Chapter Text
“This isn’t the best place to be hanging around, you know.”
Anden started at the sudden sound, nearly dropping his phone. Fucking fantastic, that would’ve been. The streets here were more of a maze than anything--zigzagging roads and narrow alleys, all crowded with rows of tents and trash and the stifling smell of rot. Without the digital map pulled up in his hand, he’d never make it out--he might as well curl up on the cracked pavement and accept his fate.
True, though, that this definitely was not the place to be walking around in. It was an alley between two tenements in the poorest part of the sector. He definitely hadn’t chosen this route on purpose, he’d just ended up here after almost an hour of navigating through the city. The road he’d come in one had been blocked off after some sort of accident. It wouldn’t do to go back that way. If he’d come within ten feet of the barricade--well, the police in this area were known for their brutality. With the state of his clothes, he doubted they’d recognize him as the Elector’s son. Best to go the long way around instead.
About half an hour ago, the rain had started. It was tolerable at first, just a light drizzle, but gradually it came down harder and harder until his hair was plastered to his forehead and any warmth he’d originally had was washed away. Maybe it would’ve been better to take his chances with the police, he’d thought.
He’d spent the next thirty minutes debating which would be a better way to go: freezing to death or getting beaten to death. Only afterwards did he begin to wonder about his odds of actually getting stabbed or bludgeoned while he tried to find his way back through the labyrinth of back alleys and narrow streets. His pace quickened as he went, until he heard the voice. He turned to find the owner.
It was a boy standing only a couple yards away under an overhang. He couldn’t have been any older than Anden was himself. Straight, blond hair hung over his shoulders, darkened by the rain. He wore some sort of dark blue uniform--for a factory, maybe? There were quite a few of those nearby.
Anden wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if he should. Maybe he should just keep walking. It would get dark soon, and god forbid he stay stuck out here at night.
The boy didn’t seem threatening, though. He looked more tired than anything. Slumped shoulders, hollow eyes, arms hugged tightly to his chest to ward off the cold.
“You don’t come this way very often, do you?” The boy asked flatly. Do I really look that lost? Anden thought. He hesitated, weighing the likelihood of this guy jumping out to attack him if he interacted. After a moment, he shook his head. Whatever. He was cold and his feet ached too much for him to care.
The boy pushed off from the wall and began to walk, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on,” he said. “I know this area pretty well. Where are you headed?”
“Batalla.” Anden fell in pace next to him. The boy raised an eyebrow. “I live near the edge,” Anden lied quickly. Probably not a great idea to give a random stranger any indication he had money.
“I know a shortcut.”
They fell into a silence as they went, the boy leading them through the twists and turns of the Lake sector streets. Now that they were just a few feet away, Anden got a better look at him. He was definitely from around here, you could see it in his face. Hunger had left a distinct mark on many people in the Lake sector. Chapped lips, sunken eyes, hollow cheekbones. He wasn’t as emaciated as some of the people Anden had seen today--he actually had a fair amount of muscle. Still, anyone who looked could tell he wasn’t quite getting fed enough.
“My name is John, by the way,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road in front of them.
“I’m Anden,” Anden said, feeling a pang of regret the second the words came out of his mouth. Most people don’t know my name, he thought, trying to push down the anxiety that began to rear its ugly head. People knew the surname, Stavropolous. But fewer people knew the first name of the Elector, and even fewer actually knew the name of his son, who was barely active in the public sphere at all. Luckily, John didn’t seem to be one of those people. No reaction.
“So what were you up to back there?” John asked.
Anden shrugged. Truthfully, he wasn’t really sure what he was doing. No one in the gem sectors ever went to the poorer sectors of their own free will. It was dangerous, dirty. Everything you saw either made you feel repulsion or guilt. Easier to avoid it at all costs.
But for the past few weeks, something kept drawing Anden’s mind to thoughts of these places. Pretty early on, he realized he’d never actually been to the slums, and while many would count that as a blessing, Anden couldn’t help feel a sort of morbid curiosity growing. How was it that the Republic had so much wealth and luxury, and yet was also home to some of the most desolate people on the planet? What’d gone wrong, and why did nobody seem to care?
Of course, it also helped that no one in the poor sectors seemed to recognize him. Anden couldn’t go five feet in the richer sectors without feeling dozens of pairs of eyes following him. The worst times were when there were reporters, eager to pry into whatever information Anden was privy to on his father’s political affairs. Which, typically, was none. But so far, in Lake, not a single person had recognized him. Or if they had, they had kept it to themselves. Sure, he looked like the Elector’s son, but why would a wealthy young man like him be doing wandering the streets of Lake, alone, dressed barely a notch above a homeless person?
