Running Into The Underbelly

Karl's hand shook as he turned the key in the lock, the faint click swallowed by the hum of the night.

His apartment door sealed shut behind him and he forced his thought away from the scorched sheets, shattered glass, and the echo of his fractured Core's eruption which still rang in his ears.

He pulled the scarf tighter around his neck, the rough wool itching against his damp skin. His dark hair still clung to his forehead, wet from the shower he'd barely finished, and his lean frame shivered beneath a threadbare jacket.

His blue eyes darted to the window where Iora had slipped out moments ago. She'd gone for food, she'd said. But what if she didn't come back alone? What if those sharp and searching green eyes were leading Enforcers straight to him?

Maybe people worse than Enforcers.

His stomach knotted. His hunger was forgotten now, replaced by a cold spike of fear.

He stumbled down the narrow stairwell, his boots clanging on rusted metal, the air thick with the tang of oil and distant smoke.

The Shifter Shard sprawled above and below, its upper tiers glinting with airship lights, but Karl aimed lower into the underbelly. He knew what went down here. Outcasts were hiding down here, maybe even people like him.

His legs wobbled, weak from the Awakening that had torn through him, but he pushed on, his breath fogging in the chill. The scarf muffled his ragged gasps as he hit the streets.

The underbelly pulsed with life like a gritty heartbeat of clanging hammers and flickering holo-signs hawking cheap mods and stale rations. Rusted airship husks loomed like skeletal giants, while shanty stalls glowed with dim lanterns.

There were shifters here, too, but they dared not leave the underbelly. These were the broken, the banished. Their Cores were either dim or unstable.

Karl kept his head low, scarf pulled high as he weaved through the crowd. His height made him stand out, 6'2" of lean muscle impossible to shrink, and his piercing blue eyes caught too many glances.

A shout snapped his head up. Three figures peeled from an alley, their silhouettes jagged against a buzzing holo-sign.

Scavengers.

They were two men and a woman, their clothes patched with leather and wire, eyes glinting with hunger. The woman who was wiry and scarred, grinned, revealing teeth filed sharp.

"Lost, pretty boy?" she called, her voice a taunt as she twirled a makeshift blade. The men flanked her. One cracked his knuckles while the other hefted a length of pipe.

Karl's heart slammed against his ribs, his hands flexing instinctively. "Just passing through," he muttered, stepping back, but his boot caught a loose crate and sent it crashing.

They lunged. The woman moved first, her blade flashing in his line of sight.

"Shit!" Karl threw himself aside, slamming into a stall. Pain flared in his shoulder, but then his Core surged wildly with an unbidden pulse. His body twisted painfully, his bones crunching, and soon antlers sprouted from his skull.

He was a deer, hooves skittering on the cracked pavement, and the scavengers yelped and scattered.

"What the hell!" the pipe-man shouted. Karl's form snapped back, human again, but fire soon erupted from his hands, a roaring burst that singed the woman's arm. She screamed and dropped her blade, and the air crackled as lightning sparked from Karl's fingers, striking a rusted beam overhead.

"Freak!" the knuckle-cracker bellowed, lunging with fists raised, but Karl stumbled back, wind gusting from nowhere to shove the man off balance.

Illusions flickered: phantom wolves snarling, their shapes dissolving into static, and the scavengers froze, eyes wide with terror. Karl's chest heaved, his vision swimming as the powers ripped through him like a storm he couldn't leash.

He turned to run but his legs buckled, weak and trembling. He crashed into a pile of scrap metal and slumped there, gasping, the scarf tangled around his throat.

Footsteps approached. Karl tensed, expecting another scavenger, but a shadow loomed instead.

A man stood there, broad-shouldered and grizzled, his coat patched with oil stains. His hair was a wild gray tangle, and a scar bisected one eyebrow, giving his weathered face a lopsided smirk. He crouched, his dark eyes glinting as they traced Karl's sprawled form and the faint smoke curling from his singed jacket.

"Well, damn," the man said, voice rough as gravel with a chuckle threading through it. "You're a walking mess, kid. What's got you lighting up the underbelly like a flare?"

Karl scrambled back, his blue eyes narrowing. "Leave me alone," he snapped in a hoarse voice, but it cracked and betrayed his exhaustion. His Core pulsed faintly within him like it was warning him, and he clenched his fists, praying it wouldn't flare again.

The man raised his hands. "Easy, easy. I'm not here to gut you. I saw your little show back there. Shifting, fire, and sparks. You're no ordinary shifter, are you?"

He tilted his head and studied Karl like a puzzle. "My name's Ryker. I move things—goods, secrets, people. Down here, that's currency." He stood and brushed dirt from his knees, offering Karl a hand, his smirk widening. "You look like you need a hole to crawl into before the wrong eyes spot you."

Karl stared at the hand, his heart pounding in his chest. The scavengers' shouts still echoed faintly, and the hum of a drone whined overhead, almost too close, too searching.

Ryker's offer was like a lifeline, but blind trust was a blade he couldn't afford to grasp. He had run away from Iora for the same reason.

"Why help me?" he asked in a low voice, suspicion sharpening every word.

Ryker shrugged, dropping his hand but not his gaze. "Call it curiosity. A Core like yours—fractured, wild—ain't something you see every day. Could be useful. Could be trouble. Either way, I'd rather have you under my roof than bleeding out here for the vultures." He jerked his head toward a narrow alley, where a dim light flickered from a shack nestled among the wreckage. "Come on. I'll offer you shelter. No strings… yet."

Karl's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into the scarf. Shelter sounded like salvation, but it could be a trap or a cage for a freak like him. But he could stay out here and get captured before dawn. And that wasn't something he intended to gamble with.

He had no choice, not now. With a grunt, he pushed to his feet and met Ryker's eyes.

"Fine," he muttered, the word tasting like ash. "But I'm watching you."

Ryker laughed and turned toward the alley. "Smart kid. Come."