After the Dreadnoughts handed over their payment, a heavy pouch of gold pieces, they departed. As did the Ironsides, who left behind one of their vehicles as their own payment. It was a behemoth of gleaming black metal that crouched low to the ground like a predator ready to strike. Rozeree circled it slowly, running her fingers along its cold, armored plates. The vehicle's front end jutted out aggressively, reminding her of an animal's maw. The whole machine seemed to radiate raw power even while motionless.
She had seen vehicles before—the collectors' armored carriages and the occasional merchant wagon that limped through Graybarrow. But this was different. This was a war machine, all sleek lines and brutal purpose. The massive wheels were wrapped in thick rubber, and reinforced panels had been welded seamlessly to its frame, transforming what might have once been an elegant machine into something savage. It's like me.
Vilrux put down the horses with two quick shots. Then set the scene ablaze—wagon, bodies, and all. The flames reflected in Rozeree's eyes as she watched, and she felt a strange emptiness. Those three men she'd killed—their bodies would soon be ash, as if they'd never existed. Just like my old self, she thought, burning away in those flames.
He gestured toward their new acquisition, and Rozeree slid into the passenger seat, finding herself cradled by firm leather that had been worn smooth by countless armed bodies. The interior smelled of gun oil and metal, with faint traces of blood that no amount of cleaning could fully erase. The scent revolted her, but it felt like a baptism into her new life. A baptism of violence, and power.
Rozeree pressed her fingers against the window, marveling at how the glass appeared pitch black from outside yet remained perfectly clear from within. "This is incredible…" The subtle hum of anticipation in her chest burst into something electric when Vilrux pressed a button, and the machine awakened with a thunderous growl that vibrated through her bones.
"Why don't the collectors use these?" she asked, trying to imagine the villager's faces if they'd shown up in something this powerful instead of their horse-drawn carriages.
Vilrux's sighed as he gripped the steering wheel. "Too far out. No fuel stations between there and Bolgue."
The machine devoured the wasteland with terrifying speed, eating up distance in a way that made Rozeree's stomach lurch. She gripped the edge of her seat as she held down the bile, the perimeter of Nacrila quickly coming into view. Fear and excitement warred in her chest. This was what she'd dreamed of, wasn't it? A chance to be something more? To become an Ascendant? But as the massive structures loomed before her, she felt suddenly small, like a desert mouse creeping into a predator's den.
The wall was a patchwork of ancient stone foundations, topped with sheets of corroded metal. It's surface a canvas of graffiti tags and warning signs that glowed with weak neon. Guard towers rose at intervals, some crumbling stone relics retrofitted with high-tech-looking security, others sleek new constructions of metal and glass.
As they drew closer, she could make out the details: automated turrets alongside gun wielding guards, tangles of razor wire above weathered battlements, and streams of people filtering through checkpoints where electric scanners hummed inside time-worn portcullises. Beyond the wall, the city's towers pierced the smog-choked sky, their surfaces crawling with digital light while shadow-cast stone temples and churches huddled at their feet.
"Welcome to Nacrila," Vilrux said, his voice carrying an edge of dark amusement as he steered them toward one of the gates. "Try not to look too impressed. Nothing makes you stand out more than staring like a tourist."
Rozeree forced her expression into careful neutrality, though her heart thundered in her chest. She was no longer the wide-eyed girl from Graybarrow. She was someone who had killed without hesitation. Someone who had earned her place in this vehicle, in this moment. The weight of her gun pressed against her side, a constant reminder of who she was becoming. As they approached the gate, she steeled herself for whatever came next. I've already crossed the hardest line. Everything else is just a matter of commitment.
However, as they closed in on the massive wall that surrounded Nacrila, the sight triggered memories of another wall. Memories swept over her, sharp and clear like broken glass.
"What do you mean you won't run away with me?!" Rozeree had screamed, her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. "What happened to wanting to leave and become Ascendants?!" Tears of anger began to well in her eyes, hot and stinging.
