“A new wave of layoffs has just happened in—”

Ranwir touched the int-ring on his index.

“More riots have broken out around—”

He touched the int-ring again.

“Another military conflict has taken place near—”

One more touch, then Ranwir pressed his index to the holo-shades frame, adjusting them slightly.

“The latest discoveries in conscious intelligence have led to massive protests. Government had to—”

Ranwir turned the int-ring around his finger. The feed on the holo-shades disappeared. The voice reading the news got silent.

“All’s in order then, life moves on,” he muttered to himself, took a sip of hot coffee. The liquid burned his palate. He felt a thin strip of skin peeling off, touched it with his tongue, trying to get rid of it. Didn’t manage, rolled it into a rough lump, unrolled it, then gave up, leaving it stuck to the palate, dangling like a spineless stalactite.

Taking another sip, Ranwir glanced down. The Lower city beneath him buzzed and boiled, winking at him with thousands of bright flashing lights. They burned his eyes, almost the same as coffee burned his palate. If not worse. He wondered if at some point a strip of his retina would peel off. If he kept staring at these lights. He did keep staring at them, the same way he kept drinking hot coffee, not waiting for it to cool off. A bad habit in a chain of other bad ones. There was some attraction in each of them. Some appeal that he could not resist.

The inner surface of his holo-shades lit up in the corner. A new message notification. He blinked it away, took another sip of coffee, took another glance at the lights. Another notification appeared and was dismissed by another blink. He knew what was in the messages, waited if there’d be one more. There was.

“Official business then,” he said with a wince, blinking twice, opening the third message. The only one that was worth reading.

He skimmed through the short text, focusing his gaze on a few details to highlight and save them. There was nothing new. A standard contract. A standard job. They needed an archiver. Needed it fast, discreet, cheap, and most likely disposable. He was the one matching all of these criteria.

He blinked three times with a second interval between each, sending his standard template as a reply.

“Half now. Half on completion. Non-negotiable. Transfer to confirm. Else – no deal.”

No greetings, no formalities. He got tired of them. Took too much time with no results. The “no deal” part had been “piss off” before, but at some point he decided to make it a touch more professional. Not like he cared much, it just left less room for angry follow-ups.

The opposite corner of the holo-shades lit up. The one that showed important notifications.

They made the transfer. More than a half. Seventy-five percent of his standard rate.

A deal then, he thought, finishing his coffee.

“We will double the remaining sum on completion if done within 24 hours,” he read a new message. “Details attached.”

Greedy bastards, he chuckled thinking that. Would’ve been more if they’d sent his standard fifty percent advance only.

A cheap trick he got used to seeing. They knew he’d accept in any case. He was the one who didn’t turn down a job once the advance was made. Damn reputation followed him everywhere. Like a nasty shadow, revealing his ugly nature. They just needed the job done fast. They all did. And Ranwir was a cheap solution.

He waited a few moments, holding his mug with both hands, feeling its warmth disappearing once there was no more coffee. The Lower city beneath him kept buzzing and boiling. It never stopped at that. The guts of Clusterpolis, the very centrepiece of its well-being. Or rather the foundation for the well-being of the ones living in the Upper city.

Ranwir touched the int-ring, signing the attached contract without reading it. There was no point. He never turned down a job after the advance. Needed to keep up with the reputation. However ugly it was.

The building loomed over him like a mighty creature that suddenly had to deal with an insect. An insect that it needed at the moment, however unpleasant it was.

Ranwir dispassionately stared back at the endless height of hundreds of floors that were getting lost up in the dirty grey clouds surrounding the building. A fog of vapours, smoke, and all kinds of fumes that the infrastructure mercilessly produced and threw into the air.

He loudly slurped, finishing his cup of noodles, burned his palate again. The thin strip of skin had finally come off and stuck to his tongue. He spat it into the empty plastic cup, put it on a garbage container nearby, not bothering to open the lid. It was full anyway, with all kinds of rubbish sticking out, like thorns of some trash hedgehog.

The building kept looming over him in silent reproach of a wealthy giant. That didn’t bother Ranwir one bit.

He approached the glass doors that looked so fragile, but he knew the glass was bulletproof. Or rather, any collision-proof. The material would probably withstand a missile hit. A small missile, but still.

He stood in front of the closed doors, put his hands in his pockets. The pleasant warmth of the eaten noodles in his stomach was quickly dying off and it was getting cold.

There was no intercom, no visible cameras. No need for that. He had to wait. Wait for a full scan and identity check. He knew that both were already in progress.

It was quiet in the backyard of the building. Especially after all the noises of the Lower city he just went through. They wrapped him like an old uncomfortable work uniform he had to wear every day once getting out. People shouting, crying, laughing, arguing, producing all the rest of human nature sounds. There were always at least a couple of demonstrations, a few manifestations, a bunch of protests, and a hell lot of boiling discontent. He walked through them, maneuvering between the flows of angry folk, bypassing the most crowded areas, sensing them a mile away, like a hundred-years-old catfish in its comfortable pond it knew every corner of.

The building stood exactly on the border between the Lower and Upper city. A checkpoint that could open doors to a better life. Could open them but rarely did that. Practically never. Otherwise those who already had that better life would have a touch less of it. And that had never been acceptable. And never would be.

Still waiting for the scan and ID verification to be finished, Ranwir thought about a couple of protesters that stared at him when he was entering the backyard. A mix of disgust and surprise on their faces. His cloth and overall appearance made him look like one of them, yet he was granted access to the building’s premises. Before entering he calmly stared back at them. Gave one of them a shrug. “Don’t ask me, I just work here” kind of shrug. Then he turned away, paying them no further attention. Might look like a reckless thing to do, turning away from articles like that, but Ranwir knew better. He could figure out from a distance who could be a real threat and who was just a lazy show-off.

Scan took longer than he’d got used to and Ranwir was beginning to get an idea why. Should’ve asked for more. The job was going to be harder than usual. Not that it mattered. Harder didn’t actually mean harder. Just longer and annoyingly boring. More boring than usual. But he’d have taken it anyway. And he wouldn’t have asked for more. Needed to keep up with his reputation.

The complete silence was beginning to make him anxious and he unconsciously clenched his jaw with tension. It was hard to get used to silence when you spent all your life among the noises of the Lower city. Felt like missing a part of you. A useless part perhaps. A part that always got in the way, but with it being gone, you just couldn’t get rid of the feeling that you were no longer complete. No longer yourself.

