Chapter 2: Irritating encounters

Walking to the other side of the street, Falco made a mental note to never enter his store again, not for the shopkeeper's sake but for his. If the people nearby could recognize him, they might attempt to rob him. Which wouldn't work but still, he feared the consequences of engaging in a brawl. How the protectors would imprison, rob and kill him instead. 

Through the window of the store, he could see them staring at him like vultures, but they made no attempt to follow him. They were fixated on him, as if preparing to stalk their hunt—to devour him. It was certain that some of them would try to do something to Falco if they were fortunate enough to meet him elsewhere. 

As he walked away, he placated himself, the cold grip of his knife was burying through his palm like a serpent coiled around its prey, silent yet ready to strike. The power he held wasn't something to scoff at. Although abandoned and filthy, Falco was capable of many harrowing things—albeit when it came to the right people... 

The streets he walked on were crowded and compact, the people he strolled by were either sick, deathly malnourished or young children, all ready to die a horrible death delt by the wicked streets they were on. He truly felt pity for them, whether sick or young, he genuinely wanted to relieve them from their suffering, nevertheless, he was forced to be a lifeguard in a story sea, surrounded by drowning people. 

The stores he saw were rudimentary at best, their catalogue of products limited by Regime—one couldn't live in luxury if they were surrounded by muck and filth after all. 

Exiting the crowded streets and arriving near the edge of the city, Falco was greeted by the sight of a tall, imposing building—his destination. The area around it was a stark contrast to the muck he had just left. Countless vehicles, many equipped with heavy weaponry designed to subjugate the mutated monsters of the zones, were parked nearby. 

Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, Falco paused for a moment to admire the automobiles, mesmerized by their sheer power and stature. It was no surprise that such expensive machinery was guarded closely. Battle-scarred security personnel, armed with assault rifles, patrolled the area, their eyes scanning for any slum dweller foolish enough to attempt theft. Falco, keen to avoid trouble, decided to take a longer route to the building's entrance, steering clear of the guards' watchful gazes. 

Finally reaching the entrance, Falco was met with the sight of a large terminal and a dozen individuals clad in lavish equipment and weaponry. The terminal, manned by ten busy receptionists, was surrounded by rows of people waiting their turn. Falco had been here before, though only under the guise of buying information. Now, he felt out of place in his dirty cloak and worn gloves, but he had no choice. This building belonged to the Zonal Expanse Federation ZEF, an organization supported and funded by the Regime. The ZEF played a crucial role in maintaining the security and well-being of the general population, employing zone hunters to explore the ruins of the old world and retrieve invaluable artifacts for the Regime and ZEF. 

Shunned and given the cold shoulder, Falco moved up towards the line, respecting the boundaries given. The people around him were much taller and fiercer than him, yet no one dared to cause a commotion. Whilst in the building and doing proper business, one would be near impossible to touch. Cameras and guns were scattered all around the room—deterring the potential terrorists away with the threat of gunfire or imprisonment. In addition, the building belonging to a subsidiary of the Regime also scared the potential wrongdoers, it was the only reason why Falco felt safe enough to come here in plain daylight. 

Reaching the front of the line, Falco was met with the sight of a stunning receptionist. Her polished demeanor and sharp attire contrasted starkly with the grimy atmosphere of the slums. Falco straightened his posture, pushing down any hint of nervousness. He couldn't afford to stutter or appear unprofessional—not here, not now. With a steadying breath, he began the conversation. 

"Good day to you, madam," he said, offering a polite smile. 

The receptionist barely glanced up, her tone flat and disinterested. "Hello, sir. How can we help you today at ZEF?" 

"I'm here to pay for an information delivery. It should be under the name Falco." 

Her fingers paused over the holographic keyboard, and she raised her eyes to meet his. "Is your name just Falco, or does it have a middle name?" 

Falco's stomach tightened. "No," he answered, his voice steady but his frown betraying his discomfort. 

In the city above, family names were more than a formality—they were a necessity. Those without one were branded as outcasts, relegated to the slums or forced into servitude. Even in the depths of poverty, most slum dwellers carried a middle name, a relic of their ancestors' pride. To have none was to be marked as the lowest of the low, scorned by both the Regime and society. The reactions to such a revelation were predictable: disgust, mockery, or worse. Falco usually kept this detail hidden, but ZEF's databanks were unforgiving. Lying here would mean death or imprisonment—no one escaped the Regime's watchful eye. 

The receptionist's fingers resumed their dance across the holographic keyboard, her expression unreadable. Information flickered across the screen, and after a moment, she spoke without looking up. "I see... You have an outstanding balance of 200 Kreds. How would you like to pay?" 

"Physical transfer would be good," Falco replied, reaching into his coat. 

