The ceiling lights flickered on with a crisp click.
Yesterday’s firefight already felt like a distant memory, an event from some far-off land. In the Lower District, the day broke with its usual leaden gray.
Same time as always. I hauled myself up, my towel blanket sliding to the floor and leaving my skin to the mercy of the biting air. Glancing sideways, I saw my jacket and shirt draped haphazardly over the back of a chair. I frowned, remembering how I’d collapsed onto the bed the night before without even bothering to shower.
My whole body felt tacky. I could still smell the lingering scent of iron and ozone on my skin.
"...Good grief, I must be getting old," I muttered.
My bare feet slapped against the floor, the cold concrete stinging my soles. As I walked toward the shower room, the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling buzzed to life one by one.
I’d renovated an old power distribution building to serve as my home, so the original plumbing had been skeletal at best. I’d installed this shower room myself later on. Because of that, it was the only part of the apartment that looked halfway modern. Compared to the rugged steel and bare concrete of the rest of the place, it looked almost out of place.
I passed the washbasin and tapped the reinforced glass door. It slid open with a quiet shuin. A faint, minty scent lingered in the small space.
I stripped and tossed my underwear into the Laundry Box along with my dirty shirt. With a soft thump, the lid snapped shut and the automatic cycle began. An internal scan assessed the level of grime and adjusted the detergent levels accordingly.
It really is a convenient world we live in. The damn thing even handles the drying and ironing.
Stepping into the shower, the nozzles in the ceiling and floor began to glow. A moment later, a mist of Clean Water rained down. I felt the faint, grainy sensation of nanoparticles on my skin as they broke down dirt and neutralized viruses. With a low hiss, my skin began to radiate a gentle heat.
I thought it every time I used this thing, but it felt less like washing and more like molting. It certainly got me clean, but I still found myself wanting to soak in a real bathtub every now and then. Maybe it was just a national trait.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, letting the mist wash away the last traces of yesterday's chaos. Eventually, the water cut out and warm air blew from the same nozzles, drying me with the comforting heat of an Artificial Sun. In just a few minutes, I felt like a new man.
"Alright..."
I headed back into the main room and pulled a fresh set of clothes from the rack. Black pants, white shirt. It was an old-fashioned look for this era, but it was the only style that felt right. The kids these days were all about shiny, glittery lamé jackets. I’d die of embarrassment if I ever caught myself wearing something like that.
I pulled on my sleeves and left the top button of my collar open. The feel of clean fabric settled my mind as the morning air began to stir. Outside, the low roar of the city’s morning bustle was picking up.
I checked the Storage Box only to find I was out of canned coffee. I scratched my head in annoyance and settled for a bottle of sparkling water from the back. The tab popped with a sharp pssh. The cold, tasteless liquid slid down my throat—a poor substitute for caffeine, but easier on the stomach, I supposed.
Muttering a complaint to no one, I headed into my workroom. The iron floorboards creaked under my weight, and the sharp scent of metal and oil pricked my nose. I slumped into my chair and booted up the communication terminal. A holo-screen shimmered into existence, displaying several blinking unread messages.
Two business, one personal.
I took another sip of water and played the business messages first.
"We’re in your debt as always! The delivery arrived safely—"
Beep.
I cut it off halfway. A confirmation of receipt. The job was officially closed.
"Next."
"Hey, it's me. Things have gotten a bit messy. I figured something might have cropped up on your end too, so I’m reaching out. Swing by when you can."
The voice was low and gravelly—Cordeaux. I checked the timestamp. It was from last night, right around the time I was being hunted through the Upper District. I figured as much. I’d have to pay him a visit later.
That left the personal message. The timestamp put it right before I’d made it back home.
Huh. How did I miss this? I thought I had forwarding turned on.
I felt a prickle of unease. I walked back to my private room and dug through the pockets of the jacket I’d left on the chair. I pulled out my mobile terminal, but the screen stayed black. I hammered the power button, but there wasn't even a flicker of life.
"Ah... EMP fallout."
Flashbacks of last night’s battlefield crossed my mind. Sighing, I activated my skill. Faintly glowing particles enveloped the device, tracing the internal circuitry and stitching the fried components back together.
Ping.
The terminal chimed as it rebooted. The holo-logo appeared, and the OS loaded without a hitch.
"Good," I murmured. I sat back down in my work chair and played the personal message.
"...It’s me. Were you in the Upper District's Old Industrial District? No, of course you were! I refuse to believe there are two people in this world capable of leaving behind such idiotic levels of destruction!"
A husky female voice barked from the speakers. She sounded livid, but it was a familiar anger. In the background, I could hear the faint wail of sirens and the crackle of police radios.
Oops. So that was her jurisdiction.
"Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is?! I don't care if it's a deserted area, we still have to file a report! I have to conduct an on-site investigation because of you! And I actually thought I’d get to go home early today!"
I instinctively shrugged as her voice rose in pitch. I could see her face in my mind—an acquaintance from the police organization. She was the type who seemed like she’d be flexible, only to turn stubborn at the worst possible moments.
"Listen to me! Tomorrow! You better contact me! Do you hear me?! You absolutely have to! ...And don't you dare call in the morning! I’ll be sleeping! Make it after noon!"
The transmission cut out with a sharp click.
Silence returned to the room. After a moment, I let out a dry chuckle. I’d clearly stepped on her toes, but it wasn't like I had a choice.
I’d already asked the Doctor to swap out the nearby camera footage and sensor logs on my way back, so no official charges would ever stick. There was no evidence. Even if she was ninety-nine percent sure it was me, the police couldn't touch me without proof. Besides, the main gates had been locked down, so I’d used a "backdoor" to slip back into the Lower District anyway.
I took another long pull of the sparkling water, letting the carbonation sting my throat.
"Well then. Looks like it’s going to be another busy day."
I leaned back into the chair with a weary sigh. In the quiet of the room, only the faint, rhythmic hum of the terminal remained.