The glass doors opened at last. Slid to the sides, just wide enough for one person to enter. They wouldn’t stay open for long, Ranwir knew that. If he hesitated, they would close and the scan would start over. A standard protocol.

He went inside, hearing the doors closing behind him instantly. The hall was empty. Nothing and no one was there. Just an area for another invisible check. At least it was slightly warmer.

“Mister Ranwir,” he heard a woman’s voice, turned his head towards it.

She stood in the far corner, not visible from outside, barely noticeable inside. Strategically placed just at the border of the illuminated part of the room.

“This way,” the woman said in a blank voice.

No second checks then, Ranwir thought. They seemed to be in a real hurry. Not typical for a job like this. Not typical, but not extraordinary either.

He approached her, took a better look. Expensive clothes. Expensive skin. Expensive everything. A real contrast to his rather given up on life appearance.

Her eyes slowly went up and down, stayed a moment longer on his holo-shades. A quick-scan then. Interesting, he thought. They still needed to make sure. The shades, the int-ring on his finger. Insignia of his vocation. Rich folk had no need for physical devices. Wearing even one was considered to be a very bad example. An atavism of another time and cast.

“We need your voice sample.” The woman fixed her gaze above Ranwir’s shoulder, as though no longer interested in looking him in the eye.

“Why?” he didn’t need to know that, was just curious if she’d answer.

Predictably, she didn’t.

“Should be enough,” she turned around, entering the corridor nearby. “Follow me.”

Walking behind her, he noticed a few things. The clothes were not as expensive as he’d first thought. The same could be said about the rest of her appearance. Cost a fortune, sure, but not the fortune that would be appropriate for the ones that hired Ranwir. A contractor then. Not a full-time employee. He got curious and tried to get a closer look at the woman.

Ah, there it was. His lip slightly curled in a satisfied smirk. Under the right ear, a tiny dot, barely glowing, barely visible. An implant. An implant that could be seen. Should be seen.

Perhaps not even a contractor. An intern? Or had they downgraded her? Did something wrong maybe? But not the kind of wrong that would lead to a complete removal. Or something so wrong that they needed to keep her close. For now.

The implant kept glowing with a feeble green color. She was linked. They watched him through her. Maybe even took full control of her.

They reached the elevator doors already opened for them. She let him go first, their eyes met for a second. Ranwir figured out she knew what he’d just thought about her. For a moment it felt like she gave him the same look he’d given those protesters on the street. The look that said: “Everyone has to make a living somehow.”

The doors closed and the elevator went up, delivering Ranwir to the lowest level of high society.

“You’ve read the contract details,” it wasn’t a question but a beginning of the instructions giving process, so Ranwir just listened. “I am your sole contact here. Most of the premises have been vacated, but we may still pass by the others. You are not allowed to communicate with any of them…”

“Unless they do it first,” he was getting bored, knew these formalities already, and interrupted her monotonous speech.

“Unless they establish contact themselves,” she disregarded his remark. “You have your equipment on you.”

Again, that wasn’t a question. A formal confirmation she needed to make. For the ones watching. It was also the moment to make any additional requests if he had them.

“You’ve got coffee here?” he made his usual request. “Some snacks?”

She didn’t reply right away. Needed to get the approval first. It always amused Ranwir, almost made him laugh. Was among the reasons why he kept asking for coffee and snacks at every job. They often needed to double check if that was acceptable. Besides, there was always a chance they wouldn’t expect that and would need to get him some good stuff. The one they had themselves.

“Drinks and refreshments will be available near your working area,” she said at last. “You are free to take whatever you want.”

“Fine by me,” once Ranwir said that, the elevator doors opened. “Then I have everything I need.” He walked out, not waiting for an invitation.

One empty open space was followed by another, separated by thin glass walls, multiplying each other like infinite reflections in mirrors placed opposite each other. Vacated cubicles, scattered papers, opened cardboard boxes. An analog world of data needed to be purged. Or secured at least. Archived and hidden away.

“Someone’s been leaving in a hurry, huh?” he glanced at the woman over his shoulder. “How many are left to clean things up?”

“Follow me,” she passed by him, ignoring the questions.

Walking through the open space, Ranwir took a peek at some of the papers lying on the floor and tables. Didn’t expect to find anything interesting, was just doing that by habit.

“You are not allowed to memorize the documents’ contents,” the woman walked faster. “This is not your working area.”

“Just thinking about all the trees,” Ranwir said in a somewhat conspiratorial voice, carefully stepping over another pile of papers on his way. “Feels like a battlefield covered by corpses… Was paying the heroes a bit of respect.”

“What trees?” his ruminations at last caught her by surprise, she even slowed down a little. “What corpses?”

Couldn’t manage to keep it fully professional then, Ranwir thought. Most likely an intern. Or on her probation. What a time to be hired in a place like this. Maybe they’d done that on purpose. Fresh meat to throw into the grinder.

“Never mind that,” he caught up with her. “I’m an old chatterbox, that’s all.”

She frowned at him, then stopped near a grey door without any signs. An inconspicuous rectangle, almost blending with the walls around.

“This is your working area,” she took out her badge, pressed it against the door handle, went inside first.

“It’s fine,” Ranwir said, entering the room. “I’ll take it from here—”

“I’ve been given explicit instructions to accompany you during the assignment.”

“Have you?” Ranwir raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised. “Desperate times, eh?”

Given no comments, she pointed at the desk at the other side of the small narrow room.

“You can start right away.”

An ancient screen was blinking with black and white colors. An equally ancient keyboard was placed in front of it. Both were built into the desk, not showing any signs of connection, no signs of the device they were linked to.

Ranwir glanced around, saw a tiny stool, reached it with his foot and rolled it closer.

“You think they care about my posture or cut expenses whenever possible?” he asked the woman while fidgeting uncomfortably on the hard surface.

Unsurprisingly, the questions made no effect on her.

“The username and password are—”

“Admin, admin,” he interrupted, gave her a quick wink, then typed the words on the keyboard. “No need to waste any more of your precious breath. You’ve been a real talker already.”

He knew the username and password were only needed for him to touch the keys. They scanned his biometrics right away. The screen blinked one more time, then logged him in, revealing lines of code, following one another in a digital maze. A maze he needed to refactor and recompile in order to reach its end.

