Chapter Text
“Elected Councilwoman Mirell, lately you have been making waves with your rather aggressive advocacy to abolish the Controlled Population Authorization Act and lessen the inequality gap, which has plummeted nearly seven percent in the last two years alone. But what can you, as an individual, do when the rest of the Council have expressed their favor to keep the Act, and the last poll showed nearly 63 percent of the population in support of it?”
“Well, firstly, I alone can’t perform miracles — it’s always a team effort. Secondly, I plan to uproot the old ways of the previous Council and focus on uniting our society. We cannot continue to treat the Blessed as property, as tools for the state’s convenience..."
The old TV’s screen crackled, flickering as the speech distorted for a few seconds before turning back to normal. Muffled shouts and screams erupted from the audience in response to her words. There was no faster way to provoke unrest than deliberately using an outdated term with dogmatic connotations.
Caelan blinked repeatedly as his slightly watery eyes traced cracks in the ceiling of the shabby bathroom. Soon, his eyes adjusted to the contacts, and he returned to the small living room where the TV still showed the live feed of the inauguration ceremony. He hurriedly pocketed his essentials — keys, phone, and wallet — and finally reached to turn the TV off before leaving. It wasn’t as if he’d been genuinely interested in the speech.
At home, he usually kept it on at low volume, mostly to mask the other sounds coming from the neighboring unit. Listening to the shrill screams, nauseating moans and the constant slap of skin against skin hour after hour would drive anyone insane. Fortunately, the rough-looking neighbor worked nights, so Caelan could at least get a few hours of peaceful sleep after his own shifts ended.
Keeping up a brisk pace, enough to make a thin sheen of sweat form on his forehead despite the biting, near-freezing weather, Caelan hurried on. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up, not wanting to risk catching a cold. This was the first time the temperature had dipped near zero this year, and like clockwork, a nasty cold would inevitably spread — especially in this cramped, densely packed section of the outer city, where cheap housing had been squeezed in, or rather, banished.
With a sharp turn, he cut a corner he normally avoided. It was a faster route by nearly five minutes, but instantly the darkness and smell of something rotting seemed to rise from the damp pavement and looming walls. Across the street, he could already see his workplace, but first he had to pass through this narrow stretch, lit only by a few yellowed lamps. He ignored the poor souls who approached him, each one both hoping and dreading that he might be their next customer. Some had eyes artificially modified until their entire eyeballs were black, probably allowing only limited vision, while others wore metallic collars with small laminated cards dangling from them, listing their hourly rates and core skills, since they couldn’t speak. They were all dressed minimally in various types of latex or fetish gear, freezing their asses off, no doubt.
The place they worked, no, were owned by, was called Heaven's Heaven. What a lousy name. It was no different from the countless others like it. Most were run by small-scale debt-collection agencies. Their business was simple: they bought the people who had debts, or their family members, cousins, friends, or literally anyone close to them if the main debtor passed away. All of it was completely legal, since technically only the “debt” was being sold to more capable hands. Many large, well-known insurance companies and banks were eager to rid themselves of customers who couldn’t pay back, and these agencies were more than happy to step in.
There were two reasons Caelan usually avoided taking this route. The first was obvious. The second was more selfish: the police were often called here — a worker running off, a brawl, drug dealing… you name it. But he couldn’t just easily find a new job, and in any case, it was nearly impossible for a variety of reasons. So Caelan had grown used to seeing patrolling officers more often than not. The beginning had been rough, but over the course of three years he'd adjusted somewhat. Besides, maybe “hiding in plain sight” was better than working and living way out in the gutters. After nearly ten years of surviving as a “free” individual, it was inevitable that one might lose their edge sooner or later, chasing even a fleeting sense of normalcy.
Caelan grabbed the cold handle of the door, stepped inside, and tore off his hood as he exhaled the breath he had been holding for who knows how long. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, pricking at his eyes, as he rummaged for the staff card to swipe at the clock-in tablet by the door. It was exactly four. Perfect, he had made it just in time. Caelan knew that if he was late one more time this month, Milo would have no choice but to report it to the boss. Milo was the manager here, but despite that, his management style was easy-going. He was also a good friend of Caelan’s — or, as he was known to others, “Leif.”
The place specialized in custom herbal, electrolyte, and nutrient infusions, along with a variety of other similar services. A big part of it was making customers feel at ease, be it through light flirting, conversation, or letting them vent. Everything was designed to create a dependent connection, ensuring they kept coming back. Getting them semi-hooked on the infusions was just the first step.
Surprisingly, it was a rather lucrative business. Caelan worked mostly behind the scenes, cleaning the place, restocking supplies, and preparing refreshments and rooms, making sure everything ran smoothly while staying out of the spotlight.
“Boss is here.” Xio, one of the infusionists and another good friend of Caelan, signed, raising an eyebrow. Her expression was usually cold and unfriendly, but Caelan could tell there was a hint of worry behind her stern face this time. Her long black hair fell straight past her shoulders, framing a slender face, and her neatly styled bangs stopped just before the thin eyebrows, giving her a sharp look.
“Fuck me.” Caelan signed back with a resigned sigh, his pale hands reddened at the joints from the cold. He rubbed them together quickly, trying to restore feeling.
Xio let out a sound resembling a snort and settled back behind the low reception table, her attention already returning to the phone in her hands.
Caelan barely had time to push his overgrown bangs into something resembling neatness before an imposing, deep voice called out.
“Leif!” Their boss emerged from the back, tall and scowling as always.
“Yes, boss.” Caelan replied meekly, bowing his head slightly.
“You’re late again,” the boss snapped, stepping closer. “Do you even care about showing up on time? Or is this your idea of dedication?”
