Young Writers Society

Vik is angry.

I can smell the alcohol on his breath when he shoves past me, and his eyes are shiny. Vik is not a person at peace with his emotions, which is unfortunate because they tend to explode out of him without warning. This can get dangerous, and it’s why I decide to follow him.

Vik is usually fast, but right now, he’s so drunk he can’t walk straight. The streets are bare, but the alleys are thick with people trying to get out of the rain. I weave through the alleyway, keeping my head down and eyes up. The cobblestones are slick from the rain. Vik is soaked, his red-brown hair plastered to his head and the back of his neck. He spins on his heel and then bolts down an alleyway, and I elbow my way through the crowd and race after him. He’s going to the roof of the Amphitheater again.

I slip and fall when I jog up the steps at the end of the alley, and the stench tells me that not all of this is rainwater. Fantastic. I shake water-sludge from my arms as I pick myself up and avoid a particularly suspicious puddle. The drains are overflowing again. Given all the rain we’ve had over the past week, they’re full of rainwater and the bodies of the drowned, rather than sewage. The drains are a common route for undesirables—the homeless, assassins, criminals, bounty hunters like me and Vik—but they flood fast when it rains. I got caught down there once during a storm, and only Vik’s quick thinking saved my life. I guess that’s why I feel so indebted to him. He saved my life, and now I need to save his.

Speaking of.

He’s standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof when I get up there, on one of the support beams, but I wait on the stairs. Last time things ended up like this, I scared him and he almost fell off. I’ve learned to wait. He glances over his shoulder.

“I knew you’d follow me up here, Hex.”

Of course he did.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?”

I clear my throat. “You should know by now that I don’t follow orders.”

Vik throws his head back and laughs. The noise echoes despite the patter of the rain. “And that’s why I like you.” He’s far too articulate to be drunk. Something’s up. “Come here.”

I hop up on the beams and make my way over to him. The wood is slick, and if I fall, I’ll punch through the waxed canvas roof and plummet to the stands below. And Vik would laugh at me before going down to scrape my entrails off the floor.

“Isn’t the view wonderful?” He pushes hair out of his eyes. “The rain refracts the city lights, and everything sparkles….”

He’s right. The skyline shimmers in the rain. From the edge of the city, I can see the veins of light that lead to the city centre. Though small, Garae is the Imperial Capital, and the administrative buildings crouch in the shadow of the half dozen skyscrapers. The maglev track snakes in from the west and turns north, zigzagging across the river. The city is built in rings, and all arts-related buildings are on the outermost ring. That makes the Amphitheater the best viewing spot in the city. Even with the rain and the low dusk light, we can see for miles.

But we’re not here to admire the view. Not this time, at least. Vik looks like he knows this, grinning at me.

“I got more orders at that bar.”

So he was acting before. No one would stop an angry drunk man in the streets. “How many?”

“A bunch,” His eyes glitter. “Big bounties too,” He smirks. “Only the best for my best.”

“Navi’s your best.”

“Nonsense. Navi’s only useful where someone’s turned off the magic blockers. You, however, are good anywhere.” His hand reaches out and caresses my cheek. He smells like alcohol, whiskey on his breath. “Ga aya.”

I shiver. That language always gives me chills. Ever since the standardisation of language to Commons across all six provinces, hearing local languages is rare. At least, it’s like that in Kaening, but we’re also the founding province of the Continental Empire. Closer you are to the throne, the less ability you have to stretch the rules. Never mind the fact that he called me the equivalent of his “intimate bedmate” in Kaeni, hearing the language shakes me. Maybe he’s not as sober as he seems.

“What do you have?”

“Let’s get under cover. It’s paper.” His arm curls around my waist and he leads me down a second set of steps, into the amphitheater. The rain is muffled by the canvas, but I can still hear when it starts to pour harder, especially since it’s completely empty in here. Vik unlocks a private box—I’m guessing it’s the one that belongs to the Guild—and waves me inside.

I’ve never been in before—everyone else in the Guild always got here before I did when there were fights or plays, and the operas give me headaches. So it’s a shock to see the walls plastered in old wanted posters, some bearing dates from before I was born. Each portrait of a target has something stabbed through its face—a dart, a knife, a fork, shards of glass. Some of the posters look blood-splattered. Other than the walls, the place is immaculate. Vik can’t stand a mess, and I watch as he wipes his boots on the doormat. The curtains on the viewing wall—black silk with the Guild’s crest embroidered in silver thread—are closed, and there’s a single lightbulb on the ceiling.