Her lips thinned as she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Hand over the Kreds, and if you have nothing else to say, you can see yourself out." 

Falco hesitated, his hand hovering over the money in his coat. "I have another question," he said, his voice firm despite the tension in the air. '' Would you be able to inform me of any requests given near the 0-18 sector? Preferably an extermination job.'' 

Holding back a laugh, she covered her mouth with her hands, eyes gleaming with mockery. When she finally composed herself, she fixed Falco with a cold and disdainful glare. ''You?'' she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ''I don't think you're cut out for that kind of work. People like you should belong in the gutters, cleaning up filth. Maybe you should stick to what you know.'' 

Falco stared at her with disbelief etched across his face. His jaw tightening—his hope and conviction he'd carried with him crumpled like a paper and was tossed into a fire. Her words—sharp, condescending—cut deeper than any blade could. Each syllable resonated within him, stringing a storm of anger, shame and frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, his dirty nails dug deep into his palm, a faint pain compared to the sting of her words. His breath grew shallow, and it felt as if he was in an invisible cocoon, spun by some monstruous, unseen mutated spider. The urge to leave, to vanish, to never face her again, clawed at him. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not now. 

Falco's chest tightened with trepidation, his mind a vortex of apprehension and dread. But this time, he wouldn't let his cowardice dictate his response. Raising his head, his gaze locked onto her polished yet grotesque appearance in disdain. Summoning his courage, he steadied his voice and spoke, each word carried out with courage and tenacity. 

''I've come here to pay my debt, not to play your games!'' Falco snapped back, his fists slamming onto the desk, his voice cutting through the sterile hum of the terminal. ''Serve me as you would anybody else! What does it matter if I die on the request? Wouldn't that benefit you?'' 

The people around them turned to see the commotion. Their shocked figures mirroring the receptionist's surprise—no one dared imagine a hunter argue with a ZEF employee, let alone a slum dweller. With every word he spoke, their faces grew even more pale as the tension in the room kept building up, almost to an unbearable level. 

As the people in the room scattered and left the building, the receptionist grew even more impatient, her nail tapping gradually intensifying on the counter. Each patron who walked out meant fewer Kreds in her pocket, and Falco's outburst was costing her dearly. She needed to solve this problem fast. 

Watching one of her last patrons leave, she lowered her gaze to Falco's level, her eyes gleaming in disdain. Lowering her gaze even further, she watched as the holographic screen showed her earnings drop exponentially. The disdain she once felt grew into unfiltered hate—Falco had made her lose too much in so little time. Wanting to get her revenge, she decided to bring Falco down with her. 

Besides her was a button clad in red—a handle reserved for only the direst of situations. Needing only one push, she hit the switch, truly sending the gavel towards Falco. As she did so, she spat out a few words, meant to filter out her frustrations. 

 "You dirty little slum dog, how dare you do this to me! Il let you have it, then!" 

Falco's face was laced with confusion, the main idea of her speech flying right over his head. 

"What are you talking about." 

The receptionist smirked, her polished nails slowly tapping against the pristine counter. ''aggression earns punishment little boy. Didn't think I would need to explain that.'' She gestured to the flickering holographic under him, its azure letters glaring: NO VIOLENCE. NO EXCEPTIONS. 

Around them, the militant boots flickered to life, their mechanical hum blending with the chittering and cackling of their systems, creating a symphony of utter terror. Their weapons, heavy and dangerous, clicked into place as they carried them through the hall, their cold stares locking onto Falco, as if they had already cornered him. His breath hitched, his heart pounding like a trapped bird, his chest tightened as no one dared to intervene. He now understood what she meant. 

The rule was there to protect the clients, but it was a double-edged sword. A cruel clerk could exploit it, and slum kids like him were always the first to be blamed. The receptionist's gaze lingered on his patched jacket, her lips curling in amusement. 

Falco's fist clenched. If they tossed him out now, he wouldn't be able to pay his debt— and that would bury him for good. 

His eyes darted to the exit, but they burned with conviction. He wouldn't let himself be delt a blow of this magnitude without fighting back. The figures around him were warriors clad in battle suits, designed to mutilate monsters from the zones. Their armor gleamed, impenetrable and unbeatable—but Falco had spent a lifetime living in the shadows, scraping by despite the odds. He wouldn't die today. Not in this sterile, soulless building, where people like him were nothing but collateral damage. 

His body trembled, his hands ferociously shaking as he watched the guards creeping closer to him, their ferocious figures sucking the conviction within his chest. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the room for an escape, but nothing was within his reach. Now only a few meters away, the tallest guard among them shouted, ''Don't move, kid. Make this easy on yourself.'' 

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Falco raised his hands over his head, the motion slow and deliberate. Surrender tasted like ash, but the alternative was unthinkable. 

