Sirion walked down the long corridors, lit by dim lamps, with the young man Silco had assigned to be his guide. The boy walked ahead, his casual gait, almost mockingly, reminiscent of a street bully who didn't care about anything or anyone.
Deckard. Sirion knew his name, as well as his face, from the show. Tall and thin, but with strong arms covered in scars and tattoos, the guy looked menacing. His face with sharp cheekbones and a nose that had clearly been broken at some point, complemented by a disdainful smirk. His hair was blond and unkempt, combed back, but still stuck out in different directions. A thick chain hung around his neck, and a tattered leather jacket with torn sleeves barely covered his sinewy shoulders.
Sirion felt hostility as soon as he realized who was in front of him. Deckard wasn't just a bully, he was the one who poisoned himself with a shimmer in the canon to gain temporary power. But his path ended sadly - he became a monster and died.
"Hey, why are you so silent?" Deckard said, turning over his shoulder and grinning. "Or are you tongue-tied, courier?"
Sirion glanced at him briefly, trying not to give away his thoughts.
"Just tired." He shrugged reservedly.
"Tired, you say?" Deckard drawled, flashing his teeth. "Oh well, you'll get used to it here quickly. And if not - "Don't worry, everyone becomes cute and little bunnies in front of the boss. He doesn't let anyone near him and puts pressure on them with his authority. To be honest, out of all our guys, he only trusts me!"
Sirion grinned, but said nothing. The guy was clearly enjoying his words, but Sirion decided not to get involved in empty conversations. Instead, he looked around at the hallways and rooms around him, trying to memorize the route. Yeah, the show showed how badly Silco had been rolling Deckard. So badly that he had belittled him every time, and then made him the first test subject for the shimmer.
Deckard led Sirion out of the dim corridors and onto the street, where they were greeted by the stench of rot and chemical waste. The narrow alleys were littered with garbage, and the walls were covered in rust and mold. The daylight barely filtered through the smoke and smog, creating the illusion of twilight even in the middle of the day.
Sirion noticed that almost no one was paying attention to them. People were hurrying about their business: some were carrying heavy boxes, some were arguing loudly by the containers, and some were simply sitting on the side of the road with dull eyes. This indifference to Deckard immediately gave away his low rank among Silco's people. No one stopped to exchange words with him, no one showed respect or fear.
"Here we are," Deckard announced, stopping in front of a dilapidated building. Its walls, once painted gray, were now stained with rust and dirt. The windows, if they could be called that, were narrow openings covered with tattered curtains. The steps at the entrance creaked underfoot, and the door was askew, held together only by brackets.
Sirion grimaced involuntarily. Even his old place, which he had never considered cozy, seemed like a palace compared to this place.
"You don't need a king's terms, do you?" Deckard chuckled, watching his reaction.
Sirion said nothing, only nodding briefly.
As they stepped inside, Sirion saw a long, narrow hallway with a wooden floor that sagged under their steps. The smell of damp mixed with a sharp chemical taste coming from the cracks in the walls.
"Here's your room," Deckard said, stopping at one of the doors and pushing it with his shoulder.
The door creaked open, and Sirion stepped inside. The room was tiny, the size of a storage room. The walls were bare, peeling in places, and the ceiling was covered in a network of cracks. In the corner stood a narrow bed with a sagging mattress, and next to it was an iron cabinet with one door missing.
There was no desk at all, and the only source of light was a weak lamp on the ceiling, the light of which flickered, as if about to go out. There was no window in the room, and the air seemed stagnant.
"Cozy, huh?" Deckard quipped, leaning against the door frame.
"Better than nothing," Sirion responded with visible indifference, although inside he was choking with a mixture of irritation and doom.
"That's great," Deckard snorted, turning towards the exit. "Make yourself at home. If you change your mind, let me know. We'll find you a place in the sewers.
"Where do you live?" Sirion asked, waiting for Deckard to reach the end of the hallway.
Deckard turned around with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Me? Definitely not in this backwater," he snorted, waving his hand toward the room he had just left.
"Where then?" Sirion persisted, looking at the expression on his interlocutor's face.
"A better place," Deckard smiled slyly, his gaze briefly becoming a little more arrogant. "Where it doesn't leak from the ceiling, where there is normal light and hot water."
"You're lucky," Sirion replied coldly, continuing to study his reaction.
Deckard laughed, his laughter sounding almost mocking:
"Lucky? Ha! I got this place for myself. Only those who can't afford normal housing and who need to be within walking distance of the boss live here. If you know what I mean.
He took a step closer, as if testing Sirion with his eyes.
"Being here, in this crumbling den of bugs, means you're close at hand. Silco doesn't trust those who are far away. And the boss's trust is something that's worth more than any amount of money. Well, at least while he needs you."