“Like the decor?” Vik flips on a light and closes the door. The naked bulb buzzes and flickers. “Been like this since Zir ran the Guild. She had a horrid sense of style, but at least it keeps the thieves away. Too scared of the ghosts in the posters or something,” He pulls the papers out of his jacket and fans his face.

“No fancy holo chips?” I sit on a table.

“Nope,” Vik sprawls on a couch. “I’ve been told to destroy these once I’ve assigned and memorised them. Can’t put them in the trophy cabinet this time.”

“So no tracking beacon either.”

“Nope.”

“Damn, looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

“Indeed,” He gestures for me to come over. When I do, he wraps his arms around my waist and presses his face into my stomach. My hands, of their own accord, comb through his soggy hair.

“....Vik?”

“Lay with me, aya.” He looks up at me through his eyelashes. “I need you.”

“Here? Now?”

“Yes, here, yes, now,” He pulls back, gesturing at the ground. “There’s a couch. It’s a private box. No one can see in. And you’re on break tonight. I cleared your schedule.” When I don’t say anything, he starts to pout. “Don’t tell me this isn’t good enough for you either.”

“I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Are you ever anymore?”

“Stars above, Vik, I was yesterday, and you know that.”

“Tease!” He shoves me away and flops dramatically on the couch. “One would think you were a woman, with such flighty passions.”

“Just show me the goddamn orders.”

He throws me the papers. His old humour returns quickly as he says, “I think the last one might interest you.”

I glance over them. The first two are drug smugglers, easy catches, not worth the time, even if the bounty is high. The second man’s bounty would be enough to rent one of these boxes for a year. I set those aside—I’ll save those for other members of the Guild. The third is an assassin in Atravell—it’s too dangerous to cross province lines for a bounty only open in Kaening, especially going to Atravell, so I stop reading. Her description sounds familiar, but it’s not worth investigating further if I’m not going to look for her. I flip to the fourth paper.

My blood runs cold.

The target’s name is Kava “Hex” Igarfa. The target is male. Seventeen. Of medium height and build, warm-skinned, dirty blonde, and has heterochromatic eyes. Somewhere in Kaening, likely in the city of Garae. A fellow bounty hunter, must be delivered to the Crown alive. The bounty has been out for eight years, but the price has recently been raised to seventy million Common Currency.

Vik is smirking again.

“Don’t look so surprised, Hex, you’ve known about this for a while, haven’t you?”

I crumple the paper and throw it at his feet.

“How long did you think it would take me to find out?” Vik sits again. “What if I told you I knew about it from the moment I met you?” He pauses. “I’ll admit, that’s something of a falsehood. You only told me your name was Hex, and even though I’d had the bounty orders, I didn’t start connecting the dots until later, when more information came through. The eyes, for instance, were a recent addition,” His eyes—icy blue and chilling to the core—meet mine. “I always thought your weird little eyes were special. Never knew they’d be worth seventy million Currency.”

“Why didn’t you turn me in, then?”

“The price was never right.” Vik licks his lips. “You were more useful as a hunter than a bounty, and I do rather like you. But then….I negotiated with Abernathy.”

My breath catches.

“He came to our door. You can’t refuse the Crown when it shows up on your steps.”

“You know how much I hate him—“

“Seventy million Currency, Hex. You know how much we need the money. Consider it a noble sacrifice for the good of the Guild.”

“You know how much he’s—“

“Yes, Hex, I know your long and tragic backstory with this man that’s so important….but wait.” Vik narrows his eyes. “If you can’t even remember what happened, why would it be such a big deal?”

That stings, as much as if he’d slapped me. I divert the subject. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Ooh, changing the subject, are we?” Vik stands up. I do too. “I see how it is. I told you so I could say it’s not personal,” he smirks. “Sorry, aya, but you do know that harbouring a wanted man is grounds for execution…you don’t want me to die, do you?”

I don’t reply.

“And there’s your weakness.” Vik’s voice is sing-songy. “Caring too much, trusting people you shouldn’t trust, letting people into your head….you know, that’s what Quetzal did. She got emotionally attached, and you remember what happened to her, don’t you?”

Okay, that hurt even more. He can pick on me and my screwy memory all he wants, but he doesn’t have the right to tease someone who can’t even defend herself anymore.

“You—“ My breath hitches. “—complete asshole.”

“Am I wrong?”

He’s not. But I don’t want to admit it. So I open my eyes, punch Vik square in the nose and bolt.

I fling open the door of the box. there’s someone there. A Sentinel Guard. High class. Straight from the Crown. Probably hired by Vik to get me. She’s been waiting here for a while, probably even before Vik or I got to the Amphitheater. It was all a ploy—his faux-drunkenness, leading me up here, just to get captured before I can run.

