The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time I reached my usual spot—a dingy pizzeria tucked in the corner of an alley. The place was a front, like so many others in Greyfield, but it served its purpose. I slid into a booth near the back, where Fred would meet me.

Fred was a fixture of the local drug scene. I've never actually asked him his real name. To be honest, I've never cared. He was just Fred. He was a slender man in his early fifties with a perpetual five o'clock shadow and easy-going demeanor. Your typical stoner. He appeared in the dim light of the pizzeria, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of a worn baseball cap. Sliding into the booth across from me, he greeted me with a nod and a thin smile, "hey, Lux," his voice gravelly from years of smoking.

"Fred." I leaned forward, tapping the edge of the table, impatience bleeding into my movements. "I need the usual—weed, pills. Whatever else you've got lying around."

Fred's eyes narrowed as he looked at my damp clothes and flushed face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Must be something serious going on for you to drag me out in this godforsaken weather. You couldn't wait for a sunny day?"

I shrugged, keeping my tone light. "I'm looking for something new. Heard about a drug called Nebula. Ring any bells?"

The moment the word left my mouth, Fred's expression shifted—subtle, but enough. "Nebula? Yeah, I've heard of it. Stuff's bad news. People who try it… they come back different. Or they don't come back at all."

"That so?" I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to waver. "Doesn't sound any worse than what's already floating around out there."

Fred exhaled sharply, glancing over his shoulder as if someone might be eavesdropping. "Look, I'm not here to play moral authority, but Nebula's in a league of its own. Nobody up here deals it. You'd have to go deeper—to the Vault."

"The Vault?" My fingers stilled, curiosity overriding caution.

Fred shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his words thickening the air between us. "The Black Vault. It's… not the kind of place you just walk into. A maze of deals, debts, and people who'll cut your throat before saying hello."

I tilted my head, studying him. "And you know this… how?"

Fred smirked, unfazed by my doubt. "Come on, Lux. I've been out here a lot longer than you. I know shit."

"Yeah," I shot back, "and if there was some underground market, I'd know about it by now too. The Vault? It sounds like a made-up story you'd tell just to fuck with me for making you get out in the rain."

Fred's grin didn't waver as he leaned in, lowering his voice. "The Vault isn't some corner store anyone can waltz into."

I crossed my arms, still unconvinced. "So why are you telling me about it? We've known each other for years and this is the first I'm hearing about it?"

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Because it never mattered before. You weren't asking questions like this. And it's not the kind of place people talk about openly."

I frowned, my skepticism deepening. "And now it matters?"

Fred leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, it does. I'm done with the hard stuff. Gonna stick to weed—something low-key. Pills, powders… they come with too much heat. Too many assholes out there ready to die over a street corner. The Vault's not just about drugs. It's about power. And when people start clawing for control, things get messy."

I raised an eyebrow, keeping my tone sharp. "You? Walking away from a fight? That doesn't sound like you."

Fred snorted softly, shaking his head. "I'm not scared. I'm careful. Been in this game long enough to know when the rules change. Weed's steady. Nobody's stabbing each other over it. But the other bullshit? It's a war zone now. And the people running the Vault? They're not the kind of people you want to owe favors to."

I leaned back, my frustration bubbling up, threatening to spill over. "Same old shit, Fred. I'm tired of it. This doesn't cut it anymore. I need something different. Something that'll make me feel alive again." I met his eyes, unflinching, my tone sharpening. "Nebula. That sounds like what I'm looking for."

Fred raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into something more serious. "You sure about that?"

"I'm not looking to shoot up again or go down some junkie's rabbit hole," I shot back, my voice firm. "I need something that doesn't make me feel like I'm already dead inside."

Fred's smirk vanished. His voice dropped, grave. "I get it. But Nebula? It's not worth it." He leaned in, his words sharp and deliberate. "I'm telling you this because I don't want to see you get chewed up. The Vault? It's no joke. You've survived this long by keeping your head down, staying sharp. Don't throw that away over something like Nebula."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then why even tell me about the Vault? If you don't want me to go, why bring it up?"