He scrolled through a couple of hundred lines back and forth, touched his int-ring, adjusted his holo-shades, blinked several times, preparing his work environment and taking a first look at the codebase. Just to let the holo-shades analyze the structure, figure out the main patterns. To test the soil at first, to get a general understanding of how everything was organized.

Badly. That's how organized it was. And to be entirely honest, it was just a terrible mess. A pile of data shoved into one place without any structure, with random comments and countless adjustments throughout the years. He didn’t even want to try figuring out how many people worked on it. Too many. And no one, not even one conscientious character, had the courage and brains to try giving it some structure, some kind of future-proofing. Not that Ranwir expected such a luxury, he’d given up on human nature a long time ago, but good old grunting was a part of his work process, like stretching his neck. Without it he’d feel incomplete and not properly prepared.

“A tangled web of mess,” he muttered. “Bet at least half of this code does nothing, but if removed, everything else’ll stop working. Push to production first, never ask questions later, huh?” he raised his eyes at the woman. She stood nearby without moving, staring at the screen.

Fully linked and remotely controlled, Ranwir thought. They didn’t even bother to disconnect, just froze her and let the recording go. “Good talks,” he sighed and turned back to the screen.

Despite his feigned whining, the task was rather simple. Just long and tedious, without anything new to it. He didn’t need to change, improve, or add anything. He was there to find the important parts, encrypt, archive, and extract them. That’s all. Then the entire codebase would be purged, erased completely. Years of work, however bad it was, would be just flushed away without any pity or remorse. When the ship was thinking, they had to make sure no one would see what had been written in the captain’s journal. Apart from the ones who were allowed to see the important parts. The parts that Ranwir was in the process of extracting.

The time had frozen, got lost somewhere on the periphery of his existence. Ranwir dove into the code, mercilessly discarding most of it to get access to the parts he needed to extract. The job was boring most of the time, the money he was making – not worth the effort, and yet he enjoyed it. He felt at home, floating in the blissful state of raw data. The data didn’t need anything from him. Didn’t ask for his account details, didn’t offer him useless services, didn’t make any false promises. It was everywhere at any given moment, but it was just what it was, raw data. You may not like it, you may hate it, but it didn’t matter. Data was data. The simplicity of this concept was one of the rare honest things in life.

“What hap—” Ranwir stopped typing, suddenly hearing the woman’s voice that brought him back to reality. It changed. No longer sounded blank and mechanical. Was slightly hoarse, like getting used to speaking after a day of silence. “What happened? What’s…” she paused for a moment. Ranwir turned around and looked at her. “Oh no,” she was turning pale. “No, no, no!”

“They’ve disconnected, huh?” he nodded with understanding, already seeing where that was going. “No longer in need of your… services?”

“No…” the woman kept muttering, shaking her head, as though persuading herself it wasn’t real. “They’ve said they’d keep me strung. They’ve promised to—”

“Promised?” Ranwir couldn’t hold his cackling laugh. “You’ve chosen the wrong profession if you rely on promises in that line of work.”

“Who are you?” she asked, as though finally noticing him. “What are you… No,” she threw up her hand. “Don’t answer that. Don’t tell me anything. I’m not supposed to know.”

“Too late for that,” Ranwir shrugged. “They’ve cut off your strings. Un-strung you. Meaning, no one really cares what you know anymore.” He leaned back on the desk behind him. “I’m Ranwir. The archiver.”

She stared back at him and he wasn’t entirely sure she understood or was even really looking at him. Was still processing what had just happened.

“And you are?” he managed to catch her gaze, then nodded at another small desk near her, inviting her to sit on it.

She held her eyes on him a moment longer, then lowered herself on the desk, her shoulders sagged, as though the air was getting out. She rubbed her forehead, winced, and kept her eyes closed, pressing one finger to the bridge of her nose.

“Coleana,” she said at last, like giving up and not caring any longer.

“Well, nice to finally meet you,” Ranwir pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “Listen Coleana, the question keeps bugging me. Are you… Actually, were you an intern here?”

She was blankly staring in front of her, then felt his gaze, realized he’d asked her a question, and said: “Apprentice.”

“Huh, I see…” Ranwir frowned a little. “Never understood the difference between the two.”

“Internship is for the ones who are still young, naive and full of unshattered hopes,” she sighed, talking mechanically, as if it was something she’d got used to explaining. “Apprentiship is for the old and hopeless… Most of the time.”

“Poetic,” Ranwir nodded in approval. “I like your attitude. You should stick to it, considering the current,” he twirled his finger in the air, “situation.”

“You’ve some experience in the matter?” she asked him bitterly.

“Quite a bit,” he nodded again. “As a third-party observer though. Not as an employee or… apprentice,” a little chuckle got out once he said that.

“So, you think I’m done?” she tried to sound confident, but he felt a smidge of hope in her voice. The hope he had no other way but to kill right away.

“Never liked to be the bearer of bad news, but…” Ranwir let her process that part, then continued: “Yeah, you’re pretty much done here. My advice: look at the bright side of things. No more strings attached.”

Coleana was silent. Ranwir didn’t expect her to react anyway. The quiet moment was suddenly interrupted by her loud hissing. She pressed her hand against her neck, behind the right ear, rubbing it and wincing unpleasantly, then scratched, groped something, and looked at her palm.

The tiny implant was no longer blinking, lying in her hand and looking slightly scorched.

“Well, seems like you’ve finally received your termination letter,” Ranwir said. “Already conveniently signed for you,” he pointed at the implant. “It’s just performed its graceful seppuku, but I still wouldn’t keep it.”

“Why?” she chuckled, not looking amused at all. “Afraid they’ll keep spying.”

“Spying I don’t mind,” Ranwir gave her one of his indifferent shrugs. “But they could also charge you for keeping the company’s property. Even in that sorry state.”

She gave it a thought, glanced at the tiny implant one more time, then flicked it off her palm.

“I’d just leave it on your desk instead, but—”

“I don’t have a desk,” she cut him off. “I don’t have anything here…”

Ranwir knew the implant micro self-destruction was the last drop, the final argument that let her fully realize that she was no longer working there, no longer hired, no longer an apprentice, or whatever she was. He cocked his head a little, to one side, then to the other, quietly preparing for her incoming confession. She didn’t keep him waiting.

