Loading a magazine with bullets, he slotted it into his assault rifle. The heavy metallic clank echoed as the man, peering through the rifle’s sights at the undercity crowd lining up at the gate, rubbed his slightly overgrown stubble and glanced at the resignation letter on his desk.
No need to fuss about quitting. Everyone has the right to choose their work, and as long as duties are fulfilled, the mid-level city doesn’t abandon those who keep their heads down. He knew gripping the hand of a youth who’d submitted his resignation was foolish, an act that stifled free will. Yet, alone, clutching the rifle’s grip, staring with dead eyes at the undercity folk heading to the ruins gate, the man sighed deeply.
No one has the right to block free choice; the path through endless possibilities is one’s own to decide. The youth, turning from the harsh reality of being a security soldier to seek another path, was a sage exercising mid-level city rights to the fullest. Not just working for money but aiming for a job that used his skills—who could crush such resolve? It was a noble decision, untouchable, and the man envied it, seeing it as proof of a youth he’d long lost.
He couldn’t change anything. Content with the status quo, unable to abandon his life or the happiness he protected, he’d fade away without achieving anything. That’s why he couldn’t help but revere the youth who cut the dangling stability, shattering the chains of his job by his own will.
“…”
He had no complaints about the work. The environment was the worst—grueling—but the pay was better than any mid-level city job. Once accustomed to killing, following orders from above without question was easy.
“…”
He pulled the trigger for his kids’ tuition, fired bullets for his wife. Shouldering the breadwinner’s duty and self-imposed burdens, he shot a girl trying to sneak through the ruins gate without paying the toll. Wiping blood-splattered goggles, he re-aimed his rifle.
He’d grown too used to killing. Saying he felt no regret would be a lie. But what face would he wear back in the mid-level city, having lost all remorse for killing a girl his kids’ age? Could he don the mask of a good father, act the devoted husband as before?
Sighing heavily, hearing the shift-end alarm, he transferred data to the next soldier. The HHPC transfer took a second. As he donned his coat, a soldier saluted stiffly, “Good work, Chief.”
Chief… His current rank came from a purge, not merit or diligence. The previous chief was judged by Silentium’s director and sent to the undercity. No one wanted the empty seat, so the security force commander dangled the promotion as bait, chaining the man—longest-serving in the undercity—to the role.
No handover, no knowledge of procedures or paperwork. Naturally—he’d never sat in a managerial seat or led hundreds of subordinates overnight.
He studied the previous chief’s logs, piecing together reports from saved data. Rumors swirled—his former colleagues, now subordinates, showed awe, saluting rigidly at his sight, a behavior so absurd it felt like horror.
“Chief!”
A young soldier, Diana, ran up with a stack of papers, saluting.
“The requested reports are done! Please review!”
She handed him the stack.
“Thanks… uh, you’re—”
“Diana, sir! I’ve heard about you! They say you single-handedly quelled five hundred rioters, always completed any order, no matter what… Chief, are the rumors true?!”
“Half true, half wrong.”
Flipping through the papers, glancing at Diana through his visor, he gave a thin smile, popping open his bag’s pin.
Rumors from old colleagues or new mid-level recruits? Security soldiers’ gear outclassed undercity weapons, but quelling five hundred lunatics alone? Impossible. With mobile weapons and overwhelming firepower, maybe, but riots near the gate were rare.
Still, Diana’s rumors were half true. He’d never disobeyed Silentium’s orders—managers of the security force and military—or failed a mission. Ordered to quell a skirmish, he charged, gun raised, slaughtering all, bathed in blood. As a soldier, he was unmatched, mid-level or undercity.
“Chief!” Diana called.
“What?”
“When’s the next sweep operation?!”
“None scheduled.”
“Sir!”
“Now what?”
“I’m a military academy graduate!”
“And?”
“Top marks in riot suppression, weapons handling, exoskeleton, and mobile weapon piloting!”