Fred sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because I know you, Lux. You're like a dog with a bone. If I don't tell you, you'll dig until you find it. And not everyone out there's gonna look out for you like I do." His gaze softened. "You somehow found out about Nebula already. It's only a matter of time before you hear the Vault's name too. Better you know what you're walking into than stumbling blind. This city's full of people who'd sell you out just to make a quick buck."

Fred's expression darkened as he leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. "The Vault isn't like the streets. It's not about being tough or smart. It's about knowing when to fold and when to run."

His jaw tightened, the tension thick in the air. "I've been down there." He held my gaze, his voice dropping even lower. "The Vault isn't the kind of place you just wander into."

I smirked, "can't be worse than this dump of a city."

"It is. And I'm getting out of the hard shit before it causes me any problems."

I tilted my head, curiosity sparking again. "How do I get in? If I wanted to, I mean."

Fred stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Finally, he sighed, his voice heavy. "If you're dead set on this… there's a way. But it's not safe and there's no guarantee you'll even get in."

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity spiking. "I'm listening."

He leaned back and ran a hand over his scruffy face, clearly uncomfortable. "There's a display in the Greyfield War Memorial. The Enigma machine. You ask about it. Real casual, like you're just curious. If you get the right response, they'll know you're looking for the Vault. But it's not just some street market with a backdoor deal. It's a world you don't know how to navigate."

I scoffed, trying to downplay his warning. "Come on, Fred. How bad can it really be?"

"Worse than you think. I get in and get out, but not everyone does. People disappear, and no one asks questions."

I sat back, mulling over his words. I couldn't tell if he was just fucking with me or if the fear in his voice was genuine. Either way, I was hooked. The idea of the Vault felt too tantalizing to ignore. "That's all I need to get in?"

He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. If you get in, don't stay. Get what you need and get out."

I smirked, playing off his warning with my usual bravado. "I've made it this far. I'll be fine."

Fred didn't smile back. Instead, he just stared at me, the weight of his words sinking deeper than I wanted to admit. "Don't let curiosity get you killed."

He paused, his voice taking on a resigned tone. "At least this way, you'll be a little prepared for what you're walking into."

His concern seemed genuine, but I couldn't ignore the pull of the unknown. He slid a small bag across the table, his expression softening slightly. "Just remember, hot head, some doors are better left unopened."

I smirked, but Fred's eyes were still sharp, studying me. He wasn't finished.

"And speaking of walking into trouble—I've been hearing shit about Stag," he said.

"What about him?"

"Word on the street is he's about to come down hard. I heard he's been buckling down on people, making examples of the ones who owe him. You've been on his radar for a while now."

"Stag?" I scoffed. "I've been dealing with him for years. I know how to play his game. He's a bastard, but I can handle it."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. He didn't look too impressed.

"Still doing this dance, huh?" he said. I frowned, already knowing where he was going with this.

 "I'm paying him off. Slowly."

He sighed, "Stag's not known for his patience."

I shrugged it off, but Fred's words stung. "I'll be fine. He's not gonna touch me."

His frown deepened, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Dealing with him? Come on, you know what this is. It's not even your debt. It's mostly your parents' fuckups, and you've been stuck cleaning up their mess for how long now? Stag's just stringing you along."

My jaw clenched. "Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do? He's not gonna just let me walk away."

Fred leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I'm just saying this shit's been going on for too long. You pay him one favor, and he adds another. It's a trap, Lux. You're never gonna get out from under it if you keep playing games with him. Everything is just a game to you."

I forced a smile, though I could feel the tension crawling up my spine. "I've handled it this long. I'm not my parents. I'll figure it out."

Fred shook his head, the lines in his face deepening as he sighed. "Just don't get cocky. You can't afford to mess this up. Stag's not the same guy he used to be, and you know it."

I leaned back, my arms crossed, trying to keep the frustration at bay. "Fuck off, Fred." 

"You think it's that easy, huh?"

"I know it is. I've handled him plenty of times. This isn't new to me."