Guns drawn and watching his movements, the encirclement came to a standstill. Truthfully, Falco had broken one of their rules by being aggressive, but the opposite can be said now. Falco, even if he was hesitant, surrendered when told to do so. He clearly wasn't a threat that needed to be delt with, and so the watchmen lowered their weapons. 

Feeling their scrutiny, Falco felt obligated to speak—to advocate his innocence. Taking one step forward, his lips trembling, he spoke loud enough for them to hear through their heavy helmets. 

''P—please, I just want to pay what I owe. There's no need for this, I truly didn't want to cause any trouble.'' 

It was then that another guardsman spoke, his rugged voice cutting through the turmoil of the terminal, making it seem that everything around them turned to a standstill. "Do you know what you've done little boy?" 

Even if Falco had lived a great portion of his life in the slums, he wasn't an avid frequenter of the ZEF building, due to the bad reputation it had with his kind. That was why he truly didn't comprehend his wrongdoings. But he now knew—he knew how wrong he was to trust the rotten people of the Regime, even if he had once been a member of their society. Condemning him to a near death experience just because of a little outburst, which had been completely justified. 

Once more, Falco talked loud enough for the guards to hear him through their thick helmets. "I didn't want to, all I did was smack the counter—it hurt me more than it hurt it you know! I'm begging you; this is all a big misunderstanding. Let me pay you all and I'll gladly leave!" 

The guards were stricken, not in a million years would they believe that a slum kid would intentionally cause a disturbance in a zonal expanse outpost. Yet, his desperation and the strange specificity of his explanation only fueled their suspicion. One of them shifted his weight, his grip tightening on his weapon. "You expect us to believe that?" he growled. "Slum rats like you don't just waltz in here without a plan. What are you really after?" 

Falco's heart sank. He could see it in their body language—the way they exchanged glances, the subtle adjustments of their stances. They didn't trust him, and why would they? To them, he was just another troublemaker from the slums. 

Out of sheer desperation, Falco slightly turned his body, lowering one of his hands in the prosses, pointing towards the receptionist. As he did, the people around him became frantic but they didn't shoot. Their minds raced with astonishment—why would he disobey their orders? 

Not knowing what to do, the same guard as before spoke, his murky voice cutting through the sterile hum of the room once more. 

"Stop moving! Stay where you are or else the consequences will be dire!" 

At this point, Falco wasn't panicking anymore; his shaking coming to a stop long before the guard spoke. He knew that his situation was dire, yet he also knew that things were somewhat salvageable. 

His tone, no longer befitting one of a slum dweller, shifted into one of negotiation. No longer fearing for his life—it was clear that he wouldn't die today. 

Believe me, the lady behind the counter is exaggerating the situation, all I wanted was to pay my debt and leave. If you are skeptical, just look me up on the database. I owe 200 Kreds for an information gathering request." 

As he talked, he watched as the reactions of the guards differed, some were skeptical, others were slightly lowering their weapons, somewhat agreeing with Falco. Yet the man in the middle kept his ground, responding with a decisive question. Each syllable echoed as the room kept quiet, making sure not to disrupt the confrontation. 

"Then why did she need to call us? How can we believe you over her?" 

Still pointing towards the lady, Falco saw as her smile widened. The situation was clear to him, the guards around him were all on the receptionist's side. He felt like a broken radio, speaking yet not being heard. He was on his last leg; if he couldn't convince them of the truth, imprisonment was inevitable. 

"Please believe m—" 

"He's telling the truth..." 

It was then that a man from an opposite line spoke, his harsh voice cutting through the tension, halting the confrontation. His words were few, but it meant much to Falco. He was worried that the guards wouldn't trust him but now, with another person backing him, he was more than safe. 

As the guards gradually shifted their focus on the intruder, they became more relaxed. Some even hunching their backs, lowering their weapons in the process. 

"And who are you?" one of them asked, his tone less hostile than before. 

The man, now standing shoulder to shoulder with Falco, then responded calmly. 

"I'm just a man who saw the whole thing go down—a hunter stationed here for the local zones." 

Turning to look at his savior, Falco saw as his blue, murky eyes reflected the azure holographic writing around them. His face was littered with battle scars, and his presence exuded a quiet authority. Falco couldn't tell if the man had intervened out of a sense of justice, a dislike for the receptionist, or something else entirely, but for now, he was grateful. 

The receptionist's smile faltered, her polished nails ceasing their tapping. She opened her mouth to protest, but the hunter's steely gaze silenced her before she could utter a word. 

The men surrounding them disengaged as they saw that, folding their once formidable weapons upon themselves and putting them on their backs, now only exuding a fraction of their killing intent. Loud tapping could be heard in the room as they did rearranged their weapons—the receptionist was fuming, her nails drumming furiously against the counter. A mixture of rage and humiliation swelled inside of her, but she kept shut, knowing the tide had turned against her. The man's intervention had ruined her plans and left her dazed, not knowing how to fabricate a story. 