“Impressive.”
“So—”
“So you want to test your skills? Don’t be stupid. You’re not used to life-and-death stakes. Listen—academy grads rarely choose undercity duty. Normally, you’d be a career officer, bossing around grunts like me in the mid-level city or Silentium. Your parents paid a fortune for your education, expected big things, didn’t they?”
His thin smile carried biting reality.
“While you’re itching to prove yourself, others are climbing the career ladder. Diana, one thing—if you have ideals or dreams you can’t abandon, you shouldn’t have chosen undercity duty. I—”
“Chief, what are you saying?”
Diana, puzzled, removed her helmet, her black-and-white hair swaying.
“Undercity duty is my choice. Why? Simple—better pay. As the eldest of ten siblings, earning to ease my parents’ burden is normal, right?”
She laughed, as if it were obvious.
“Long-term, a career path pays more with safer tasks. But undercity duty gives bonuses for quelling riots or killing gate-dodgers. I can cover my siblings’ tuition faster, pay off scholarships sooner. Two birds, one stone, don’t you think?”
Muttering his surprise at her practical answer, he placed her helmet back on.
“Don’t expose your head. Bullets can come from anywhere.”
“Understood! Where to now, Chief?”
“I’m—”
Spotting familiar gray hair at the edge of his vision, he waved, mimicking drinking. “Grabbing drinks with a friend.”
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Diana knew nothing of the man’s life.
Worn, resigned to lost potential, his eyes dulled by the chief’s title. Her first impression: aloof, uninvolved, half-abandoning his duties. He tried fulfilling his role, struggling with unfamiliar paperwork, humbly asking subordinates for help. Admirable, respectable—but oddly, he knew too little. Log-keeping, performance reviews—he was clueless about managerial tasks.
He was a proper human, a professional, Diana thought, but not a proper manager. The reports she handed him? Basic data processing any mid-level supervisor could handle. His inability, delegating work, screamed irresponsibility. Staring at the man walking toward four figures, she followed.
“Hey, ruin digger, doing alright?” the man called.
“Same as ever, soldier. You look thinner,” Danan replied.
“Rough times, man.”
“I see.”
Not quite friendly banter, their relationship was vague. Shouldering his rifle, alert, Diana overheard as Danan’s gaze pierced her.
“Soldier,” Danan said.
“What, ruin digger?”
“She a friend?”
“Friend?”
The man’s eyes grazed Diana, chuckling dryly, rubbing his stubble.
“Not that interesting. She’s… my subordinate.”
“Subordinate?”
“Yeah. Sit in the chief’s chair, and you get a ton of subordinates, like it or not. You wouldn’t get it—better that way.”
Shrugging, shaking his head, he irked Diana, stirring her chest.
Hate the job? Quit. Return to the mid-level city, take a job aptitude test, find a better fit. Swallowing her anger, hiding her sharp glare behind her visor, Diana cleared her throat. Approaching the man and Danan’s curt exchange, she raised her voice. “Chief! You mentioned drinks—do you have time?”
“Time… right, normal bars have hours. Thanks, Diana.”
“No problem! I’ll head out then.”
“Wait.”
Chuckling, he patted her shoulder. “Join us? My treat.” He flashed a Silentium-issued black card, tapping her helmet.
“Sorry, Chief, I’ve got personal matters. Another time?”
“If you’ve got plans, fine. Later, then.”
“Yes, sir!”
Shrugging again, he glanced at Diana’s crisp salute, leading Danan’s group to the bar street.
“All good?” Danan asked.
“What?”
“Not bringing her.”
“She declined. No need to force her, right, ruin digger?”
“Fair.”
Danan’s eyes met Diana’s for a moment. Behind her helmet’s neon-reflecting cybernetic visor, her glare burned with intent—she’d pull the trigger without hesitation if needed. Her rifle, rigged for a one-second draw, her finger poised to fire.
