Snippet #2558580

Blue sky scared Valentine.

For most people, blue sky represented a range of things; freedom, warmth, light, perhaps a few fragmented childhood memories. 'Fear' was typically not one of them - 'fear' was associated with choking smog or looming grey stormclouds.

To Valentine, stormclouds were a gift. The lower and more heavily-pregnant, the better. Camouflaged drones couldn't fly in clouded conditions; magnetic interference from the vast volumes of aluminium and steel smoke belched into the atmosphere messed with their radar, and they typically didn't dare fly low enough to try to attack by visual. When the sky was blue, though, they'd be up there; optical camouflage concealing them until they attacked, high-explosive-tipped missiles annihilating countless lives instantly, even as they floated so serenely in the sky.

As long as the clouds were grey and overcast, the world was one threat safer.

But of course, the rational part of him knew that there were no drones here. Too imprecise for Aegis' tastes; the potential for damaging the factories that fed the city's lifeblood was far too great. Their means of killing was simply to use men; crueller, sharper, less efficient but also more personal. More relieving, in a way - to know that another human being would have to carry your life, instead of a machine.

He looked away from the blue sky as he strode along a narrow walkway within the Sky District, brushing past elegantly-dressed nobles and their uniformed guards. He moved with purpose, double-checking the map and time on his phone - it would hardly do to be late to his own party, after all.

"This is Ghost," a deep, harsh voice rumbled over his earpiece - outdated compared to the augmentations preferred for communication by most, but also easier for Valentine to use. "Strike team is ready to move to position. Over."

"Understood," Valentine said quietly, keeping his voice hushed, just as the many executives and politicians around him did. He glanced down at the small dataslate in his hand, sending the file - merely a crudely-drawn plan superimposed over a still of a tourist map of the Sky District - to Ghost, his unofficial muscle. Nobody knew the man's real name; most didn't ask. Those who did were met bluntly. Valentine elected not to judge - everyone had their secrets.

"Move to marked positions and set up shop. Stand by for orders. Over."

Ghost gave a swift affirmative, and killed the frequency. Meanwhile, Valentine kept striding; as he inhaled, he felt at once depressed and relieved. On one hand, watching how easy and smooth life here was pained him; mere minutes before, he'd been breathing in the choking fumes of the Understreets.

Yet on the other hand, the air in this place was a relief - the air tasted different to Cocytus. In Cocytus, you could always taste it - a sense of dread hanging in the air, weighing over them. An apathetic yet desperate stench - you didn't notice it at first, but it crept up on you, until it was all you could think about, preying on your mind every second of the day. He himself wasn't sure if it was the lighting, or if Abyss Walker was beginning to-

No, no use thinking like that. The thing was as dead as it was getting while still being usable. Even if RELICS wasn't complete, Abyss Walker was well and truly locked up tight. Instead, he focused on the air here - he doubted that this city had ever seen a single Reaper, what with their ban on supernatural research.

Well-advised ban, that.

The thought came unbidden into his mind as he strode into the white-fronted cafe, weapon still tucked comfortably inside his suit jacket. A waitress swiftly directed him to a seat, and he took it, checking his watch. 12:59pm.

He sat evenly at the table, pretending to read the menu as he considered the contents of the cafe. An assortment of children of wealthy businessmen - a reasonably casual, understated cafe was a difficult thing to find in these parts. Also a few taller figures, with the glint of steel plating beneath their clothes - augmented soldiers, likely elite security. As expected.

Two minutes passed and a woman entered; small, slim, with shortish hair and dark eyes. Her features were slim, refined, feminine; her clothes reinforced that impression, an elegant Japanese kimono. His eyes widened a little at that - he didn't even know that such clothes existed, although he should've expected nothing less, with the reputation of the de Argentum family. At her hip, he noticed the blade of a curved, masterfully-crafted shortsword; a little above it, the familiar bulge of a loaded lightweight handgun, not dissimilar to his own.

He recognised her in a heartbeat. The de Argentum girl. The one he was here for.

He had to profess, Atlas hadn't been kidding when he'd described her as 'beautiful'.

He looked at her; as her gaze swept the room, their eyes met, soft dark eyes meeting cold, shadowy ones. He nodded to her, subtly, imperceptibly to anyone who wasn't paying attention - yet the message was clear.

Sit.

For a second, nervousness flickered and died swiftly enough in his brain. This was it - his chance. If he failed to persuade her, there would be few second chances

But of course, there never is.