“I needed to go on a walk,” Anden said.
John laughed. It was the first expression of any emotion besides exhaustion that Anden had seen on his face. It was a nice laugh, he decided.
“Quite a place to choose for a walk. Do you know how many muggings happen in that neighborhood? I heard a girl got stabbed over there last week.”
“So what were you doing back there, then?”
“Mugging people.”
Anden scoffed. At least, he hoped John was joking. Honestly, he couldn’t be 100% sure. “Funny. What were you actually doing?”
“You know, just walking home. I work like a mile and a half away. Right around that alley is a good half-way point to stop and rest.”
“You’re not afraid of getting attacked?” Anden said.
John just shrugged. “Maybe I should be. I don’t know. Once you’ve been in that sort of environment long enough, you kinda start to let your guard down. Nothing’s happened to me yet.”
Anden felt a wave of guilt wash over him. How grim must this guy’s life be for muggings and hunger and rows of people living in tents to seem normal? How many millions of people suffered like John or worse while Anden spent his life waltzing around expensive private schools and attending lavish banquets every other week?
“Where do you work?” John asked.
The question snapped Anden out of his train of thought, catching him off guard. “I--um,” he racked his brain, searching for a lie. He’d never worked a day in his life; what the hell was he supposed to say? “I’m sort of in between jobs at the moment.”
John looked him up and down. “Right.” A pause. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, I am. Just not from this neighborhood.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” John asked, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Sure?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Anden opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t find any words to say. No one had ever been that blunt with him. Well, no one except his father, but the Elector’s harshness never had the playful undertone that John had in this moment.
“Dude, it’s okay,” John continued. “If you don’t want to tell me something, you don’t have to. Lots of people like to keep their lives to themselves.”
Anden breathed a silent sigh of relief. For a random stranger on the streets, John was surprisingly understanding.
“What gave me away?” Anden asked sheepishly.
John gave him another once-over. “Well, for starters, you’re dressed like someone who’s only ever seen poor people on TV. Also, your shoes are clean,” he said, gesturing to Anden’s feet. “That’s usually a dead giveaway that someone has at least a little money.”
Damn. He should’ve scuffed up his boots before he came here. He’d been so careful, messing up everything else he was wearing so he’d fit in. Hopefully John was just an astute observer and he hadn’t been so obvious to everyone who had seen him.
They made small talk as they went, darting from awning to awning in a futile attempt to keep dry. Ten minutes passed, and the rain’s intensity eased somewhat. John proved to be pretty charming. By the time they reached a familiar road right next to the border between Lake and Batalla, only twenty minutes after they’d met, Anden felt relatively comfortable talking with him. He had a nice smile, too, Anden decided, noticing the slight dimples that appeared whenever he said something that struck John as amusing.
“Well, this is it,” John said as they came to a stop by the border between sectors. “You good to go from here?”
“Yeah, I know where I am now,” Anden replied. “Thanks a lot, by the way.”
“Don’t mention it. I better be getting back home now; see you around, maybe.”
John turned to leave, going very nearly the way they had come. It was at that moment that Anden was hit with the sudden realization that John might’ve just gone a fair distance out of his way to help Anden get back to Batalla. Damn, he thought. He was grateful, of course, but also felt a twinge of guilt. John looked exhausted from the moment they met. He’d just gotten off work (and it must’ve been a long shift given the look of him) to walk upwards of a mile in a freezing cold downpour. Still, he’d made the effort the make sure Anden got to where he needed to be before the sun set, when he would’ve found himself in real trouble.
“John,” he called out. He couldn’t just leave John there without doing something to thank him. He probably wouldn’t even get a meal when he arrived home.
John stopped and looked back.
“Hey, do you--can I--,” Anden tried, tripping over his words. “Do you want to get dinner or something? I’ll pay. I just--it was really nice of you to help me out.”
John bit his lip. “Normally I’d say yes, but I’ve got an eight-year-old brother to take care of. Mom’s gonna have to leave for work soon. It’s my turn to watch him.”
“Ah,” Anden said, a sinking feeling of disappointment. John was nice. It’d be nice to spend a little more time with him. Oh well. “Well, thanks again.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
And with that, they parted ways.