As she thought, she noticed the guardsmen retreating—her trump card was leaving her in the dust, not even taking her side of the story... She felt beaten as she watched Falco grinning at her. Her emotions almost flaring out of control as he did. 

While she was having an existential crisis, Falco turned to his savior, deeply thanking him as he faced him. The same grin he wore towards the lady changed into an appreciative smile—people like him were rare to see, helping others just because they could, especially because he was a slum kid. 

The man did not reciprocate his feelings though, instead opting out to leave, not even saying a word to Falco. Even so, he was happy to have met him. 

Deciding that he stood there for too long, Falco turned once more to the receptionist, a victorious glee inside his eye. 

Coming closer to the counter, Falco stood in front of the receptionist, their eyes interlocking as he came to a halt. His triumphant smile radiating as he spoke, each syllable carried by pride and mockery. 

"Can I still pay today miss?" 

Her hands shook with barely contained rage. The nail polish she once took pride in was now chipping away, revealing the dull, lifeless nails beneath. She didn't want to answer Falco at that moment, especially because he humiliated her, but she needed to; it was her job after all... 

"Certainly sir." She said to Falco in a flat tone, devoid of any emotion. "Just give me the Kreds and I'll be happy to accept it." 

Putting his hand back in his coat, Falco pulled out the 200 Kreds he owed ZEF. But before he put it on the table, he decided to stare at the receptionist one last time—to provoke her as he was about to leave. 

"Here you go miss", he said as he finally put the 200 Kreds down on the counter. The confidence she once wore was long gone, now replaced with anger and hatred. As he put down the Kreds, his smile gradually widened as he noticed the fallen polish on the table—his opening for revenge finally arriving. 

Wanting to make fun of the receptionist before he left, he opened his mouth to subtly insult her, facing her like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. 

"Seems like this weak, dirty and untrustworthy slum kid made you shed your true colors. Sorry for the inconvenience!" 

Her eyes twitched as he said that, yet Falco did not care as he left without another word, walking towards the exit. He had long anticipated his departure, the confrontation that he faced took a lot out of him, mentally and physically. He was drained, but he still needed to head home; safely that is. 

As the automatic doors led him out, the golden hue of the sky went through the windows of the building. Truly encapsulating the architecture and refinement that the construction workers had put in for this job. Falco was pretty amazed not because he was poor, but because he was a construction worker himself; on occasion that is... If life wasn't cruel with him and his sister, he had high hopes in becoming an esteemed engineer, building and refining the edifices of the Regime up in the city above. 

The shield less wasteland made Falco forget his line of thought, he had to get home before he froze to death, he couldn't let his sister celebrate her birthday alone, right? 

Just before Falco was about to run, he felt the ground quake. Rubble was falling from the abandoned buildings in front of him—as their illegal occupants ran to lower ground. Falco began to panic as he foresaw the destruction of the buildings he saw before him. He had taken cover to protect himself from the tremor but the hunters around him didn't—opting to cheer instead. He held a puzzled face as he looked for answers, but none came to him. 

As one of the buildings fell, he finally found his answers. The culprit behind the wreckage of the infrastructure was a huge exploration vehicle, almost 2 times the size of Falco. As the car became visible, the loud cheering became deafening—the star of the show had finally shown itself. From what he could see, the car held 2 guns on its top and was protected with plating around its sides. On its entrance laid a red insignia, probably referring to the faction the driver was in. 

Noticing that the other hunters weren't calming down, Falco left his hiding spot and started heading towards his abode, knowing that he wasn't in immediate danger. 

The roads he walked weren't as filled as before, the nightlife slowly filling out the blanks of the society he lived in. At this hour most stores were closed but some remained open, making it feel like a skeleton of its former self. 

No one tried to hassle him as he jogged through the muddy paths. In contrast to him, the people he walked by weren't in a hurry, even if night was close by. 

Falco didn't mind them; he needed to pay attention to himself before thinking about some strangers he'd never met before—he had far to travel after all. The golden color of the sky was about to be replaced by the cool, silver embrace of the moon, its pale light illuminating the treacherous path he would need to follow to make it back home. 

It was then that he felt another tremor, this time even more violent than the last. He didn't know what was going on, yet he knew he wasn't in danger—that was what he thought at least. 

It was after he heard the gunfire that he knew something was terribly wrong. The people on the streets started running as they heard the drums of death coming closer to them, yet Falco was forced to run towards the gun fire—his house in the same direction... 

People were screaming and panicking but Falco calmed himself, the thought of Mia getting hurt placated him as he ran.