Chapter One: Memories
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I hadn’t thought much about what I was still alive for. What my real purpose was. You hear people talk about how everything happens for a reason, and how there’s some divine plan for us all. I don’t know about any of that, but I do know one thing for sure. I had lived my life without a care in the world, and I could’ve been knocked out of the gene pool a long time ago. Yet I survived, and I survived for one reason. To meet her.

    June 17th, 2136. I was spending another night in my office. I can remember it so vividly in my mind. The rain poured onto the roofing of every building in sight, and the air above the industrial quarter of Van Soren leaking into the cracked windows of the decrepit apartment I was living in, staining it with the scent of the city's gritty ecosystem. The aged wood of the floors met with the battered walls of my rented residence, creating the perfect den for a young scoundrel like me. I made my living as a thief for hire. Willing to “acquire” whatever information or valuables necessary (within reason), and deliver them to any client, as long as I got my payment. This was a dangerous job, but it paid well. Despite my less-than-impressive living conditions, the dangerous streets of the city below my residence kept me busy. Mostly simple stuff, retrieving a certain stone from a jeweler's window display, or stealing company secrets for some sleazy competitors, all part of the job. A job that I was damn good at. I wasn’t proud of what I did, but it kept me alive, and as far as I was concerned, that’s all that mattered. Survival.

    I had taken a small hiatus from my day to day activities after a particularly large paycheck found its way into my pocket, after an important passcode from a local security official found its way into the ears of my last client. Business as usual. The payment for this act of espionage left me with enough to fund a small self-isolation period, which I used to lay low from local law enforcement. I didn’t often have problems with the local police, or the “Seekers”. They were, for the most part, easily avoidable and rarely interfered with my work. Though my business model was effective, my system that allowed clients to contact me was one of my proudest achievements. I had created an encrypted frequency, that when played, would alert my personal computer. This frequency was non traceable, and when picked up by me, would notify me that a client was looking for my services. I always met them after dark, somewhere public and quiet. Alleyways or abandoned factories, stuff like that. After surveying the area, I would approach the client. They described the job, I set a price. This is exactly what happened that rainy June night, when my computer screen began to shine it’s crucial message: “Incoming Contact”. I contemplated even leaving the apartment after the sounds of the alert woke me from my alcohol induced nap. I rubbed my eyes, watching the computer flash illuminate my room. I struggled to stand, and before  I knew it, I was locking my apartment door, and heading to meet my next client.

    The place I met my clients usually rotated between 2 locations. The one I was heading to, an old factory that had been burned down and abandoned in a riot many years prior, was only a short distance from my home. I walked quietly, listening to my surroundings, hearing only the slapping of water droplets on concrete and industrial machinery whirring in the factories just south. As I approached the meeting place, I noticed my client leaning against a lightpost, concealing their  face in the shadows. As I acknowledged the figure, I realized something abnormal. I didn't get any sort of uneasy feeling from this one. The sinister demeanor of someone willing to pay you to sabotage their adversaries, whether political or otherwise, is something you learn to pick up on after seeing it dozens upon dozens of times. Yet, interestingly, that sinister demeanor wasn't there this time. Instead this client almost seemed...eager.

    “Are you the Thief?” the voice whispered to me from behind the shadow of their hood.

    I responded with my usual answer for questions that intend to incriminate me. “That's not a very nice way to start a conversation. What are you looking for?”

    “I have a job for you, it’s extremely important”

    “Well I’d hope so. I’d hate to think you brought me out here into the rain for nothing.” The hooded person didn’t seem to take kindly to my joking. I took this hint, and decided to match their serious tone. “Tell me the job.”

    “I need you to find something for me, but I’m not sure you’ve ever stolen anything like this before. At last I would hope not. My...associate has gone missing. The Seekers won’t do anything to help, but I know where she's being held, and I can pay you whatever you need to ensure she returns safely to Van Soren.”

The words baffled me. Was this some kind of joke? A person? I had never been asked to steal any living thing before, and I wasn’t going to start up a career in human trafficking any time soon.

“Look, that’s a good joke and all, but I don’t really deal with stealing...people. I don’t think I’m-” Before I could explain myself, the client interrupted me, with a hint of despair in their voice

“Please, listen. She was kidnapped. I don't know by who, but they're dangerous, and I can't just let her die. I can’t go to the Seekers, or I would have by now. Employing the services of someone like you wasn't an ideal option, but you're the only person I can trust that even has a chance at returning her to us. Please, I have money. That's what you want, right?” As they stepped closer, The light from the street lamp illuminated this distraught soul’s face, A young woman, dark hair peeking out from the hood she had used to shield her pale face from the rain. I realized then that my decision wasn’t really a decision at all, but a call action. A chance to do what was right. A chance at redemption.

“So where am I going?”

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