Part 1: Gathering the Kindles
...
There was a commotion in the air. It felt like static, the kind that frizzled hair. It was the tension of being hunted. Everyone in the slums knew what it was like. After the fall of District 26, the Magistrates became ferocious. It was like they each took the failing as a personal slander. In a way it was. The 'Witch Hunters' had taken over many of their positions and the Savant of Arrays was forced to relocate many of his men in accordance to the newer authority. Their rage over this was felt throughout. But tonight, luckily, the hunt was not aimed here.
The people of the slums were scrambling to their homes, like ants in the face of a flood. As they retreated into the shadows, countless eyes stared out from the crumbled structures refitted from times long before. Vast lines of alleyways composed the very streets of the decrepit slums of the Outer Ring. It was a truly pitiful place, where one room often housed a whole family, privacy barely upheld by shabby make-shift walls. Where even possessing such a home was a blessing. These thin metal-sheet doors were held up by fathers, holding their daughters and wives. It was like they were preparing for an imminent storm. The less fortunate begged to enter these spaces, only to be refused and forced to hide in the drainage pipes and other unsavory cramps.
Soon enough, a rumbling started, seeming to shake the very planet.
Black and yellow forms then appeared in the distance, like gleaming figures the shadows. The Clansign of the 'Erje' can be seen ablaze across their ancient armor. The dignified soldiers called out in their menacing radio chatter, clearing any semblance of onlookers with brutal efficiency. No one wanted to be caught in the line of sight of the deathly blooming yellow eyes. Nor the arc-lancers they carried. They moved as though a forceful wave, kicking over the left-behind shop stands and ripping down shambling tents littering the streets with people inside or not. It did not matter. Anything that might pose as an obstacle was pushed aside. Those foolish enough to be slow-footed in their scurrying were allowed to do so beneath the feet of the large walker trailing behind the squadrons. The metal titan stomped through the streets like an agitated poultry, tearing any decor protruding from the narrow walls as it was forced to waddled due to the cramped space. The way it was bent over and half-crawling was reminiscent of some sort of long-forgotten feathered fowl. Some might laugh at the sight. But then they would quickly stop themselves, remembering this silly looking chicken was capable of destroying everything in sight with its mounted flamers. The Magistrates were in no mood to be made fun of these days.
What was another 'accident' in the Slums?
As they moved down the undercity, the towering metal gates separating District 17 from the the next over let out a great alarm, the sound echoing like a hollow roar across the silence. It was the signal of its opening.
Again, the ground quaked as the massive wall divided, grating like a deathrattle as metal skidding against metal. It was far worse than any stomping the walker could do. As the gates separated, it was like the world beneath the city let out a pained groan, the air thundering as these sounds compounded. Yells and shouts came from all around, the soldiers passing the checkpoint jeering and throwing crude remakes at a lone figure that stood apposing to them, adding further to the chaos. This one was not part of the clan. Any clan for that matter. The pointed metal cap and decorated leather signified of their belonging 'house'. A Witch Hunter. A stranger, an uninitiated authority, whom wished to check their credentials. The warriors have never felt such insult before. To blame them of potentially fostering 'taint', when they have spent their lives in dedication to the city.
But eventually, the chaos ceased. They knew this would lead nowhere. Forming a disgruntled line, the warriors moved down through the hunter holding the scanner.
From out of a nearby building a small boy breathed a sigh, currently walking through a civilian passage in the same checkpoint. Seeing them kick their boots into the floor, he sympathized with their aggravation. It was another one of those days already. He had been standing in this line for hours at this point. Anyone would be made fuming at the mere thought. It's been like this for weeks now too. Sometimes, it felt like things between the two factions were just one step from spilling over.
"Bennie T. Fenerdan. Step up."
Hearing his name, he moved through into a small gray room, passing through the humming body scanner. The green line was almost blinding as it passed over him once. Then twice.
