CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Job Offer

  Kate

  The City of New Haven blurred past as the girl leaned into her moped, weaving between pedestrians and dodging cars with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The wind whipped her hair back, tangling it as she sped through narrow streets and open boulevards. Music blasted in her ears, the pounding beat of a high-energy track drowning out the city's noise. She barely slowed for corners, tires screeching slightly as she made sharp turns, the engine whining in protest.

  At last, she skidded to a stop in front of an old house, her moped still protesting violently as it halted. She hopped off, grabbing the insulated food container strapped to the back. The smell of meat and spices wafted up as she opened it, but she ignored the rumble of her own stomach. Slinging the container over one shoulder, she jogged to the door, her boots slapping against the cracked pavement.

  She jabbed the doorbell repeatedly, a rapid-fire assault that echoed through the building. After a long moment, the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man more interested in his phone call than in her. He didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he snatched the bag and tapped his phone against hers. A beep signaled the credit transfer. Without so much as a thank you, he turned and disappeared back inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

  “Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at the closed door. Her fingers itched to break the door down, but she forced herself to breathe, clenching her fists instead. ‘Kate, no point in losing your cool over one more rude customer,’ she thought, forcing herself to turn around.

  She trudged back to her moped, mounting it with a practiced swing of her leg. Pulling out her phone, she checked for new orders. The screen showed nothing—no customers waiting, no deliveries to make. “Great, and it’s already getting dark,” she muttered, clicking her tongue in annoyance.

  With a resigned sigh, she shoved her phone back into her pocket, revved the engine, and set off. This time, she took it slower, winding her way through the busy streets of New Haven. She let the music carry her, the adrenaline of her earlier rush fading into a steady rhythm as she cruised through the city. The streets felt more alive at this slower pace, with crowds gathered around food stalls, their chatter filling the air. But as she rounded a corner, her gaze locked onto a newly formed Sphere in the distance. Its surface shimmered with a dull, ominous red glow.

  “Red one, huh?” she muttered to herself, feeling a jolt of fear at seeing the color, knowing full well that anything else then blue meant certain death when trapped inside, no matter how fast you ran to the edge. Her mind quickly ran through the usual drill—wondering which Guild had been tapped to clear it out, and how long it would take before they actually bothered. ‘They’re probably gonna milk it for another few months,’ she thought bitterly, ‘while the rest of us have to live with that reminder of hell staring us in the face.’

  A pang of anger shot through her, a sudden tightness in her chest. Each Sphere stood as living proof of everything she’d lost—her stolen childhood, the parents she barely remembered, and the siblings she never had the chance to grow up alongside. She forced herself to look away, gripping the handlebars tighter as she focused on the road ahead.

  The ride home took longer than usual, the city lights streaking by as the sky faded into twilight. Eventually, she pulled up in front of a dilapidated apartment complex, the kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone minded their own business. She parked her moped against a rusted railing, securing it with two heavy-duty chains and locks. She knew better than to leave it unsecured in this part of town; things had a way of disappearing around here.

  She trudged into the building and stopped at the row of grimy mailboxes by the entrance. A quick check revealed only junk mail—takeout flyers and overdue bills she’d been ignoring. Shoving them into her bag, she turned towards the elevator, only to see the ‘Out of Order’ sign still taped to its doors.

  “Of course,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she headed for the stairwell. By the time she reached the fifth floor, her legs burned, and she cursed under her breath with each step. ‘One day,’ she promised herself, ‘I’ll live somewhere with a working damn elevator.’

  Finally, she reached her door and dug her keys out of her jacket pocket. She slid them into the lock and pushed the door open, stepping into the cramped space she called home. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned back against it, letting out a long, weary sigh as she slid down to the floor, knees pulled up to her chest.

  “What the fuck am I going to do about rent?” she muttered, tugging out her earphones and running a hand through her short brown hair, leaving it sticking up in messy spikes. ‘Probably need to head into a Dead zone again, see if I can find some jewelry in houses or exposed Glass pieces,’ she thought, hesitating as memories flashed through her mind. The last two trips had been rough—the first time, she’d barely escaped from a strange Breacher; the second time, that same Breacher had stalked her inside a house, taunting her from the shadows.

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  “I’ll worry about credits later. First, food,” she sighed, pushing herself to her feet. She flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. The room stayed pitch dark.

  “Great,” she grumbled, squinting up at the ceiling where her lamp was. The weak moonlight from the window barely cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. She frowned, noticing the window ajar, the curtain swaying in the breeze. She didn’t remember leaving it open.

  Pulling her phone from her pocket, she used it as a flashlight. “Perfect end to a perfect shitty day,” she muttered, directing the beam of light toward the floor to see where she stepped.

  Before she could even make a single step, a deep voice cut through the darkness. “Are you always this crude?”

  Her heart leapt into her throat as a scream tore from her lips. She nearly dropped her phone in panic. The light jerked wildly as she fumbled, finally managing to aim it toward the source of the voice. The beam revealed a hooded figure against the far wall, arms crossed, face hidden in shadow.