“Damn conglo-world. Knew I should’ve never trusted them. Should’ve never approached it. Swallowed me whole, then spat me out like a fish scale. Bastards promised me it was just a start, just a first step in my new career,” her face twitched with anger once she said the word. “The irony is, they even mentioned how it would go if things went in the wrong direction. Were legally obliged to do that. Then said it’d never come to that. The future is bright ahead of you,” Ranwir doubted it was a direct quote, but he got the gist and kept listening. “And I’ve believed them. Again. Jokes on me. If there’s anyone to blame here first, it’s not them, it’s my stupidity.”

“Not your first apprenticeship then?” Ranwir heard somewhere that active listening was a good thing for a productive conversation and decided to give it a try. In reality, he was just getting bored. “Been there, done that?”

“Not like this,” Coleana shook her head. “I had a normal job before… Well,” she waved her hand around, “meaning kinda the same as all of this, but with an actual position, title, and benefits,” she made a pause and sighed. “I even took part in letting others go. Not proud of it, but you know how it goes. Better them than me. I’ve bills to pay and mouths to feed, and all that veil of excuses. At some point I realized that so many had been let go that the trend was clearly visible. Had been for quite some time, I just chose not to notice it. It surely noticed me in turn, and shortly after I was knocking on every conglo-door in my vicinity to put my foot in there. To find anything that would even consider me hirable enough to look in my direction. In the end, the only option was this,” she tapped her heel on the floor. “And I was happy to stick my head in the loop. Not like there were other options.”

“Every loop needs an exit condition,” Ranwir thoughtfully mumbled without even realizing that.

“What?” Coleana glanced at him, somewhat puzzled. “You keep talking like… Don’t know. I can’t figure out if that’s your accent or…” She paused for a moment, thinking. “It’s like everything about you is… weird.”

“Lady,” Ranwir’s smile was as broad as his lips allowed. “Not only I’m the Lower city born and bred, on top of that I’m an archiver. Even our own folk look at me as though I’m some peculiar appendage that no one understands the purpose of.” His index finger followed the back and forth path between his chest and Coleana. “You see the social, financial, and cultural abyss separating us? If I start explaining, it'll take a day at least.”

“Well…” she got confused, as if suddenly feeling guilty. Ranwir didn’t even realize that his little speech could make such an effect. For him it was just a reality. “Why are you…” she coughed awkwardly. “I mean, why are we both here then?”

“Do you know what this is?” Ranwir waved his hand around him, saw the clear answer to his question in Coleana’s eyes, and kept talking: “It’s a black box room.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve ever been on a plane?”

“Of course I have, that’s not what I meant…” she sighed with slight annoyance, got silent for a moment, then muttered: “I can’t access the net.”

“Of course you can’t,” Ranwir kept smiling, realizing that she’d just tried to find the information herself. “The room is cut off, shielded from the outside world. The only link to it is,” he nodded at the screen behind him, “this piece of fossil.”

“This?” Coleana took a surprised peek at the device. “I thought it’s just decor with its only purpose being to fill the space. Do you want to tell me that you need to actually… operate this?”

“Oh, I’m an operator all right,” the word was something new to him and Ranwir said that as if tasting it, checking if he’d use it further. “My guess is you don’t quite understand what I do here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not explaining this as though I consider you dumb or feel like some smartass to teach a novice. I’m just aware of the fact that you are contractually obliged to have a gap of knowledge in that particular area. Correct?”

“Yes,” she puffed out her cheeks, then added: “I did hear about some of the tasks the archivers do though. Can tell you what I know, so you feel even less of a smartass.” It was her turn to smirk at him. “It seems like we’re no longer in a hurry and waiting for someone to escort us both out anyway.”

Ranwir knew she wanted to talk most likely to forget for a moment about her current situation and the fact that she’d soon need to desperately look for a new job. So he just gave her some sort of a “go ahead look” and she continued: “Most, if not all, of the Conglos have their databases run on ancient software. And the more valuable the data that’s stored there is, the more ancient the software is. They intentionally train their staff that manages it to only have basic access and understanding.To avoid leaks, hacks, unauthorized access, and unintentional mistakes and errors.” She paused, saw no comments from the Ranwir’s side and kept talking: “ If conglo goes down, it is usually followed by potential official investigations, checks, and data reveal. Hence, they hire an archiver, an independent third-party with a license allowing them to modify the ancient software. Based on what I’ve found after some digging, there was some loophole in the law which, after some targeted lobbying, remained a permanent and legal exception. The kind of exception that considers the archivers an entity with a very special status quo. Which, in turn, allows them to not be influenced by the officials or by the conglos.” She rubbed her chin remembering something. “As long as they are hired by the latter ones for data scraping. Your contract is basically a legal confirmation that they grant you the right to get their data.” She glanced at Ranwir, noticed a genuine interest in his eyes and mimicked his voice: “Correct?”

“Someone’s gone an extra mile during her homework preparation,” Ranwir mused, pursing his lips in a vague approval. He actually liked her mocking tone. Contrary to others, when folk made fun of him, he felt at ease, enjoyed it even. Word battles were his preferable type of combat. It kept his teeth and limbs in place. “Haven’t they,” he pointed one finger upwards, “been concerned about your digging up that much?”

“I’ve found my own loophole in the contract. I tend to read what I sign,” when she said that, for a moment Ranwir felt as though she knew about his own approach to contracts, but he did his best to keep his face as blank as he could. “Apparently,” Coleana continued, “no one forbade me from doing a little bit of research during my off-work time and with my own means.” She then frowned, as though disappointed by something. “Haven’t heard about the black box rooms. I just thought they simply shove you to any storage area, then you connect to the internal network, and do whatever you need to do.”

“Well, that’s partially true,” Ranwir admitted. “This is as close to a storage area as you could hope. On the surface. In reality, this is one of the most secured and guarded areas on each floor. Fun fact is, part of that security is guaranteed by the ancient soft and hardware we’ve just talked about.”

“Cause no one really knows how to operate it?”

“Let’s get rid of that ‘operate’ word,” Ranwir decided that he didn’t like the term. “Use – that one suits us perfectly enough. But yeah, almost no one knows how to use it. That’s the idea. It’s been made a long time ago and it works. And as long as it works, there ain’t no need to fix it.”

“Have to be honest,” Coleana said, “I don’t quite get that part. If it’s so old how can they rely on it?”

“The same way humans rely on the past generations, building the future on the ancestors' bones. Besides, it’s a closed system,” Ranwir glanced around the room. “Isolated from the outside world, running locally with no external access. It’s needed only for data storage, nothing else.”

