The air in this Section tasted stale and salty.
The recycled oxygen filtered through biofilters that could barely keep up with the smells of the byproducts of life.
The same was to be said about the methane collectors in this sector.
“Ugh this is disgusting.” Orion muttered.
The scent was more pungent down her.
Some described it as an orange peel, sitting in a sea side garbage can.
It hardly described it.
It was pungent.
He could feel the moisture in the air build up on his skin like a post workout sweet.
Axel’s nose crinkled up in disgust.
It was so wet.
It was hard to believe she lived down here.
At least he could not feel the vibrations and hear the sounds of the transportation tunnel here.
The tunnels always made him feel uncomfortable, especially in places that needed water pumps.
He was raised in Sector 0 – Aberdeen, out in the open air.
He could stomach the domes when Lord Rose went out.
This deep down was a whole other feeling.
It clung to your skin.
Nobody from his family would ever be found down here voluntarily; the space was already too crammed and reserved for those who could not survive the never-ending conflict on the surface above.
Axel’s nose watered; he should have taken Sage’s offer for a pheromone blocker.
“It smells musty, salty, and sour down here.” Axel remarked, looking at the place.
It looked eerily like an imitation of the surface, but it was under tonnes of ferrocrete and reinforced beams.
Designed to protect the fragile occupants.
“That’s a nice way to say it smells like shit. I think I am claustrophobic.” Sage panted, knowing just how far they were below the Earth’s crust and above that was a body of water.
This was a lower layer, so approximately twelve kilometres.
Outside the tunnel was immense pressure, hot temperatures
“It’s bearable. Just focus on the mission.” Orion barked.
“Pft. Whatever, you are probably looking for passable broads.” Axel teased.
Caspian watched Orion with bemusement as his face contorted.
The traverse was flexible and engineered to withstand and move with the earth’s various variables; it was equipped to withstand heavy tectonics and maintain its depth and temperature.
Caspian gave him one of his knowing looks and said.
“Other than the smell, it is actually pretty convenient.”
“You will acclimate, Sage. It is very safe. It is not like you have to worry about the open sky constantly,” Beckett said.
“Hawks.”
“No chance of getting scalped down this far.” Axel said and whistled.
The sound dampening was amazing down here.
He noticed the echoing had stopped.
“I wish the Lord brought more men,” Orion said.
They made up the team of Albert Rose’s most trusted men, the group of low-level omegas and an Alpha, who moved through one of the cavernous levels of the massive Traverse.
He opened the door and entered in through a secret door.
“Holy shit.” Beckett exclaimed, “it’s really like a fucking city down here.”
“If there was more of a breeze it might be slightly more bearable. It’s hot.” Axel pulled on his collar, it was tropical hot.
A permanent summer.
“We are so deep that the surrounding rock temperature is two hundred and fifty five degrees celsius. Water is pumped through the external power stations of underground sections to meet the high demands of the tunnel.” Sage explained.
“They should spare some for climate control. Good gods.” Axel said with a grimace.
“Relax, it isn’t that bad.” Orion said looking at the whiney Alpha, how the quiet and logical Caspian ended up paired off with him.
“It’s cooler than Sector 50.” Caspian said.
They had spent their leave time there.
Axel quietened down with a blush hitting his ears.
Their polished shoes clicked against ferrocrete walkways suspended above a chasm of flickering neon signs and stacked habitation pods.
Sage frowned.
Below, a false night glowed from the massive holos projected to give the appearance that one was actually on the surface.
The moon phase was wrong, and the street lights cast long shadows that danced over cramped market stalls selling synth’protein and bootleg surface soil.
Axel’s gaze swept the claustrophobic maze, his hair catching the sickly green light.
Every breath felt thick, suffocating.
The sector’s architects had tried to mimic open skies with holographic projections of clouds, but the pixels stuttered, a fractured azure ceiling pressing down like a tomb lid.
“I take it back. Let’s do this quickly and carefully.” Caspian, one of the Omega team members and his mate, tightened his grip on a support beam, knuckles white.
The scent of cinnamon from Caspian’s skin couldn’t mask the underlying odor.
