Chapter Text
Regatta Bay. One of the districts reserved for only the most esteemed of residents. Home of beautiful views, a light and pleasing palate/aesthetic, and the many HiCaste and eXecs of the city of glass. Many who controlled the boardrooms and made decisions that impacted entire corperate houses and families came to rest here, in comfortable, well-guarded apartments, near beautiful and lively modern parks, museums, and other high-class joints only the richest could have time for.
Nearly directly connected to one of those museums, the Malus art Museum in particular, was an apartment. Within that apartment were two individuals, of one of the most influential corperate families in the conglomerate.
Viren Kruger, who was carefully scanning the screen of a computer, in his perfect posture as usual, deeply invested in his work. Or, at least, as invested as he could be with Claudia bouncing in, with several bags from the high-class stores around the apartment. As usual.
"Hi, dad!" She brightly greeted him as she entered the large lobby, going to the other side of the room and turning on the television, which began blaring the monotonous news that only bothered the MidCaste. He already had enough briefing of everything that concerned him today.
"Claudia, would you turn that off? I'm busy." He responded to her. Claudia sighed, although greetings like this were common when it came to Viren. He was a very serious and pragmatic man, with no cares for anything outside of buisness. Certainly wasn't very good at appreciating the small things in life, which was usually a given when you lived as a HiCaste.
Claudia, however, was always quite different. Sure, she went out to the same stores, ate the same pre-prepared food, walked the same paths and rode in the same eXec motorcades as the rest of them, but she also was interested in all the news as far as the Anchor district. Positively entranced, at times. She didn't associate herself with them, thankfully, but that didn't mean that she didn't seem to have a certain intrigue about the MidCaste and all the Kruger Security enforcers out daily on the streets and occasionally the rooftops. A genuine interest in them, not willing to be in the place of them, but still a passion. She would make a fine eXec someday, at least if his firstborn could ever get past what Viren considered 'grunt work'.
"When will Soren be back?" Claudia asked him from across the room. Speak of the devil. Viren didn't respond. His son had never shown any interest in the corporate side of Kruger Holdings. Rather, he always preferred more brute force tactics- which didn't put him far ahead when it came to the boardroom, but he excelled and rose very quickly in combative training, able to incapacitate an unskilled runner in seconds.
"Dad?" Claudia asked again, snapping Viren Out of his work.
"What?"
He replied with a scowl.
"I asked when Soren will be back home. You know, from when he's finished his rounds. He was supposed to come back this month, right?"
Viren sighed.
"Yes, Claudia, he will be returning for a brief period soon. Until Anansi renews the contract."
Indeed, Soren had been assigned as a personal bodyguard, specially assigned by Viren to Harrow, Ezran and Callum Anansi. This was partially included in a private security contract for KrugerSec, partially a way for Viren to get one child out of his hair, and partially a way to keep communications between Anansi and Kruger stable.
Tensions between the two families were still rough, even years after the November Riots had claimed Sarai Anansi's life, at what Anansi had claimed as KrugerSec's shortcoming and inability to control the situation. The tighter policy the Conglomerate had applied as a result of the riots created several new openings for hastily arranged and sneakily abused contracts, negotiations and deals between Anansi and Kruger Holdings, lazily floating around and waiting to be snatched and turned into a full conflict.
Viren was also intimidated by one of his own corporate family, an eXec by the name of Amaya, who currently served a corporate role in Kruger Holdings. Even though she had a comfortable place in the Anansi family on a silver platter for her, even after Sarai's death, she had refused it, and rather built herself up through KrugerSec until she reached the position she was in, and that included exceptional performance in both combative and diplomatic power. Someone with such determination was not one to underestimate, and as she still had regular contact with the Anansi family, Kruger was forced to limit his anxieties about her to simply keeping information confidential. Out of sight, out of mind, at least, that's what he hoped. He figured it couldn't hurt to make the grand gesture of offering his own son to personally protect the only kin of Harrow Anansi himself.
"Okay." Claudia replied, sinking quietly to the opposite couch, her full attention now on the blaring television. She always was excited to see her brother, and as a result of his assignment to the Anansi family, she had grown rather fond of them, too. She knew that Viren, although he often didn't appear so, actually had much respect for Harrow, and at least some fatherly love for his family. In all, despite many disagreements between them when it came to corporations, the families were quite close.
-
An obvious example of just how tight they were could be described by the current scene of the heavily secure apartment in the Ocean Glass View, owned and currently occupied by the Anansi family to house Harrow Anansi's two children- Callum and Ezran. Soren was of course the backbone of the security, the last line of defense, the personal wall between the boys and any form of harm that may come in through the door.
The presence of a trained bodyguard with a holstered, biometrically linked sidearm under his arm would generally make most individuals rather uneasy, or uncomfortable. In the case of the Anansi family, this was quite the opposite, especially in Ezran's case.
Ezran wasn't one for talking, or for any social contact whatsoever, in fact. The media and paparazzi made him extraordinary uncomfortable, as did large crowds, fancy dinners, the lot. Harrow provided specific details specially for the escort and care of Ezran, but he always seemed to feel safest around people he knew well and liked. People such as his father, or Callum, or Claudia.