“So, the most important area of this floor is right here then?” Coleana asked. “And this dinosaur of a machine,” she pointed at the old screen, “stores the juiciest parts.”

“It’s an interface only. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s heavily backed up. Those up high are not stupid after all.” Ranwir gave it a thought and added: “Well, not stupid in that particular field. Archivers are given access to rooms like this, but it’s not like they tell us how the whole system is organized and functions. Conglo goes down, they hire us, we come in, scrape, encrypt, archive. Then the whole database is being wiped out.”

“So, it means, once that’s done, the archiver is the only one who has all the data?”

“Pretty much,” Ranwir grinned. “We are hired to play the role of a middleman.”

“A middleman?”

“Yep,” he clicked his tongue. “They are contractually obliged to give us their data and we are obliged to accept it and become its new owner. Once conglo is shut down completely and all the legal fizz-buzz is settled, the remnants of that conglo in question form a new one. And we sell them back their data. I don’t need to tell you that’s just a constant and standard process. No conglo exists forever. The new ones are born from the shattered pieces of the old ones, they rise, they make their sacred profits, reach the level when it’s time to go down, take their leap, then begin to repeat the cycle.”

“And all that to keep the money working,” Coleana said in a distant voice. “Profits should constantly grow and the only way to keep up is to start anew, otherwise it’s not possible to exceed the previous results forever.”

“That part you should know better than me,” Ranwir said. “I’m a digital relics extractor, the financial side is your battlefield.”

“So, for a relatively short amount of time, you are a single data storage source for all the conglo’s secrets and whatnot?”

“Something like that.”

“And the officials can not force you to reveal it?”

“Nope. The crucial part is that it’s considered my own personal data. Which is supposed to be protected by all the relevant laws. And I can do whatever I want with it. If I don’t want to share it, no one can force me to.”

“I mean…” Coleana pondered. “No one really buys it. It’s just some rubbish for those who wear pink glasses and believe in a better world.”

“First, there’s nothing wrong with liking the pink color,” Ranwir shook his finger at her. “Second, you know how laws go… If something is too lengthy to scan through over a few seconds, folk don’t really pay attention to it and hope for the best. But if you spend some time reading it, you might be surprised what you can and can’t do. Jokes aside, legally, the data’s mine and my right to it is fully protected by the law. Can they force me to share? There’s always a way, but that would lead to further law adjustment process, conglos versus governments wars, and so on. No one really wants it and everyone accepts the rules of the game.”

“Do you upload it to another source? The extracted data I mean. You have to keep it somewhere during that transitional period.”

“Won’t go into all the details,” the corner of Ranwir’s lip went up slightly. “Have to keep some professional mystery and secrets after all, but it’s kinda on me. I’m not allowed to duplicate or transfer it.”

“What if someone gets…” Coleana got silent, probably looking for proper words.

Knowing the question, Ranwir made a gun with his fingers and pressed it to his temple. “Overzealous to get my freshly acquired data?”

“Yeah, that. I couldn’t even imagine how much you’re… well, worth, storing all that.”

“I’m as worthless as I’ve been before accepting the job. Just a Lower city scum, not worthy to look at. The moment I get the data, I’m constantly tracked, my vitals included. I go flat, another archiver extracts it from me, without the right to resell it to a different party. We are only allowed to make a transaction with the ones who made the initial contract. Any deviation to that is considered a contract violation and the officials would then have to interfere. And no one wants that. The officials first of all. Too much of a mess to clean up afterwards. To sum up, one of my so-called colleagues’d pick up where I left.”

“Are you allowed to tell me that much?” Coleana frowned, mechanically looking around, as though they were being watched. “Feels like at least some of it is supposed to be confidential.”

“You see,” Ranwir said, stretching his neck, “you look at all of this, as though it’s some sort of a big deal. A spicy soup of data laundering, trade secrets, and conglos’ dirty underwear fashion show. While it kinda is all of that, it’s not something extraordinary. For you, it is, sure. Being laid off, figuring out how to pay your bills, pondering how much justice is left in the world, and so on. But for the rest of that world, it’s just another Monday. I’m not telling you anything truly new. Sorry for being honest, but I’ve finished my job before you… woke up and am simply waiting for someone else to come and tell me to get out. It’s just not often I get the chance to chat to a former employee who’s no longer strung and actually quite eager to listen. And in my line of work, having a real convo with another human being is sorta luxury, not to mention that the human being in question is from the other side. Truth be told, I’m just profiteering, enjoying my little moment."

“Sounds…”

“Selfish?”

“Sad.”

“The drama of my life is the rest of the world's comedy. Although, I don’t mind being a tragic hero sometimes.”

“You consider yourself to be a hero?” the skepticism on Coleana’s face couldn’t grow any stronger.

“An old boy can dream, don’t you think?” he grinned at her.

“Yeah, right,” Coleana jumped off the desk she was sitting on. “I need some air. This room makes me feel small. Smaller than I really am. I think my badge is still working,” she waved the plastic card in the air. “You wanna grab something to eat or drink?”

“I never refuse a dinner invitation.” Ranwir stood up and stretched with half-painfull, half-pleasant look. “Damn thing only adds to the back pain,” he pushed the little stool in the corner. “Lead the way.”

Coleana approached the door, hesitated a moment, then pushed it, surprised that it hadn’t been locked. They went out and she walked Ranwir through a couple of other open spaces until they reached an area with several tables and vending machines.

“Nice choice of restaurant,” Ranwir looked around. “I like your taste.”

“You mean the complete lack of it?” looking at the food selection of one of the machines, she replied mechanically, not even trying to make it sound like a joke. “Let’s see if the balance hasn’t been frozen yet.” She pressed the badge against the scanner on the interface panel. It bipped and showed the green “Paid” message on its small screen. “Well, plus one to the list of today’s successes.” She grabbed her cup of coffee and tossed Ranwir the badge.

“How many successes are there now?” he asked, catching the badge.

“One so far, obviously.”

“More than my list has then,” Ranwir muttered, carefully examining the selection with a look of a peasant connoisseur.

“You haven’t been fired, so that makes us even… At minimum.”

“A debatable argument, but have it your way,” he pressed a few buttons, waited for his coffee to be prepared, then pressed the buttons again and punched the badge against the scanner. “You don’t mind me feeling at home, do you?” he pointed at the machine with the badge.

