.
As he entered, a person bumped into him. Coal stumbled to the side, staggering into another, who flipped him off without looking his direction. Coal swept his vision across the undulating heads and skimmed over the server racks caged along the perimeter of the room. Metal bars formed a fence from the crowd and a walkway before each cage. The walls and ceiling were painted black, brightening the thousands of computer eyes, in shades of blue, white, red, and yellow, winking from the racks.
Two cages loomed at the center of the room, divided by a gaming deejay. Each cage housed an intricate virtual gaming apparatus. A fight was in session, and Coal paused and watched the holographic avatars above the cages, displayed by twin Imigicasts. The vivid colors popped against the black, the three-dimensional aspects so real it was baffling. Two young male opponents interacted in a jungle theme, towering high above the rainforest floor in wattle-like treehouses. Suspension bridges connected different spaces, and the players battled on one of them. The bridge swayed, and one of the fighters nearly lost his balance, making the crowd gasp. Coal felt a tug on his chains and he whipped his head in their direction to find Lynden pressed against him.
“This way,” she shouted with an arched eyebrow, nodding in the direction he should have walked. “I thought we lost you.”
“My apologies,” he shouted in reply.
“Nervous?”
“No, of course not.” He offered a charming smile and her face softened.
“I’m terrified.”
“Of Mel?”
“A bit. More for you.”
Mack’s faced emerged behind Lynden’s as he squeezed through the agitated crowd, his hair fairly glowing beneath the strange lighting. “Come on. Time to prep.” He looked at Lynden. “Miss Leigh, Mel is waiting for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Eww. Not into half-deads.”
“Just sit and look pretty for them, nothing else. You’re not their type either.” Mack shifted his attention to Coal. “It’s their way of honoring you, by putting your ‘personal assistant’ on display.”
“I see.” Coal paused, confused. “Their type? Are we not talking abo
ut Mel?”
“Neutrandrogyne transgender.”
Coal understood the pieces of each word, but failed to comprehend the whole meaning. Another time, he thought. “Lead the way.”
Lynden gripped a chain dangling from his pants and they pushed through the crowd. Mel waited by a gate, and they slipped into the walkway between the metal bars and server cages, bypassing the crowd as they walked the periphery of the room. The deejay, who sat elevated upon a small platform, tipped his head at Mel.
A man with a shaved head approached. Bluish-white glowing tattoos, in a continuous intricate design of multi-colored electronic grids, decorated the man’s entire head, even his face, down his neck and arms and, Coal assumed, his entire body. It was as if he materialized from a circuit board, even more so when he noticed how the tattooed man’s eyes shone light blue under the strange dark lamps. Mel lifted a long, lithe finger at Coal and the tattooed man gripped Coal’s sleeve and nudged him forward. Lynden followed, still holding to a chain, as Coal was led to a waiting pen by one of the gaming cages.
“Mel tells me you fight?” The man’s deep voice boomed over the music, fans, and cheers with ease. Instead of replying, Coal simply offered a curt nod. “Did you bring your own gear?”
“No.”
“You know the drill.”
Coal turned to Lynden, unzipped his bulky jacket and handed it to her. She accepted, her face unreadable with exception to her lip ring, which she nibbled as she waited patiently. With smooth movements, Coal pulled his shirt off and draped it over his jacket. Then, he removed his shoes and pants, afraid to meet Lynden’s eyes, although he wore shorts designed for such events. Still, he had never been so undressed before so many. Nor before her. Their gaze collided anyway, and her hazel orbs held his. After several beats, she pulled her eyes away from his to admire the elaborate tattoo of a Japanese dragon slithering up his left arm and curling over his shoulder and across his chest.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 41
