The train platform was far below the surface, pale gray light stretching around the edge of the train tunnel. Mono-colored tiled floors mixed with minimalist carved walls to form a stale cage of stone. Underground infrastructure was expensive; travel was a frivolous luxury, but the Capitol was the keystone, the Empire’s Beating Heart, and it demanded the best. Access to the world above at all times was the power and resource that no other city could compete in.
The last of the passengers had exited and the train groaned, crawling its way down the tunnel with its endless cars of unloaded cargo. Opposite of the train tracks was a wide staircase, a gaping maw that led down into humanity’s cradle. Each step was covered in a patchwork of off colored cement, shielding the ailing structure from its millennia of use. Only a few lamps on the walls and ceiling still worked, casting the decrepit steps in a spotched crimson glow.
Ares gripped the wall and felt each step before committing. The red lamps illuminated the steps below them, the rest was pitch black except for the distant exit. Ares stumbled when his foot hit a chipped stair, his eyes blind in the darkness. His arm was scrapped against the rusted corpse of a guard rail, a small nub left alone and forgotten. The tick of each second was announced by his watch, but it was too dark to see how long it had been since Ares left the train.
The light at the end engulfed him after the rusted crawl, transforming into an open cavern. The first habited layer of the Capitol, The Plaza District. The original name was lost to time, instead named after its famous shopping area. The cavernous ceiling was too close to the ground, decorated in a net of stringed lights. Below the kaleidoscope of “stars,” pillars of two story buildings held the earthen sky up. In between these were one story shops and canvas tents, each with open fronts selling their wears and products. Rare hues and colors decorated everything, from clothing to walls and even the occasional mosaic floor.
Ares wandered with his eyes peeled open, absorbing as much of the sound of music, the spectacle, into his mind. One shop, a fusion of tent and food cart, lulled Ares with the smell of sour miracle rice. Next to the rolled up door was a thin tin badge of the Maiden Siren, a feminine abstract figure made of alien waves and curves. Sweet vinegar and spice tickled the air along with a lullaby of sizzling pots that brought dusty old memories. Ares walked into the back of the line.
“Hello, what can I get for you?” An old woman that had a crooked but enduring smile asked.
“I would like a bowl of sour rice, please.”
“Alright, that will be 4 brass.” Ares reached into his satchel and grabbed a small bag. Opening it, he grabbed 4 brass coins coated in a light patina and placed them on the table. The woman grabbed each and inspected them for their anti-counterfeit mark, a band of fluorescent pigment near the center.
“So what brings a young man like you to the Capitol?” Grabbing each of the coins, she dropped them in a slitted vault and grabbed a bowl.
“What do you mean?”
“Most people bring their own bowls to save money. The only people who don’t are the wealthy or tourists. Also, your mouth hung open as you took in the sights. It’s not hard to tell.”
“Hm. Thank you. Well, it is my first time seeing something like this. I am moving into the Capitol. I have some people here who are willing to take me in.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I have seen many act far worse. What did you move here for?”
“I am hoping to get into the University or a college.” Ares said, wearing a foolish grin mask.
“Oh, don’t cut yourself short. You're young, dream big. You seem to be intelligent enough.” She finished filling the bowl and gave it to him with a spoon. “Here, make sure you come back and tell me the results.” She gave a mother’s grin as she handed him his rice.
“Alright.”
With his bowl hugged in one arm, Ares reached into his satchel and retrieved a slip of cloth from his bag. He read and reread the scratched out note, observing the signpost before turning off the main street. Plaza District had another name, the First District, since it encompassed the entirety of the first floor. There were many other sections to it besides the Plaza. These other areas were shopping districts in their own right, if you knew where to look.
The bright colors and festive lighting retreated, turning to mass neighborhoods of gray houses squeezed together. His bowl was licked clean and stowed away in his satchel as a large tunnel opened up. The decapitated sarcophagus consumed him whole in a thick woven darkness pierced only by sparse lights. The stone snake opened its mouth to a mess of buildings stacked ontop of each other.
The Pile was a section of the Plaza District that could be considered its own. Unlike the plaza, which was wide and short, this cavern was narrow and deep like a ravine. Layers of buildings, bridges, balconies, and floor were haphazardly built on top of each other. The buildings and bridges were of various styles and quality like an architectural fever dream.
The Pile was one of many slums where dirty things could be done for dirt cheap. Many immigrants will find themselves trapped there, unable to escape despite their talent. Among the bounty hunters though, it was more famous than the Plaza. Most equipment used came from here; they were cheaper and more dependable, cementing the Pile as a sort of “holy land” for the profession.
Ares wandered around the clutter of streets, stopping in front of a small building named Dirtbowl’s Pawn Shop. It was windowless, surrounded in boards and iron bar defenses with a small sign on the door that said “Open.” Inside was cramped, enough to fit five people and not a single more. Behind the counter was a leathery bald man, covered in scars and wrinkles. The smell of alcohol wafted from his thin beard like an incense candle. His eyes pierced like a predator, reminded Ares of a delver.
“What can I get for you, son?”
“I am looking for someone to chart me a map.”
“That is an odd thing to ask for. I have maps in the back, though I would need to see if you can afford them”
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“I heard someone here can still read the stars.”
“Hmm.”
The man waited before getting up and knocked on the backdoor in a sequence. A small hatch slidded open on the door and two eyes looked through. The old man nodded. The wall clicked and the door opened. Ares walked in as the man closed it behind him, locking with a click
The room was covered in nicknacks and mementos scattered beneath plaster detailed maps and drawings. Filling in the cracks were books, stacked on top of each other and leafed with colored cloth. Ares looked at a drawing of a scorch that caught his eye.
“What can I get for you?”
Walking in from a recessed archway, a man still in the prime of his life, if only starting to wane, walked in with a tray of dark blue glako tea. His eyes glistened like crystal or glass and his hair was like steel wool. He was covered in a mangled robe, mutilated with odd pockets stitched in the most grotesque position possible.
“Hello, I am in need of a map.”
“I think that is obvious if you have come here. What sort of map?”
“Of Kamine and the Hive.”
“Hmm.” He directed Ares to an old chair with a cushion that sunk when he sat on it. The cartographer sat on the chair opposite to him.
“First, before we begin, I need to find out who recommended you.”
“I was recommended by Black Tongue Gopher.”
“Alright, I do have the maps that you are looking for. If Black recommended you, then you must be from elsewhere. This will cost extra if you don’t have a license.”
“That is alright.”
“Okay, those two will cost five netrium, each.”
“You’re being a bit greedy. I only brought two.”
The cartographer scrutinized him before breaking out into a smile.
“Well, I must be a saint's father, I would have never thought old Gopher would have recommended somebody. You must have done something to impress him. Get the coins ready while I get the merchandise.”
The man went to a shelf, scouring through the various rolled pieces of scholar’s cloth while Ares pulled out two netrium coins from his money pouch. The cartographer inspected them before grabbing a map from the shelf and gave it to him.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“You as well.”
The cartographer led him to a back door with a metal bar locking it. He lifted the bar and opened the door, leading to a small alley. After Ares crossed, the metal bar thumped into place. Ares navigated his way back onto the street, navigating back towards the tunnel. Behind him, three people followed far behind.