Chapter 3: Still Alive Today
Roque's eyes snapped open as he lay in bed.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up, checking the clock. It was already late afternoon. Reddish-yellow sunset light filtered in through the window. For once, Midland's weather was decent.
Roque shuffled slowly to the bathroom sink and turned on the faucet. After splashing cold water on his face a few times, his mind sharpened. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared into the mirror.
A black-haired man with dripping water gazed back at him.
His black eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts or depths. Scars crisscrossed his bare torso—from faint, old marks to fresh, jagged gashes slashing across his upper body. Proof of his survival.
Roque stared at the man for a moment, then smirked crookedly.
"Still alive today."
As he spoke, the man's lips in the mirror moved too. Roque watched, then turned away. Enough self-pity—it had its limits, or he'd start feeling pathetic even alone.
As he grabbed a stray towel to roughly dry off, the holographic phone buzzed. He activated the screen. Philip's face appeared.
"What? Just waking up now?"
"Yeah."
"Come to my office today."
Roque tossed the used towel into the corner.
"On my way, then."
"Good. Take your time."
The screen went dark. Roque's reflection distorted slightly in the black glass as he stood and moved.
He threw on some clothes, holstered his pistol at his side, and clipped a palm-sized rod—commonly called an Aura Blade—to his belt. Like the holster, it had a sheath for drawing and sheathing. Finally, he shrugged on a loose jacket and strode to the door.
Before leaving, he glanced back. A typical bachelor's room: sparse and bleak. It would feel even emptier once he was gone.
Roque lingered for a moment, then shut the door behind him.
The Black Knight's black body rumbled low along the road.
The sky above was still bluish, one side of the clouds glowing red from the sunset. But the towering buildings blocked the sun, leaving the streets dim. It was as if the whole city street was trapped in a deep basement, starved of light.
Instead, neon signs flashed brazenly at pedestrians, and shop lights glowed pale against the dark.
The signs reflected off the Black Knight's glass and hood, shifting wildly into indescribable blobs of light. But Roque's eyes were drawn not to the glare, but to the slow-moving people beneath it.
People heading somewhere, or nowhere. Varied in looks and size, but under the glowing lights overhead, they all blurred into a uniform crowd. City folk.
Roque soon looked away. He had somewhere to be.
The black muscle car slid down the main road, then turned into a narrower alley. The street grew dirtier, more brazen.
The Black Knight pulled up at the roadside. The growling engine cut off, and Roque stepped out.
He glanced up at the seven-story building, straightened his jacket with a flick, and walked toward it.
There was no front door— just an open entrance. Inside, stairs led up. Exposed concrete floors, walls, and pillars showed shoddy finishing.
Roque climbed briskly. On the third-floor hallway, he stopped at a steel door. A small wooden plaque hung beside it.
Real Estate & Used Cars
Various Transaction Brokerage
Roque chuckled and pressed the button beside it. A buzz sounded, followed by a voice.
"Who is it?"
"Roque."
"Ah, you're here. Come in."
The steel door clanged open. Roque entered, passed a short corridor, and reached Philip's office. Philip greeted him.
"Welcome, Roque."
The walls were lined with file cabinets. A large desk sat in the center, with a low table and a few plush sofas in front—for clients.
And on one sofa sat another human besides Philip.
A woman. Short black hair exposing her neckline and ears. A tailored black suit with vest. Her white skin and shirt created stark black-and-white contrast.
She sat with legs crossed, her high-heeled shoe tip gleaming. Half-reclined, she eyed Roque with keen interest.
Roque met her gaze briefly, then turned to Philip.
"The client?"
"Yeah. Have a seat."
Roque sat on the opposite sofa. Their eyes locked. He was expressionless; she slowly curved her lips into a faint smile.
Before Philip could introduce, she spoke.
"So you're Roque."
"And you're the client."
"I've heard a lot about you."
"Rumors?"
Her blue eyes burned. Sharp features and that gaze created an intense aura.
"They say there's an Aura Master mercenary in Midland's scene. No ties to corps or government agencies."