Above ground, in the reclaimed zones and biodomes, alphas and omegas breathed real air; there was a reason Beta never made it higher than the domes.
A long-forgotten one to them.
Here, most of their vain species clung to existence in a steel, lead, and ferrocrete gullet.
Albert’s team navigated the throng, betas with sunken eyes, children with pallid skin, their presence drawing uneasy silence.
The false sky flickered again.
Sage flinched, his nutmeg scent sharpening.
“It’s worse than the reports,” he muttered, knuckles brushing Beckett’s arm.
“Like being swallowed alive.”
Beckett inhaled ginger-scented air, scanning a stall selling hydroponic greens.
“Focus. We’re here on the Lord’s business, not atmospheric critiques. Save your concerns and bring them up later; you do not want anyone to hear you.” But his jaw tightened as a holographic cloud pixelated into static snow.
Orion’s spicy aroma thickened as he nudged Axel.
“Look.” He pointed to a mural peeling off damp rockcrete: a crude painting of a silver rose entwined with barbed wire.
Beneath it, graffiti screamed ‘Burn the Omegas, BBQ the Alphas’.
“How welcoming,” Axel said, his lemongrass scent turned acrid.
Caspian stepped closer, cinnamon warmth brushing Axel’s shoulder.
“Well, that’s not very nice,” Caspian snickered.
“When you bite the hand that feeds you and needs to chew, apparently.”
The apartment stack loomed ahead, a vertical slum of textured and painted ferrocrete.
A thousand units stacked like rotten teeth, balconies sagging under makeshift greenhouses and frayed laundry lines.
Steam hissed from ruptured pipes, painting the air greasy.
Beckett scanned the entrance: reinforced plasteel doors scarred by plasma burns, a flickering holo sign reading ‘Heaven’s Heights’.
Sage snorted.
“Irony’s dead down here.”
Inside, a cramped booth glowed with the sickly blue light of a holographic terminal.
Patrice, broad-shouldered, skin the rich brown of terraformed topsoil, looked up from her screen.
Her eyes narrowed, taking in their tailored suits, the unnatural grace in their movements.
She leaned back, the booth creaking under her weight, and smacked her lips.
“Damnnn,” she muttered, loud enough to carry.
“You four lost, or am I having a wet dream?”
A smile bloomed on Orion’s face.
The voluptuous woman was pretty in her own right, her hair tied in coiled braids and billowing out in a beautiful dark cloud.
She wore bright colours that popped, seemingly made for her.
Her well-moisturized and gleaming skin was well cared for.
She smelled like the typical salt-of-the-earth Beta.
He would have to get her comms.
He had a taste for the unique.
Axel stepped forward, he pulled out his credentials and pressed them to the window, his voice carefully neutral.
“Cait Agneau. Unit number?” He knew that they wanted to get out of there, well, except for Orion now.
“Should have known a man like you,” Patrice bloomed a smile, her full lips and round cheeks shaping her eyes into half moons.
She lowered her voice to a sweet whisper.
“Right away, handsome,” she grinned at Orion.
Patrice’s fingers danced over the holo’keyboard.
The terminal buzzed, projecting fractured data into the air.
She smacked her lips again, a wet, deliberate sound.
“Agneau…Oh, the pretty little thing. She a’right?” She chewed the forever flavour gum in her mouth, and artificial mint assaulted their senses.
Caspian shook his head, “We’re here on orders to retrieve her belongings. She’s currently in treatment.”
A look of brief disgust crossed Patrice’s face as her head turned and looked around for the man who was bothering her earlier.
She sighed with relief.
The girl was a shrimp.
“Sorry to hear that.”
Patrice’s gaze lingered on Caspian’s pretty features and aristocratic cheekbones, Orion’s precise posture.
They were like aliens to her, too damn perfect.
“7B.” She heaved herself up, tools and key cards jangling at her belt.
“I’ll take you. You look like you’d get knifed for your clothes before finding the lift.” Her tone held no malice, just weary certainty.
“This way, Princes.”
“Thank you, miss,” Sage said as he entered the cramped space.
Patrice maintained a watchful eye on the men.