“Nice of you to ask after spending my money,” Coleana chuckled. “But please do go nuts. It may be disabled and zeroed out at any moment, so it’s not like I’m expecting to use it again.”

“In that case, let’s have a feast,” he grabbed the ordered pack of cookies, handed it over to her, instantly ordered another one. “Take it then. These are the good ones. Promise.”

“Hm, alright,” she absently stared at the pack. “I kept wondering why this section of the machine was always empty. Guess now I know.”

“But today’s your lucky day,” Ranwir was already chewing. “Plus one to your success list.”

“You have a special way of cheering people up.” Coleana sat at one of the tables, took a sip of coffee.

“What can I say? I am a special kind of charmer.” Ranwir approached the glass wall of the room, stared outside, at all the open spaces spreading further like an endless chain of office work routine. “You know, I’ve always found this kinda… fascinating. These last moments before the colossus finally falls.” He glanced at Coleana over his shoulder. “Technically, we’re both still employed. You – cause, even though your implant is fried, they haven’t yet escorted you out, which is considered to be the final frontier between this world and the one outside. And me – cause, freelancer or not, my contract is signed and active. So, we are sorta colleagues.”

“What’s so fascinating about it?” Coleana asked him skeptically.

“Well,” Ranwir considered his answer for a moment, “it’s like being a passenger of a sinking ship. But the kind of passenger that is both no longer in danger and can’t really do anything. You can walk around the empty cabins, from time to time see panicking faces and shattered furniture, grab a bite,” he showed her a cookie. “Everything has already been done, not much left to do, but you still have to wait a bit before diving back into tough reality.”

“There’s a difference in lifeboats availability for the two of us though,” Coleana noticed. “Because of this sinking ship situation, one of us has been fired and another one – hired.”

“Touche,” Ranwir admitted. “Still, you have to at least try looking at it my way. Keeps you a touch less vulnerable… impacted by the ordeal. A rare opportunity to let go and watch the world fall apart.”

“Yeah, guess you are right, partially at least,” it was her turn to agree. “Not my first sinking ship, so I see what you mean.”

“Well, glad we’ve managed to step on that common ground of ours,” Ranwir said thoughtfully, then pointed somewhere behind the glass wall. “Care for some company? IBs are here.”

“Already?” Coleana looked over her shoulder. “Faster than usual. Doubt they were so eager all by themselves…”

“Maybe they just want to deal with all of that asap,” Ranwir shrugged, taking another bite of cookie. “Both them and the conglo might’ve come to an agreement to proceed at once. Let’s just shove all the dust under the carpet, you know. Everyone needs to switch to their other, more important, business.”

“The business of setting up a new conglo and getting back the data from you?”

“Mhm,” having a mouthful of cookie, Ranwir produced a confirmation sound. “Among the rest of the affairs.”

They saw three newcomers approaching them. All three were wearing uniforms with letters CIB on the chest.

“Conglomerates Investigations Bureau, lead agent Anithea” the woman at the head of her other two companions said in a routine manner. “You two work here?”

The question was an official filler to give her time to run a quick check. Ranwir glanced at Coleana meaningfully, letting her do the unnecessary introductions.

“External communications specialist Coleana, employee number 52/02TcO01-21,” she said, then nodded at Ranwir. “This one is Ranwir, the archiver. Need to see my badge?”

“No need,” Anithea shook her head, most likely satisfied with the check results. “Need to see mine?”

“I’m fine,” Coleana replied. Seeing that Ranwir was absently staring aside and sipping his coffee, she added: “We both are.”

“Good,” Anithea looked at Ranwir. “You’ve finished here already?”

“I’m half-way through my cookies,” he said innocently, showing her his pack of sweets.

“Great, you’ll get your +1 to humor stats while heading out,” she said without any enthusiasm in her voice. “Now answer the question.”

“Why does everyone always take me seriously,” Ranwir sighed. “All done, chief, nice and clean, as if I was never here. Let’s pretend I haven’t been…”

“Yeah-yeah, whatever. Officially, I must remind you that you have the right to share the acquired data and hence perform your—”

“Listen agent,” Ranwir interrupted her nonchalantly, “I’ve never been much of a performer. Just a pleb with a bad sense of humour. We both know the official part, both know that neither of us wants any data sharing to get more headaches and extra reports filling-in. So, you do your duties and I’ll play the clown.”

“Noted,” Anithea’s blank, official tone didn’t change one bit. Ranwir also knew that she meant it literally, recording and registering his reply. “I’ve nothing else to do with you. Are you waiting for the ones who’ll escort you out?” Seeing Ranwir’s nod, she turned to Coleana. “Same goes for you?”

“Most likely,” Coleana said with hesitation. “Frankly, no one really briefed me of what would happen next. I just know I’m no longer part of this,” she waved around. “So, we were having a farewell party…”

“Congratulations. I’ve no questions for you either.” Anithea turned to one of her companions. “Val, your people take care of the area on the left. Lon,” she turned to the other one, “the right one is for you. You can start.”

Saying nothing, her companions left, not even bothering to look at Coleana and Ranwir.

“This accepts anything else apart from the badges?” Anithea approached one of the vending machines, examined the selection.

“On me,” Coleana stepped towards her. “We’re partying, as I’ve said. Pick whatever you want.”

“Lucky me,” Anithea pressed a few buttons and Coleana punched her badge. “Mostly paper, as usual?” she made it look like a minor in-between question, raised her eyes at Coleana, and added: “Asking unofficially, won’t register whatever you say. Not like it changes anything.”

“They all say that…” Ranwir mused quietly, as if talking to one in particular.

Coleana still decided to reply: “Yeah, they… Well, we’ve scattered it all over. Random numbers, random docs. Just printed drafts that serve no purpose. I don’t know much, or rather most of it, but something tells me you won’t find anything there.”

“Of course we won’t,” Anithea shrugged. “We still have to process all that. To waste time, so your former employers have enough of it to shut everything down properly. Do you know how many are left to clean up the place? Again, asking unofficially.”

After another “They all say that” from Ranwir’s part, Coleana said: “That I am not allowed to say or give any comments about. Unofficially or not.”

“Had to try,” Anithea pursed her lips, having the look of someone who didn’t expect anything new from the job. “Guess that concludes our business then. Appreciate the free beverage,” she took her cup from the machine and turned towards the exit. “Great,” she muttered, seeing new faces entering the open space area. “Your escort is here.”

