Chapter 4: Mia Elliot

The wind was harsh on my cheeks. Sub-zero wasn't exactly a temperature I was comfortable with. As much as third generation bodies were made to withstand the cold, we still feel the chill although we can't die from it, a true method of torture. Thankfully the visor on my face, which existed for a solely decorative purpose previously, now served a far more important function of keeping the wind out of my eyes.

Slums were the derelict part of Luna, devoid of technology and the people here had barely enough to purchase the Pantiumite they needed. The poorly made rooftops were poor foothold and I learnt the hard way early on, not to run on top of them like I would back in the Inner City. Falling into somebody else's house didn't appeal to me as fun.

When I look at the houses I passed, I was reminded of a young boy I once knew very well.

("What? People who lived in the Slums are really useless! How can they not know how to program? It's basic technology after all…")

Shutting the unpleasant memory of my former self, I focussed on the task at hand. Nash's house was still a good distance away, giving me time to formulate my plan. I don't exactly remember how it came to be but it became customary that I attack him on sight before any other businesses take place.

Speaking of business, the feeling of something missing was bugging me. I was definitely forgetting something but it wasn't as crucial. It's frustrating when this happens and the worst part is Nash's lecture. That man is more of a father than a teacher despite being incredibly annoying at times.

("Eh? How come you live in the Slums then?" Titus Crowley, aged twelve, pouted.)

(Nash Skinner flicked the young boy on the forehead, causing the blond to yelp in pain. "Why did you do that?")

(The former hitman ignored the shrill voice and calmly pointed to a brunette who heaved a heavy basket of silk. "Look at Serra. You have spoken to her before. Is she terrible at Math?")

(Young Titus shifted his gaze to study the clumsy woman who had tripped over and fallen. The bales of silk were scattered all over the ground. Giggles could be heard but Titus merely watched. "No. She can do multiplication and division in her head quicker than I can.")

(Nash smiled. "Of course, she can. That girl has a gift for numbers. However, look at her. Do you think she'll do well running a shop?")

(Once more Titus observed. Serra was now being reprimanded by her employer, a fat matriarch. The poor brunette could only hang her head in shame and hold back tears while the fat woman yelled at her. Titus shook his head, "No. She's horribly clumsy.")

(Nash then posed a question to Titus who was only able to answer it many years later. "Why do you think she is in the Slums then?")

That memory had been one that I am particularly fond of. Brushing an obstructing strand of hair in my face, I rounded the corner.

According to The History of Pantiumite, many graduates leave the Academy being equipped with skills involving science or finance. Granted, there are a few exceptions like Alastair and his more capable older sister, Io, who develop their skills based on interest. However, the number of graduates who chose to develop their skills based on practicality like Raoul is alarmingly large, only not many of them were as talented or as fortunate as that detestable man.

The Parliament decides who is 'useful' and keeps them in the Inner City while the rest are discarded into the Slums. Over the years I have met many people in the Slums while apprenticing under Nash. The people were good natured and friendly. They were often generous, a stark contrast with the false etiquette in the Inner City. However, for those who had never left the Inner City, the Slum was a place full of rejects and inferior people.

That was exactly what young Titus Crowley thought when he first stepped into the Slums armed to the belt with gadgets and the latest technology. However, he was humbled after meeting Nash who taught him the ways of life in the Slums. Young Titus had admired how humans managed to live without much technology available in the Slums despite the harsh climate. It was through this that he had come to realise how wrong the system was and his solution was to become the Night Walker – a pest to the Inner City, a hero to the Slums.

David was a man who taught young Titus how to make furniture and basically anything he wanted from the scraps in the wastelands. Maria was a woman who taught young Titus how to dance and entertain the women when he grew older. Not even the most famous pop idols in the Inner City could compare to her charm. They were all wonderful people but they weren't perfect.

David wasn't good at talking, he was mute. Maria wasn't very good looking. Serra was super clumsy. I still remember the day I told Nash about it.

("Hey, Nash…")

(The bearded old man looked up from his news tablet. "What is it, child? I'm busy.")

("I don't understand. Why is it that there are so many great people in the Slums and so many horrible people in the Inner City? What did they do to deserve living in the Slums?")