He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. I loved to give Fred a hard time. It was my own little game. I buy drugs and stress out Fred.

"I know what I'm doing… see ya in a few days."

There was a tense silence before he shook his head, exhaling sharply. He leaned back, like he'd given up trying to convince me.

As he left the pizzeria, I stared at the bag in front of me. The allure of Nebula and the mysteries of the Black Vault tugged at me, a dark curiosity that was hard to shake. Fred's words echoed in my mind as I prepared to leave.

I headed a few streets over where Stag's office was located. The building was a dilapidated warehouse that had seen better days. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap cigars and old leather. Stag was an imposing figure in his late fifties, with a silver beard and a no-nonsense demeanor.

He looked up from behind his desk as I entered, his voice loud, deep, and raspy. "Lux. Just the person I was waiting for."

I tried to keep my voice steady. "I'm here to settle up."

Stag's eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair. "You're a bit late, aren't you? You know the deal—payment was due last week."

"I know," I said, my voice firm despite the pressure. "I'm here now, and I'll make it right. I just need a little more time."

Stag's gaze was unyielding. "A little more time, huh? I've heard that before. You've got until midnight tonight to pay up, or you'll owe more than just money. I'm tired of chasing you around. You're lucky you're half-ass useful."

I clenched my fists, trying to control my frustration. "I'll have it by then. I promise."

Stag's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Promises are cheap. Midnight is the deadline. Don't fuck with me."

"I understand. I'll be back. I just need a little more time, that's all."

I turned to leave, my stomach twisted in knots. If Stag found out I'd blown the money he fronted for the warehouse heist on more drugs, he wouldn't just be pissed—he'd have my head mounted on his wall. He'd only given me that cash because I had a knack for slipping in and out of places unnoticed, the kind of talent his bigger, louder enforcers couldn't fake.

But it wasn't just about the money anymore. Stag had pulled me in years ago, using my parents' debt as the hook. He claimed I owed him for whatever scraps they'd borrowed before they died, but he'd never been clear about how much. Money, time, resources—whatever the currency, I was always short. Every favor I asked, every cent I took, just piled onto a balance he refused to explain.

Stag wasn't the kind of man who forgave debts or played fair. Every loan came with strings tightening until I couldn't tell where they ended, and I began. And if I screwed this up, he'd make an example of me.

I'd called these streets home my entire life, though I never really felt at home here. My parents were long gone, victims of their own addictions. I learned early on that life in Greyfield meant taking what you needed, whether through wit or sheer force. I quickly became adept at pick pocketing, running minor scams and heists, and immersing myself in the street economy. I was familiar with the city streets like the back of my hand. But the same streets, the same people, and the same risks started to feel monotonous rather than dangerous.

Some of the locals had watched out for me over the years, like Fred, whose sharp tongue and sharper instincts were always tempered with an unexpected streak of protectiveness. He'd never admit it outright, but he'd kept me out of more trouble than I could count. And then there was Stag. To outsiders, he was just a ruthless street kingpin, but to me, he was something more complicated—a trap and a lifeline all at once. He used people, that much was true, but he also provided a way to navigate the streets, to keep my head above water when the tides of Greyfield threatened to pull me under.

I knew these streets like the back of my hand—every shortcut, every alley, every face that mattered. But familiarity breeds contempt, and the same streets, the same people, and the same risks had started to feel less like danger and more like monotony. Survival wasn't enough anymore. I wanted more, something beyond the stale routines and constant hustle. Something that made me feel alive.

As I walked, the damp night air clinging to me, Fred's warnings echoed in my mind, each word pressing against me like the walls of this city had been for years.

He wasn't wrong. He was never wrong, but that didn't change the fact that I was stuck. The weight of it all had started to choke the life out of me.

Fred called it like he saw it: a trap. One I couldn't break free from. Every time I thought I was close to clawing my way out, Stag would remind me just how deep I was in. Another favor, more interest. And I'd play along, acting like I had any control left in the game. But I didn't. I never did. I'm not my parents. I can handle this. I told myself that over and over, but how long before I was just another addict, just another ghost on these streets?