"Got it," Sirion said shortly, trying not to show his irritation.
Deckard smirked, tilting his head slightly.
"What, you thought you'd get straight to the suites? Welcome to the lowest levels of the city, kid. This isn't upper or central Zaun or, Janna forbid, Piltie. It's every man for himself here, and no one cares about your comfort."
With that, he turned and walked back down the hallway, his heavy boots slapping loudly on the rotten boards. Sirion stood in the doorway of his new room, feeling a quiet anger growing in his chest.
Sirion flopped down on the bed, the old box spring creaking pitifully under his weight. Despair and anger mixed inside him, overwhelming him. He slammed his fist into the wall next to the bed with fury, not caring that the wood was rotten and could crumble under the blow. The vibration from the blow sent a dull ache through his knuckles, but it only added fuel to the raging fire inside.
"Damn it!" he hissed through clenched teeth, barely holding back from hitting again.
He hadn't expected this. Not at all. The move, the new room—that was something he could live with. But the fact that he had left some of his things in the old room at Finn's base angered him to the limit. All those machines he had painstakingly built, several dozen materials he had collected for spare parts—they were all still there. They weren't irreplaceable, but they were still infuriating to be lost.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. "The materials can be found, the machines can be rebuilt. It's not the end of the world."
He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to focus. The most important thing was on him - the gun. Sirion immediately opened his inventory to confirm this, as if he were doubting his system for the first time. Yes, the gun was here, as were all the materials for creating ammunition. It calmed him a little, but the anger still smoldered.
That wasn't what infuriated him the most. He had been sold like an animal. Sold! Without his knowledge, without explanation, without warning. Finn - yes, he would have expected this from him, even if he refused to believe it until the very end. But Jerry's silence...
He grimaced, remembering the man. He hadn't been just his partner or his boss - he had been, if not his friend, then something like a mentor. And now? Jerry knew. He had probably known about it from the beginning and hadn't said a word. Not a hint, not a warning.
"Damn you, Jerry," he whispered, feeling his anger turn to bitter disappointment. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Sirion rolled over onto his back, staring at the dirty ceiling, cracked and stained. His thoughts were in chaos, unable to find any clues to form any kind of plan. All he could do now was process what had happened and decide what to do next.
Sirion lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, which was streaked with damp and cracked. He felt trapped, not just physically but mentally. His thoughts swung from anger to disappointment and back again. Time dragged on painfully slowly, but he knew there was no point in lying there any longer.
After what felt like an eternity, he sat up in bed and ran his hands over his face, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Enough," he said quietly to himself. "There's no point in being sad and angry. I need to get out and do something."
He stood up and put on his jacket, walking outside. The narrow hallway greeted him with stale air and the creaking of rotten floorboards under his feet. There was life outside, even here in this forgotten corner of Zaun. People were hurrying about their business, some were carrying boxes, some were talking animatedly, and some were just squatting by the wall, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
Sirion felt other people's eyes on him. The people here were wary and not used to strangers. Some of them looked at him with suspicion and hostility.
"Hey, boy, who are you?" a thin man with a gap-toothed smile called out to him, leaning on a wooden box. "Haven't seen you before."
"Who are you anyway?" another man supported him, looking about thirty, with a sharp chin and a scar across his eyebrow.
Sirion stopped, feeling growing irritation. He realized that answering sharply was a bad idea.
"The boss's new employee," he answered calmly, trying to sound confident.
"Hmm, well, okay," muttered the gap-toothed man, shrugging, but his gaze remained wary.
His explanation ended there, and there were no more questions. Sirion continued on his way, not having a clear idea of where to go. He just needed some fresh air, to get away from all this chaos.
While he was thinking, his feet themselves led him to one of the elevators. A bulky metal structure, covered in a layer of dirt and rust, looked like it could break down at any moment. But the elevator worked, and that was the main thing.
Sirion stopped in front of the control lever, looking at the level buttons. His finger hovered over the panel. He thought.
"The upper level? No. I have nothing to do there. The middle… maybe there will be something to do there, this is the very heart of the city after all."
He pressed the button for the middle level, and the elevator began to rise with a long grinding sound. As the noise of machinery filled the space, Sirion felt his thoughts begin to clear a little.
"Only friends can lift the spirits," he muttered under his breath.
But he had no friends here. Only one group of people could even fall into that category: Vi's group of friends. They were a difficult bunch, yes, but he had grown close to them lately. Maybe their faces and conversations would distract him a little from what was happening.
Once at the right level, Sirion stepped out of the elevator and was immediately enveloped by the familiar hum of Central Zaun. This area, despite its chaos, was always full of life. People hurried about their business, the shouts of merchants merged with the noise of mechanisms and the rumble of mobile equipment. But most of all, the inhabitants themselves attracted attention - an incredible variety of appearances, as if a strange mosaic had unfolded before him.
