His mind kept creating endless thoughts as he walked deeper. The surroundings hadn't shifted yet, but the people had. Previously, everyone was ignoring him; here, they kept glancing at him and calling out to him. And the answer he heard was always the same.
"My bad." Someone bumped into him.
Simon didn't react quickly, but when he turned around, the man had vanished. He closed his eyes to capture the moment.
A man in light brown clothes leaned against the brick wall. He lifted his hand, revealing a black purse.
He smirked faintly and glanced sideways at the dead, narrow alley, then at the path where people were walking.
"That's what happens," he muttered and opened the purse. The smell of fresh bills relaxed his posture, but then he froze.
A presence... a shadow.
His eyes moved slowly until he saw the figure. He gave a dry laugh. "My bad."
Simon took a step forward and retrieved the purse.
"Didn't think you would notice," the man said.
Simon didn't reply but first examined the man. He looked a little different from most.
"What is this place?"
The man frowned at Simon's question. "Are you asking why the Earth's round when you're walking on a flat surface?"
Simon's expression didn't change, but his arm moved quickly, pressing tightly on the man's neck.
The man's air supply was cut off halfway. He started coughing roughly.
"How long have you been here?" Simon said in a low voice as he reduced the pressure.
The man didn't answer quickly, first glancing down at his neck, inches away from the guillotine. He breathed out slowly and spoke, "For long enough. Years, probably."
"Was this place always like this?"
"You mean Neomar?" The man gave a quick glance at the long, narrow alley. "I don't remember. It was years ago, before I found my footing. I was like this."
Simon checked the man's eyes but didn't find any malice in them.
"You're new here, right?"
Simon didn't answer.
The man smiled dryly. "I know this looks very strange. Newcomers always behave like this, like they've been thrown into a different world."
Simon's hand loosened from the man's neck. "Why do the people here act this way?"
The question went over his head. He scratched his ears, perhaps recalling something by doing that. "Because it works. That's how it always was and always will be in the future. People eat, work, sleep. That's what everyone wants, and that's what they do."
"And what do you do?"
The man stretched his arms slightly and said, smirking, "Taking what doesn't belong to people who don't look like they belong."
"What do you know about the docks? Who moves the ships?"
The man's eyes lowered to Simon's pocket.
"Who moves them?" Simon asked again, but the man's eyes stayed low. Simon followed his gaze: his purse.
Simon blinked once and took out the purse and gave the cash to the man. "Speak."
The man smirked and counted the bills. "Only five? I've already told you something worth more than this."
Simon took out more and handed it to the man.
"Ten is always good." The man put the bills in his chest pocket and finally answered. "I don't know who moves the ships, but... the boxes, the goods people buy... they always pass by this place. I don't know where or why. I didn't even want to know. The best advice? The more you stay out, the better it will be."
"Time and correct place?"
"12 PM and 12 AM. Just a little deeper, where people start to stop you," the man said, as he examined Simon's expressions. Not even a twitch.
"Both are fixed," he added, and his eyes caught sight of the metal watch on Simon's wrist. "Daytime's already gone. Night's the only option left, but then again, darkness always comes with some more danger."
This could work.
Simon thought of excusing himself. The man quickly called out, "How much are you selling that gold hanging on your neck for?"
Simon gave him a sharp glance and said in a heavier voice, "It's not for sale."
The man flinched slightly, but his smirk didn't fade. "How long are you planning to stay?"
"Not for long."
Simon's figure exited the alley and disappeared into the crowd.
Paul was walking down the streets. Bag-back swung loosely in shoulder, he was about to reach his apartment.
Then he saw a man stepped out from behind the pole. A shopping bag in his hand.
Paul slowed down when reached him. The man quickly handed him the shopping bag quickly.
Paul looked inside. Just an instictive habbit. He nodded once, and both went thier seperated ways.
Night followed soon after. Paul found himself sitting loosely on the sofa, turing the pages of files handed to him.
He wasn't expecting much, because he knew this files weren't all. Roman wouldn't hand him out all things easily. Paul wasn't interested in what had already happened. What matters was the present.
But since he had gotten his hands on this, he can't just ignore it, right?. Free knowledge was welcome afterall.
He put down a file, then grabbed another.
File #2 was red, like a warning he didn't catch at first. He flipped the page.
Just dates with a stamp. It showed Corsalis' deals. Supplies. Sales. Who got what.
Felt like reading boring company stuff. Place names, warehouse numbers, deliveries all in neat rows.
He blinked. Everything looked too perfect.
Deals okayed. Requests cleared. No fights. No losses. No late deliveries. Even the fines were just on paper.
He skipped pages. Numbers jumped around.
Paul shut the file and set it down.
File #3
This one was thin.
Prices going up and down. Comparing months. Changing amounts. Paul read closer this time.
Some things got cheaper for no reason, then stayed that way. Others jumped up, then went back down. They blamed it on the market, the season, or storage.
He saw the amounts before the prices.
Things rarely got cheaper, and not by much. It wasn't quick, but if you looked close, you'd see it.
Paul turned the page. It felt like pages were missing.
File #4
Shipping records.
Dates, routes, who signed for it.
This file was long. Lots of paper, lots of writing.
Paul didn't read every line. He knew enough.
The routes were the same, or close to it. Times changed a bit. Different trucks, different drivers.
But the way it worked stayed the same.
Where it started. Where it went. Where it ended.
Okayed. Approved.
Paul tapped the page, then kept going. Near the end, a part was blacked out. Not just marked out, but ripped out.
The paper was rough where it was torn.
Paul turned the page anyway.
File #5
This one was about places. Lists of cities, neighborhoods, empty areas.
Who got what supplies.
The words changed here. Not as official.
Some places were most important. Some were second. A few were "changing." Paul stopped at that word.
Changing.
He moved on. Some cities were listed more than once, in different groups. Some names were crossed out and written again below.
Paul saw the writing changed. Different pen, different pressure.
He closed the file without finishing.
File #5
The last file was neatest.
Company names.
Numbers and licenses. Fake companies on top of each other.
WHITE BORN LTD.
LASTER AND FASTER.
LKBND.
GREEN FARMING CO.
SEPTERS FOUNDATION.
Blah blah....
Paul knew some names. Not because they were special, but because they were everywhere. Trucking companies. Medicine sellers. Companies that bought and sold things, with boring names and all the same.
Some names showed up once and never again.
Others were everywhere. He didn't mark them. Didn't circle anything.
Near the end, a part was taken out with staples. Just the metal left.
Paul breathed out and turned the last page.
Nothing surprised him. Roman didn't lie, he just hid some truth, that was all.
Paul leaned back on the sofa. His eyes drifted upwards at the Milky white ceilings.
Knowing things was good. But knowing everything always costs you.
He breathed out once.
The night had settled outside. Tomorrow will be easier.