Culture
Containment isn’t a prison. It isn’t a punishment. It’s not even a treatment like they claim. It’s an execution. Remnants stick together. We solve our problems internally. We don’t need them to make those decisions for us.
The Casket isn’t exactly a poor neighborhood. Like most places in New Chicago, the community’s buildings and infrastructure are built with verticality in mind. But from the exterior, the region looks underfunded and neglected.
The Remnant population here never cared for outward appearances. It wouldn’t change how the rest of the city feels about us, anyways. The place could have been shining skyscrapers rivaling the business districts and the people would still find a reason to avoid it.
Still, the Casket knows me as Arya Skovsgaard. They know the other one, too, but their appearance would draw attention I don’t need now.
The lift platform speeds upwards, propelled by the varied pipes of Affliction. The internal bits of this mega-building look relatively clean despite its oxidized copper exterior matching the rest of the mega-buildings here.
It slows and opens to reveal one of the many eatery floors.
Signs flash with provocative images of half-naked women and promises of delicious meals.
Some of the lighting is legitimate old-world electricity.
Though it’s refitted to abide by the changes in physics and engineering caused by the Disruptions.
It adds a certain coziness to an otherwise segregated section of the city. A place where existing is, at least, not an affront.
The Boilerhouse sits near the end of the row of buildings, its dark steel appearance offsets it from the others nearby. The signage glows with orange-tinted Affliction resembling a raging flame.
“Arya,” the bouncer—whose name I definitely forgot—greets as I reach the entrance. “Been some time.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say somewhat evasively. His muscles bulge a little as he shifts to the side. If I have to guess, his powers are likely terra in nature. Common amongst the strength-type Remnants.
He opens the door to the bar and gestures, a sad smile on his wide face. “I’ve heard.”
The place vibrates with movement as I make my way towards the bar itself. My height puts me well above the rest of the crowd who do, unfortunately, notice my presence. Some move out of the way while others are haphazardly pulled away by their friends.
“You certainly make an entrance,” a deeper voice resonates from the roped off area of the club.
Beyond it is a selection of similarly themed dark seats that look much more comfortable than the metallic stools and chairs in the main bar.
And sitting upon one, his feet propped up and his body clothed in a dark robe, is Kronos himself.
On either side sit two gorgeous women who I’ve never seen, nor met. Though they both radiate power that probably sits at Tier 2. Not powerful enough to be a threat, but definitely enough to end a fight.
Though if Kronos couldn’t end a fight, then the fight was likely already lost.
His head is shaved, but he otherwise looks ageless. Like a twenty-something college dropout with a perfectly quaffed mustache. The entire ensemble makes him look like he’s dressing as an evil gang lord.
“You look ridiculous in that robe,” I say, giving the VIP bouncer a look.
He obliges and unlocks the chain. I step over the threshold, and the rest of the room fades into silence, leaving just the quiet conversations in the closed off section.
“Cool, yeah?” Kronos asks, giving me a raised eyebrow. “Lucille here can produce a dampening forcefield.”
“Dampening what, exactly,” I ask, glancing at the young woman on his left. She gives me a strange grin that doesn’t seem forced but almost feels predatory on the young brunette.
“Anything I want it to,” she says, her voice holding a strange accent that probably puts her across the sea in whatever is left of Europe. Probably a child of refugees.
“Powers?” I ask and she shrugs.
“Sometimes. Depends how powerful.”
I give Kronos an impressed look. Her power hasn’t done anything to mine, but I can’t exactly prove Death Communion with alive people.
Well, I could, but I'd have to kill them.
And I doubt whatever she has can dampen any of my other abilities.
“You two look like you’re being held hostage,” I say, giving the blonde on his right a suspicious look.
“No,” the blonde says, her accent definitely local. “I’m Ana, the muscle.”
I give her a once over. She’s slim like Lucille but does seem to put off more of a confident air than the brunette. Ana gives me a sly grin as I linger slightly longer on her arms.
“I’m just a utilitarian,” I say, holding my hands up in mock submission. “Nothing to fear here.”
“Contrary to popular belief, you are quite possibly one of the more fearsome ones. Maybe not in power, but in theory,” Kronos’ usual cryptic response draws a huff of exasperation out of me.
“Says the time dilator,” I snort.
