First job

The next morning, Sol woke up to the buzzing sound of his communicator. Groaning, he rolled over, barely cracking an eye open as he reached for it. The screen flickered, displaying an incoming message from the old man.

"Rise and shine, traveler. Your first delivery job starts today. Come to the bar when you're ready."

Sol sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before sitting up. It had been a while since he had something resembling a steady job. Even if this was just running errands, it was better than getting caught up in something dangerous like the gangs back on Galvaris Prime. He stretched before hopping into the shower, letting the warm water wake him up properly.

After stepping out, he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused. His hair had grown longer than he remembered, now reaching past his shoulders. With a thoughtful hum, he grabbed a tie and pulled it back into a ponytail, leaving a few loose strands to frame his face. It gave him a sharper, more refined look—less of a scrappy street kid, more of someone who knew what he was doing. Satisfied, he grabbed his jacket and headed out.

After dressing in something practical—a dark jacket, comfortable boots, and his usual utility pants—he grabbed Peach, who had been snoring in the corner, and made his way to the Sparking Den.

The bar was already lively by the time he got there, filled with early patrons nursing drinks and the occasional gambler fresh off a win—or a loss. The raccoon girl, already working, flicked her ears toward him as he entered, then smirked. But before she could say anything, she paused, her eyes lingering on him longer than usual.

Sol caught the look and smirked. "You want a picture? You're staring pretty hard."

Her ears twitched, and a faint pink dusted her cheeks before she scowled and shot back, "Fuck off."

Sol rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the counter where the old man was waiting, arms crossed. "Good, you're here," the old man grunted. "Your first run's simple. Take these crates to Marlowe's Provisionsin the Main Market District."

Sol glanced at the crates stacked behind the counter. "That's it?"

The old man gave him a look. "That's it. No smuggling, no underground dealings—just bottles of booze and a few specialty ingredients. Simple job. You get it there in one piece, you get paid."

Sol lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds too easy."

The raccoon girl chuckled, shaking her head. "That's what they all say."

With Peach trailing beside him, Sol loaded the crates onto a rented hover-cart and set off toward the Main Market District.

The Luminara District had its quirks, but the Main Market District was an entirely different beast. Towering neon signs advertised everything from cybernetic enhancements to organic-grown produce, and the streets were packed with merchants hawking their wares. Floating platforms carried goods from one level to another, while a mix of humans and alien species bustled about, haggling and exchanging credits.

Sol maneuvered through the chaos, keeping an eye on his cart. The old man's words echoed in his mind—"no smuggling, no underground dealings." That was fine by him, but in a place like this, it was easy to get caught up in something unintended.

He was halfway to Marlowe's Provisions when he noticed something odd.

A pair of eyes watching him from across the street.

He kept his pace steady but took a subtle glance. A man in a tattered brown coat was lingering near a food stall, pretending to browse but clearly keeping Sol in sight. Another glance revealed a second figure, a woman leaning against a wall, her gaze locked on him as well.

Sol exhaled through his nose. Here we go.

Rather than make a scene, he turned into a less crowded alleyway, ducking into a side path lined with supply crates and old vendor stalls. As expected, the two figures followed.

He set the hover-cart down and turned. "Alright, let's cut the theatrics. What do you want?"

The man in the brown coat stepped forward, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Easy there, kid. No need to get jumpy."

Sol narrowed his eyes. "People don't tail strangers in the market for fun."

The woman spoke up this time, her tone calm but firm. "We just want to talk. You're new here. And you're working for the old man at Lover's Bar. That makes you interesting."

Sol crossed his arms. "I'm just a delivery guy. Nothing special."

The man smirked. "Maybe. But in a place like this, people notice newcomers. Especially ones who look like they know their way around trouble."

Sol tilted his head, studying them. They weren't just curious bystanders—they knew things. He had a feeling that if he engaged, he'd be stepping into something bigger than just deliveries. But at the same time… information was valuable.

He sighed. "Fine. You got five minutes. Talk."

The conversation was revealing, if not outright concerning. The two introduced themselves as Rhett and Lena, freelance couriers who worked for multiple businesses across the city-ship. They weren't part of any major syndicate, but they had connections. According to them, certain people were watching the movements of Lover's Bar—more than usual.

"The old man has always been careful," Rhett said, glancing at the crates. "But recently, there's been more interest in what he's doing. New suppliers, new shipments. Some folks are asking questions."

Sol frowned. "What kind of questions?"

Lena crossed her arms. "The kind that usually lead to unwanted attention."

That didn't sit right with Sol. The old man had made it clear—no illegal dealings. But if people were sniffing around, then something wasn't adding up.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sol asked, watching them carefully.

Rhett shrugged. "Because you seem like someone who doesn't like being caught off guard. And because if things go south, it's better to have more people aware of what's happening."

Lena nodded. "Consider it a friendly warning."

Sol studied them both, then glanced down at Peach, who had been quiet but alert the whole time. Finally, he exhaled. "Noted."

With that, he picked up the hover-cart again and continued on his way.

But the unease lingered.

Something was brewing in the city, and whether he liked it or not, he was already caught in the current.

But after thinking about it, he just chuckled to himself. He really didn't have to worry much. His confidence had soared after unlocking his abilities—not in an arrogant way, but in a way that made him fully aware of his own capabilities. With his illusion affinity, if he didn't want to be found, then he wouldn't be. A cold light flashed across his eyes for a second. He was no longer a sewer rat on the run; he had his freedom, and there was no way in hell he would let anyone mess with it.

With that settled in his mind, he simply whistled and kept moving toward Marlowe's Provisions. Behind him, Lena and Rhett exchanged glances, a little skeptical of his carefree attitude as they watched him disappear into the crowd.