  “Take a deep breath,” the man said, voice smooth but tinged with amusement. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “What the fuck?” she gasped, sinking back down to the floor, knees trembling. “You scared the piss out of me.”

  The hooded figure kicked something across the floor toward her. A small backpack slid to a stop at her feet, spilling open. She glanced down, recognizing the contents instantly—it was all the stuff she’d scavenged from the Dead zones. Jewelry, bits of Glass, some old bottles, her drone. Her heart pounded harder with each item she recognized.

  “What… what’s going on?” she stammered, eyes widening as the man pushed off the wall and took a few slow steps toward her, staying just out of the light’s reach. “Are you going to kill me?”

  The figure paused, the hood shifting slightly as if considering the question. “Not tonight,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I’m here to make you a job offer.”

  “What?” she said, eyes wide as she shifted left and right, searching for an escape. “What kind of job?”

  Before the man answered, a piece of Glass dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The sound made her flinch. She stared at it, her breath catching in her throat. “I want to hire you to retrieve Glass from a dead zone and teach me everything you can about it. That and other useful skills,” the figure said, tone calm but with a hint of something darker beneath.

  The hooded figure squatted down, pressing a finger against the Glass. He tapped lightly, the sound echoing in the small room. As she watched, she noticed something strange about the man’s fingers, like they were covered in some kind of material—almost like gloves, but thicker, more rigid.

  “You’ll get paid full price for each piece,” the figure continued, voice steady, each word confusing her more. “Similar to what Breachers get paid, but off the books.”

  She swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Part of her wanted to scream at the weirdo to get the fuck out, to tell him to shove his offer where the sun didn’t shine. But she couldn’t help but freeze at the mention of full price. That was a far better deal than the meager cuts she usually got from Breachers and collectors.

  “Why the hell would I agree to that? All you Breachers are proper twats,” she spat out, trying to push herself to her feet, but her knees buckled, protesting the sudden movement.

  “Because… I’m not like any other Breacher you ever worked for,” the figure said, tapping the Glass again, a soft metallic tick filling the silence. He slowly pulled its hoodie back, revealing a strange metal and plastic face that wasn’t a face at all. “Nor is the one that made me.” Three lenses embedded in its head lit up with a bright blue glow, flickering to life and illuminating its inhuman features. “You in?”

  Her eyes widened further, mouth agape, as she struggled to make sense of what she saw. She tried to speak, her lips moving silently several times, but no words came out. Every fiber in her body urged her to run, to bolt down the stairs and call for help. But she stayed rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away from the robot and the piece of Glass on the floor. Her eyes hardened as she stared at the latter, memories of monsters flashing through her mind. Each one of those pieces had once been a living nightmare.

  “You… you’re asking… an Orphan of the Great Impact… to look around for Glass… for a job? A person who lost her entire family… to those… things?”

  “Yes,” the robot answered swiftly, voice calm, as if it had anticipated her reaction.

  “Fuck you,” she muttered, surprised by the venom in her own voice. “Fuck all of you.” She closed her eyes, feeling the cold, jagged surface of the Glass bite into her skin as she picked it up. Pain flared through her hand, but she clung to it, using the sharp sting to ground herself. Her legs trembled as she pushed herself upright, leaning against the door for support, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “What do I call you?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Fuck you,” she repeated, voice shaking, but her grip on the Glass only tightened, drawing blood.

  “Specter,” it replied, the glow from its lenses flickering slightly. “The Breacher who made me is Marcus. He’s the one you pepper sprayed.”

  “I’ve dealt with a lot of weird Breachers before. Each one a greedy cunt, only out for fame or credits. Why is this Marcus cunt doing this?” she demanded, needing to hear something that made sense of the madness unfolding around her.

  “He’s like you—he’s lost everything because of the Great Impact,” Specter said, its tone almost fragile for a moment. “He’s doing this to grow, to make sure he’s strong enough for what comes next.”

  Specter’s gaze stayed locked on her, the three lenses on its face shifting focus, glowing brighter for a brief second as if assessing her reaction. “He wants to destroy every Sphere out there to protect what remains of his family. He wants retribution.”

  She held the robot’s gaze, every instinct still urging her to flee, to escape this impossible situation. But instead, she extended her blood-stained hand, the Glass pieces biting into her palm. Specter mirrored the gesture, its metallic hand steady as she dropped the Glass into its waiting grip.

  “Every Sphere, huh?” she asked, watching as the robot slid the Glass back into its hoodie. “I can work with that,” she said, forcing a confidence she didn’t quite feel, her knees still threatening to buckle. “But I want to see it for myself.”

  “See what?” Specter asked, unblinking.

  “See this Marcus destroy an actual Sphere. I want to see him ripping out an Orb and killing every single monster out there. I want to see him avenge humanity with my own two eyes.”

  She held out her bloodied hand again, this time in a gesture of agreement. Specter took it without hesitation, its cold, unyielding grip a stark contrast to her trembling fingers.

  “Specter, huh?” she said, a shaky smile finally breaking through. “I’m Kate Dekker.”