She could not stop them, but she could sure as hell tell Ms.
Agneau if she returned that a group of Om’s were snooping through her shit and blocking that motherfucker who was lurking outside the building from coming in and squatting.
Ms.
Agneau was nice, but not dumb.
Even if she was, the logs did not lie; she left for work.
He left hours later with soft packs full of belongings, and then she rescinded his access and flagged their domestic relationship as ceased.
There were only certain groups who got unfettered access to the royal guard and emergency workers.
Inside Unit 7B, the atmosphere was laden with a sense of poverty; it was clean, yet remnants of a vibrant life lingered throughout the cramped space.
The omegas spread out, each one instinctively aware of their roles.
Orion bent to pick up a discarded sweater from the floor, its charcoal-gray fabric smelling faintly of Gardenia.
Beside a corner chair, a vibrant throw blanket lay crumpled, its intricate patterns a patchwork of colors; it was drenched in floral pheromones.
Sewn from scraps of fabric hinting at the cozy evenings she likely spent draped in its warmth, lost in a book or flickering holos.
Their Queen was talented.
A set of paintbrushes, their bristles stained with dried pigments, rested on a small table, next to an unfinished canvas propped against the wall.
It depicted a creative abstract, rich colours and shapes swirling together, clearly the work of someone who found solace in creativity.
Just beyond it, a small shelf held an assortment of knick-knacks: a delicate paper fiber figurine of a dancer, a collection of well-thumbed plasti-novels, and a framed holo of Cait laughing with friends at a lively gathering, light streaming down on them, capturing a moment of pure joy.
As Orion sifted through the clutter, he found a set of colorful sticky notes stuck to the fridge, filled with reminders and doodles, shopping lists intermingled with little encouraging quotes in Cait’s handwriting, showcasing her optimistic spirit.
“Don’t forget to breathe!” one read, a whimsical attempt to lighten the day-to-day grind, while another listed ingredients for a meal she had promised to make, each item scratched off haphazardly as they were collected over time.
The kitchenette was small but intimate, with faded magnets on the fridge from various places she had lived, a reminder of her life.
An empty synth-protein wrapper lay discarded on the counter, and a single chipped mug, its once vibrant color now dulled, sat beside a weathered teapot, suggesting early mornings filled with caffeine and contemplation.
Caspian crouched down to explore a pile of unfiled mail stacked beside the couch, the tops of bills barely visible beneath vibrant pictures from far-off places, each sent from friends who had traveled and thought of her.
“I’ve found something, an old shipping box,” he breathed, carefully lifting it from the depths of the trash.
Inside was a trove of physical plastiprint-photographs spilling out in disarray, snapshots that captured moments of happiness at the holo-arena, dancing at raucous parties, and quiet evenings spent exploring the city’s hidden gems.
“The Lord’s daughter is quite striking,” he murmured, admiring a candid photo of Cait, false sunlight illuminating her juvenile features as she turned to laugh at something off-camera.
From his hidden vantage point in the hallway, Henry watched, his coffee cup forgotten.
‘Cait’, the name swirled in his mind alongside these vivid memories, fragments of a life shared in stolen moments and laughter, now woven into the fabric of this intimate space.
She had been ‘Caitriona Rose’ all along.
Inside the apartment, Orion carefully bagged the sweater as he stepped aside for Sage, who was snapping photographs of the kitchenette clutter.
The scent of fading lavender lingered in the air, emanating from a small container on the counter that still held a few dried stems, remnants of a failed attempt at bringing the calming fragrance into her home.
Caspian rifled through the trash bin Axel was holding open, revealing a crumpled paper sheet.
“Shipping manifest,” he declared, drawing it into the dim light.
“From Dr. Caleb West. He slipped up.”
A frown creased Orion’s brow as the air grew taut.
“Clever, it was shipped as industrial soap. That would have concealed the scent. We need to collect the soap, too. Handle it with care.”
“Where have I heard that name before? West?” Beckett asked, as he searched.
Sage perked up, “He’s that omega that kept running away here, he had forty two kids and did not even know it.Bunch of beta woman, and orphans complained. Real bad image stuff.”
