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Chapter 40 - Chapter 40: The City of Lies

Kashi was a wound that refused to heal. It wasn't a ruin, not like the skeletal remains of the old cities. It was a festering, pulsating scab of life built upon death. The air was a thick soup of scents—sizzling street food, the acrid tang of industrial smog, the underlying reek of decay, and the ozone crackle of unregulated Awakened energy. Neon signs in a mishmash of Hindi, English, and trader's glyphs bled color onto streets choked with a chaotic river of humanity, beasts of burden, and roaring, jury-rigged vehicles.

Veer, now Vikram, felt the mask settle over him like a second skin the moment they passed through the massive, scarred gate. His posture changed, the disciplined straightness of a Tempest soldier melting into a predatory slouch. His eyes, once full of fiery resolve, now held a flat, calculating coldness as they scanned the crowd for threats and opportunities.

Anika, walking a half-step behind him as Anya, was his perfect mirror. Her usual quiet watchfulness had sharpened into a constant, visible threat. Her hand never strayed far from the shockwave emitter disguised as a decorative bracer on her wrist. She didn't speak, but her presence was a clear message: cross the boss, and you answer to me.

"This place is a sewer," she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible over the din.

"It's our sewer now," Veer replied, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl. "Remember the script. We're new, we're ambitious, and we're not to be trifled with. We find Leo, we get our legend, and we start making noise."

Bhola's data-slate had led them to the "Circuit," Kashi's black-market tech bazaar. It was a multi-level labyrinth of stalls built into the shells of old parking garages, buzzing with illicit energy. Holograms flickered above stalls selling everything from stolen guild blueprints to pain-inducing frequency emitters.

They found Leo in a stall buried deep in the third sub-level, a cave illuminated by the cold blue light of dozens of active data-screens. He was a slight man with nervous, darting eyes and fingers that moved with a pianist's restless energy over a keyboard. The air around him smelled of soldering iron and anxiety.

Veer didn't bother with pleasantries. He slid Bhola's data-slate across Leo's cluttered workbench. "The Commander said you do good work."

Leo's eyes flickered to the slate, then to Veer, then to the imposing figure of Anika. He licked his lips. "Bhola? That old fossil is still kicking? What's his word worth these days?"

"It's worth me not breaking your fingers one by one until you agree to my price," Veer said, the words delivered with a casual, terrifying sincerity. He let a flicker of kinetic energy dance around his clenched fist, making the tools on Leo's bench tremble. "We need new lives. Deep cover. Vikram and Anya. I want histories, financial trails, guild registrations, the works. So deep that if the Aegis Covenant itself ran a scan, they'd find nothing."

Leo paled, his bravado evaporating. The mention of the Aegis Covenant, a name only known in whispers, told him these were not ordinary clients. These were people playing in the deep end.

"That... that kind of work is extremely delicate. Extremely expensive," Leo stammered.

Anika took a step forward, her shadow falling over him. "We're not here to bargain. We're here to purchase. Name your price. But understand," she added, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "if the work is flawed, the refund will be extracted directly from your hide."

Twenty minutes later, they emerged with a secure data-chip containing the seeds of their new identities and a significant portion of their operational funds depleted. The first part of the mask was forged.

Their next stop was the rendezvous with their potential scout. "The Last Stop" was exactly what its name promised—the final, grimy outpost before the utter desolation of the Wastelands. It was a low, windowless building made of corrugated metal and despair, the air thick with the smell of cheap liquor and cheaper violence.

As they pushed through the heavy doors, every conversation died. Dozens of hard-eyed faces turned to scrutinize the newcomers. Veer met their gazes with Vikram's flat, challenging stare, and one by one, they looked away, recognizing a predator in their midst.

At the bar, a woman was methodically polishing a glass with a rag that was probably dirtier than the glass itself. She had a lean, whipcord strength, her face a roadmap of old scars and deeper regrets. This was Maya.

Veer approached, leaning against the bar. The stink of cheap synth-whiskey and unwashed bodies was overwhelming. "I'm looking for a guide. Someone who isn't afraid of the deep Wastelands."

Maya didn't look up from the glass she was polishing. "I'm retired."

"We need to move east. Toward the dead zones," Veer pressed, his voice low.

That made her pause. Her eyes, a startlingly clear grey, finally lifted to meet his. They were the oldest eyes he had ever seen. "East is a corpse. Nothing there but radiation ghosts and things that learned to eat metal. Your money's no good there."

"We're not going for sightseeing." Veer leaned in closer, the Vikram persona solidifying. "We're hunting. The kind of people who operate in places no one else will go."

She let out a short, harsh laugh. "I don't need your money, guild-rat. I can smell the Tempest on you, even through the cheap cologne of this 'Vikram' persona. You people got my last team killed. You think I'd lead another one of you to the slaughter?"

This was the critical moment. The script was out the window. Veer made a decision. He leaned in close, his voice dropping so only she could hear, the Vikram persona melting away for a fraction of a second.

"The people who got your team killed," he whispered, "we're going to burn them to the ground. But I can't do it without someone who knows how to walk in the dark without falling. Bhola said you were the best. We're hitting a facility. Heavily guarded. Isolated. I don't know exactly where yet, but the trail leads east, into the silence."

Maya's polished composure cracked. A flicker of raw, undiluted pain crossed her face at the mention of Bhola's name and the memory of her team. She stared at him, searching for the lie. She saw the fire beneath the ice in his eyes, a hatred that mirrored her own.

She slammed the glass down on the counter. "Fine," she spat. "But not for you. For the ghosts. You get your intel, you find your target, and then you tell me. And you'll do exactly what I say, when I say it, or I'll leave your bodies for the carrion birds."

As they left the bar, the mask of Vikram settled back over Veer, but it felt heavier now. The first part of the web was spun. They had a forger and a guide. The next step was to get the attention of the Pale Syndicate. And for that, they needed to make a very public, very violent display. The Merchant of Death had his tools. Now it was time to go to work.

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