("Hmm, what makes you say that?")

(Tiny hands balled into even tinier fists, Titus stared straight into Nash's eyes. A once-dormant fire now burned fiercely in the young boy's cerulean eyes. With determination, he shouted, "It's wrong! Everybody here worked so hard and they have what they are good at! Why is it that the Inner City won't take them in? Why is it that some people can party the whole time in the Inner City and do absolutely nothing but remain there? Shouldn't those people be in the Slums instead? What did Maria, David and everyone else do to deserve this?")

(Nash set the tablet down on the table gently. He went over to the boy who was sobbing freely. Stubborn tears fell more each time he wiped them away. "It's not right…")

(For once Nash opted not to say a thing. He bent down and looked the boy in the eyes, offering a rare smile while ruffling his blond hair. The tears only came down harder.)

We never had that conversation again. At the age of twelve, I understood what discrimination was and how ugly the world is. It was that moment when I knew what I wanted to use my skills for. With my accreditations in numerous fields, I decided to create a way to aid the people in the Slums as both as Titus Crowley and the Night Walker.

I took it upon myself to introduce new technology as discreetly as I could to improve the quality of life in the Slums. Nash helped distribute them when he could. The first thing I noticed about the Slums was the inability to afford heat energy, resulting in many people freezing to a permanent comatose. Developing something I called the heat cask, Nash helped to distribute it using more questionable channels which improved the lives incredibly for the few who the heat cask managed to end up with. That was around the same time that I started debuting as Night Walker in the Inner City, trying to carve a name for myself. However, no matter how much I did, I still couldn't erase the power difference between the Inner City and the Slums. If only I could bring more technology into the Slums, it might level their playing field in the society and equip them with the means to make a better place for themselves.

Hope came in the form of the Academy. Fortunately for me, most of the materials I require to invent new technology were already provided for. After many trial and errors with new creations to help the people living in the Slums and to improve the Night Walker's operations, I finally become the Inner City's biggest baddie. I still recall my first mission as the Night Walker… It wasn't the most pleasant one. The only thing saving my inexperienced and underprepared ass was the sheer amount of luck I gambled my life with.

Those days were long gone and now… Armed to the belt with the most advanced electric field manipulation technology and Neith Silk, I was brimming with confidence. Tonight's mission was going to be like a stroll to Spencer's headquarters when compared to that awful memory. With the new electric field manipulation gadgets enhancing my mobility and stealth, it was impossible for any New-Man to catch me on foot. The Neith Silk that was subjected to many extreme tests, proved to be very resilient against fire and slashing. Additionally, a million volt stun baton was tucked safely inside the belt for assurance. The added edge I have against that one man army tonight is Horus – a computer-aided system that allows me to predict close combat attack patterns. Kevin's modified program will analyse Nash's attack patterns and the smart screen contact lenses will show me the target areas of impact, allowing me half a second of preparation time.

*** Flashback***

Nash Skinner was not an easy target, as expected of someone who killed for a living in his prime. I remember how sweaty my palms were and how my heart raced back then. My senses heightened with the apprehension of the hunt as the target's house entered sight.

Tinkering with a few buttons on the visor, I activated Horus' night vision. Nash Skinner should be asleep as it was already two in the morning, way past my usual bedtime. However, the small reading light in the living room told me otherwise. Through the gap in between the drawn curtains, I could see him still flipping through pages of an old book. Nash was an old man with greying hair and a neatly groomed beard. Other than the change of hair colour, he looked exactly the same as the picture on the records I hacked into. The man looked surprisingly fit for someone in his late three-hundreds! The only other man I knew who looked this in shape at this age was my no-good guardian.

Setting the plan in motion, I circled the house to look for a possible entry without alarming the target inside. It wasn't very difficult to find one as the windows facing Nash's back was wide open as if inviting me to enter. The man hadn't bothered closing it despite the chill and I found it slightly odd but didn't bother to think twice before slipping into the house.

There were only eight steps to where Nash was. The stun baton I stole from a Patrol Guard was drawn and poised, ready to strike. It might seem like a small distance to cover but it was a huge feat to sneak on up Nash. Steadily I moved, trying to hide the sound of my movements.