“You should keep it down, other people live here. You know.” Axel made a hand sigh to Orion asking if they were expecting anyone else.
Axel leaned in, his lemongrass scent growing more acrid, a warning of dominance emanating from him.
Orion shook his head and signed to ‘go and check’.
Someone who had been watching them was a thief or spy.
Axel stood from a crouching position and ran out into the hall in a blur.
A scream was heard.
“Shut up.” Axel said.
grabbed the scrawny Beta by his collar and sneered.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you watching us?”
Henry gagged from the pressure of his shirt collar, he looked up at the wall of a man.
“Henry Thwaites, I was waiting for my ex-girlfriend, Cait, to return. This is our apartment. I fucked up. I dumped her in a really shitty way. I wanted to apologize before I left for Deep Water….maybe reconcile.” Henry said, the man tightened his grip, he choked.
Axel nearly snarled.
He had heard about this waste of skin before leaving.
‘The princess’s ex-paramour, who abandoned her when she was dying, forced her to work.’ His grip tightened.
“Leeet….go,” Henry wheezed.
He clawed at the man hand.
His one damn hand was wrapped around his throat.
He was a monster of a man.
He could probably win ‘The Ultimate Champion Run.’ that played every year on Holo.
Axel sneered, “She is not here, your access has been revoked to this unit. But perhaps you can help us by answering some questions?”
“Okay, Okay… do you think you can ease up?” Henry whimpered as the man’s knuckles pressed deeper into his collarbone.
He was strong.
His feet kicked, mere fingers held him by neck.
“Not happening, Romeo.” Axel spat.
“Got some questions for you to answer first.” Axel squeezed hard, “Do you understand what will happen if you don’t answer or try something funny.”
“Yesshhhh.” Henry wheezed, nodding subserviently.
“Good boy.” Axel said, lessening the pressure so he could breathe.
The beta boy’s neck was soft like bears leg.
It’d snap if he pressed too hard.
“Benjamin Agneau, or Caleb West…” Axel demanded, his voice a low growl.
“What do you know about them? Their relationship with Cait? Where does he work?”
“Ben?” Henry’s eyes widened, pupils dilating as panic took hold.
“H-he’s in logistics, a maglev-line man! He barely came around, maybe once a year for her birthday, at most! Just meetups. He never stayed.” The words tumbled out as Axel twisted his arm, causing him to gasp.
“He is really on the Logistics team. He moves between sectors! I don’t know his friends! Or family!”
“And Dr. Caleb West?” Axel asked, he raised a finger and pressed against his sternum.
“I don’t know her doctors.” Henry said and grunted in pain.
“What man does not take their partner to a doctor? Spill it.” Axel seethed pressed harder.
Henry grunted, and tears started forming in his eyes.
It was so painful.
“I never went with her.
But the medicine was in the picture before I was.” Henry said, “Please stop.
I don’t know anymore.’ He begged, the finally words dissolving into a sob.
Axel pulled his finger back, “Weak.” he said.
Henry could not meet his eyes, ‘What in the hell is Cait involved in to have the royal guard here?’ Henry thought in a panic.
‘Is she taking him to court?’
Sage stepped into the hallway, his nutmeg scent sharpening the tension in the air like a blade.
“Any recent shipments?” he pressed, his gaze piercing.
“What kind of packages did she receive?”
“Herbal supplements and tonics!” Henry blurted.
“And… stuff that fell off loaders. Said the machines malfunctioned.” He remembered Cait’s bitter laugh when a crate of nutrient paste arrived dented.
‘Dad’s gifts,’ she’d muttered.
‘Always smells like guilt.’
Axel’s grip tightened around the armrest, knuckles white with tension.
“Her health?” he demanded, his voice barely concealing the simmering dread.
Henry flinched at the intensity of Axel’s gaze.
“Sick… She was going to the doctor, a lot. She’s always been sick.” he stammered, each word a reluctant admission.
The lie felt like ash on his tongue, bitter and dry.
He had witnessed her trembling, the ghostly pallor of her skin, and the way she instinctively clutched her abdomen when she thought no one was watching.
