Greg stepped into the room, and the man shut the door behind him. The air was cooler inside, with a faint hum from the wall vents.
"The name's Eric Crown," the man said, stepping forward with a practiced smile.
Greg nodded. "Nile Rogers."
He wasn't about to give his real name. Not here. Not to someone like this.
"So, what exactly do you have for sale?" Eric asked. His voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness under it that Greg didn't like.
Greg hesitated. The core was worth a fortune, maybe more. If he told the man what it really was, Eric could turn on him in a heartbeat. The room had no exits except the one behind Eric. He was already trapped if things went wrong.
Eric seemed to notice his silence. "Relax," he said, still smiling. "I run the underground live auctions here. We'll put your item up for bidding, take a small commission, and you walk out rich. But for that, I'll need to know what it is."
Greg studied him for a moment, then finally spoke. "It's an exotic energy core."
Eric's eyes flickered with sudden interest. "An exotic core, you say? That could be worth seventy thousand taps… maybe more, depending on who's watching tonight."
Greg tried not to show his reaction, but his pulse quickened. Seventy thousand. That was more than he'd seen in years.
Eric turned toward the wall and pressed his palm against a panel. A soft click followed, and part of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow corridor lit by pale blue strips. The air smelled faintly of ozone and metal.
"Come on," Eric said, motioning for Greg to follow. "The auction is starting soon."
Greg hesitated only a moment before stepping in behind him. The corridor wound downward, the hum of machinery growing louder with each step. They reached a set of reinforced doors that opened into a vast chamber glowing with cold white light.
Rows of people filled the seats arranged in a half-circle around a raised platform. None looked ordinary. Most wore masks that shimmered faintly, disguising their faces, while others had their features enhanced by implants or glowing eyes. Screens hovered in the air above, showing the current item up for bid—a crystalline shard that pulsed faintly with light.
Eric led Greg through a side passage to a smaller room behind the platform. Tables were arranged neatly with security locks and containment cases, each holding something strange. Pieces of tech that hummed softly, old weapons, and relics marked in ancient symbols.
"This is where we hold the items before they go up," Eric said. He turned to Greg. "Let me see your core."
Greg unzipped his jacket, taking out the small container. The core glowed faintly within, its light pulsing slow and steady. Eric's eyes widened, and for the first time, the calm left his face.
"This isn't just an exotic core," he whispered. "Where did you find this?"
Greg didn't answer.
Eric stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. We keep it quiet. It goes up last tonight. The crowd will fight for this one."
He placed the container into a secured capsule and sealed it with a biometric lock. "When the bidding ends, we take our cut—ten percent. You get the rest transferred directly. Simple enough?"
Greg nodded. "Simple enough."
Eric gave him a short look before turning to leave. "Stay close when it's your turn. Some of these buyers don't like losing."
Greg leaned against the wall once Eric was gone. The sound of the auction outside echoed faintly through the walls, voices rising and falling in rhythms. He wasn't sure if the deal would go smoothly, but one thing was certain.
Tonight, someone was going to pay a fortune for that core.
The crowd outside grew louder as the next bid concluded. The muffled voice of the auctioneer carried through the walls, announcing the sale of an ancient weapon. Greg waited by the side door, trying not to look too tense. He had been in shady places before, but this one felt different. There was a current in the air, sharp and electric, like something waiting to snap.
Eric returned a few minutes later. "You're up next," he said calmly. "Stay quiet. Let me do the talking."
Greg followed him into the auction hall. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight bathed the center platform. The chatter hushed instantly. Dozens of masked faces turned toward the stage, their eyes glinting through the low light.
Eric stepped up first, holding the capsule that contained the core. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice amplified through hidden speakers, "our final item of the night is a one of a kind artifact. Believed to be of pre-Exnec origin, its energy signature has no known match in modern databases."
The crowd leaned forward. A few murmurs rippled through the room. Someone in the second row raised a hand. "Show us the reading."
Eric smiled and tapped the capsule's surface. A holographic projection appeared above it, displaying a slow pulse of bright blue light. Energy readings climbed the chart until the scale blinked red. Gasps filled the hall.
"As you can see," Eric continued smoothly, "this core could power an entire city grid or a Class Seven vessel indefinitely. We will begin the bidding at nine hundred thousand Tapil."
Greg didn't believe his ears.
The first hand went up almost immediately. "Nine hundred and fifty."
"One million."
"One million fifty thousand."
The numbers climbed fast. Greg stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded, pretending not to care while his heart hammered in his chest.
"One point five million," one voice called from the back, deep and measured.
Then silence. For a moment, it seemed the bidding was done.
Eric looked ready to close it when another voice, calm and cold, spoke from the farthest corner. "One point seven million."
Heads turned. A tall figure in a dark cloak sat apart from the rest, his face hidden. Even from across the hall, Greg could feel the weight of his gaze.
Eric hesitated, then said, "One point seven million confirmed. Any further bids?"
No one moved.
"Sold," Eric announced, striking the table.
The crowd murmured as the figure rose and walked forward. Greg caught a glimpse beneath the hood—pale skin, faintly marked with glowing veins. Not entirely human.
Eric handed over the capsule. The figure touched it briefly, then turned his head toward Greg. "You found this here in the Fringes?"
Greg's throat felt tight. "Yeah. Something like that."
The man's gaze lingered for a second longer, then he nodded once and turned away.
Eric placed a hand on Greg's shoulder. "You did well. Wait here. I'll finalize the transfer."
As Eric disappeared into the back room, Greg exhaled slowly. He had the credits, the deal was done. But that look from the buyer left a strange unease crawling under his skin.
Something told him that whoever the man was, this deal was far from over.
______________________________________
The room was too clean.
White walls, white floor, white lights, the kind of sterile perfection that made a man feel like a specimen instead of a guest.
Edin sat on the examination bed while Serhik stood a few paces away, murmuring orders to a med-tech behind a glass partition. Tubes hummed softly in the walls. The air carried that faint mint scent again, artificial and heavy.
He didn't like it.
"Your vitals are stable," Serhik said, glancing up from his slate. "But there's something strange in your oxygen readings. You're processing air at roughly half the normal efficiency of your kind."
His tone was careful, curious. "Have you been exposed to radiation? Chemical agents? Disease?"
Edin's gaze lifted slowly. "None that matter."
Serhik hesitated, then tried a thin smile. "You're quite an enigma, Mr. Kasman. If I didn't know better, I'd say your blood's rewriting itself."
A silence stretched between them. The machines hummed louder, or maybe it was the rush in Edin's ears.
Then came the pain.
It started in his chest—sharp, invisible claws gripping from the inside. He drew a breath, but it felt like glass slicing through him.
The mint-scented air turned thick, unbreathable.
He coughed once. Then again. The third made him lean forward, hand over his mouth.
A faint trace of dark crimson gleamed on his glove.
Serhik stepped back. "Sir—"
"I said I'm fine."
The words came out rough but steady.
He straightened, wiped his mouth, and stood as if nothing had happened. The lights above flickered faintly, or maybe it was his eyes.
Serhik stared for a heartbeat too long before lowering his slate. "We'll finalize your clearance shortly."
Edin said nothing.
As the door slid open and Serhik left, silence swallowed the room.
He looked down at his gloved hand. The faint shimmer of blood was almost black under the cold light. It didn't look like Kasman blood.
It pulsed faintly, alive in a way it shouldn't be.
He closed his fist and whispered under his breath, voice more memory than sound.
"You still breathe through me, don't you?"
A shiver passed through him, the echo of a thousand deaths buried in one man's lungs.
He steadied himself, adjusted his coat, and walked out. He needed to do what he came for.