I managed to take four steps without alerting the old man. Four more steps remained but the man continued to read, completely unaware of another person's presence in his house. My heart pumped so hard it might as well have been drums announcing my presence. Still, the man casually flipped a yellowed and worn page from his semi-decomposed book, things were going as planned. My legs wobbled a little but I clenched my teeth, willing them to move forward.

Only two more steps remained. You can do it, Titus!

One step.

The baton was brought high over Nash's head, poised to strike. At the crucial moment, faster than my mind could process, it happened.

Forest green pupils darted to the side and trained on me. Despite silent movements, Nash had picked them up. Faster than the stun baton could be brought down, a hand darted out to pull my scrawny wrist and send me flying to the wall opposite. The force had me momentarily stunned but it did not stop Nash from taking out a pistol.

Pistols were considered primitive technology that only existed in books. Not even the Patrol Guards used them. Homing lasers and plasma guns were more of the in thing nowadays. Nash took a shot and the sound ignited the instinctive reaction to defend myself. It took me a while to understand that the bullet chipped at the reinforced gauntlets, saving my life. Had I not brought my arms up, the bullet would have hit something vital in my chest, killing me instantly.

Relatively unharmed but thoroughly shaken, I surrendered when the gun was pointed at me for the second time that night. Needless to say, the mission was a fiasco. Instead of knocking the old man out to get my answers, I was subdued and interrogated instead.

"Speak. What is a child doing in the Slums? Does the Academy know?"

"The Academy doesn't know. I'm doing this for my personal reasons."

The former killer raised an eyebrow. "And what business does a kid have trespassing into someone's home with a weapon in hand?"

The stun baton was out of grasp but not out of reach. However, I knew that if any attempt to grab it was made, Nash would not hesitate to fire.

"I know that you are a former hitman and I want to learn from you."

Nash's expression was unreadable but his eyes were calculating. Finally after what seemed to be a long silence he spoke, "Boy, do you know what a hitman does?"

At that, I admitted knowing nothing of it. "I found it from Spencer's archive. It seemed very important that he encrypted it several times. I thought it might be someone important and that if I could learn how to be a hitman I would be able to one-up Raoul."

Upon hearing my answer, Nash lowered his pistol and told me to go back. "A hitman is someone employed to kill other people for credits. You're not cut out to do this."

I don't recall how I did it but my persistence and stubbornness had Nash compromising to teach me the skills of a hitman with the promise that I would never take on a job to kill. In return, I was to pay my lesson fees in Pantiumite.

"You're one stubborn little brat you know that?"

I could only muster a silly smile. Nash shook his head at my goofy reaction. "So? What did you find out about me from the system so you nicely hacked?"

"Oh!" I switched back to being 'professional'. "They only had your name and the record that you were a hitman."

Nash scoffed. "Typical. Well then, it's probably only fair I tell you what I did back then. As you know, I killed for credits. That probably wasn't very amazing. What's amazing is how Spencer spent the last century chasing me down for my deeds to get the Parliament to exile me to the Slums. In my early hundreds, I was wanted by the Patrol Guards for killing important leaders in the financial sector. Those who paid me to kill them were their rivals who couldn't win. I had no significant skills other than my abnormal physical capabilities…"

I absorbed every word he said back then. All his stories about his missions that would normally have made a person ill with the graphic description intrigued me. It was the main reason why I took interest in the medical field.

***Back to Present***

Skidding to a halt and making a sharp left turn, I decided to take a break near a broken wheeler. Crouching down to catch my breath from sprinting the whole time, I went over my plan for the ambush tonight. With every failed attempt, I became increasingly creative. It was always a close fight despite my predetermined loss. Unable to win against Nash's natural capabilities and experience, I made up with my gadgets and wits.

With the newly tested hair tie, tonight will bring my constant losing streak to an end. Coming from someone who had lost close to six hundred times in a spar, it might sound like overconfidence but the light weight of the bobble on the hair tie spoke otherwise. This invention gives me leverage over Nash's predominant sense of sight and with the ambush he would be disoriented enough for me to take him down.