Faced with the truth, confessing her frailty felt like a betrayal, or perhaps, just a coward’s escape.
“Oh?” Axel sneered, “What a caring partner you were.” he said.
Axel narrowed his eyes.
There were drones watching, neighbours and he was no murderer.
From behind them, Beckett emerged, his presence startling as he held aloft a small, unmarked bottle plucked from the shadowy confines of the kitchenette.
“Supplements, huh?” he murmured to Sage, his tone laced with doubt as he gave the bottle a cautious shake.
The viscous liquid inside sloshed heavily, a deep shade darker than typical vitamins.
Orions eyes narrowed, sharp and analytical.
“Seal it,” he ordered, the gravity of the situation pressing down.
“Time to leave, Romeo.” Axel said.
In a sudden surge of protective instinct, Axel shoved Henry backward, a fierce warning etched across his face.
“Leave. If you contact her again…” The threat lingered unspoken, an icy chill hanging in the humid air, colder than the Burrows’ recycled breeze.
Henry stumbled away, disoriented, coffee spilling and soaking into his sneakers, as Orion firmly sealed Cait’s door with an ominous biometric lock.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with urgency.
Caspian meticulously smoothed out the crumpled shipping manifest, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Benjamin’s using loader drops as cover,” he muttered, following the lines of text with a finger.
“Clever… untraceable.” His gaze fixed on the sender’s alias, ‘C.
West, Industrial Solutions’ question prickled his mind.
“But why ship soap?”
Sage knelt low, examining the bottle with a forensic eye.
He swabbed it carefully, his movements deliberate.
“Not completely soap, at least not the original product,” he corrected softly, the gravity of the revelation sinking in.
“Camouflage. Dampening powder. Not strong enough, though there could be something else nasty in it.”
The fine powder shimmered like trapped starlight under his penlight, an added compound crafted for scent-masking tech, military grade, signifying something far more sinister than mere thoughtful father and cleanliness.
Soldiers used this when fighting outside of the traverse in sneak attacks.
Pheromones could give away one’s position.
Patrice hovered near the door, her bulk blocking half the frame.
“She paid two months upfront. Her card. Never any trouble.” Her eyes darted to the movers hauling out Cait’s worn sofa.
“That boyfriend, though… Henry. Came around yesterday. Said. Cait owed him. It was bullshit. She worked more. Was paying all the bills. He barely threw a chip’s worth in. I did not even have his comms on record for payment.”
Sage didn’t look up from the cracked tile he was scanning.
“Owed him what?” His voice was ice.
“Money,” Patrice spat, shifting her weight against the doorframe.
“Always money with that one. Said she owed him for ’emotional damages’ after she dumped him. Bro was spinning tales that she was a bitch, the girl loved him.”
Patrice watched as two beta movers in gray coveralls maneuvered Cait’s old drafting table through the narrow hallway, its scarred surface catching the afternoon light.
“Threw him out myself. Told him if he came back, I’d set the building’s security on him.” Her knuckles whitened around the doorjamb.
“Didn’t expect him to slither back.”
Orion flirted back, “I don’t expect our princess to come back here again. So you should not be too worried about him harassing her.” This woman was delightfully amusing.
She had strong arms, so he believed that she really did throw him out.
Patrice blushed, “Princess?” She looked at Orion, her mouth agape.
“You mean the L-lord’s daughter? The baby from the movie?” She was shocked.
It made sense that she would be hidden by the villains in the traverse.
That guy’s lover vanished pregnant.
The movie ended on a down note.
It turned out that the kid survived and lived in her building!
Orion received a look of head-shaking disapproval from Caspian.
Orion shrugged it off; this beta was worth the slight slip-up.
He’d be talking to Garret about a triadic relationship with her.
Orion nodded.
Patrice loomed closer, “Gods, you are serious. I mean, you are part of the guard, so I know you ain’t lying.”
“So, Patrice. Would you be open to a surface date sometime? I could update you on her progress?” Orion asked.
Beckett, Caspian, and Axel all sighed at the terrible flirt almost at the same time.
He could be exhausting sometimes.
