Fioro, Outer City, Beatrice’s Apartment Block

Beatrice finishes descending her apartment’s staircase with a sigh of relief. Seven flights are more than enough to render her out of breath, especially considering she had to recently climb them for a new change of clothes after having arrived from school…

Alas, had she not wasted most of her spare money on a new dress for the musical contest, perhaps she may’ve been able to delay the inevitable for longer.

Glancing at her surroundings apprehensively as she clenches her violin case’s handle tightly, Beatrice sighs. By now, sundown is all but upon the city, settling in a cold atmosphere around those unfortunate enough to walk its streets.

Beatrice’s target, however, doesn’t seem particularly affected by the chilly weather, being nearly filled with customers already; The popular pub, facing her apartment block almost directly, has never been remotely close to empty, as far as Beatrice can tell.

Straightening her back, Beatrice raises her chin as she sets to crossing the small distance, cutting through the slow flow of pedestrians.

Better to not give herself time to reconsider.

Loud, and significantly warmer than the outside, the pub’s atmosphere quickly envelops Beatrice as she steps through its large front doors, scanning her gaze across tables filled with laughing customers, serving bots, and a large hologram covering the back wall as it showcases a game of something or another… Sports has never been of particular interest to Beatrice, or her family, for that matter, may they all burn in the fires of hell.

After standing awkwardly for a moment, Beatrice finally identifies something resembling a reception opposite from the hologram wall as it is tended by a middle-aged man who smiles warily and signals for her to approach once their eyes meet.

Still struggling to control her nerves, and surprise, Beatrice does so, though the large pub takes much longer to walk across than she initially anticipated, time which is further increased by the fact she has to weave through the tightly packed place, squeezing through gaps in between tables and-

Abruptly, the pub erupts in deafening cheers, a hovering bot is sent spiraling as it spills drinks everywhere, and Beatrice cringes, barely stepping out of the way as a cursing waitress runs toward the commotion after quickly abandoning her own trays atop a nearby, miraculously empty table.

“How many times do I have to tell them to care for the bots?! The warning’s been there for nearly a year! Would it kill them to…”

Beatrice widens her eyes as she makes way, watching the furious woman pass by, whose words are soon lost amidst the pub’s myriad of sounds.

Behind the reception, the middle-aged man who first spotted Beatrice maintains the same wary smile from earlier as he nods at her, though now his attention is evidently split, his eyes often sliding toward the waitress’s faint shouts.

“G-good evening,” Beatrice starts, clearing her throat, “I was hoping… Well, I thought, maybe…”

Watching as she struggles with her words, the man’s smile eventually vanishes and he releases a sigh, though his eyes are not voided of sympathy as he shakes his head, leaning over the counter slightly. “Look, Missy, I understand you’re upset, but I can’t force him to leave.”

Beatrice freezes, mouth still half open as she’s utterly dumbstruck by the man’s statement.

After a moment, faced with her lack of a response, the man blinks. “Your boyfriend?”

“…Excuse me?”

The man nods his head toward a table across the pub occupied by four boys entirely entranced by the game playing on screen as they cheer, curse, and laugh… Evidently, whoever they’re rooting for is winning; their expressions make as much painfully obvious, though the idea of dating one of them still causes Beatrice’s own expression to distort into a frown.

“I’m sorry, but you must’ve mistaken me for somebody else,” she says, turning as she faces the man once more, whose expression falls.

“Oh… Dammit, I knew I should’ve asked for a description! Ah, excuse my language... And the confusion. How may I help you, Missy?”

“I’m Beatrice, and I’d like to speak with the owner, if possible… I-I’m looking for a part-time job.”

The man raises his eyebrow. “A part-time?”

Beatrice nods. “I moved across the street recently, and I could use the extra credits.”

She needs the money, more like it, but it might be better to not come out as desperate.

“Well, forgive me for my bluntness Missy, but you don’t strike me as… How do I put it? The serving table type.”

Beatrice frowns. “May I speak with the owner?”

The man laughs. “You’re speaking to him!”

Beatrice struggles to contain another grimace, though something must have still shown across her expression, because the man’s laugh grows in intensity as he taps the counter, indicating one of the high stools by it.

“Name’s Joel, Missy. Give me a minute, yes? Game night’s not exactly the proper time and place for an interview.”

Beatrice forces herself to remain calm, at least on the outside, as she takes the seat the man indicated, watching as he walks around the counter, heading for the small commotion created near the fallen bot, and screams over his shoulder, “Lin, come and watch the counter for a minute! There’s a girl here looking for an interview!”