Roque showed no reaction to her intensity.
"I'm that Aura Master?"
"Aren't you?"
Roque scratched his jaw with his thumb. Stubble rasped.
"Let's talk business. You need someone for a quick job."
She watched him with a strange look, as if staring hard enough would reveal the truth. But she soon smiled brightly.
"Fine. It's simple. Go to the spot I give you, pick up some items."
"If it's that simple, why not go yourself?"
She shook her head.
"I want to avoid exposure if possible. I'm a magician."
"Don't like meeting people?"
"Ordinary folks? No issue. But these guys with the goods are far from ordinary—real scum."
Roque tilted his head.
"What are the goods?"
"Artificial gland serums and hormone manipulators. Plus a few data chips. All illegal, of course."
Textbook illegal. Merc work danced on the law-crime line, and Roque had dealt such goods before. Shady clinics requested them outright; even central hospitals sometimes.
"Payment's done. Just say my name there and take the goods."
"Does that really need a merc?"
She shrugged lightly.
"World's unpredictable. I need someone to grab my stuff if things go south."
"You talk like they will."
"Hm. Yeah, probably."
Her smile deepened. Alluring, yet dangerous.
"That's why I'm paying top dollar for you."
Roque eyed the smile, then asked.
"Your name?"
"Melissa."
"You taking it?"
Philip asked the moment Melissa left. Roque nodded. Whatever beef she had with those criminals was secondary; for him, it was straightforward.
Go to the spot, grab the goods clean—or dance with blades and pocket extra cash.
"You said you knew her."
Philip frowned at Roque's question.
"Not her. The guy I know was supposed to come today... but this morning, she messaged she'd come instead. Probably dumped it on him. Or maybe she sought you out from the start."
Roque sipped the belated coffee Philip had poured.
"My rep spreading in the city?"
"How could it not? Though most dismiss it as urban legend. Like the past five years."
Philip lifted his cup too.
"But some, like her, seek you out. Maybe it's time you swam with the big fish."
Roque gave a dry chuckle.
"A blade-for-hire like me? Big leagues?"
"...Fair. For real big leagues, you'd have joined a corp security detail. Anyway, I'll tell her you're on."
Philip fell silent, staring blankly ahead—connecting via holographic implant to message Melissa.
Roque, with no implants or even a socket, needed to activate his holo-phone for face-to-face talks. But in Midland, most did it that way: phone lines, cyber space, and magic spells. Rumors said some corp researched ocean-spanning comms. Though cyber space's growing mysteries stalled progress.
Philip blinked after a moment.
"Hm. Sent the meet details and time to your vehicle's terminal. Her address too—deliver straight there."
Roque rose from the deep sofa, business done. He strode out without farewell.
Philip called after him.
"Be careful. Get your pay from me after."
Roque waved dismissively without turning.
Roque paused at the address Philip sent.
Stairs led underground, surrounded by alley punks—kids, really. His eyes passed them to the stairs. Thumping vibrations meant a club below.
After scanning, he sighed softly and headed down. One punk smoking and flirting looked up at his footsteps. He scowled, blocking Roque. Three burly guys followed.
The scruffy punk took a deep drag, exhaling smoke.
"Hey, old man. That getup to go in?"
"Problem?"
Roque replied calmly. The punk eyed him up and down. Roque's height forced big head shakes.
"...You a cop, old man?"
"No."
"Then here to pick up chicks like that?"
"Why not?"
The punk laughed in disbelief.
"Hah. Ballsy guy. Guess you need that confidence to get laid—"
"Forman should be down there."
"...Huh?"
Their eyes met. The punk froze. A faint glint deep in Roque's black eyes—like a cold blade at his neck.
Roque said.
"Know Melissa?"
The punk snapped out of it at the name.
"Ah, yeah. Heard about it... You're her?"
"Proxy. Take me to Forman."
The punk nodded and led the way down, glancing back puzzled—why he'd frozen, unaware his own posture had turned deferential.
Roque dusted his jacket and followed into the thumping underground noise.