After catching my breath, I walked over to Nash's tiny abode making as little noise as I could. The dirt beneath my boots crunched a little and I grimaced when I stepped on a small stone. Glancing through the open windows, as usual, Nash was seated on his couch as if expecting my arrival. Normally I would tumble in and launch straight into a fist fight, opting for the element of surprise. Tonight, I was planning something different. It took a while but it was worth the wait.

Pulling out three light capsules, I inhaled the freezing air to calm my nerves. Heart pounding in my ears, I tossed them through the window before making my escape swiftly. Nash put away his news tablet and walked towards the noise. As Nash started walking towards the window I was already disarming the security in the back door.

The moment I was inside, the capsules went off followed by Nash's loud cuss. Good luck dealing with the Baby Blues! Those capsule bombs were my latest chemical creation. It makes the person in direct contact with it cry uncontrollably for a period of time.

As predicted, that would not be enough to stop Nash for long enough. I had only a few seconds to set up my next trap. With the positions already decided in my head, I got to work quickly, familiar with Nash's home. As each electric stun mine clicked into place along the corridor, I hid around the corner should Nash make it pass the second trap.

The mines released a high voltage enough to kill a normal New-Man. The dosage was customised to three times more than what would be necessary to stun a normal person because Nash had a different kind of physical composition. If this doesn't slow him down, I don't know what would.

Footsteps neared the kitchen and I crouched in anticipation. If it fails, I would have no choice but to engage in a hand to hand combat. That's something I dread, especially if Nash was going to be my opponent. Of all the skills he taught me, hand to hand combat was the one I needed to improve on the most. I still preferred mid-ranged and long ranged attacks or some sneaky methods like poison since they required less effort.

The curses down the corridor confirmed my fears. From the variety of cuss words used, I derive they probably felt like little zaps to him. The paint pellet pistol that Nash's craftsman friend made for our spars sat heavily in my hand. It was time to be serious, no more petty tricks.

The moment Nash entered the garage I fired three shots in succession. The first shot missed Nash, zipping past him leaving a nasty splat on the wall behind. The second was dodged by inches and the third cornered him for a while, nearly hitting him squarely in the chest if he did not dodge. It was never my intention to get him with the gun. That would be plain silly. No gun can beat Nash's inhuman reflex. Thus, it was time to implement my next strategy.

With Nash cornered, I drew the hidden daggers from my gauntlets. Being ambidextrous had its advantages and dual wielding helped minimise the number of openings I had. Kevin's improved program and Horus' prediction lines assisted me while I exchanged blows.

I felt the force of Nash's kick against my gauntlet, causing my body to recoil from the impact. Wincing at a particularly hard left hook that I blocked, I knew that was definitely going to bruise. Dodging to avoid a lunge, this went on for a good four minutes, a new record considering the previous session that ended in three minutes flat.

As Nash's attacks continue to be accurately predicted by Horus and Kevin, I felt the predatory grin form. Pushing for an offence, I started countering Nash's punches with blades. At the first draw of blood for the night, a mini celebration in my head erupted. The slightest drop in reaction time was all it took for Nash to cut through my hair tie.

Visible in plain sight, Nash told me with an infuriatingly smug smirk, "Your technology cannot defy my senses. Also, you might want to work on expanding the area. Your shadow isn't hidden."

I cursed at not doing something about that flaw earlier. I thought that with the cover of night and Nash's blurry vision from the Baby Blue, he would miss out on it. Apparently, I was wrong. The old man had keener senses than I gave him credit for.

I would figure a way to improve the light bending technology if I survived tonight's sparring session. A blade grazed my bare upper arms and I hissed. It was definitely bleeding now. The constant sting made me more focussed on Nash. Now that he had his weapon out, things were going to become more interesting. A small part at the back of my mind told me Nash had been toying with me earlier.

Left kick.

Block.

Left roundhouse. Dodge.

Right hook.

Counter.

Upper kick.

A backflip.

Where was the opening I needed to attack him and end it?

Despite being able to counter every move, I was feeling the strain on my body. It appears that Nash had the stamina that I failed to account for. The fight would be over in another five minutes if I didn't find a way to subdue him now.

In any normal circumstance, I would never make such a risky choice and opt to wait for an opening. Unfortunately, sparring with Nash called for desperate measures. Taking a gamble, I release my grip on one of my daggers.