Almost immediately, a pair of double doors beyond the counter swings open, allowing for a brief peek into a busy kitchen as they reveal a young woman carrying several trays of food, then closing as she walks by them and drops the trays onto the large counter, where they’re quickly, yet carefully, picked up by a pair of hovering bots.

Once more, the pub erupts in cheers, and Beatrice struggles not to fidget under the woman’s cold expression (who Beatrice assumes must be Lin) as she walks up to her and raises her eyebrow.

“…You’re her?”

“I’m the one l-looking for a part-time job, y-yes. Is it always this… busy?” Beatrice asks, indicating the turmoil at her back.

“During game nights? Yes. And for the record, we have no place for slackers.” Lin swings a dishcloth over her shoulder as she inspects Beatrice with the same cool look she has worn so far. “During busy nights - which is to say, most nights, really - orders are constantly coming in, and if somebody slacks off, or makes a mistake, or if one of the bots breaks…” Pausing, she nods toward Joel as he inspects the damaged bot and shakes his head. “Then the customer suffers. And if the customer suffers, they leave bad reviews, which means the rest of us have to pick up the slack before that happens.”

Beatrice nods, though her thoughts are more focused on how to explain she doesn’t exactly intend to serve tables….

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, Ma’am.”

Lin snorts, shaking her head as she points toward an eye scanner nearby. “Ma’am; Now I’ve heard everything. Listen Kiddo, call me Lin, work as hard as you’re polite, and I doubt we’ll have a problem.”

“T-thank you.”

Beatrice rises in order to approach the eye scanner, blinking as the invasive red light does its job, before stepping back again, though she doesn’t retake her seat immediately, meeting Lin’s eyes instead as she hopes the woman will notice the instrument case in her grip and assume the obvious.

Lin’s gaze is vacant for but a moment, and then she nods as she refocuses her attention on Beatrice.

“Well, Miss Swain, you’re in luck, because we’re always in need of hard-working hands. Now: We have afternoon and night shifts, the latter of which pays much better, for obvious reasons. Tuesdays - also known as game nights - Fridays, and weekends then to also be much busier. I assume you’re still a student?”

No such luck, it seems.

Beatrice nods, though she quickly raises the case in her grip to chest level before the misunderstanding could blossom any further.

“I’m still a student, yes, but… I was h-hoping to play here… Instead of serving tables.”

Another cheer erupts, matching Joel’s return, and Lin’s slightly dumbfounded expression.

Lowering the case, Beatrice hurries to search through her jacket pockets, nearly dropping the information recording device in the process of placing it atop the counter in front of them.

“T-these are a sample of some of the songs I composed, and a video of a live concert I took part in last week. I-it was a competition, and I w-won first place….”

Both Lin and Joel stare at Beatrice for a moment, before exchanging a glance.

“She says she wants to play here,” Lin clarifies, shrugging as she turns and heads back into the kitchen, undoubtedly to grab the next set of readied orders.

Joel levels Beatrice, then the case resting against her leg, with a look filled with newfound curiosity.

“Live music, eh?”

“Y-yes.”

Joel scratches his chin as his gaze wanders over the packed place for a moment, before settling on Beatrice once more. “Not a terrible idea, and I suppose we might be able to arrange something fairly easily… How many hours do you figure you could play at a time?”

H-hours?

N-no, she should be happy he’s considering her proposal at all… Best to be honest and set her boss’s expectations on the realistic side of things.

“I’m used to rehearsing three to four hours at a time, Sir, though I figure performing in front of a live audience would be a lot more tiring…?”

Joel nods. “Best to start with two hours and see if you can keep up, then. Say what, we’ll give it a shot this Thursday… Unless you have something else planned?”

Beatrice is quick to shake her head, to which Joel smiles and nods, before continuing.

“We’ll give it a shot this Thursday, and see how well you’re received. I figure there shouldn’t be any issues… But you never know. Our little test drive running smoothly, we’ll come up with a contract for you, and speak long-term. How does that sound?”

Beatrice quickly performs a half curtsy. “Thank you very much for the opportunity, Sir.”

“T-there’s no need for so much formality, Missy. Music tends to be popular, and if you’re winning competitions, I doubt you’ll fail to attract customers. If it goes well, I’m the one who should be thanking you, really.”

Her face heating slightly, Beatrice raises her gaze again, meeting Joel’s. “T-thank you.”

