The grey smog, even during summer made the sunlight hazy and mute, the streets were littered with shadowy blurs as one could not see further than 2 meters when the smog was at its worst. The streetlights were made of steel, having a withered metallic silver color, they dotted the streets and looked like ethereal fuzzy orbs that floated in the distance. The Monarch's Palace loomed at the top of the hill at the center of the city, looking down on all its surroundings.
In one of the corners of one of its run-down cobblestone buildings, two sharply dressed men stood in a room only lit by the candle in the corner, the flames flickering even though there was no draft. The types of furniture - a table, four wooden chairs, a dresser and a clock, all of them worn-out and seemed to be older than they already are. One of the sharply dressed men when taking a closer look was betrayed by their shabby overcoats and makeshift grey scarf. Whispering just enough to hear each other, it was as if they were cautious not to let even the candle in the corner hear their words.
"This is the assignment. Agent Deva, follow it to the letter. There should be no excuses." The taller man said with a commanding tone, his voice raspy yet firm, his eyes which had yellow pupils looked at him with no pity. Agent Deva, with his coonskin cap, the cigarette in between his fingers shuddered when he heard this. In the Imperial Security Bureau, there was never a warning. You just disappeared, returning as a corpse, made an example of. With a gulp that struggled to go down, he swallowed his saliva, and just saluted the taller man. "Eternal Life to the Monarch!"
His superior left the room and took the candle with him. The room was now ashen, shapes could hardly be made out, only a few shades away from complete darkness. "5 months of infiltration, and this is what I get. I sometimes miss you, Georg." He thought to himself, his big brother Georg was the opposite of what the Imperium represented, wholesome, warm and rebellious. "I wish I knew where you are at these trying times."
Agent Deva left the building in a hurry, the streets had mechanical cars-which were the trend of "The Time of Progress," as the Monarch called it. Black soot sparsely covered the streets, the footpaths were miraculously symmetrical, every person here and there struggling to get by, and yet the economists were claiming that this was the peak of civilization and it could only get better and better. He walked with purpose, each step sturdy as a nail, almost like a marching band, he scanned the area twice every time he reached a corner, the city was easy to get lost in, the smog making it worse.
As he arrived to his destination, he could see the building "Claire's Outhouse," a rustic cafeteria with dim neon lights which dazzled fuzzily from a distance through the smog. A couple of hooded figures outside setting the tables, their figures professionally moving, laughter could be heard from the distance.
He opened the front door of the cafeteria with a familiar pull, a bell chimed to announce his entrance. A friendly warm smell greeted him first as the smell of honey, toast and coffee drilled through his nose. Without any attempt of resisting, he heaved in two breaths of the smell, a delight for anyone in the morning rush hour.
"Fred, you're finally here !" a toasty voice called out to him, "Your shift starts in 10 minutes." A girl with red hair, a frilly blouse and a long skirt greeted him. He smiled as warmly as he could and replied "Almost didn't make it, Claire, but hey, here I am." "You always almost never make it." She squinted to show her playful suspicion, "We can't afford to have our head chef die so easily." She playfully elbowed him softly and giggled to her amusement. Agent Deva hastily took off his scarf and overcoat and hung it at the employee's closet and pulled out his chef's apron and hat. He looked over the diner, it was filled with a yellowish hue, an effect of the yellow light bulbs they used. It was a small diner, a cozy one where locals frequented, round tables and long chairs were the setup, a raspy music playing in the background playing the radio. There were already 6 people who were ordering their food, early in the morning, the morning rush hour was about to start. On top of the window, which showed the kitchen from the diner's side was a huge sign that read out "No Low-tier Magic or above inside the Outhouse."
He went straight into the kitchen where a group of people were already there preparing the food, prepping the essentials for the days ahead. They all noticed Agent Deva walk into the kitchen, they all turned towards him and greeted him. "Chef Fred, good morning." was hummed in a synchronized way, showing that this was the usual way things had been for some time. Fred greeted each of them as warmly as he could possibly could, but kept an air of professionalism to it that they couldn't get too chummy with him.
And right then, one of the smaller cooks read out one of the orders and the kitchen became alive with their duties. "Two Honey Toasts and two condensed coffees on table 4, Two Lamb chops and Butter beer on table 2, and 4 shredded pork to-go on table 1." Agent Deva pulled up his sleeves as he got to work.
He raised his arms and a few utensils floated around him, it was like watching an orchestra being waved about. Every purpose was intentional, no excess action, "Fred" had proven his worth with his 'legitimate' chef degree and his fine use of magic to help with his cooking.
During lunch break, which was at 3 in the evening, "Fred" would prepare a special array of dishes for all the staff. Thus, the tradition of not taking orders an hour before 3 was upheld so as to allow the staff for their lunch breaks. This made him well-liked by everyone, the waiters, the bouncers and the other cooks, even Claire herself never skips the lunch the "Fred" makes.
"Another rebel hiding place raided," the radio spoke in a monotone voice. The room turned slightly stale. "How do they always find people, snitches? or spies?" One of the younger cooks, Lapen asked, not loud enough for the people outside the kitchen to hear, but enough for everyone to hear in the room. Claire sighed. 'Bounties, surveillance- Nikolas is choking us. Last week, Old Man Werner turned in his own niece for a bag of silver.' She slammed a tray down. We're being driven to the corner." "It would be better to not let everyone know crucial information, expecting them to be caught, we are against a dictator who doesn't mind killing senselessly." 'Fred' replied while thinking, "Nikolas, calling The Monarch by his name is one way of losing your head." He continued, "Once caught, your nearest families get executed with you."
The room grew quieter. Only to be recovered by Claire's optimistic tone ,"And that's why we fight. No one go home after we close up tonight. We have something to do."
It quickly reached 10 pm, the closing time. All customers had left and the diner side of the building was already dark; the kitchen had a dimmed light with hushed talk happening. Everyone had already taken off their work attire and dressed themselves in the clothes they came in with. There were 18 staff members and all of them were sitting in the kitchen, preferred beverage at hand, they were softly talking to each other about what was to happen.
Lapen whispered to 'Fred' ,"Where do you think we're going? I hope none of us die tonight." "Same, Lapen, but that's also the risk of what we do, for the Revolution, for the People." He replied, winking.
"How is your sister by the way, I heard she got sick with the Soot fever, have you sought for healing or medicine?"
"Not exactly, healing costs too much and the priests keep our bio-data as we get healed, plus it's costly as heck, akin to selling your kidney. Medicine, yes, some herbal syrups have been prescribed by fellow comrade healers but there is not much that it can do, living in the city, not having a purifier or clean water."
Agend Deva nodded solemnly and thought to himself whether he should help Lapen out. He quickly fished out a vial of magenta liquid and gave Lapen in a secretive way so other people won't notice it. "Give this to her in three portions, do not miss a day, this is a Purifier from the black market. You can repay me later, maybe small portions by the month, no interest." He winked.
Lapen tried to hold back a tear, and struggled with it. Yet a tear managed to slip past his efforts which he quickly rubbed as subtly as possible.
Before he could say anything Claire came in after locking up the diner, closing the windows and turning off the lights, and looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes with a confident look. "There is an update on a captured rebel captain from the countryside, caught in Dervun, his family has been rounded up and will be executed together tomorrow in front of Nikolas' Palace. We are ordered to do all we can to stop it, we move out tonight, they are being held at…" Claire checked her slip of paper again "Golden Sylum. The Hotel, it will be heavily guarded. But there will be an opening. The captured Captain's name is Georg Tamphon." As she said those last words, a cold chill ran down Deva's spine. He finally found out where his brother had been.