Some sported leather vests covered in tattoos symbolizing gang affiliation or simply expressing individuality. Some had scars or bizarre prosthetics on their faces, reminding us of the brutality of local life. Others, despite the dirt and general decay, tried to dress neatly - shirts without stains, clean trousers, albeit worn out. In the crowd, you could see people with unusual features: someone looked like a criminal from an old movie, with a grin and a quick glance that catches every little thing around, and someone - like a completely decent citizen.
And, of course, not everyone here was human. Tall creatures with massive jaws, reminiscent of mutants, walked with baskets in their hands, mingling with mechanized creatures, whose human form was only guessed at under layers of metal. Small creatures with long ears and a greedy look scurried in the crowd, catching random opportunities. Each person in this city seemed unique, and at the same time an integral part of this bright, but depressing world.
Sirion headed to the place that his new acquaintances showed him earlier, they of course called it their lair. This building was not special - a low building with a slanted roof that barely withstood the weight of the local moss. The walls, pitted by time, were covered in graffiti, among which he noticed what looked like a local gang sign.
As he approached, he saw that the light inside was on. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should knock, but eventually gathered his courage and knocked several times on the wooden door, which looked like it would fall apart from the extra force. The sound echoed in the narrow passage between the houses, making him tense up inside.
"Who the hell is in here?" The door swung open so abruptly that Sirion almost stepped back. Vi appeared on the threshold, her face clearly irritated. Her fists were clenched, as if she was about to use them. Her gaze, burning through, did not bode well.
Sirion raised his hands in a calming gesture.
"Calm down, it's me, Sirion."
Vi frowned for a second, looking into his face, as if trying to figure out who he was and how she knew him. Then her expression softened a little, but only a little.
"Oh, so it's you" she smiled. "Well, don't stand there, come in!"
Everyone was inside. Klaggor was lying on the couch, snacking on some sweets. Mylo... well, he was doing nothing. Powder was standing near the shooting range, knocking down targets with a pistol that shot paint. It was with this pistol that she taught him to shoot, it would be nice to practice under her command. But Ecco was nowhere to be found, most likely he worked in Benzo's shop, after all, he spent almost every day there due to the fact that he lived there.
The room was lit by several lamps that someone had adapted to an old generator. The walls were hung with shelves with various trinkets, tools and some junk that could only be useful in this chaotic world.
As soon as Sirion stepped into the center of the room, he was met with surprised glances from Mylo, Claggor, and Powder. There was a few seconds of silence, and then Mylo was the first to break the silence:
"Well, my, look who's dropped by!" Claggor chuckled, shaking his head, but the smile on his face clearly showed that he was glad to see Sirion. Powder, on the contrary, reacted with the utmost emotion. Mylo muttered a small greeting and returned to doing nothing.
"Sirion!" her ringing voice rang out before she literally tore herself away.
Sirion didn't even have time to say anything as the girl rushed towards him with a squeal, hugging him with her arms in a fit of joy. Her weight was so light that he barely felt her.
"I thought you forgot about us!" she muttered, burying her face in his chest. This surprised him greatly, since they had only met a few times, and he had not expected such a reaction from Powder. But after thinking for a while, he calmed down, the series showed that she was the weak link in the team and no one had ever really praised her or valued her skills. But Sirion himself had highly praised her skills even at their first meeting, and had even praised her shooting and engineering skills.
"Forgot?" Sirion chuckled, awkwardly patting her on the back. "What makes you think that? I was just... a little busy."
"Busy? I have something for you!" Powder, beaming with happiness, let go of him and began rummaging through her pocket before pulling out a small metal ball with screws and bolts screwed onto it. "Look! I made it myself!"
Sirion picked up the device, examining it. He immediately noticed that it was probably one of her fancy bomb toys, but he decided not to ruin the moment.
"Impressive," he said with a soft smile, handing the ball back to Powder. "You're getting better at it."
Powder flushed at the praise, clutching her invention to her chest.
"You really think so?"
"Of course," Sirion assured her, smiling slightly.
Meanwhile, Vi, standing a little to the side and leaning against the wall, watched the scene. Her gaze, full of cunning and a slight smile, indicated that she saw something more in this than just friendly affection.
"Hey, Sirion," Vi said, breaking away from the wall and attracting his attention. "Do you compliment all the girls like that, or just Powder?"
Sirion felt his cheeks flush slightly.
"It's just friendly praise," he quickly replied, looking down to hide his embarrassment. Powder, meanwhile, hugged her invention even tighter, her face lighting up with joy.