He nods. “Things should be quiet enough Thursday that we’ll be able to arrange everything then. Just remember you’ll be performing, so make sure to arrive prepared for it… Let’s say, at six? Will you be out of school by then?”

Beatrice bites her lip. If she came straight from school, six might be doable, but…

“I… I think so…?”

Joel laughs. “Don’t worry, your expression tells me enough. Let’s make it seven, yes? And we hope everything is ready for your performance by eight, which will last until ten. Live music night… Not a terrible idea, not at all.”

Joel nods to himself, smiling, as Beatrice feels the floor is about to disappear from beneath her feet.

It’s happening… It worked… And not because she blackmailed someone… Not because Seijuro stepped in for her… It worked!

And as the pub erupts in cheers around her for a fourth time, Beatrice finds herself smiling.

This is it. A humble beginning, certainly, but more than her family thought her capable of… She’ll show them, and everybody else. She’ll crawl her way to the top if that’s what it takes, and in the end, they’ll regret having cast her aside…

After settling the details of their plan with Joel, Beatrice leaves the pub with her head held high, barely sparing a glance as she crosses paths with a red-eyed girl, who, having obviously been crying, heads straight for the table of boys Joel showed her earlier.

Ignoring the shouting match that started behind her as she exits the place, Beatrice smiles.

Her steps are light, approaching hops, as she heads for, and then through, accursed seven flights of stairs in order to reach her one-room apartment, where, after carefully setting aside her violin case and carelessly kicking away her shoes, Beatrice throws herself in bed and performs several small screams against her pillow, working through several days of tattered nerves since she decided to give the idea of finding a part-time job a try.

She was ready to give them a demonstration today… And to think her entire conversation with Joel and Lin took less than half an hour… Is it so simple for everybody? Was she wrong in being so afraid?

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Beatrice curls in bed and she hugs her pillow, her thoughts soon spiraling in the one direction she doesn’t want them to.

She might as well attempt to stop the sun from rising, for all the good resisting the urge to think about Seijuro these past days has brought her.

Beatrice sighs. From experience, she knows she won’t be able to fall asleep until giving it a try, so she might as well get it out of the way now.

‘System, connect to Seijuro Aston, please.’

‘…Miss Aston does not wish to be bothered at the moment.’

And there it is. She could send another message, but to what end? Seijuro might already be mad over the dozen or so unread messages she left over the week since they last saw each other at the festival…

She must have a good reason... Right? Something princess-related. Something Beatrice wouldn’t be able to help with, even if Seijuro trusted her enough to.

“Still, would it kill her to reply once?” Beatrice murmurs while squeezing her pillow tighter, “I thought we were making progress, and then she ignores me for a week?”

In all fairness, Seijuro didn’t ignore Beatrice, per se, as much as she disappeared. From school, from the media, from everything. Not even Melinda seemed able to reach her this past week, something which might’ve made Beatrice feel slightly better about the whole thing, if not for the bottomless pit of worry that seemed to grow in her after every new day without news regarding the princess.

Beatrice groans.

She needs to come up with a plan for the pub. Should she play something lively, or soothing? What would people prefer to listen to while dining, surrounded by their friends?

Another groan, this time, as she shifts in bed and ends up having her gaze drawn by the headgear discarded near the room’s corner after she received it the previous day for winning the concert.

Eden… Seijuro mentioned something related to it, didn’t she? Something about expecting news related to her mother during the game’s announcement (which Beatrice finally took the time to watch after the aforementioned talk).

Could the princess’s disappearance be connected to that…?

Beatrice has never cared much for games. However, if Eden is even remotely connected to the reason Seijuro suddenly disappeared…

Well… What’s the worst that could happen?

 

***

Fioro, Inner City, Paradise

Sara adjusts her mask for what feels like the thousandth time since starting to wear it. Neon light oscillates throughout her diminished field of vision, and the music seems to vibrate in the air of the large underground streets of Paradise as she weaves through dancing half-naked people.

Though she’s never comfortable going Incognito, Sara is no stranger to Paradise, having searched through the place for a way to find her biological parents more times than she cares to count, and having quickly learned night and day don’t seem to impact it, or its inhabitant’s ability to party, as Paradise seems to exist in a constant state of revelry.

Being one of the few, if not the only public place in the city where citizens are allowed to inebriate and drug themselves legally, Sara is still more than a year away from being allowed entrance… Not that the small detail has ever stopped her before.