Beep."Your I.T. checks." says an inspector behind a console. This Magistrate was less armored than a normal soldier, but a deadly stun baton hung at their waist. It crackled as the boy looked back up to the masked man. He was now pointing to the lumbering droid that was in a separate line behind a wall of glass. It was a primitive design, large bulky arms and torso, with small, stubby legs, but Bolt felt a swell of pride seeing Jung on display.
"Do you have credentials for that one?"
"Ah, yes! Umm..." Bolt muttered, fishing around in his many pockets. "Haha, isn't he cool? I made him myself. People always think his name is 'Bolt', but that's actually me... and... " He says, trying to make some casual small-talk with the Inspector. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted it. The faceless soldier only glared onward, not amused in the slightest at his attempt at being friendly. In fact, he can see them visibly sigh. The boy let out an embarrassed laugh as he finally found it among the folds of his baggy apron, whipping out a small chip.
"Sorry, ah, uh... Here, a shard containing all of the internal details. I promise, nothing illegal here."
Taking the chip and scanning it, the inspector looked over the data on his screen before giving Bolt a long look. The boy held his breath. "Alright. Everything checks out. Move along." Hitting a button on the console, the robot was pushed down the conveyor belt and down into the dark unknown. No doubt, to the garage area.
What was the point of that? He wondered. But he was more glad to be leaving than anything. So he quickly discarded the thought. Bolt left the uncomfortable little room to the outside in a hurry, hearing another name get called out behind him as an automated voice played out from a speaker above.
"Thank you for visiting. Have a safe visit. And remember; entrust in the Apothos System. Your protector, your savior."He simply rolled his eyes. Jung was already waiting outside in the rusted lot by the time he made it down the lift, the large robot giving him a hearty wave.
"Nice to see you too, buddy..." he muttered, glancing back, "Ugh. What a day, huh? And to think we have to go back through there again on the way back..."
The droid nodded its small head. "Bzzz. Bzzbzz."
"Haha! What? No! We can't just drive over the wall next time! You know that." he laughed, giving the robot a firm nudge, "Ah, but you're right. We have places to be. Today is the big day!"
With a little huff, Bolt jumped onto one of the bulging arms and scaled the large droid. He was like a swift critter, allowed passage by some greater beast. He hopped off one armored plate, then another, skipping across them knowingly. Before even five seconds passed, he was now straddled in a compartment on its back.
With a mechanical thumbs-up, and one in return, the droid began to move forward.
The Outer Ring was slowly returning to normal, commonfolk starting to shuffle out of the cramped nooks, peeking their heads when the commotion died down and signs of the Magistrates were gone. Though it often stank and people didn't seem to know the meaning of private space sometimes, Bolt seemed comfortable in the crowded neon-lit streets. Before he knew it, he was smiling again, greeting passerby's as he guided the hulking robot with his arms and voice. Though it was all 'the same' in most people's eyes, the Districts themselves were like cultural hubs, each one possessing its own flare and unique identity. He wanted to take in all the sights, all the new faces, and scope out the shops for any rare components. There was a famous ex-Alchemist living somewhere here too, that he wanted to visit for the longest time. Thinking of all these things, Bolt had to stop himself. He knew he shouldn't get too excited. He had a terrible habit of losing track of time. And today, of all days, he didn't want such an opportunity to be wasted. First impressions were a big deal. No matter what people claimed otherwise. Keeping his goals, and heart, in mind, the two navigated swiftly through the metal jungle.
After a long while of travel, even going down several floors on the public lifts, the two stopped at a junction down a dimly lit corridor in the 'underbelly' section of the district. Though it was named such a way, such places were usually nothing different than any other place in the same district.
Everything was down-trodden in the Outer Rings. Yet, somehow he had a weird feeling. Turning down a heavy left and down a winding stairway, Bolt and Jung ended up in on a silent street. It felt abandoned. Though everything looked fine, no one was in sight. The buildings weren't even that badly in disrepair, come to think of it, and the lit signs look like they had just been turned on. He glanced down at the instructions of his data-slate one more time.
"It says to go here..." he muttered, "But where is anyone...?"
...
Daemos