A well-trained soldier’s stance. Unyielding intent to kill undercity scum. Exuding menace, staring at Danan, she heard him say, cocking his hammer, “Hate that your boss is drinking with us?”
“Not hate. I just question the undercity gate bureau chief drinking with undercity folk.”
“Question, huh?”
“I understand undercity rules—life is cheap, rights ignored, lawless. Undercity man, a warning: cause trouble in the bar street, managed by mid-level security, or harm the chief, and you’ll face every undercity soldier. Clear?”
Cutting off rebuttals, asserting dominance, Diana turned, heading to the garrison’s apartments.
“…”
“Sorry, ruin digger, she’s not bad, just… tough on undercity folk. If she offended—”
“She’s not wrong,” Danan said.
“…”
“Your mid-level view sees the undercity as the worst hell. No day without corpses, you get used to stepping on rotting guts. She’s right, soldier.”
“…That so?”
“Yeah.”
Slapping Danan’s back to shake the heavy mood, the man said, “There’s a good spot—not too loud, not too quiet. Rare for me to drink with someone, ruin digger.” He wove through the crowd.
The neon-soaked bar street, catering to security soldiers, buzzed with energy. Clinking mugs, consoling weepy drunks, hotheaded soldiers brawling over misunderstandings, others betting on fights—scenes alien to the undercity. Danan’s guard sharpened.
His idea of bars: drug-laced liquor, brain-dead patrons shooting walls, blood splattered, ecstatic faces in gambling dens. Losers bet blood or organs, overdosing to calm nerves. Gunshots and screams made drinking impossible.
“What’s up, ruin digger? Seeing something new?” the man asked.
“You’ve worked the undercity long—you know why I’m like this.”
“This is normal for us mid-level folk, abnormal for you. Flip it, and your undercity bars scare me shitless.”
A matter of perspective? Danan scanned the scene, eyes darting. Stella, hiding behind him, stared at drunken soldiers—staggering, fearless, arm over strangers’ shoulders—feeling only dissonance. Danan hid his shock, Stella gaped, Eve and Lils walked unfazed, used to it. Ignoring their reactions, the man stopped at an old building, sliding a faux-wood door.
“Hey, pops, open?” he called.
Spice-heavy aromas, sizzling oil. An old man, flipping a wok, exhaling cigarette smoke, glared.
“Been a while, Edes!” he boomed, beckoning the five inside.
The clatter of spatulas, appetizing sizzles. A soldier slurping noodles, chugging spicy broth, paid via a card scanner at the register.
Steaming fried rice, melt-in-your-mouth braised pork, delicate dumplings trembling at a chopstick’s touch… At Iron Plate, a bustling Chinese diner, security soldiers ate and drank heartily.
“Edes! What, no convenience store food today?” the old man teased.
“Pops, I brought friends. So—”
Taking the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling purple smoke, the old man cut in, “Say no more, I get it!”
He swung the wok, flames flaring faintly.
“Where do we sit?” Edes asked.
“Follow Mrs. Irene!”
Mrs. Irene… Edes’s eyes darted to a squid-like service bot, one of its four eyes locking onto the group.
“Customers, this way,” it said.
Jetting closer, Mrs. Irene’s LCD panel displayed a woman’s face—a cheap 3D polygon avatar wearing an Iron Plate cap, resembling a low-end sex doll.
“Hey, Mrs. Irene, been a while. Doing okay?” Edes asked.
“Edes, sir, long time. I hear you’re now Chief—congratulations.”
“Word travels fast. Other soldiers talking?”
“Yes. Please, everyone, this way. Orders taken promptly.”
Guided to a “reserved” table in the back, the worn, oil-glossed table and faded shelf trinkets reflected dim lamplight. A nostalgic, half-baked retro vibe. Edes slid in first, smiling softly at Danan, Eve, Lils, and Stella. “Sit anywhere. Don’t hold back.”