Still, despite her experience, and sobriety, time and space are still difficult to manage when surrounded by the vibrating atmosphere of the place, and Sara finds herself searching for reference points as she stops below a group of hovering skateboarders, their masks shinning some sort of strange black light as they perform maneuvers in a circle of their own making, observed by many of the Incognitos nearby.

‘I do believe we took a wrong left turn three streets ago, Miss Palmer.’

Sara sighs. Why wouldn’t it have warned her then?

‘All right, fine. Show me the damn GPS already, this place is giving me a headache.’

However, as her request receives no answer even after several seconds, Sara blinks, giving her surroundings a quick scan, then stepping out of the way and leaning against a nearby wall. She pretends to watch the show, hoping the skaters are attracting more attention than her weird behavior.

‘Hello?! GPS, now!’

And still, nothing happens for several seconds more.

‘…Where to, Miss Palmer?’

What?

‘The fuck? You know where we are going… You even corrected me two seconds ago! Is this another of your weird AI jokes?’

A skater abruptly plummets toward the ground, maneuvering his board mere centimeters from a crash as he is closely followed by the rest, their dangerous trick receiving loud, excited screams in response.

‘…Where to, Miss Palmer?’

As always, the System’s voice carries no perceived intonation… Right? No sarcasm? No bitterns?

Strange. Still, Sara has no time to ponder upon the AI’s weird behavior, lest she arrives even later than she already is.

‘Blake’s workshop… Where you were “born”, remember? Now show me the way.’

‘…Command accepted.’

A small map appears before her, hovering half a meter or so to her left, and Sara pulls away from the wall in order to follow the red line cutting through it. Unsurprisingly, the AI was correct about her taking a wrong turn…

Much of Paradise’s upper levels are composed of what might as well have been a giant nightclub, cared for by the “gangs” of Fioro, who keep trouble inside to a minimum, by force if necessary, and are easily recognizable by their ever-present hovering skateboards.

Sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling, and simi-illegal bots… Sara even heard the place hosts underground races somewhere, though she never cared enough to check them out personally. When your AI could pilot better than you, what’s the point?

Amidst dancing, kissing, and… Ahem… Incognitos, Sara moves with confidence and purpose, knowing it to be the best way to keep anyone from approaching, or worse, wondering where she’s going, or if she belongs.

Finally.

Spotting her ticket downwards, Sara doesn’t hesitate to head in the platform’s direction, already half-filled by Incognito’s waiting for its scheduled descent in a myriad of masks shining in different colors.

Sara abruptly steps back, however, as a hovering skateboarder suddenly bars her way by descending from above, their gaze, steel-like, staring straight into Sara's eyes from behind a demon mask shining in black.

“State your business, Incognito.”

One of them followed her?! She stopped for a damn second!

Heartbeat thundering against her ears, Sara swallows and performs a quick, sarcastic curtsy in the woman’s direction, forcing herself not to avert her gaze as she adds only the right amount of sarcasm and lightness to her tone, “Why, Your Highness, I didn’t know Paradise crowned a new queen recently! Congratulations!”

“Hilarious. Now answer my question, or I’ll make sure you’re barred for the next century from entering.”

Sara blinks, feigning confusion, and newfound sobriety, as she retorts, “Wow there girl, didn’t mean to offend… I’ll answer your question, but can I ask why I’ve been made to lose my platform?”

The skateboarder glances over her shoulder, just in time to catch the last masked head as it disappears from sight, before aiming Sara her cold gaze once more.

“You look suspicious… And we’re supposed to keep the order around. Now answer the question.”

Sara smiles. “I have, had, an appointment. Blake’s Workshop.”

Please have heard of it. Please have heard of it. Please have heard of it. Please have heard of it…

“…Never heard of it.”

Containing a stream of curses from escaping, Sara shrugs as she showcases the woman her open palms. “Then I suppose we’re both out of luck. Now may I continue on my way? Pretty please?”

Before the skateboarder can answer, however, another descends at her back, hovering slightly above their heads as his ogre mask shines a soft glow of green and attracts both of their gazes.

“Wait, Clara. You there, girl, tell me your name.”

Feigning impatience while tapping her foot softly, Sara rolls her eyes. “…Mockingbird. Satisfied?”

The newly arrived male skateboarder nods. “Her name’s on the list for tonight, Clara. Let it go.”

Female skateboarder, Clara, gives Sara one last look, shaking her head as she ascends her board and rejoins her black-masked companions without another word.