However, for whatever reason, the person he best connected with was Soren. No one could quite decipher why, especially with the wild differences in personality and expression, but whenever Harrow renewed the contract with Kruger, Ezran's eyes lit up because he knew he would be spending a few more months with Soren. It was like a complete personality turnaround for the both of them, perfectly complimenting each other- Soren humbled up and Ezran hyped up.
Currently, they were animatedly chatting in the living room, absorbed in conversation about something or rather, the steel blinds shutting off sight through the enormous windows. The television was blaring, which was enough white noise Callum needed to be able to focus on the monitor, each key making a quiet hum as he tapped it on the hyperresponsive holographic keyboard, the apartment entirely devoid of noise otherwise, due to the impeccable soundproofing of the building. He probably wouldn't be able to hear even a gunshot outside if he tried. Luxuries of being adopted into the Anansi Family.
Unfortunately for him, Callum couldn't focus without white noise, and also felt anxious without it, so he often worked in the living room, where plenty was produced. What also came with that was the unintentional eavesdropping of conversation.
"I'll be here for another week, then our dads will have to talk about keeping me back here-" Soran began.
"One week? That's barely anything!" Ezran interrupted.
"Yeah, I know, right? But, they'll probably keep sending me, right? I'll be gone for two weeks, then Harrow makes a phone call, and boom, I'm at the door."
"But two weeks is so loooooong!" Ezran whined.
"It's only a week longer than 'barely anything'," Soren quipped. Ezran let out a giggle at his expense.
Callum smiled a little hearing them, then put his fingers back on the keys and his mind back on the grind. He would finish this essay if it killed him.
-
The Centurion Yards weren't nearly as clean, glassy or beautifully lined and designed as The View was. Designated as a spot for Lo to MidCaste employs, they were lined with concrete, gravel, metal and plastic to squish together optimal space-efficient apartments and workplaces. There were none of the oversized windows, and the quiet hum of slowly rotating fans, AC units on top of roofs, and the occasional rush of a crossbreeze between the buildings. These weren't common, however, due to how tightly packed together they were.
This sort of setting, with scaffolding, railings and platforms together, roofs often jumping distance from each other, was exactly the kind of environment that runners liked.
With the infinite heat on the street after the November Riots, many of the OffGrids and OutCaste migrated to the roofs, where they could train and hone their skills, quickly evading K-sec in the dense urban environment. The generic life of a runner was simple- be a cat burglar or a courier, avoid the cops, gain scrip for either yourself or your cabal, stay out of trouble.
However, some groups decided that the life of running wasn't for them. Some were structured towards a more direct approach to the fall of the conglomerate and the liberation of the employs.
One group in particular had spent weeks preparing an articulate and detailed plan of action. One that would likely shock glass- and Cascadia itself- forever.
A group of six individuals sat silently atop the car of a train, destined from the Graylands to the Zephyr transit hub in Glass, all clad in black clothing with balaclavas over their heads. A slim, muscled individual was squatted ahead of them, turquoise eyes carefully squinting ahead, wind whistling around his head.
The tunnel ahead was quickly thinning, the train itself not slowing down. Soon enough, they would be at the point where they departed- and the train had to stop perfectly if they wanted to not be decapitated by when the tunnel closed down again or not to fall to their deaths. The turquoise eyes swiveled to another person beside them, who was holding a device, wrapped in exposed wire with dials and switches all over, one of them highlighted on the side of it with a slowly flashing red light. They nodded, tensing as the light at the end of the train tunnel finally erupted around them, speeding through a gigantic open space, buildings far to the sides of them. Looking up, a series of catwalks, beams and ladders were far above, at least 100 feet, and below them a seemingly infinite drop right to the streets.
Near the re-entrance into the tunnel, there would be a latter that was left dropped, courtesy of an inside man that the group had hired. They had to stop exactly at the latter, all get on it, and hope that their entire team had made it on it within 15 seconds, or the ones remaining on the train would go hurtling with it onwards and face a brutal end by the hands of a 200kph face-on collision with the metal ceiling of the tunnel.
The device that the person beside the leader was holding would be their ticket to that 15 second stop- an electronic modulation device, crafted ingeniously, tuned perfectly to the electric brakes after months of testing, that would breach and engage the brakes nearly immediately. The only flaw was, to save weight and complexity, there was no way to stop the train automatically. Skor, the one holding the device, was holding their lives in his hands as well. The rest knew this, and didn't second guess for a minute. The group had all worked together (excluding one, who was doing a job for the first time) for years, and had no doubts in the capabilities of the others.
As soon as the latter came into sight, the team braced down and held onto the train as hard as possible. Skor mimicked them, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing hard onto the switch.
The time to initiate the switch had been carefully planned beforehand- if they pressed it any sooner or later they would have missed the latter entirely. Every second counted as the brakes squealed, an ungodly noise coming as the wind whipping around them began to settle. The G's of the stop nearly threw them off, the leader looking back at the rest of them briefly to ensure that it hadn't, then turning back, ready to spring as soon as the train came to a slow enough speed to sprint across the compartments towards the one where the latter was stationed.