"Of course I want to!" Daglan had protested, his voice wavering. "But they're right—the world is probably super dangerous. Don't you remember the stuff we used to read in Koshu's journals?"
She'd glared at him, disappointment burning in her chest. "If you're too weak to leave these walls, fine! When I'm ready, I'm leaving. With or without you." She'd stormed off, leaving him standing there alone.
It was a good thing I never got the courage to run away back then, she thought to herself, the memory fading as she studied the fortifications ahead. I never would have made it.
"Identification and reasoning for passing the wall today?" A gruff voice cut through her thoughts. The guard leaned into Vilrux's window, his polished armor similar to that of the collectors. Rozeree's fingers inched towards her weapon's grip as she studied him. Another man who walked with that same self-important air as the gangsters she'd met hours ago.
Without a word, Vilrux retrieved a card from his jacket. The guard's eyes widened as the metal caught the light, his authoritative stance crumbling like sand. "I apologize for the hold up—" He fumbled with his scanner, the red beam trembling across the card's surface. Another hasty apology later and he waved them through, already turning to whisper urgently to his colleague.
"What was on that card?" Rozeree asked. Vilrux's only response was a slight curl of his lips as the city's shadows swallowed them whole.
The city rose around them in a maze of corroded metal and ancient stone. Neon signs buzzed like artificial fireflies against walls of weathered concrete. The air was thick with the mingled scents of cooking food, machine oil, and humanity pressed too close together.
Rozeree watched as crowds parted before their vehicle like water around a stone. Through the tinted windows, she observed the press of bodies—people with mechanical limbs that whirred and clicked, others with glowing circuit patterns traced across their skin like luminous tattoos. They reminded her much of the people of the production cities.
"The Clockworks run this area, the Undercity," Vilrux said, gesturing toward a group of young men on the corner. Green dominated their clothing, marking their allegiance. Heavy modifications made them appear more machine than human. "They keep order here, in their own way. Remember their faces—you'll want to stay on their good side."
Their vehicle crawled past an old church whose stone walls were half-consumed by sheets of metal and tangles of cable. Holographic saints flickering in the stained glass windows.
"Not much old city left," Vilrux continued, navigating through narrow streets that seemed to shift and change with each turn. "This is where the rabble who can't afford life congregate."
They emerged into a broader street that marked the boundary between districts. Ahead, what Vilrux described as the Commonwealth, rose like a fever dream of one world trying to consume another. The buildings here stood taller, their architecture more deliberate. A cascade of balconies and bridges spaned the gaps between structures, all illuminated by strings of digital lights that mimicked lanterns.
"The Roseblacks control this territory," Vilrux said as they passed under an ornate arch where carved stone angels held glowing cables in their hands. "They prefer to kill you with a smile rather than a gun. Remember that."
The streets here were wider but lined with shops and people all the same. Rozeree caught glimpses of merchants in rough suits with subtle metic enhancements—a metallic sheen to their eyes, fingers that moved too smoothly to be purely human.
"Your new apartment is up ahead," Vilrux said, turning down a side street where holographic ivy crawled up walls of weathered stone. "The Roseblacks own the building, but they'll leave you alone."
Rozeree's hand hadn't left her weapon since they'd entered the city, and she found herself grinding her teeth at every shadow. The collectors she'd killed had seemed so powerful in Graybarrow. Here they would have been nothing—small fish in an ocean of sharks. The thought should have frightened her, but instead she felt a familiar coldness settling in her chest. If this is what it takes to become an Ascendant, I will adapt and evolve.
"One more thing," Vilrux said as they pulled up to a towering building. Cracked windows flickered with faint neon light. Stone gargoyles, now outfitted with digital eyes, surveyed the street below. "After we get your metics installed, we're going on a few jobs to get you acclimated. Fast. Because in Nacrila, there's no such thing as a simple mistake. Every wrong move has consequences."
