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[indent]The Grey Market was never silent. Even in the earliest hours before the artificial lights had yet to awaken and bathe the cavernous corridors in their harsh glare, there was movement. Whispers of bartered secrets, the soft shuffle of boots on grated walkways, the unmistakable scent of soldered metal and damp stone—all reminders that Dominion’s underbelly never truly slept.

Selene Syn blended into the chaos as if she belonged there because, in a way, she did. Her presence was a contradiction—both noticed and unnoticed, standing out with her heterochromatic eyes and the vivid purple streaks in her otherwise dark waves, yet moving so seamlessly through the market’s tangled arteries that no one stopped to stare. She wore her usual ensemble: a reinforced jacket patched with scavenged plating, a form-fitting top, and rugged boots designed for quick movement. Every inch of her was built for survival, from the industrial piercings in her ears to the makeshift metal accessories looped around her fingers—scraps that could double as tools or weapons if needed.

She had a deal to finish.

Selene’s steps were unhurried despite the restless energy pulsing around her. The Grey Market’s maze of repurposed tunnels and scaffolding sprawled before her, illuminated by flickering light strips and bioluminescent fungi growing in the crevices. The market itself was a shifting thing, never in the same place for long, built from reclaimed storage containers, rusted ventilation ducts, and old maintenance stations repurposed into trading posts. Vendors lined the walls, their goods displayed on folding tables or old conveyor belts or hung from overhead pipes.

The air smelled of burnt circuits, damp stone, and spices smuggled in from distant districts. She passed a cybernetics dealer arguing with a one-eyed man over the price of a retinal mod, a food vendor selling skewered cave fish roasted over a modified turbine vent, and a smuggler hunched over a stack of salvaged tech, inspecting each piece with a scrutinizing eye.

Selene wasn’t here to browse, though. She had arranged a meeting with a man known as Krell, a broker who specialized in obtaining “misplaced” shipments—things that conveniently never reached their official destinations. The kind of items the Crystalline Council would rather not see in circulation. Modified battery cores, bypass chips, coded clearance cards—the market’s lifeblood.

She approached Krell's stall, unmistakable in its extravagance and decrepitude—a once-proud mining rig now hollowed and repurposed into a grotesque storefront. Krell himself, rotund and flushed, stood amid a tangle of cables and microchips dangling like gutted prey. His eyes caught hers, and a knowing smirk twisted his lips, his gaze alight with predatory amusement.

“[b]Ah, the prodigal Syn returns,[/b]” Krell purred, his voice oily to the point that she could feel it slick against her skin from where she was. “[b]Come to dip into the family coffers, or still insistent on your farce of independence?[/b]”

Selene didn’t react, not outwardly. She just tilted her head slightly, her silver and amber eyes reflecting the dim light in a way that made them seem almost unnatural. “You have what I want or not?”

Krell chuckled, a sound that carried too much amusement for her liking. He reached beneath the tarp and pulled out a small black case, setting it on the counter between them. “[b]Depends. You have the payment we talked about?[/b]”

Selene produced a slim data chip. She never paid in credits, which left a trail. Data, on the other hand, was a currency of its own—one that people like Krell valued even more than material goods.

The broker's laughter dripped with acerbic cynicism as he considered her. Thick, grimy fingers twisted cables in restless anticipation, their metallic strands resembling grotesque trophies hung for all to see. Then, with a greedy eagerness, he snatched the datachip she presented, his gesture dripping with barely concealed avarice.

“[b]Such implicit trust,[/b]” he drawled, his oily voice now lined with a bit of contempt. “[b]It borders on recklessness, especially for a girl so insistent on running from her own blood.[/b]”

“Trouble and I have long been acquainted, Krell,” Selene retorted. “We're practically intimate. Though…I don’t blame you for lack of familiarity with such a concept.” 

