The morning sun rose over District 9. Again.
It gave the place an ugly yellow hue, as if confirming the whole area was nothing but shit.
"This is bad. We need to find a base," Julien declared, shielding his eyes from the glare.
"Something comfortable, that has enough defences, and most importantly, is cheap."
"How cheap are we talking about?" Chris grunted.
He was walking beside Julien, trying his hardest to look tough and mysterious. His new beard had a few crumbs from breakfast lodged in it, and his muscles were twitching so hard his shirt looked like he was hiding a litter of angry puppies underneath the fabric.
"The best we can do for now is five thousand credits," Julien said.
"So we're looking to live inside a cardboard box," Chris concluded.
"A cardboard box which will be able to fit us both," Julien corrected.
Chris quickly went to a nearby bulletin board and brought back a torn list where all the prices of local buildings could be seen.
They spent the first hour rejecting the "premium" listings Julien found at the top of the list.
Option 1: The "Cosy Studio".
It was a literal shipping container stacked precariously on top of a burning tyre fire. The landlord, who looked like a goblin with a gold tooth, swore the heat was included in the rent. "Its heating is good for the body!" the goblin had screeched.
"It's arson, you idiot," Julien had countered, dragging Chris away before he could argue.
Option 2: The "Open Palace Loft". It was simply an alleyway with a plastic cover thrown over it.
"Very spacious," Chris had noted, watching a rat fight a crow for a remaining cigarette butt. "Will be a great place for ventilation."
"Ventilation means breathable air, Chris, not toxic fumes," Julien sighed.
Option 3: The "Basement Suite". Now, this was actually just a sewer entrance with a 'Keep Out' sign painted over.
"I think Ninja Turtles lived in a sewer like this," Chris argued. "We are not turtles, Chris. And I don't know karate to fight back against the sludge monsters."
By noon, they were hot, tired, and smelled of the District's signature perfume: regret and raw sewage.
"This is fucking hopeless," Chris sighed, accidentally crushing a soda can flat with a twitch of his thumb. "Maybe we just squat in the hotel until they kick us out. I can fight the servant boy for two days."
"No fighting bellboys," Julien said, rubbing his temples to stave off a headache. "There has to be something. This [Streetwise] also isn't picking up anything good because everything here is already at the lowest level."
They stopped at a street corner where an old woman was selling "Blessed Charms"chicken bones painted with glitter to give them a faint mana glow.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Julien put on his best customer-service smile for her. "We're looking to buy a property. Something... private. A place where nobody asks questions."
The old woman looked up slowly. One of her eyes was blind, milky white, and the other was looking at Chris's beard with deep suspicion.
"You want the Horror house," she croaked.
"That sounds demonic," Julien said. "Tell me more about the place."
"It used to be an antique shop," she pointed a curved, arthritic finger toward the edge of the district, where the buildings crumbled into the industrial zone.
"It has been empty for years. Nobody goes there."
"Why?" Chris asked. "Is it because it's old?"
"Ghosts, boy," the woman whispered. She leaned in, her breath smelling of stale tea. "The previous owner... he tried to make a potion to bring a person back from death.
Now, that soul screams at night. Lights will automatically start flickering, and anyone who goes in will come out possessed."
Julien and Chris looked at each other.
"Ghosts don't charge rent," Julien said.
"And I can beat the shit out of them," Chris added, flexing.
"I think so. Can B-Ranks punch ghosts?"
"We're about to find out."
The building was... charming, in a "this is definitely where the murder happened" sort of way.
It was a two-story structure squeezed between an abandoned warehouse and a collapsed bakery. The sign above the door was faded, reading [E__RNAL R_ST AN__Q_E].
"Eternal Rest Antique," Julien deciphered.
"Perfect name for the hauntings."
"The windows are shut with nails," Chris noted, peering at the rotting wood. "And is that... slime on the door handle?"
"Bacteria," Julien said optimistically. "Or mould. Must have been the mould."
He walked up to the door; the creaking on the floorboards echoed through the quiet street.
[Streetwise Analysis]
[Location: The Forgotten Shop.]
[Status: Abandoned.]
[Hazard Level: High.]
[Supernatural Presence: Detected.]
[Price: 0 Credits.]
"Fucking jackpot," Julien whispered. "This shit's free."
"But it's haunted," Chris countered.
"Free is free, Chris. Do you want to pay rent to a goblin?"
Julien tried the handle. But it was still locked.
"Chris," Julien stepped aside.
"Knock."
Chris grinned. "Coming in."
He didn't knock, but his leg raised as he forced a kick.
CRASH.
The heavy door flew open, sailed into the darkness of the shop, and shattered a display case somewhere inside with the sound of breaking glass.
"Oops," Chris winced. "I forgot my uncontrollable strength."
"Keep it low," Julien sighed.
They stepped inside.
The interior was pitch black. The air was hot, smelling of herbs, dust, and something weird. As their eyes adjusted, they saw rows of shelves filled with jars. Some jars contained dried roots. Others contained things that floated and looked back at them.
"Hello?" Julien called out.
"We're the new tenants and come in peace with a very strong barbarian! Do not attack."
Silence.
Then, a floorboard creaked upstairs.
Creak...
Creak...