Always on patrol for a woman.
Axel felt relieved that Caspian was more reserved, although it was still a new thing.
Garret, Orion’s partner, was just as despicable.
Patrice laughed, “Sure thing, but I already forgot your name.” Orion’s teammates erupted in laughter at his expense.
Outside, Henry Thwaites leaned against a rusted lamppost, the bitter tang of cheap synth-coffee souring his tongue.
He watched uniformed betas hauling Cait’s meager belongings into a sleek, black transport van.
Private detectives moved with efficient grace, scanning the building’s facade with devices that probably cost more than their annual rent.
His fist tightened around the empty coffee cup.
He’d dumped her when the first medical bills hit, when her mother’s ghost of ovarian cancer seemed to whisper from Cait’s bloodwork.
He’d thought her a liability.
A burden.
And now?
Now she’d have everything.
ABO’s best doctors.
Rose fortune.
Alphas like Thorne lining up, begging to fuck her.
Henry remembered the pornos he’d forced her to watch, the ones with alphas whose cocks were thick as wrists, stretching Beta sluts until they screamed.
Cait had always blushed, silent.
Had she been wet for ‘that’?
Imagining real alphas while he fumbled with his average dick?
Acid jealousy burned his throat.
She was probably already spread for one somewhere, squirting on sheets finer than anything Henry had ever touched.
He’d thrown away a kingdom for cowardice.
Henry pulled out his comms unit.
The cracked screen flickered to life.
There she was, Cait Agneau, captured mid-laugh at a cheap noodle stand he’d taken her to.
Her silver-blond hair caught the neon, mercury eyes crinkled.
He’d snapped it secretly.
Proof she’d once smiled for ‘him’.
Now, he zoomed in on the curve of her hip under thin fabric, the hint of small, perfect breasts beneath her shirt.
His thumb traced the outline.
She’d been tight, grippy, slick.
Another man had taken that.
Broke her open wider than he could ever.
Did she scream?
Did she beg?
Henry’s cock hardened painfully against his cheap, coarse pants.
He imagined her now, naked under an Alpha rich enough to buy her scent.
Her mewls echoed in silk-draped rooms.
Her body was slick and trembling.
‘His’ body.
‘His’ girl.
The self-loathing tasted like bile.
He’d had her loyalty.
Her love.
And he’d tossed it aside.
Patrice’s voice cut through his fantasy, sharp as broken glass.
“You still here, leech?” She stood on the sidewalk now, arms crossed, blocking his view of the movers sealing the van.
Her security badge glinted, a snarling wolf hologram.
“Building’s private property. Trespassers get tagged.” She tapped the stun’baton holstered at her thick hip.
“Last warning.”
Henry shoved the comms away, forcing a smirk.
“Just admiring the view. Funny how fast trash gets hauled away.” He pushed off the lamppost, deliberately brushing past her.
His cheap cologne, synthetic pine, clashed with her industrial-strength detergent scent.
“Tell Cait…” He paused, letting the malice simmer.
“Tell her Henry sends his regards. And will send his bill.” He strode toward the corner, not looking back.
Let her think he was a fool.
He wasn’t.
He’d watch.
He’d wait.
Ready to collect.
Caleb leaned against the rusted support beam of the elevated walkway, the acrid scent of recycled air and synth’grease thick in his nostrils.
Below, the cramped alleys of The Burrows pulsed with the frantic energy of those clinging to the lower tiers.
His gaze, sharp and calculating behind the sheer mask distorting his features, tracked the movements near Cait’s building entrance.
Five.
Five distinct figures radiating that unnatural poise, Alphas and Omegas, vanished inside.
Aristocracy slumming it.
His jaw tightened.
They’d found her.
Found ‘his’ Cait.
“Damn it,” he said with a sigh.
He clutched the worn canvas bag slung over his shoulder.
Inside, the suppressant combo pills rattled against hastily gathered credit chips, enough to keep her fed and hidden for months.
It was all he’d managed before leaving.
Now, useless.
His thumb traced the edge of his comm unit, a cheap, old government-issued brick.
Law enforcement could be triangulating its signal right now.
