Immortals- Chapter 4

Turns out, you should not wear a dress if you plan on jumping out of a moving train. It does you no favors whatsoever and massively fucks up your landing. I hobble away from the Zone 1 platform, which has no security stuff since they think no one will do what I'm going, the suckers. As I jumped, my legs got all caught up and I landed in a stupid ass position right on my left ankle.

And that, kids, is why you don't jump off of trains.

The train station disappears behind me as I head further into Zone 1. God, do I not fit in here. Crowds of stupidly dressed people swarm in the streets around me, many laden with shopping bags. These pretentious gits all live up on the Surface, but everything they need/want is down here in Zone 1. It's the governments way of controlling them I guess. Let them have free reign and they'd of left the Boundary ages ago. Not that they'd of lasted long outside the Boundary- which is what separates their little bubble from the rest of the bombed wasteland that's beyond it- but they'd sure as hell try. I can never decide if that's just stupidity or bravery.

To be honest, it's probably stupidity. I mean, no sane person would actually find a pair of 10 inch heels that look like daggers and think hey, these are a great idea! I know I do some stupid shit, but that's just taking the biscuit. It's taking the double biscuit when you pair them with what looks a dress made from neon pink bubble wrap. Bubble Barbie just waltzes past me in the shoes I'll never be able to walk in, chattering away to her friend through her Deple Glass. I just flick my hood up and push my way through the nauseating cloud of perfume. Everyone around me is permanently attached to their Deple Glasses- which are like small metallic headsets that flash a flashier version of a phone screen ,complete with apps, several cameras and internet, in front of your left eye- and takeaway nonsense-issmos from Starbucks (yes, that somehow survived a nuclear war with its twenty gazillion stores or whatever). Hair all sorts of neon colors peek out from under the wackiest hats you'll ever see. Seriously, I spy a hat with what looks like a huge poodle taking a equally huge shit sat on top of it. The heady scent of some sort of flowery/candyflossy thingy is so sweet it literally makes me want to puke, but I keep walking. We Are The In Crowd blasts in my ears as I keep pushing my way through the crowd, brushing up against everyones stupidly bright and shiny skirts. I would never fit in here. Not in a million years. I'm definitely a Zone 3 girl, through and through. There's no way I could be somewhere where everyone is such a vapid, selfish airhead and doesn't have the guts to say what they truly think to your face. Zone 3 might be a bit rough around the edges and kinda lethal at times, but at least we have some common sense. And anyway, I'm perfectly happy with my combat boots and dirty dresses, thank you very much.

Finally leaving the crowds behind, I step back into the alleys and head towards my target. A few minutes of walking and a quick stop for a air guitar session later (don't judge me, Vampire Money by My Chemical Romance came on!), I finally reach it. Holy crap on a cracker. The place is massive, somehow tucked between what looks like a hospital and a art gallery. The outside is painted this cold white. Just looking at the place sends shivers up my spine. God knows what I'll find in there. Keeping my hood up and my head down, I slip down the side of the building. What looks like steel door stands locked next to a group of bunched up overfilling bins. I seriously don't want to know what's in there. Dropping my bag to the ground, I take out what looks like an old watch and press it against the lock. I duck quickly behind a bin and hold my headphones tight in my ears. A loud bang and a puff of smoke later, I'm in. I swear, I should a rich magician by now. Stepping into the building, my hand light flickers on. The whole room lights up with this blueish tint and I roll my eyes.

I've busted into the kitchen.

Shouldering my shit, I head for the door on the other side of the room. Everything in the kitchen is cold metal, the only source of color being my hand light and the food. And by food, I mean mountains of food. On the various worktops lay cakes, chocolate, baguettes, all types of fruits- excuse me while I puke- and..... bagels! Rushing over, I grab one of the delicious little buggers and bite into it. Ummm, bagels. It's been so long since we met. These little packages of heaven are like 10 dollars a piece back in Zone 3, so I only get them after I complete a serious job or someones pissed me off. Little bagels, come to Skylar! I shove most of them into my rucksack and keep walking, still savoring my bagel. The perfect food for a break in.

Finally reaching the door, I creep through into a luxe corridor. Plush cream carpet is silent under my feet as I walk through the building, still lighting the way with my hand. The walls around me are completely bare and white. I swear there's absolutely no color in this whole damn building. Not a place I could ever live for sure. Checking the blueprints I copied down back in the workshop, I take a left turn and duck through a open doorway into what looks like reception. A large ass desk made of clear glass perched on top of a little ledegy thingy far from the door, surrounded by plant things the size as me. So the plants are pretty damn small if I'm straight with you. I walk past the desk and make my way down a corridor that looks like it's going in roughly the right direction. Just a few turns, dead ends and swears later, I creep into the room I hope my shit's in. Benches with lab equipment spilling off them fill the room. Sciencey and hopefully flammable looking bottles are stacked everywhere, holding down papers covered in even more sciencey shit I can't understand. I'm just a little punk engineer who never went to school so it's a wonder I can even read to be honest, don't ask me to make sense of what the hell Carreua actually does here. Rifling through the papers and experiments, there seems to be absolutely no sign of the transmitter. Drawers and cupboards are flung open as I search for this goddamn thing. By the time I've reached the other side of the room, I still can't find it. God, if I can't find this thing I think Josh might actually kill me. Running my hands through my hair, I keep searching, getting more frantic. I need to find this thing!

In about half an hour, the whole place is completely trashed. Well so much for this being a secret break in. Leaning against the wall, I sigh and bite angrily into a bagel. Yep, I'm a dead girl. Munching on my bagel, I tip my head back and- woah! Before I know it, I'm flat out on my back with a bagel down my bra. Oh yay. Standing up and pulling the now sweaty bagel from my bra- what no one ever talks about boobs is the existence of boob sweat! I swear it's like the bane of life- I look around. The wall I was leaning against has opened backwards like a not very doory door, revealing a massive secret room behind it. A desk nearly the size of my workshop sits in the center with a plush crimson chair behind it. Papers are stacked neatly on the magohony desk. Gigantic file cabinets line the walls with books in all languages are stacked on top. Some kinda of office place I guess. Maybe the transmitter will be in here. Going over to the files, I start rummaging through aimlessly. Not exactly the best way of trying to find the damn thing, but hey, I'm trying. If I could just find the blueprints, then it would easy enough to steal the shit I need to make it and build my own back in my workshop. I flick through files after files, all labeled different things. Project Insight, Farida, Project Chikara, Muliry- wait, wasn't Project Chikara what Cinco was talking about on the train? I yank out the file and flop down on the massive chair behind the desk, flipping through. Pages full of sciency shit and diagrams of machines fall out all over the desk. Rifling through them, my hand- my actual hand, not my kick ass robo hand, which my girlfriend loves by the way- connects with something cold. Pulling it out from under the other papers, my eyes widen slightly. Personal files of actual people, or 'subjects' as the poor sods are called in the files, complete with photos. These photos are what make me gasp. The pictures are of babies. Grabbing the subject file closest to me, my eyes flit over the information. Male, born 1st of May 2157, subjected to HS3 formula during incubetion, subject successful. Poor kid. Scanning the rest of the sheet, I flip to the otherside and nearly fall of my chair in shock.

Subject name- Alex Tyler Brace.

My birth name.