That's the part that scared me—the idea that maybe I wasn't so different from them. The same desperation that had driven them into the arms of Stag's deals, the same need for escape. Maybe that same desperation was the thing pulling at me now, gnawing at my insides like a hunger I couldn't satisfy.

I passed the cracked, boarded-up storefronts, the familiar sight of discarded needles and broken glass littering the sidewalks. Greyfield, my prison.

Maybe I was like them. Maybe I was just as trapped in this city as they had been. I could never shake it. Every deal I made, every scam I pulled, wasn't for me—it was for what they left behind. And no matter how many times I told myself I was different, that I'd survive, it always came back to this: I wasn't free.

Stag made sure of that. He had me exactly where he wanted me—caught in his web, unable to break loose. He didn't even need to chase me down. I'd show up to him, every time, because that's how it worked. You play the game long enough, and you start believing there's no other way to live.

I kicked a loose stone down the sidewalk, the sound of it bouncing off the cracked pavement ringing in the quiet night. What was left for me?

Nebula.

The thought of it was like a pulse under my skin, a whisper at the back of my mind. Fred had warned me, and said people didn't come back from it the same. That it was dangerous, that it led people into the Black Vault. But wasn't that the point? Wasn't that what I needed? Something new. Something that wasn't this endless cycle of hustling to survive without ever living.

I thought about my parents, about the way they'd fallen apart piece by piece. They wanted something more too. They wanted to escape the weight pressing down on them. And they found it at the bottom of a needle, in the blurry haze of a high that took everything from them.

But I wasn't them. I wasn't going to let this city swallow me whole. I wanted control. Real control. The Black Vault, Nebula—it all felt like the way out, even if Fred saw it as a death sentence. Maybe it was. But I couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep living the same fucking day over and over.

He said people disappeared down there, in the Vault. That once you were in, you didn't get out. But what if getting out wasn't what I wanted? What if I needed to disappear from the person I was, from the life that kept dragging me down? What if getting lost was the only way to feel alive again?

I pulled my coat tighter around myself as I kept walking, the streets quieter now, more deserted. I'd been surviving for so long, trapped in this pattern, tethered to a life I never wanted. I didn't know what Nebula would bring, but for the first time in years, I felt something stir inside me—hope, fear, excitement. Something.

And if the cost of that was too high? If the Vault was as dangerous as Fred said?

Well, at least I'd be the one paying for my own mistakes this time. Not someone else's.

I needed to see it for myself, to know if this underground world he described was real or just another urban legend. I turned my back on the familiar streets and started toward the museum. The Greyfield War Memorial was only a few blocks away.

The Museum was a 24-hour business, conveniently enough. It accommodated tourists from different time zones. It was also located directly beside the Bar District, so a lot of nightlife keeps the money flowing through donations from drunk tourists.

I pushed through the grand entrance of the museum, its heavy stone columns and historical displays were a contrast to the world I sought. Inside, the museum was bustling with visitors, lost in the past while I was hunting for a doorway to the present darkness.

Navigating through the exhibits, I scanned the room, looking for the Enigma display Fred had mentioned. Rows of polished glass cases and historical relics lined the museum halls, each labeled neatly, but there was no sign of the infamous machine. I walked the length of the exhibit twice, growing more frustrated with each pass. Of course…. There was no enigma display. That's why Fred had told me to ask about it. It wasn't some regular museum piece—it was a secret, a key, something you had to dig for. I glanced around, spotting a guard near the far end of the hall.

I approached him, an older man with a stern demeanor. My heart raced as I prepared to speak. I had practiced this line over and over, but the reality of the moment made it all too real.

"Can you tell me about the Enigma display?" I asked, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

The guard's eyes moved with a hint of recognition. He paused, glancing around to ensure no one else was paying too much attention. With a subtle nod, he motioned towards a side door labeled "Storage - Employees Only".

I followed his silent direction. As I descended the narrow staircase, the chill in the air deepened, and with each step, the polished veneer of the museum faded behind me, replaced by something darker and far more real.