‘Benjamin Agneau’ was a liability.
With a swift, decisive motion, he dropped the comm down a nearby air vent.
The clatter echoed briefly before vanishing into the bowels of the city.
Next came the flimsy plastic ID card.
He snapped it in half, letting the pieces flutter down after the comm.
Benjamin Agneau ceased to exist.
He moved with deliberate inconspicuousness towards a street vendor’s stall, the smell of charring synth-meat and spiced tofu thick in the air.
“Three tofu. Three synths,” he muttered, sliding credits across the counter.
The vendor, a grizzled Beta with grease-stained sleeves, nodded, sliding skewers onto a stained paper tray.
Caleb ate slowly, eyes never leaving the building’s entrance.
An hour crawled by.
Then, movement.
Henry Thwaites stumbled out, face flushed with anger, muttering under his breath.
Benjamin watched, cold detachment settling over him, as Cait’s ex-boyfriend lurched towards the mag train platform, pulling a flask from his pocket.
Caleb tossed his empty tray into a recycler and followed, a shadow dissolving into the crowd.
On the crowded train, Henry slumped into a seat, already tipping the flask to his lips, his angry whispers lost in the rumble of the tracks.
Benjamin stood nearby, unseen, watching.
Planning.
Henry was a loose thread.
A liability
.
The mag-train hissed to a stop at the mid-tier transfer station.
Henry staggered off, still cursing, weaving through the throng towards the express elevators leading upwards.
Caleb matched his pace, a silent predator.
As Henry jabbed the elevator call button, Benjamin closed the distance.
His hand shot out, clamping hard over Henry’s mouth, muffling a startled yelp.
The sheer mask pressed close.
“Quiet,” he hissed, the voice low, unfamiliar even to himself.
He hauled Henry backwards, away from the platform lights, into the grimy service corridor smelling of ozone and stale coolant.
He slammed him against the wall roughly, his rage boiling.
He had made things more complicated than they already were.
Henry struggled weakly, eyes wide with terror, his heart racing with a mix of fear and adrenaline.
“N-no… please…” he mumbled behind Benjamin’s hand, his voice barely audible.
Caleb shoved him hard against a dripping pipe.
“You’ve made things very difficult. I trusted you to care for her… the freedom you wanted from her, we’ll see how it tastes, huh?” Caleb stated, Not a question.
Henry whimpered behind the muffling hand, his body trembling with fear.
“Those people. You saw them,” Caleb said, his eyes narrowing.
Recognition flickered in Henry’s eyes, followed by panic.
He had wheat blond hair, and eyes so pale and blue.
Rough stubble and a beard complemented his ruggedly handsome look.
He used to wonder if he was really her father.
Now it made sense.
‘He’s that radical from the movie, the man whose lover tried to kill the tunnel lord.
He’s really dangerous.’ Henry thought in a panic.
Henry’s face paled, and his eyes darted back and forth, searching for an escape route.
“Yes, I did…they seemed interested. What did you do to Cait? Who are you?”
“You know who I am.” Caleb leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.
“You are going to ask me questions, boy? You’re as heartless as I am. Otherwise I would not have let you near her.”
“Forget Cait Agneau, forget about her father…everything about them. Don’t talk to those filthy omies about us… Or I will ensure you cease to exist.” Henry’s eyes widened further, his face contorting with a mix of fear and desperation.
“Don’t think I can’t find you, wherever you go, Henry.”
Henry slumped, gasping, trembling violently, his eyes welling up with tears.
“P-please… I won’t… I swear…” he stammered, his voice barely audible.
“Good boy.” Benjamin said and slapped his cheeks with his palms and released Henry abruptly and roughly.
Henry slid down the wall.
He looked at the man spitefully as he backed away.
That old man and that bitch would pay for this.
He could not live under his watch down here anymore.
Might as well shoot for the surface.
If he could not talk to the Guard
“I will be watching, don’t fuck up.” he said as he turned and vanished into the deeper shadows before Henry could even draw breath to scream.
The elevator doors chimed open behind him, empty.
Benjamin didn’t look back.
Henry’s terrified silence was bought.