It was raining again.
The faded canvas on the awnings' metal frame clicked with each raindrop that drummed on its slightly translucent surface. The wind was much calmer, but the open nature of Destagt allowed much of the breeze to blow on most areas. Krocko held a hand to his fedora, sighing as his mid-dry trench coat started getting wet again. He gave a sideways nod to Raoul, who was still wiping off the burger crumbs that had messily waltzed onto his uniform.
"You mind?"
Raoul shook his head and gestured for him to move to the side as he popped his umbrella open. The both of them quickly sought refuge under it as they walked out into the streets again.
Amidst the passing of numerous adults on their way home from work, Raoul spoke up. "Where are we headed to next?"
"You told me you wanted to become a Driver," Krocko replied, sloppily leaping over a deceptively deep puddle of water. "I'm taking you on a little tour of the life." He then slid back the sleeve of his coat on his left arm and peered into the expensive watch clasped upside-down on his wrist. "It's not too late yet. I can clock in for some overtime."
Raoul wasn't the kind to explore the city much beyond where required, but he was rather confident in his knowledge of the ins and outs of the three districts he frequented. Destagt Square, his most common people-watching spot, was located in Neuris, which was primarily known for its commercial hotspots and tourist traps. Horizon was the most familiar, for it was where the Mestefi Academy of Wizardry held residence. The entirety of the district was built specifically to house the school and complementary establishments in one single transparent protective bubble. San-Selto was where home was—a vast sprawling quadrant populated by enormous condos and mansions.
The district they were headed to was about as unfamiliar to Raoul as everything else. He didn't question much when Krocko took him onto a Highspeed Train.
Entire hordes of people were still on their returning commute. Raoul and Krocko quickly eased into an empty coach seat. The former turned to his better and tapped him on the shoulder. "Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere good for gaining experience in fieldwork." He pulled up two fingers on his right dominant, and with his free hand, tapped the first finger. "You see, Raoul, there are two sides to the Driver métier. The first, and perhaps the most populated side of the job is the corporate side. This one has you regularly going on call daily and doing pretty much whatever your superior tells you to do. Contrary to the past, Drivers don't usually get much time to practice their Driving in combat. Usually their expertise is put to boring office work. Stacking and signing papers, setting up meetings with investors, yada-yada-yada. The one saving grace of the line is its good pay. Better than what you'll get going freelance like I do."
He continued. "The second and least popular of the two is the freelance side. You're mostly praying to Teslapius that you get clients. If you're lucky, you'll be like me." He thumbed himself. "I clock in at whatever time strikes me fancy and get off whenever I want. As long as I finish a commission or two, I'm usually set for the week."
We are approaching Saint Phius' Street. The doors will open on the right. Please be mindful of your steps.
Raoul nodded, attention half-focused on the blaring station announcement that sounded from the intercom. "It doesn't sound like there's much adventure to be had."
"Listen to this kid," Krocko sighed. "This isn't exactly like the old days, when most of Rynth was still unmapped and Pioneers were abundant. Every grain of sand from every desert to every drop of water from every sea has been mapped, recorded, and put into a yellowed file folder behind some dingy bookshelf or inputted into one of the tens of supercomputers any global power possesses."
The boy closed his eyes. He understood completely what his better meant. Out of the twelve Cycles Rynth has gone through, it was by the seventh—Expansion—that over ninety percent of the world had been discovered. Pioneering slowly drifted on a downward slope from then on, eventually disappearing mostly by Integration, the ninth.
"Even so, surely there must be a journey to be had beyond the walls of Cias Buril," he replied, a thick sort of determination present in his tone. "Aside from when you were younger, have you ever gone beyond our borders and adventured, Krocko?"
He raised a hand to interject, but the finger quickly fell back into its knuckle. "I'll be honest, no. It's definitely gnawed at my mind for the past decade. There isn't a night in bed when I don't reminisce on the good old days: traveling on the road, setting up campfires and cooking shoddy meals on it, and living every day with your companions like it's the last. Even if no one thought of it that way."
"But you're a right fool if you think you'll find more beyond those walls of white than what you'll find in here," Krocko continued. "When you told me you wanted to become a Driver, what did you associate with it?"
"Freedom." He replied almost instantly. "Freedom to do what my heart desires, and to not have my sights set on goals I never intended or wanted to achieve in the first place. Freedom to live my life the way I want to live it."
The suited man nodded. "That's a good goal to have."
Three more minutes and two more stops passed.
We are approaching Agnusi Nestat Street. The doors will open on the right. Please be mindful of your steps.
Krocko stood up, draping his heavy trench coat over his shoulder. "Here, this way. Commission's in a pretty winded way out from downtown, so you'll probably be a bit jarred by the sudden shift in scenery."
They were out of the station by five. Before their full ascent of the exiting stairway, the smell already hit Raoul.
It was somehow both pungent and suffocating to the nose. The metallic scent of worked alloys and heavy machinery coincided with the sharp chemical bite of gasoline to make for an unintended assault on the senses. Then came the sound. Like a mockery of basic rhythm, strange heavy pressing rams incessantly pounded on inlaid metal sheets, causing irritating ringings in Raoul's ears. All manner of construction machinery whirred, further adding to the cacophony of pain.
Raoul blinked against the hazy sunlight filtered through gray plumes of smoke rising from jagged smokestacks. It was supposed to be night in Cias Buril, but somehow the sky was indistinguishable from sunset there. Rust-streaked pipes twisted across building facades like metallic vines, belching steam and hissing with pressure. Corrugated metal roofs sloped at odd angles, patched in places with mismatched panels that rattled under the wind. Conveyor belts snaked between structures, carrying piles of raw ore, scrap metal, and barrels of chemicals that gleamed like oil in the weak light. Cranes groaned above, swinging heavy loads with the precision of giants choreographed in some industrial ballet, while wires overhead crisscrossed like webs carrying sparks of electric blue from the junctions they fed.
Even the streets themselves felt hostile. Oil-slicked cobblestones reflected puddles of rain and runoff that smelled faintly of acid, and the edges of sidewalks were lined with discarded machine parts, bent and blackened from years of neglect. Here and there, small doors swung open to reveal the glowing furnaces inside factories, casting orange halos into the smoke-filled air. Shadows moved in the gloom—workers in soot-streaked overalls, faces hidden beneath goggles and masks, their motions precise, almost mechanical.
He instantly put both his palms to his ears and shouted to Krocko in an attempt to pierce the noise. "How are you fine with this!?"
Said Krocko grinned. "Just years of exposure. I come back here every so often to fix wards that start malfunctioning or to realign Jati-junctions that run out of Jati after the scraprats start sucking out the magic. I don't really tell district chiefs when they do. It's like a perpetual moneymaker for me. They pay me to fix whatever goes wrong, and then people swoop in to make use of it. Then I get called back in to repeat the whole jam ad nauseam."
"You're profiting off the poor."
"Just how it is. Believe me, I do my part to make good on Nyxia's virtues. I pray, make offerings, and even donate some of the money I don't spend to charities. I know it doesn't exactly pay off the bad I'm doing, but it tips the scales a little bit. It's a big part of how I survive."
"You're right, it doesn't." Raoul nodded. "But I won't judge you, Krocko."
"Good lad," he reached over to pat him on the shoulder. "Anyway, welcome to Lupas Hendu, the factory district of Cias Buril. Trust me, you won't enjoy it. We'll try to make our stay short, but we're not leaving 'til you get to experience the Driver's life. In short, at least."