"Right!" Seraniti shook her head sharply, snapping herself out of her thoughts as her eyes regained their focus. With a quick though, her eyes glowed for a bit as she called for her car. A faint hum buzzed in her ears as the signal went out. She didn't have to wait long; within a minute, the vehicle roared to a stop in front of her, drawing a few curious glances from bystanders.
Seraniti couldn't help the flicker of pride that crossed her face as she eyed her ride. This wasn't just any car—it was a Posha 961, sleek in design, with its aggressive curves and low profile exuding an air of dominance. The dull silver paint was marred by faint scratches and scuffs, but considering she'd stolen it from the local mob back in Section
It's a free vehicle, after all, she mused, and my employer foots the maintenance bills. She ran a hand along the side, feeling the faint warmth of the engine still radiating from beneath the hood.
With practiced ease, she secured Svalinn, her cannon and defense system, into the
The 961's interior was fit for a rico. Soft leather seats with climate control, an integrated holographic interface stretching across the dashboard, and ambient lighting that adjusted based on the time of day. Everything inside screamed luxury—luxury that didn't belong to her, but she wasn't about to let that bother her.
As Seraniti connected to it, the engine growled to life, a deep, throaty roar that sent vibrations through the car's frame. The sound cut through the chatter of nearby pedestrians, drawing the attention of more than a few passersby. Some even raised their phones, snapping pictures and recording as they whispered amongst themselves.
"Tch. What are you looking at?" she muttered under her breath, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. Her hands gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel as she adjusted the mirrors. With 910 horsepower at her disposal, the Posha wasn't just a car—it was a beast. While horsepower wasn't everything, in a city like Brewster Heights where most people drove boxy, underpowered transporters, the 961 was practically an apex predator on the roads.
Seraniti pressed her foot on the accelerator lightly, and the car responded with a low, rumbling growl. The sound was rich, powerful, and unmistakable, like a warning to everything else on the road. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she let the engine idle for a moment longer. Then, with a sharp press of the pedal, she sent the car surging forward.
VROOOM! The Posha roared, its tires screeching faintly as they gripped the road. The sudden burst of speed sent a gust of wind scattering loose debris and drawing startled glances from the few who hadn't already moved on. The car glided effortlessly onto the main thoroughfare, its engine purring contentedly as Seraniti weaved smoothly through the light traffic.
The muted hum of the electric components blended with the raw power of the combustion engine—a hallmark of Posha's hybrid systems. Every shift of the gears was met with a satisfying click, followed by a sharp growl as the engine responded.
Seraniti leaned back slightly, one hand on the wheel as her other rested casually on the gearshift. "Not bad," she muttered to herself, her smirk widening. The air in the car was cool and crisp, thanks to the climate controls. The seat adjusted to her posture automatically, further adding to the comfort of the ride.
With one last glance at the rearview mirror, she muttered under her breath, "This'll do just fine." And with that, she pressed the pedal to the floor.
ROARRR! The engine thundered as the Posha leapt forward, a silver blur streaking through the city's streets. Seraniti tightened her grip on the wheel, the thrill of speed pushing the lingering frustration of the day to the back of her mind.
A few minutes into her drive, with the roar of the Posha's engine humming steadily in her ears, Seraniti received a call. A faint chime rang through her optic implant, and with a subtle blink, she accepted it. Marcus's face appeared in her field of vision, his sharp features tense. His fangs were visible, and his amber eyes twitched with irritation.
"Update for you, Sera," he began without preamble. "The visitor is in Section 30, and he's not alone. Someone put a mark on his head, and now the Guard Department, alongside a squad of K9s, is swarming the area looking for him. AND GUESS WHAT!" His voice rose slightly, his frustration palpable. "The client wants the heads of the accomplices too. All of them."
His expression darkened, the weight of the situation clear. "You might need to call that lazy knight of yours," he added with a dry scoff, "but knowing her, she'll find a way to procrastinate, like always."
Seraniti's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, her jaw clenching slightly. She hated when Marcus dropped bombshells like this, even more so when he was right. Her knight—a valuable but infuriating ally—was as reliable as she was infuriatingly slow to act.
Marcus's voice dropped, his tone shifting to something more serious. "You might need to use your eyes again," he said, his gaze piercing through the feed. "Not that I can tell anyone about it anyway. We made a
The weight of those words settled heavily in her chest. Marcus wasn't just her employer; his connection to her abilities went deeper than most people knew. As her heartbeat quickened, she felt a faint pulse from the small rock on her wrist, its rhythm syncing with her own. The sensation made her shiver.