Sara releases a small sigh of relief as the ogre-masked man descends to hover near the ground, jumping as he beckons the board to rise again and grabs it.

“List? Blake never mentioned anything about a list.”

The man snorts as he approaches. “That’s probably because your name’s the only one on it, love.”

“Oh.”

“You’re lucky I spotted you when I did. Clara is known for taking her nonjob very seriously… Anyway, let’s go, I was told you’re late.”

The man releases his board in front of Sara, where it hovers innocently as she gives the object a glance, then turns to him, incredulous.

“You can’t be serious. I don’t even know you.”

The man rolls his eyes. “When you didn’t show up on time, Blake asked me to find you. And people do a lot worse around here with people they don’t know… It’s kinda the whole point.”

Eyeing the board again, Sara considers the merits of simply refusing, or at least sending Blake a message to confirm he did, in fact, send someone after her.

“I’ve never been in one of these before,” Sara admits.

“Don’t worry, it practically drives itself... I mean, it literally drives itself. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone crashing one of them before.”

The man steps over the hovering board with practiced ease, extending his hand in her direction as he waits.

Well, he did know her codename… And she’s already late…

Taking a deep breath, Sara grabs his hand and steps over the board, releasing a small scream as it immediately ascends, and the man’s soft laughter resonates against her back.

“I would avoid moving suddenly if I were you… The thing I told you about having never seen a crash? It might have a been slight exaggeration.”

Sara might have cursed him, not for the imminent approach of the floor’s edge having her immediate and undivided attention.

“W-wait, I think I changed my mind! Let me do-”

As the underground world of Paradise emerges before her vision, Sara feels her stomach rising, a scream stuck in her throat. Down, and down, and down, swaying through buildings, columns, and alleys, the hoverboard seems to have no problem crossing through small openings as it accelerates downward, and then forward.

Still, few heads turn to watch them pass, and as the board narrowly avoids crashing over and over again, Sara grows less and less afraid, even as her heart thunders loudly into her ears.

“This…! This is awesome! I never realized how big this place really is!” Sara screams over the wind, her laughter now perceived clearly within her tone.

“You’ve seen nothing, love!”

Suddenly, her ogre-masked rider takes an abrupt turn toward the closest wall, using it as a track for the board as Sara finds her perspective upon the world rapidly changed, then restored, as the board stabilizes once more.

“The AI will stop you from crashing ten out of nine point nine times! The secret is to know how far you can push it before that happens!”

After spinning several times in rapid succession, the board retakes its descending trajectory, scaring a group of Incognitos as it scrapes by a bridge on its way down.

“We’re almost there now!” the masked man announces.

Indeed, Sara quickly recognizes the signs pointing out that the revelry is over in the distinctive lack of partying Incognitos nearby.

As the air grows hotter and the neon lights scarcer, the board lowers its speed considerably, before stopping entirely as it reaches the front of a three-story building at the very edge of light, where Sara knows, if she sharpens her hearing enough, she might still be able to hear the music.

“There, delivered safe and sound.”

Stepping down immediately, Sara curses her wobbling legs as she attempts to maintain her balance for several seconds, barely being able to in the end.

“You’re…  You’re an asshole!” she points out in between rasped breaths and chuckles.

The man laughs. “You enjoyed it!”

“You’re still an asshole!”

Still laughing, he shrugs. “Fair enough, you won’t find many out there to call me an angel. Now go, Blake is waiting for you.”

Without another word, the man takes off in his board as he heads toward the neon-illuminated underground city above, ignoring Sara’s middle finger raised toward his back.

Now alone, Sara shakes her head as she continues chuckling for a moment still.

He’s right in that she enjoyed it, of course; As scary as the dive might have been. And if the experience taught her something, is that the next board she’s hopping on will be hers.

Something for another time.

Already beginning to sweat under her mask, Sara scans her eyes over the darkness spreading to her left, gazing over the colossal scrapyard extending beyond a short parapet at the street’s end and directly adjacent to Blake’s treasured workshop.

Even as she stands at its edge, watching, the occasional shadowy shape falls through the dark toward the giant heaping of metal upon metal… And across the cemetery of bots, product of some of Elysium’s largest factories, responsible for much of their special glass and metal production, fire shoots into the dark, showcasing a buzz of near-endless activity on part of its many works and giant machines.

…She should go in.

Sara sighs as she averts her eyes from the scene and heads toward the slightly rundown - if well cared for - metallic workshop.