Rozeree nodded, watching a group of Roseblacks enforcers pass by, their movements liquid grace, their augmentations so seamless they looked almost natural. She thought of the collectors' bodies burning in the wasteland, of the weight of the gun in her hand, of all the lines she'd already crossed.
"I understand," she said, and to her surprise, she meant it. The old Rozeree might have been overwhelmed by the city's brutal beauty. Might have flinched at its casual violence. But that Rozeree had died in the wastes, her ashes mixing with those of her first kills.
This Rozeree—the one who emerged from Vilrux's vehicle into the neon-stained air of Nacrila—she was something new. Something harder. Something that would not just survive in this city of steel and shadow, but thrive in it.
Two men stood guard at the building's entrance, their tailored black suits immaculate, pinstripes slicing clean lines through shadow. They exuded an air of sophistication and danger. Their attire was completed by a wide-brimmed fedora, casting shadows over their faces, leaving only glimpses of piercing eyes that betrayed their ruthless nature. Vilrux pointed out the golden chain glinting around their necks, the symbol of the Roseblacks.
"Hello boys, this is…" Vilrux turned to Rozeree, his usual visage of cold calculation faltering for a rare moment. "You know, we haven't given you a name yet." He paused, tapping his finger against his chin. "I think we'll call you…the Mute. No questions, I'll explain later."
Pivoting back to the two guards stationed at the entrance, Vilrux's gaze sharpened. "This is the Mute, my new protégé. Remember her face— if either of you try anything funny..." His eyes narrowed to icy slits, the air growing thick with unspoken menace. "You'll hear from me."
The guards exchanged a tense glance. "We understand, Mr. Wolf," one replied, his voice carefully neutral as they opened the doors to allow Vilrux and Rozeree to pass.
As they left the guards behind, the air grew thick with the scent of decay. The stairwell they climbed was lined with crumbling concrete and rusting metal. Overhead, flickering lights buzzed and sputtered, casting an unsettling glow that danced across the walls. Jagged wires jutted out at odd angles, sparking ominously, promising a painful shock.
"So what's with the name?"
"After shedding your old identity, you take on a new one. They call me the Wolf, and from now on, you will be known as the Mute. Do you understand?" Vilrux explained, his usual cool composure returned. Rozeree nodded, doing her best to absorb the building's aura of neglect and danger.
She followed Vilrux up a set of creaking stairs, the smell of decay lingering in her nostrils. Until finally they reached a door that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the crumbling structure.
Unlike the weathered, paint-chipped entryways lining the halls, the apartment doors gleamed steel. Its surface unmarred by the ravages of time. A sleek digital keypad replaced the rusted knob, blinking softly as they approached.
After showing her the code, Vilrux pushed the door open, ushering Rozeree inside what would now be her new home. The first thing that struck Rozeree was the eerie glow that pervaded the sparse space - the neon lights of the city outside cast an unearthly red and green hue over the faded furniture. A tattered couch, a narrow bed, and a small refrigerator were the only furnishings, the cramped quarters punctuated by a doorway leading to an equally dingy bathroom.
"So I don't actually have to be mute, do I?" She plopped on the bed, the springs moaning in protest.
"No, it's just a name. You've learned to be quiet and strong, so it felt fitting." He paused, his gaze appraising. "Besides, it's a catchy moniker– and having an ominous ring to it is important for rising as a Fixer in this city."
The small hint of praise elicited a spark within Rozeree, kindling a fierce pride that she struggled to contain. No more Rozeree, the wide-eyed girl from Graybarrow, she thought. The weight of her new identity settling heavily upon her shoulders. From now on, I am the Mute.
"Now, let's get going. You need to get some food in your stomach before the augmentation surgery. Trust me, you don't want to throw up on an empty stomach."
Before getting to what Vilrux called a bar, they had to pass another checkpoint. Rozeree watched as Vilrux repeated the same ritual with his mysterious card. Her heart still jumped but she forced herself to maintain composure. As they passed through, all pretense of calm shattered.