Krell’s grin widened, showing teeth yellowed by age and indulgence. “[b]Oh, you always know how to wound a man,[/b]” he drawled, tapping the black case between them. “[b]Still, you make things interesting, Syn. I’ll give you that.[/b]”

Selene had just reached for the case when the market’s usual hum shifted—not in sound, but in feeling. At least until the broadcast hijacked the screens. Every jury-rigged monitor and rusted console lining the Grey Market blinked to static, and the emblem of the Crystalline Council bled into existence. 

The market stilled, the murmuring of traders dying mid-breath. 

Selene remained motionless, her fingers suspended over the case, but internally, gears turned swiftly, assessing the implications of the sudden intrusion.

And then came the voice.

“[b]People of Dominion, I address you at this early hour because of a recent incident that has caused unnecessary panic among some of our citizens…[/b]”

Tarin Geode’s voice carried through the cavernous space, his tone firm but calm. 

Selene felt it—the way the traders around her exchanged glances, the way some stepped closer to the screens while others pretended to ignore it, too practiced in the art of feigned indifference.

But no one [i]wasn’t[/i] listening.

“[b]...a small group of individuals have been attempting to breach the ceiling vents of our great underground civilization. Their intent, they claim, was to ‘expose’ the surface world.[/b]”

The girl inhaled slowly, measuring the tension coiling through her spine, the way her heartbeat ticked a fraction faster. Not because she was surprised.

But because this was exactly the kind of message she’d been waiting for.

“[b]Let me be absolutely clear: there is nothing to expose,[/b]” Geode declared. “[b]The surface was destroyed long ago by war and technology that is no longer understood, nor do we have the means to restore it. And we absolutely wouldn’t want to.[/b]” 

A soft scoff came from someone nearby—a grizzled trader, his face lined with years of experience, arms crossed tight over his chest. Others shifted uneasily, but still no one spoke.

“[b]As for those responsible, they have been taken into custody. They will face a fair trial by jury, as is our law, and they will receive a just punishment for their reckless actions. We do not tolerate disorder. We do not entertain fantasies that threaten the peace of Dominion.[/b]”

A murmur finally rippled through the market—a low, fractured sound, neither agreement nor rebellion, just the kind of noise people made when they weren’t sure how to feel.

Selene exhaled softly through parted lips. 

So.

The Council was rattled.

And if they were rattled, that meant—

The broadcast cut to the Council’s insignia once more before transitioning to a new speaker—a woman with a polished voice and a calculated warmth that made Selene’s skin prickle.

Liora Vex.

Public Affairs.

The cleanup crew.

“[b]Good morning, citizens of Dominion! While Council Member Geode has addressed today’s concerning incident, I want to take a moment to share some positive news…[/b]”

Selene tuned her out.

Her thoughts were already unraveling the implications, already tracing the paths this could lead to.

The surface.

No one ever spoke of it in anything more than whispers, myths passed between traders and wanderers. And now, here was the Council, standing before every citizen in Dominion, telling them in no uncertain terms that the surface was dead.

Telling them there was nothing to see.

Which meant, of course—

There was everything to see.

A beat of silence followed the end of the transmission.

Then, like a fuse finally catching flame, the market erupted back to life.

But it wasn’t the same noise as before.

Now, it was hushed conversations, hurried whispers, the frantic undercurrent of unease woven into every transaction. People moved with purpose, some finishing deals quickly, others vanishing into the tunnels, their minds clearly set on things far beyond simple trades.

Selene felt Krell’s eyes on her.

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable.

“[b]You know,[/b]” Krell remarked, his smirk tightening into a wary half-grin, “[b]I’ve haunted this market a long while. Seen countless Council threats, crackdowns, and endless noise. It grows somewhat… repetitive, don't you think?[/b]”

Selene didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she lifted the black case, tucking it beneath her arm before finally replying.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “Sometimes.”

Then, with one last glance at the screens, which were now dark and silent, she turned and disappeared into the maze of the market.[/indent]