How had I never heard of this before? All the years I'd spent on these streets, with my ear to the ground, and this whole other world was right here—hidden in plain sight. It gnawed at me, the thought that something this big, this dangerous, had been sitting right beneath my nose.

The Black Vault wasn't just some underground legend. It was real, and all these years, I'd been hustling for scraps on the surface while something far more powerful lurked just out of reach. The realization hit hard: I'd been blind, and maybe that was exactly how the people running the Vault wanted it.

At the bottom of the stairs, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The Black Vault sprawled before me, a neon-lit maze of activity and shadows. The hum of underground commerce and the haze of illicit transactions created a vivid contrast to the orderly museum above. If Nebula was here, I would be determined to find it.

The Vault was a sprawling underground maze that was almost the typical image of a secret black market. The air was heavy with the musty scent of old concrete and dampness.

The place was eerily reminiscent of a mall, but not the polished, gleaming kind you'd find in the daylight. The walls were lined with aged, grime-streaked tiles, and the ceilings were low, sagging in places. Despite its grimy appearance, the Vault buzzed with activity. Crowds shuffled through narrow aisles, faces hidden behind a mix of masks and hoods.

Stalls and shops were set up with a casual, almost disorganized charm. Each one showcased its own brand of illicit wares, from exotic drugs to contraband. I was struck by the casual openness of it all—no one seemed to hide what they were selling, and the transactions occurred with an air of normalcy that felt almost surreal given the nature of the goods.

In one corner, a vendor offered an assortment of chemicals with labels that were both cryptic and intriguing. Nearby, another stall displayed an array of different pills. Prostitution was a given. Women with their tits out were standing around, grasping at men to line their pockets. The cacophony of voices, the hum of fluorescent lights struggling to stay lit, and the occasional burst of laughter or shouting from patrons created a backdrop of chaotic normalcy.

I navigated through the crowd, taking in the variety of offerings. The Vault operated with confidence, its dwellers moving with an ease that spoke of long-established routines. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of excitement and danger, but there was a disconcerting familiarity to it all, as though I had stumbled into an underground society that had its own set of rules and rhythms.

As I made my way through the corridors toward a pill peddler, hoping for easy access to Nebula, I bumped into Marla. She was a blast from my past, and her presence here caught me off guard. Dressed in a striking dominatrix outfit that left little to the imagination, she looked both surprised and concerned.

"Lux? What the hell are you doing here?" Marla's voice was a mix of shock and disbelief. Her eyes widened as she took me in, clearly struggling to reconcile my presence with the setting.

I offered a wry smile. "Hey, Mar. Just… exploring. I'm looking for some Nebula."

Marla's face darkened, and she stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Nebula? That's a hell of a drug. You should be careful. It's incredibly potent. A lot of my men take Nebula before getting their cocks locked. It makes their cum shots something I need to start keeping record of. Are you sure you wanna be messing around with something like that? I mean… go get it girl but I've seen people get lost in it."

I nodded, feeling a chill at her warning. "I heard it's intense. But I need to find it. Any idea where I might start?"

Marla's expression softened slightly, but her concern was palpable. "Even if you find it, you should know that it's not cheap. And money isn't used down here as freely. The Vault runs mostly on bartering and trading. Time, goods, services—that's what you'll need to get most things done."

I frowned, trying to process her advice. Feeling the weed and pills in my coat pocket, I questioned her. "So, what do I do if I don't have anything to trade?"

Marla gave me a sympathetic look. "You'll have to find something valuable to offer or someone who can vouch for you. It's a different world down here, and you'll need to adapt quickly if you want to navigate it."

I took her words to heart, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "Thanks for the heads-up, Mar."

She nodded, glancing around as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Be careful, and don't get too caught up in the lure of Nebula. It's not worth losing yourself." Her eyes glanced back at me, softening for a moment before she straightened up, brushing invisible dust off her outfit. "Look, I'd love to catch up more, but I've got a client to meet in a few minutes. You know how it is." She flashed a sly smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We'll talk later."

With that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with her warning still hanging in the air.