She aims her blaster, and I have no choice but to tackle her, trying my best to slam her head against the stone floor, but I only manage to make her drop her gun. The blaster skitters across the floor. I throw her towards the door to the box, scoop up the blaster, tuck it in my waistband, and keep going. Vik laughs behind me.

I have to get out of sight. That means below ground. That means the sewers. The catwalks in the larger ones should still be above water. The Sentinel might not think to check down there first, which gives me time to think. Or, she’ll follow me, and I have to lose her in the maze of catwalks. Not a battle I think I’ll win. I get to the elevator shaft, force open the doors, and slide down the maintenance ladder, the metal burning my hands and feet. I can hear a steady THUMP THUMP THUMP as the Sentinel chases after me. I hit the ground floor of the Amphitheater and burst through the doors.

A crowd of people. Excellent.

The nearest entrance to the sewers is one street over. I weave through the crowd, pulling my hood up, keeping my head down. The sewer entrances aren't usually locked, which is good, because I'm not sure if I have the time to try and pick any locks. I don’t glance over my shoulder, don’t react when I hear the Sentinel behind me bellow, “OFFICIAL CROWN BUSINESS, MAKE WAY.” I keep moving, into the gutter, then across the street, dodging hovee buggies and more pedestrians. I step on someone’s foot, hear someone else yell “Watch it!” when I shove past them, and splash through more stinking puddles.

A few more feet. Just a few more feet and I’m safe.

I burst through the crowd and into an alley, hit the door with all my weight. It doesn't budge.

“Oh, fantastic,” I mutter, then ram my shoulder into it again. Nothing. “Open, you little b—”

The door opens, and I fall into the tunnel. It closes behind me. I scramble to my feet.

The sewer below me is a roaring river of rainwater and horrific-smelling sludge, a strange green-brown under the flickering maintenance lights. I nearly gag when the air hits the back of my throat. It’s not just the smell turning my stomach either. Vik’s face flashes in my head, and I sink to my knees. I need to keep moving. I need to get up before the Sentinel finds me. But the moment before with Vik keeps replaying, over and over.

And there’s your weakness….Caring too much, trusting people you shouldn’t trust, letting people into your head….

He’s always been harsh. That’s how he taught the people he took in to survive on the streets. That’s how he was taught. And this isn’t the worst he’s been. I shouldn’t be so shaken up by it. I’m stronger than this. I know I am.

That’s what Quetzal did ...and you know what happened to her….

Malleable. That was the word he used, when he first found me. You’re malleable, kid. A blank canvas. I can beat you into whatever shape I want. I told him I wouldn’t let him. But he was stronger, meaner, three years older. Plus, he was putting his own position—and his own life—on the line to convince the Guild’s leader to keep me. So he moulded me, painted me how he wanted me.

Enough of this. Goddess, even my internal voice sounds like him. Get up.

I haul myself up. The Sentinel hasn’t appeared in my moment of weakness, so she either missed me getting in here, or she’s waiting for me somewhere. I pull the blaster from my waistband, flip off the safety, and think.

The sewers mirror the city rings above. They’re supposed to be pipes, but when city funding didn’t match up costs, someone dug canals instead, and hung catwalks above them. Maintenance doors are scarce—something else not up to code. The next one could be almost a mile away. So, easiest option? Going back the way I came, then sneaking into the Guild building to grab my hunt pack before I leave this place for good. But it’s not safe, and even though she wouldn’t think I would double back, she might have called in reinforcements while she headed to the next door. Then again, Sentinels are stretched pretty thin. Because they’re the Empire’s elite soldiers, they’re concentrated in different problem areas: Hannimar, Njiid, the Uicheon side of Yarokara. That means the Sentinel tailing me may not have available reinforcements.

I make the decision before someone makes it for me and go back through the door from whence I came. I find out almost immediately that this is a bad idea.

I’m running and then there’s a loud noise then I’m facedown on the stone street, spitting out gutter water. The blaster skitters out of my hand across the cobblestones. I hear screaming, running feet. I try to push myself up, but my left leg doesn’t move and I only manage to roll onto my back. Something warm is oozing from my thigh. I have just enough time to realise hey, I’ve been shot before the pain hits. And then everything in my head becomes: Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

I involuntarily curl into a ball on my side. Amongst the other noises from the fleeing crowd, I hear solid bootsteps, getting closer, and then I’m forced onto my back. The Sentinel stands over me, spinning her blaster on one finger.

“The hunter becomes the hunted,” she says. “Gotcha.”

Then, she sets it to stun and shoots me point blank in the chest.