Another group of three stood near the elevator. All three wore suits, not exactly like Anithea and her companions' uniform, but quite close to it. Close enough to figure out their line of work and have a hint of the independent private enterprise involvement, Ranwir thought.

A man leading the group looked around, saw Ranwir and the rest, said something to his partners, and walked towards the breakroom.

“Ledderman and sons,” he reached for his pocket, took out a thin plastic card, showing CCS letters in bold with smaller text below them. “Conglomerates closure supervision. Senior agent Eskes. You are early,” he said to Anithea.

“You are late,” she said in return, for the first time showing a bit of contempt in her voice.

“You are not allowed to take any physical objects from this area, documents included,” he paid zero attention to Anithea’s words. “Digital copies only, every single one has to go through us first. Our people will be supervising yours at all times. You are not allowed to talk—”

“Spare me the introductory part, will you?” Anithea said tiredly. “Let’s just—”

“You are not allowed to talk to or interact with anyone else apart from our people,” he cut her off, raising his voice. “Unless you are contacted first. I need your confirmation that you have registered that.”

“Confirmation given,” Anithea waved him off. “Just send your hounds after mine already. Agent Val’s group is over there,” she pointed to the left. “Agent Lon’s – there,” she gave a nod to the right.

“We will have to file a formal complaint that you have begun the process not waiting for us.”

“File away, we have a pile ready.”

“Who paid for your coffee?” he talked like crossing items off the list of his to-dos.

“I did,” Coleana said, raising and waving her hand in a mockery attempt.

“Who are you?”

Coleana stared at him for a moment, and Ranwir chuckled. “What a guy,” he said joyfully. “Professional jerk from a respectable family of jerks.”

“External communications specialist, employee number 52/02TcO01-21,” Coleana said at last, not bothering to mention her name this time.

Eskes remained silent for a moment, running his checks, as Ranwir knew already.

“Your badge has now been zeroed out and deactivated. You will come with agent Ceeal,” Eskes gave a brief nod at the man behind him. “He will provide you with further instructions.”

“Right away?”

“Right away.”

“Well, I guess this is goodbye then,” Coleana said to Ranwir. “Can’t say it was a pleasure, but you did sweeten the pill a little,” she waved at him with her pack of cookies. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Always glad to add some sugar to others' healthy life,” Ranwir pressed two fingers to his temple, then jerked them towards Coleana. “Don’t get lost out there.”

“Already am,” she smirked, then stared at the Eskes’ agent. “Well, are you going to do your job or what?”

The man didn’t react to her words, turned around, and they proceeded to the elevator.

“I need you to vacate this room now,” Eskes was already talking to Anithea. “Put your cup into the garbage container over there.”

“Can I finish it first?”

“No, you must leave at once.”

“You were right,” Anithea said to Ranwir, passing by him after throwing away her coffee. “He is a professional jerk.”

“I’ve a keen eye for such subjects, lead agent. Years of practice,” Ranwir gave her his happiest of smiles. “Take care. Say hi to Val and Lon.”

“They don’t even know you.”

“That’s the idea…”

“Stop it,” Eskes stepped in-between them and jerked his head at the door, addressing Anithea: “Leave.”

“Expect a thorough background check on you and your daddy’s little cleaning enterprise, boy,” she hissed at him while going away.

Eskes waited till she left, glanced around, crossed his hands over his chest, demonstrating all the signs of someone in command.

“Everything has been extracted?” he loomed over Ranwir, cocked his head a little.

“Yeah,” Ranwir yawned and lazily replied. He knew the type and was no longer bothered by providing elaborate answers.

“Any complications?”

“Nope.”

“I have been instructed to provide you with the following offer: you’ll get a bonus payment if you agree—”

“Listen pal,” Ranwir interrupted him, slowly turning his eyes to Eskes, “you’ve chosen to be rude to the ladies, and I’m an old fashioned gentleman. Don’t need your bonus offer, don’t need anything from you in fact. My job here is done, yours is to provide me with an unpleasant company on my way out. Tell your hound masters they have to go through the regular process: shut down the conglo, do the paperwork, then rebuy the data. I ain’t giving them any skip-throughs.”

“I can—”

“You can piss off,” Ranwir snapped. “I’ve a reputation to maintain. Something tells me you’ve run a check on me, so…” He took a slow sip of coffee, with a deliberate over-expressive slurping. “You’re gonna be the one providing the escort services, or ask one of your potential relatives to do such a low task?”

Eskes examined Ranwir for a moment, as though considering whether to enter into further argument.

“Just follow me,” he turned around and proceeded to the elevator, not looking back at Ranwir.

Not bothering to say anything else to Eskes, Ranwir exited the elevator and went to the glass doors right away. The hall of the reception area was as quiet and empty as it had been when he first entered it. No more checks were needed. No one cared once his job had been done.

“Give me a call if you change your mind regarding the offer,” he heard Eskes’ voice behind his back. “I’ve sent you my contacts.”

Saying nothing, Ranwir just blinked for a second, deleting the message that appeared on his holo-shades. Another three-seconds blink blocked the sender. He was well aware of the fact they knew how to reach him by other means. And also that the sent details were a temp dummy data used during the shutdown times only.

He stepped outside, looked around the backyard of the building. Everything there was the same as before. His empty cup of noodles still stood on the garbage container’s lid, reminding him of its warm content that was no longer there.

Feeling the cold wind unpleasant leaking at his neck, Ranwir raised the collar of his coat and walked out of the yard. The giant building gave him one more disapprobatory glance before he left.

“So, what do you think of him?” Eskes asked, looking down at the yard where Ranwir was walking away. “Can be worked with?” He stood in front of the giant window in the dark room, one floor above the one where the shutdown process was taking place.

“A bit of a loose-tongue type of character, but nothing we haven’t faced before,” Coleana stepped near Eskes, glanced down at Ranwir’s lonely figure. “I’m going to greenlight him. Unless you have objections?”

“Me?” Eskes raised a brow with a smirk. “Nah, I’m fine. You’re the one in charge of the cleaning up procedures this time. It’s your call. I’m just assisting.”

“Thanks,” Coleana said. “Hope this time I’ll be able to atone for my screw ups during the previous closure process.”

“Wasn’t that bad…”

“Common, Eskes,” she gave him a disapproving look. “If it wasn’t that bad, they wouldn’t make me do the whole apprentice performance. The implant frying was literally painful.”

“Well, they wanted to make an example, you know that. Everything’s been recorded and registered for future employees training.”