Standing forever wasn’t an option. Danan seated Stella in the back, followed by Lils, Eve, then himself beside Edes. Checking his magnum’s cylinder, he confirmed six rounds loaded.
With so many security soldiers, trouble was unlikely. No deranged shooters, drug addicts, cyborgs, or crime syndicate members in sight—natural, as this was the security force’s garrison, off-limits to most undercity folk. Exhaling deeply, Danan eased his hand from the magnum, resting his mechanical arm on the table.
“By the way,” Edes said, eyeing the three girls, glancing at Danan.
“New faces, huh, ruin digger?”
He ordered two beers and three soft drinks from Mrs. Irene.
“I’ve seen the silver girl, but not the black-haired one or the kid. You a caretaker type, ruin digger?”
“Not that. Just how things turned out. You seem to have your own troubles, soldier—er, Edes.”
“We weren’t supposed to use names, huh, ruin digger?”
“…”
A booster’s hum sounded as drinks arrived. Frothy beer dripped condensation; soft drinks were cola and fruit juices. Without a toast, Danan downed half his mug, cheeks slightly flushed. “Changed my mind. We’ve known each other a while… Name’s Danan. Nice to meet you.”
“Long while… five years, maybe?”
“Yeah.”
“Always saw you diving ruins alone, coming back battered. That was my undercity routine. Danan, huh? Good name. Bit late, but I’m Edes, mid-level security soldier, Silentium military division, undercity gate bureau chief. Just a lowly salaryman, think of it that way.”
Gulping his beer, Edes clinked mugs with Danan.
“So,” Edes said.
“What?”
“You lot aren’t family, right?”
“Nope.”
“A loner like you bringing people to drink? What, want family harmony tips, Danan?”
“Don’t be stupid. I said I changed my mind. Besides, I don’t know family—so no point asking.”
“Idiot, family’s everything. It’s why a man works, finds people and places to protect. Right, silver girl?”
“…Even family can clash, turn against each other if goals differ,” Eve said, sipping cola, her lips curling mockingly.
“What, trouble with family? Or… sorry, dumb question for undercity folk. Forget it.”
“It’s fine. I barely have anyone to call family anymore.”
“They alive?”
“…”
Even if they were, she’d have to settle things herself. Glaring at Edes, Eve tapped her glass. “What about you?”
“My family’s in the mid-level city. Can’t bring them here. Wanna see my kids’ pics? They keep growing.”
“No need—” Eve started, but Lils leaned in, cutting her off. “Oh, cute kids! How old? In primary school yet?” She peered at Edes’s personal communicator screen.
“Older one’s in third grade, younger’s not in school yet. Black-haired girl, you into kids?”
“Curious, not into. Danan, aren’t they cute?”
“Uh… yeah, sure,” Danan mumbled, finishing his second mug, taking a third from Mrs. Irene.
“Danan, you drunk?” Lils asked.
“Huh? Yeah, probably. I don’t drink much, can’t handle a lot. Anyway—”
Looking at Stella, he said, “Come here, Stella.” As she ducked under the table, popping up, he lifted her with his mechanical arm, holding her close.
“Stella,” he said.
“What, Danan?”
“Eat what you want.”
“Really?”
“Edes is paying, not me. Eat now—you won’t grow otherwise, Stella.”
With a genuinely warm smile, Danan gently stroked Stella’s head, combing her fine hair with steel fingers. Lils and Eve, stunned by his never-before-seen expression, watched as Stella, childlike, eagerly opened the menu.
“Danan! I, uh, can’t read this?”
“That’s dumplings. What do you want, Stella?”
“Meat!”
“Then chicken tatsuta, hoisin pork, yurinchi. Sound good?”
“Yeah! Thanks, Danan!”
“No big deal. Lils, Eve, what do you want? Let’s order at once—more efficient.”
Rubbing sleepy eyes, he kept stroking Stella’s head.