The transformation before her was so absolute, so stunning, that she pressed her hands against the window like a child. Gone were the ancient stones and retrofitted buildings of the Commonwealth. Replaced by a vision that seemed pulled from a story book. Towers of pure light stretched toward the sky, their surfaces sheets of pristine glass that reflected the sun in blinding arrays. The streets below were immaculate. Not the cracked and patched roads she'd grown used to, but smooth expanses of polished stone where vehicles glided past in an endless stream of gleaming metal.
"This is the Citadel," Vilrux explained, and she could hear a hint of satisfaction in his voice at her obvious amazement. "You can't live here without money or connections."
But Rozeree barely caught his words. Her eyes were drawn upward, following his pointing finger to where the city seemed to pierce the very heavens themselves. Through gaps in the eternal smog that blanketed Nacrila, she caught glimpses of structures so tall their tops vanished into the clouds. Architectural impossibilities that dwarfed everything below. In Graybarrow, the tallest building had been the collector's tower, three stories of weathered stone. These... these were beyond her ability to comprehend.
"That area high in the sky is Upper Yard," Vilrux continued, emphasizing his words carefully. "You don't get there without big money and connections."
Rozeree felt her mind struggling to process the scale of what she was seeing. Even after all she'd witnessed today– the killing, the technology, the overwhelming sensations of the Commonwealth and Undercity. This display of wealth and power left her feeling smaller than ever. Yet mixed with that feeling of insignificance was a burning determination. She might be starting at the bottom, but she'd killed to get this far. Whatever it took, she would rise through this city of impossible heights, no matter how many more lines she had to cross.
The sign blazed against the darkening sky - THE CHROME COBRA - its letters seeming to pulse with an otherworldly radiance that rivaled the sun itself. Through the vehicle's tinted windows, Rozeree watched, mesmerized, as a green neon snake writhed through the letters in an endless dance.
"This is your goal in Nacrila," Vilrux said, his voice carrying a weight of significance that made her sit up straighter. "All the top fixers and seekers hang around here. Before you ask, seekers are the people who hire us. They find work and match them with the best fixers for the job. So all the premium contracts, the ones that can make a career. They come through here."
As they stepped out into the street, Rozeree felt immediately exposed despite the crowds. This wasn't the press of bodies she'd been accustomed to in Graybarrow. Or what she had seen in the Commonwealth. These people moved with purpose. With confidence. Gone were the crude mechanics and mismatched clothing she'd begun to think of as normal. Here, everyone seemed to mirror Vilrux's polished appearance but in more casual styles. Their augmentations were subtle curves of metal that caught the neon glow. Hardly distinguishable from natural limbs before their metallic sheen. Armored guards– similar to those at the checkpoints but carrying themselves with even more authority– patrolled the street in measured steps.
Her attention snapped to a commotion down the street. She watched as the guards converged on a man whose clothes and visible augmentations more suited to that of the Commonwealth. The guards took him down with practiced efficiency. Their movements precise and brutal.
"Knights." Vilrux explained, "Let's head inside shall we?"
So this is what it means to be truly small, she thought, following Vilrux toward the Chrome Cobra's entrance. I won't stay that way. The memory of pulling the trigger earlier flickered through her mind. She'd crossed that line without hesitation. She'd cross a thousand more if that's what it took. Let them underestimate me. Let them see the quiet girl from nowhere. They can't imagine what I'm willing to become.
Her hand brushed against her weapon. A familiar cold settling in her chest. The Mute. The name felt right. She'd learned to hold her tongue in Graybarrow. To watch and wait. Now that patience would serve a new purpose. Every sight, every sound in this overwhelming city was another lesson to absorb, another advantage to gain.
The world will know my name, she promised herself. Whatever it takes. However many bodies I have to step over. I'll reach the top or die trying.