It hadn't been long since she'd started seeing clearly—just over a month, in fact. And even then, it had been a fluke. The optic transplant she'd received, meant to enhance her vision and alleviate the distortion from overlapping images in her everyday life, had temporarily interfered with her "eyes." For a brief moment, it had made the impossible feel normal. But she knew the truth: those eyes weren't a gift. They were a door, one that once opened, couldn't be closed. The same door Elk had walked through long ago.
"...Sera, are you even listening?" Marcus's voice broke through her thoughts, but she wasn't paying attention anymore. Her focus had shifted inward as her hand gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles turning redder than it already was.
All it needed was the last bridge to form and their goes the grace period she had gotten for herself. The same grace period in the beginning of her story. The words she had once traced on Elk's piano burned into her mind:
Love, Violence, Greed, Treachery, Limbo, Anger, Heresy, Sloth, Immoral, Pestilence, Famine, and Fraud—for what I am, you are too.
Her breathing grew uneven as the memory of those words collided with the present. Elk had given up on saving her people, choosing isolation over further pain. Seraniti wondered if the same fate awaited her, not in physical death, but in the death of connections, trust, and a life not ruled by her sight.
Without a word, she ended the call. Marcus's voice cut off abruptly as the overlay of his face disappeared from her vision. Her focus snapped back to the road as she pressed down on the accelerator, the Posha roaring in response. The city blurred around her as she sped toward Section 30.
Her grip tightened further as the car's engine let out a powerful growl. "Tch. Either I catch him, or I lose another piece of myself trying."
Although it took twenty minutes of driving, Seraniti finally reached Section 30, one of the massive docking plates of the city. The plates were critical infrastructure in Brewster Heights, facilitating the flow of goods, people, and—inevitably—trouble. She had hoped to get closer to her destination, but as she approached, her progress was halted by a blockage on the highway. A cluster of armored vehicles and bright hazard lights marked the perimeter, forcing her to stop several blocks short of her target.
"Tch. Just my luck," she muttered under her breath, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. Her frustration lingered as she leaned back, raising her wrist. Her bracelet lit up with a faint chime, projecting a small, translucent screen in front of her. The time flickered on the display: 2500.
Terra II, she thought. This world we live in. Thirty-two hours in a full day.
For the people of Terra II, the extended days were as natural as breathing, though visitors often struggled to adjust. To them, the idea of working 12 hours and having 20 left for yourself seemed alien, even cruel. But for the people born here, the explanation was simple: it's always been this way. No one questioned it—why would they? This wasn't some scripted fantasy where death was just another checkpoint. Here, life was real, and so was the cost of failure.
Sera pulled up a map overlay, frowning as her view filled with ominous red zones. The flashing markers indicated areas closed off due to the ongoing search. Public shutdowns, she noted grimly. The system was simple—once a zone went red, there was no way in or out unless you wanted to risk a fight with the authorities.
Her fingers traced the edges of the map as her mind worked through her options. "Mmm… I'll have to park it and go the rest on foot," she muttered. The idea didn't sit well with her, but there wasn't much of a choice if she wanted to reach her target.
The next few minutes were spent circling nearby streets until she finally found a spot to park. With a soft sigh, she turned off the Posha and leaned back in her seat for a moment, glancing down at the opaque card she retrieved from hanging from her pants.
"Fifty years, huh?" she mused, turning the card over in her hand. Its surface gleamed faintly, and as she squeezed it gently, a screen flickered to life on its face. "Double my life, and yet it's as common as a phone."
The card was a
Seraniti's fingers hovered over the display. Let's see if anything's changed, she thought, her brow furrowing slightly as she scanned her
Skills, she reminded herself, are byproducts of neural bridges—the pathways in the brain that grow and solidify through repeated use of sequences. Over time, these bridges formed into distinct skills, categorized into four main
Seraniti tapped at the card thoughtfully, her mind wandering to her own progress. Intrinsic skills aren't impossible, she thought, but you have to work for them. Her gaze darkened slightly as she considered the effort required to push herself further. And unique skills? Not even worth thinking about. People like me don't get to dream that big.
The Lemos flickered again, displaying a set of fluctuating vitals alongside her skill information. Her grip on the card tightened briefly before she let it fall back in place. No time to dwell on it.
As Seraniti stepped out of the car, the cool air of the city's docks greeted her. The looming cranes and industrial sounds of the sclera plate hummed in the background, blending with the faint murmur of distant voices. Her boots clicked against the pavement as she adjusted her took Svalinn off her car, she did one last inspection as she heard a chime once more. "Righty then. Time to get to work!"