“Yeah, I’m just… Venting. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s been non-stop crunching for how long already? I’ve honestly lost all count. Just feels like our regular hours now.”

“It is our regular hours,” Coleana chuckled. “I don’t recall having a different schedule… Anyway, I shouldn’t complain. Should be happy I’m still here after the last time.”

“I doubt they would’ve got rid of you,” Eskes briefly glanced at her, as though hesitant to finish, but then added: “You’re too valuable for them.”

“Hah,” she cackled. “No one is too valuable for them. Not in that economy. Appreciate the support though,” she looked back at him. “Also, thanks for playing the bad guy. Don’t know if that’s a compliment, but you’re quite good at it.”

“Glad you approve,” he shrugged somewhat indifferently, as though it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not hard to play the bad guys. It’s the good ones that always cause everyone to overact. They’re never believable enough.”

“Guess, you’re right,” Coleana said, then stretched her neck tiredly. “Well, break’s over. Need to go finish all the cleaning up. You’re ok tying everything up with the IBs?”

“Sure,” Eskes nodded. “My people will deal with them.”

“That Anithea woman was quite pissed by your performance. Think she’ll go the extra mile on you?”

“Even if she does, there’s nothing I haven’t faced before. Besides,” he pursed his lips with an indifferent look, “she’s well aware that we have to maintain that rivalry and opposition image on the surface of our… interactions. She seemed profesh enough, so I’m sure we’ll be friends.”

“That’s some admirable optimism, mister senior agent,” hearing Eskes’ laughing, Coleana walked out of the room. “Buy her a coffee at least.”

“You’re kidding? To ruin all my carefully constructed villain personality? Never. Have to keep up with my act.”

“A large wave of protests has recently—”

Ranwir touched the int-ring on his index.

“Following the new set of laws, the recession continues to—”

He touched the int-ring again.

“Another conglomerate has just been merged with its main branch after shutting down the activity in—”

Ranwir turned the int-ring around his finger. The feed on the holo-shades disappeared. The voice reading the news got silent.

“All’s in order then,” he muttered, taking a sip of hot coffee, burning his palate with his usual routine wince.

He glanced down at the never-changing, never-ending buzzing and boiling of the Lower city. The loud noises made him feel at home. It was his environment he knew every aspect of. It could be cruel, dangerous, unforgiving, but it was also honest, simple, and direct. His dirty pond filled with all kinds of waste thrown into it by the Upper city. The pond he knew every corner of. The Clusterpolis cosy guts in all their disgusting glory.

The inner surface of his holo-shades lit up in the corner. It was the corner showing the important notifications. He knew what was there, opened the message right away, and used the secure connection link.

“All’s done?” a pleasant quiet throaty voice asked. Ranwir knew it wasn’t real. A generated one, a new one during every call.

“All’s done,” he confirmed, activating his own voice replacement module.

“Anything special?” It was a standard question for the report. “Any out of order observations?”

“None, just a typical extraction.”

“Complications?”

“Coffee was rather mediocre.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Fine,” Ranwir sighed. “But it really was mediocre…”

“Your evaluation of the encountered parties?” Another standard question for the report. This one required a slightly more elaborate answer.

“Reception was typical, but slightly rushed. They were in a hurry, decided to do a quick-scan, instead of the second full check. The premises had been arranged in the regular manner for a shutdown. The fake paperwork looked real enough for the IBs to count it as valid evidence. The black box room had a few potential security vulnerabilities. Attaching my findings to the report.” Ranwir blinked a few times, touched his int-ring, waited till the other side processed the data.

“Checked and registered,” the throaty voice confirmed. “How did the interaction with the personnel go?”

“They played their part, I played mine,” Ranwir sipped his cooled off coffee, winced unpleasantly no longer feeling the liquid burning his mouth. “They know I know. I know they know. That type of spectacle. Should be enough to get a greenlight.”

“But no verbal or other visible confirmations, correct?”

“Correct, none. The act hasn’t been compromised.”

“Third-parties observations?”

“IBs have a new lead agent. Seems ok. We can work with her, I think. CCS group is one of that conglo’s subsidiaries, covered by their bureaucracy, and I’m pretty sure their connection is barely legal, but enough to hire them for supervision. One of that Eskes’ men might’ve recognised me. We crossed during one of the old jobs, but it doesn’t matter. They were there mostly for decorations anyway.”

“Thoughts on the IBs and CCS offers?”

“Might slip a file or two to that Anithea. You know… A gesture of good will for possible future interactions. As for the CCS, they don’t want that. Eskes probed me, offering that bonus. I’m almost certain. No conglo offers bonuses after sending more than fifty percent advance and promising to double the rest in case of fast completion of the task.”

“Noted. Any closing thoughts?”

“None, unless you want to give me the number of that fake apprentice,” Ranwir chuckled.

“Noted,” the voice paused for a second, then added, as Ranwir knew, for the report: “And I don’t want to give you any numbers.”

“Noted,” Ranwir tried to mimic the voice, then realized his own was changed by the replacement module anyway.

“So,” despite the generation mode, Ranwir almost felt the tone of the throaty voice changing, getting more relaxed as the official part was over, “all went well then?”

“Yeah, smooth as a baby's cheeks,” Ranwir nodded for some reason, visually confirming his words to no one in particular. “Even managed to get some decent and, what’s more important, free cookies.”

“Good for you,” the voice felt like laughing. “It’s six shutdowns in a row already on your list. Impressive.”

“Just keeping up the streak.”

“Need a break maybe? Avoid burnout and all that…”

“Nah,” Ranwir shook his head, glanced at his mug. “I’m used enough to it. Keeps me warm. You’ve a new one for me?”

“You know that we always have several to pick up from. Wanna choose this time?”

“No need. Surprise me.”

“Alright. I’ll send the deets in a few.”

“You do that.”

“Standard fifteen percent commission is applied, but I’m giving you a five percent discount based on your reputation and previous work. The first third will be deducted from the advance payment as usual, the rest – upon completion and final payout. Good for you?”

“Good enough. You do the mediation, I’ll take care of the job.”

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise.”

The call ended. Ranwir finished his cold coffee, straightened up, went back to pour himself a new portion. The Lower city noises accompanied him in their habitual embrace. Three notifications appeared one by one on his holo-shades. In a few moments, he accepted the new contract without reading it.

Had to keep up with his reputation.