Technically, he was on time. But their asshole of a boss expected everyone to show up ten to fifteen minutes early, unpaid, as if that alone proved loyalty. He only came by once a week or less, but when he did, he always managed to sour the air. There was always something wrong. Someone’s attitude. Someone’s face. Someone’s usefulness. When sales were good, he’d wrinkle his nose and grunt, as if success personally offended him. When they were going through a dry patch, like now, he turned feral.
“I’m sorry. I’ll step up.” A useless apology.
The boss grabbed Caelan’s chin roughly, jerking it upward. “Eyes up when I’m talking to you,” he snarled. “Tsk. How many times do I have to tell you to look presentable? You come in here looking like some third-rate back-alley whore." His thumb flicked through Caelan’s bangs, still tousled from the biting wind, before pressing hard against his forehead. “You think I’m going to let you hide in the back forever?”
Caelan stayed silent.
The boss scoffed. “Not in the mood to answer? You never are. Makes things easier, doesn’t it?" He leaned in close, so close that Caelan could smell the sour stench of his rotting teeth. “Don’t get it twisted, Leif. You’re not mute. I hired you for that pretty face of yours—and I’m sure you know it.” His grip tightened before he shoved Caelan’s face aside. “I should drag your ass to a salon myself and tell them to shave off this bird’s nest you call hair. At least then you’d look like you’re worth putting out front.”
He paced as he spoke, voice rising. “You think I’m going to let you do as you please forever? If I say you’re on reception or in the rooms tomorrow, you’ll smile and pour drinks like a good little asset. Understood?”
Caelan nodded slowly. He’d stopped listening properly a while ago, responding only when the pauses demanded it.
The rant continued, spiraling outward. Xio was too cold. Milo too stupid. Caleb too aloof. Even the new hire wasn't spared. Everyone was incompetent and ungrateful, and in his mind they should have bowed their heads and kissed the ground he walked on for the privilege of having a job that barely paid a living wage.
“You’re all fucking idiots. Every single one of you. If sales don’t go up by next month, I’ll replace the whole damn staff. I don’t care how long you’ve been here. You’re all disposable. Got it?”
“Yes.” Caelan said quietly, nodding again.
Apparently satisfied, the boss strode toward the exit, already fishing a cigarette from his pocket. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang.
“Unhinged.” Xio commented as she stood, walking with Caelan toward the back.
“You’re lucky you don’t have to listen to him.” Caelan scrubbed his sleeve across his face with furrowed brows. “Disgusting. He actually spat on me.”
Xio let out a short laugh as she took a puff from her electronic cigarette. Caelan clicked his tongue softly and reached over, snatching the e-cig from her grasp. He took a couple of quick inhales before tossing it back.
“Leif, Leif! Is he gone?” Milo emerged from the cramped prep room that doubled as an office, cheeks flushed pink as if he’d just come in from the cold. “Can you believe it? He actually slapped me. Both cheeks! Look, look!” He clutched his face dramatically.
“Holy shit. What did you do?” Caelan asked, the corners of his mouth curling upward despite himself.
“Idiot. Why just take it?” Xio signed bluntly.
Milo was taller than the boss, though built slimmer. With his handsome face and easygoing nature, he lacked that oppressive presence entirely, which made the mental image of him getting smacked around all the more ridiculous.
“Hey! I know that sign,” Milo protested, his eyes darting from Xio to Caelan for confirmation. “You just called me a wuss, didn’t you?”
Xio took another drag from her e-cigarette, ignoring him entirely as she settled into the office first.
Caelan only shrugged and gave Milo a few light pats on the back in an attempt to comfort him.
Milo immediately took advantage of it, swinging an arm around Caelan’s shoulders and dragged him down onto the small couch. “Aa-ah, he’s been like this for weeks already. I swear, if this keeps up, we might be out of a job next month.”
As he continued rambling, Milo absentmindedly twirled Caelan’s dark brown hair around his fingers. Apparently, he found it calming. Milo had never been shy about physical contact; the concept of personal space seemed entirely lost on him. Caelan didn’t mind. When it mattered, Milo was dependable, and in many ways, he was the older brother Caelan had never had.
Thankfully, the boss didn’t return, even after fifteen minutes, which meant he’d left for good. They reopened as usual, but like the past few weeks, business was slow, and with few customers coming through, most of the time was spent chatting and lounging around.
Xio was the first to leave, slipping out before closing so she could catch the last bus. Caelan and Milo locked up together.
The moment they stepped outside, the cold hit harder than before. The temperature had dipped well below zero, the wind cutting through the street and howling beneath the clear, black sky. It was too harsh to smoke in front of the shop, so they ducked into a narrow, sheltered strip nearby and lit their cigarettes with stiff fingers.
Even with the hum of traffic and the nightlife of the city around them, Caelan’s attention kept drifting. Sound carried strangely in the cold. Across the street, and a little farther down, stood that menacing, chilling place. Desperate moans. Pleas that blurred into screams. Tonight, they felt louder, echoing vividly in Caelan’s mind.
“Ugh. I seriously hate that place.” Milo muttered, his voice edged with something colder than the air as he took a long drag. He must have noticed Caelan’s unfocused stare.
Unlike Caelan, Milo had grown up here, in Section 8. Even so, losing your first love to a place like that had to be fucking awful, no matter how much of humanity’s worst you’d already witnessed. And it wasn’t as if that particular place was the worst of them all — not by a long shot. If anything, it probably served as a bitter reminder for Milo, as it would for anyone.
“Tell me about it.” Caelan replied in an emotionless tone, biting into his cigarette as a dull ringing began to ache in his ears. It seemed like the meds were starting to wear off.