The team had rehearsed and planned this hundreds of times before over several months. Wasting no time, all of them ran as quickly as possible towards the latter, each jumping on and scurrying up a short distance until there was room for the next to jump on, in a predetermined order. One of them, with a light and small structure, seemed ludicrously fast as she leapt onto and pulled herself up the latter, graceful and efficiently.
Unfortunately, Skor had a fair bit of trouble reaching the latter. He attempted to grab on with one hand, the modulation device tucked carefully under his arm. He was beginning to slip back onto the train, squirming as he tried to land his foot onto one of the aluminum steps-
"DROP IT!" yelled a balanced, vaguely Scottish accent from the top of the latter. Skor unwrapped his arm from the modulator, letting it fall onto the top of the train as he grabbed onto the latter with his other hand, stabilising himself as the train came back to life, the electric motor thrumming and setting it off again at full speed, the modulator skipping across the top of it and eventually falling off the other end, all the way down. No way that wouldn't be seen, but it would likely be a lot less conspicuous than a bloody corpse exploded over the pavement. Breathing heavily, Skor began the long climb up, following his team to the open hatch at the top, where he knew that Runaan likely wouldn't be very happy with him.
A fan slowly revolved behind them on the wider catwalk above, closed off from the outside other than the hatch with the latter, balaclavas removed from all members of the crew, all of them slumped, rather exhausted from the trip. The leader stood up and pulled his balaclava from his head, revealing a young and calculated-looking facial structures with faded blue facial tattoos. pulling his long silver hair out of the back of his black suit, he did a quick headcount, nodding when he saw all were accounted for.
"Welcome back to Glass." He stated, slightly sarcastically. All the pairs of eyes turned to face him, the bright violet ones in the group- belonging to a girl, short silver hair with a small braid down the side of her head- were the most weary. Fair enough, as she hadn't gone that far VIA train for over 2 years.
"As you know, and I will now debrief again, our objective this week is to infiltrate the primary KrugerSec facility- although you all may know it as 'The Dogs'- for a datagrab, requested by a third source who wishes to remain anonymous. I can assure you, this is for a cause beneficial to all of glass."
It was obvious enough to all the others who the anonymous third source was, and Runaan knew this. He carried on.
"Tonight, we rest and recuperate- for the next three days, we further discuss the plan. On the third night, we execute the datagrab. They have no idea we're coming. We do this perfectly, and by morning tomorrow we should be back on the train to the Silvergrove." Runaan stated.
"This transit station shall serve as our main camp. Upstairs are several unoccupied mechanical rooms that should be perfectly suited for our safety while resting and preparing."
The other folks nodded in understanding, Rayla, the short-haired lass with the violet eyes, snapping out of a daze and nodding along with them. Runaan turned and began walking along the catwalk, turning and opening a door to a long staircase moving upstairs, the rest following suit.
The sun was setting, casting rays of light through the gaps in the blinds, which Runaan had forbidden everyone to open fully in case anyone was looking through. This disappointed Rayla greatly.
Everyone was getting settled for the night- there was a good deal of room for all of them, and even some surfaces that could be easily turned into beds. Rayla got her own room, which she suspected had originally been planned to be a bathroom, but quickly turned around at the last minute. A grimey mirror, broken in the right corner, was integrated into the wall across from the door, a raised slab near it that would serve as Rayla's bed, with quite literally nothing else in the room. But she wasn't picky. Compared to other places she had been, this was as good as HiCaste living to her.
She had taken off her fullbody black suit, leaving her with a pair of track pants and a gray shirt. She had lain the suit and her balaclava over the head of the slab to serve as a pillow. She lay down, putting her head against it, and let out a long sigh that felt like it had been built up in her for ages.
She had mixed feelings seeing the architecture of Glass again, for the first time in 2 years. Memories, many rooting from terror and moroseness, especially the riots, flooded back to her. It had never not hurt leaving, but she knew she probably would have been killed in the riots if she hadn't. All the same, the memories of the people she knew and all the sunsets she spent looking out, wishing things were better, etched on her mind like scars.
Her mind was set back onto why she had finally returned to the city after all these years. By doing this, she could change things. As much as she didn't want to say it, Black November was right. There wasn't any way through this other than war. The pigs in the penthouses didn't give a damn about change- their goals were entirely set on accumulation of wealth and status.
Rayla knew she would just depress herself if she kept thinking about it- expecting the worst was something the Graylands taught her to do, and it was bound to come up at some point. Instead, she stood up and walked over to the mirror.
She looked at herself in the dirty glass. The balaclava had saved her from being weather-beaten too bad, but there was visible pink around her eyes, along with large bags to accompany them. Her hair, as it always somehow managed to do, had stayed straight, despite being squished and messed up by the balaclava. She contemplated for a moment.
She knew Runaan always called them in for briefings shortly after noon, so she figured that was more than enough time to familiarize herself again with the city. Before then, maybe she could watch the sunrise… and maybe before then she could explore the transit hub and find out what was behind every wall, door and window.
Her plan solidified in her head, and a smile finally on her face, she lay back down and rubbed her eyes. She would have to keep her eyes open for runner tags while she was out.