“That makes it sound so dirty,” he says, expression still calm and assured. “I prefer time manipulator.”
“Oh, because that’s not predatory,” I say giving the two women a knowing look. Both respond in kind, though clearly affectionate with the man.
“I heard about what happened,” Kronos says, the mood shifting with his desire to skip the niceties. “I’m sorry for your loss. Both in friendship and in your career.”
I nod, not sure how to respond. I should have known everyone would find out. The Remnant community was large but connected. People had developed ways to spy, and others had found ways to counteract it.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen this symbol before?” I ask, handing over the tablet.
Kronos gives me a look but takes the tablet. His eyes search the symbol on Mara and Malachi’s wrists. Lucille and Ana lean in as well and, between the three of them, it’s clear they recognize it.
“Are you here as police?” he asks, his friendlier expression tinged in suspicion.
“They put a fucking bullet in my head this morning,” I snap.
How dare he question me now. After everything. After all of this.
“Calm,” he says, voice soothing. He places the tablet on the table between us and studies me.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat. Like it’s trying to both choke me and weigh me down.
“You’re a religious leader,” I enunciate the word. He’s a cult leader, but he never liked the phrase. “I suspect the connection is religious in nature. Certainly, one of the deaths seemed so.”
“My people are helpers and healers,” he says, glancing at the symbol on the screen again. “Those ones are not.”
I wave him on. He huffs out a soft sigh before continuing in his cult leader voice.
“Our world is on the verge of change. There are those who stand united. Who wish to ensure that Remnants not only secure independence, but that we also maintain our community. And there are those who wish to use the change for their own desires.”
He gestures at the compass-like symbol.
“That, my dear, is the symbol for chaos. In the old world, it meant crossroads. When the Disruptions occurred, it became literal. It created beings like Darkrend who not only craved the chaos but were able to control it. To harness it.”
Kronos suddenly looks far older than his smooth skin and full mustache suggests.
“In the last few months, more and more Remnants have chosen the side of chaos for chaos’ sake. They’ve chosen whatever it is that Darkrend offers despite never having delivered on Remnant progress. Darkrend is not a leader, nor does he offer salvation. He offers only death.”
The silence in Lucille’s bubble feels overwhelming as all eyes remain on the symbol.
“So, this is Darkrend?” I ask, my voice not hiding the trepidation I feel at facing such a beast.
“Indeed,” Kronos nods. “Billy caught a few of them trying to come into the bar a few weeks ago. They squealed like pigs as he ripped them limb from limb. They knew nothing except that they now worked for Darkrend.”
I take a shuddery breath.
“Great,” I say, feeling like my chest couldn’t get any more hollow.
Kronos tilts his head, his eyes sparkling with a nearly fluorescent blue.
“Why are you still doing this, Arya? What do you hope to gain from finding out why these people were killed? Would catching the killer bring you relief?”
It feels as though the note in my breast pocket warms at the question.
“Because it doesn’t make sense,” I say, looking down at the symbol. “These symbols block my abilities.”
Kronos’ eyes widen.
“It was my understanding that nothing could stop your abilities.”
I meet his eyes again. There’s no malice in his words. Nothing to indicate he means anything but what he says.
But it was the way he said it.
As though it were an undeniable fact.
“Thank you for the information, Kronos,” I say, standing. “I’ll take up one of the booths with the unimportant crowd. I could use some noise.”
Kronos doesn’t say anything, but he gives me a small nod.
Sound hits me like a tidal wave when I cross over the boundary again. It’s a formless cacophony, but it soothes at whatever is starting to grow at the center of my chest.
A chair at the bar itself clears as I pass and I slide onto it. The bartender glances over at me and gives me a quick smile. I return it and watch her serve two others before returning to me.
“What can I get you?” she asks, voice kind but louder to handle the noise.
“Just a mule please,” I say, and she hurries off.
After a few seconds, the drink is slid toward me. She gives me a wink and hustles off before I can even pull out my phone to pay. Glancing down at the drink, I see the tab paid for by the house with a number scrolled tidily on it.
The bartender doesn’t look back as I give her another once over. She’s cute, but probably younger than me. Still, she’s at least a Remnant, too.
I slide the number into my jacket and put the tablet down on the table alongside the folder. The macabre photos in the paper format aren’t exactly table appropriate, but no one seems to care when I start to review the notes.