The dagger fell to the floor with a clink and as Nash's line of focus fell to the dagger while it fell, I reached to my back and pulled out a switchblade from the belt to deliver the final blow. The switchblade was already aiming for Nash's throat when I saw it from the corner of my eye. The movement was too fast and my body, unable to react in time, convulsed when a kneecap slammed straight into my unguarded solar plexus. The impact had sent me crashing into the wall behind as if I was a mere sheet of paper. I was by no means light but Nash was that powerful.

Curled up on the ground in pain, breathing was impossible. Barely registering the cold metal pressed against my jugular notch and the weight of someone straddling me, I heard Nash grunt. "You're as good as dead with the way you are right now."

Before I could retort, the weight on me was gone and I was lifted into the air. Barely able to grasp my bearings, Nash dropped me onto his couch mercilessly and my wounds ached in protest at the rough treatment. There was hardly any time to protest when Nash left the room abruptly, only to return with a medkit.

"Thanks," I muttered and Nash snorted.

"You've got a long way to go, brat. Also, I won't say it was a bad tactic. It's only a pity your opponent was me. You should try increasing the voltage by ten times if you want to stun me. That tear capsule was good though. My eyes are still itching."

I groaned as Nash pulled off my hoodie to inspect where he had kneed me. "I need some hair tie please."

Clucking in mock disappointment the ex-killer chided, "You're such a lady! I didn't raise you to be such a wuss."

I glared at him half-heartedly while he went to get one of the many hair ties I left here. Only after he was gone from the room did I take time to examine my injury. Apart from the place where he kneed me, everything else seemed to be relatively minor. The cut will heal in three days so I wasn't too concerned. My solar plexus area would spot a huge ugly bruise later tonight and will last a good week before it disappears.

"Still admiring your beauty, princess?"

I growled as he passed me the hair tie. Pulling my blond locks into a messy bun, I reached for the med kit and starting dressing my wounds. Nash was unharmed from our sparring session and he wasn't even breathless! Apart from the fact that he blinked more than usual, nothing else indicated his discomfort. A part of me wanted to smack him for looking so smug but I didn't want to die young so I refrained.

"You might want to wash your eyes. It could last for a while since I increased the dosage significantly."

Nash nodded dumbly and left for the bathroom, leaving me to tend to my wounds. I hissed as the disinfectant stung. This had to be one of the most intense sparring sessions we've had in a while. The last time he drew blood was a few months ago. Even then, it was a close combat knife throwing competition.

By the time Nash returned, I was already putting the med kit away. "How are things in the Slums of late?"

Nash sighed. "Nothing different… just missing people and the usual stuff." He tossed me the news tablet and I caught it mid-air before plopping down on the couch beside him, not missing the edge in his voice. Missing Person Found Dead. The headlines screamed at me and I scrolled down a little more to read.

Mia Elliot, a woman in her early hundreds, was found dead two days ago. Reported missing several months back, no one could have imagined finding a body in the middle of the wastelands. Mia's body was found intact, half-decomposed by Eric Maelstrom, a waste recycler. We now interview Maelstrom how he had made his shocking discovery…

I skipped the interview, knowing not to believe everything the tabloid has to offer. Nothing special stood out. There wasn't a description of the condition of her body except that it was an unfortunate accident. The entire story was fishy. Natural deaths left no bodies. New-Man turned into ice crystals and shatter upon death unless the cause of death was unnatural. Moreover, no sane man in the Slums would venture so deep into the wastelands unless they were part of the underworld. There was some greater evil at work.

Scrolling further, a picture of Mia Elliot was found. She had blonde hair and navy blue eyes that were common features after genetic mutations. However, my heart froze when I recognised her. I was hoping it to be someone different with the same name. Mia Elliot… a few years ago this name wouldn't have mattered but now, her death left a hole inside of me.

"You're really good at this! What's this called?" I showed her a colourful cloth with cute little animals sewn on it. I've never seen anything so cheerful in the Inner City. Most of the clothes worn were designed by the tailors.

"Oh, that's just a handkerchief. Do you like it? You can have it if you want."

I stared at the adorable kitten. All land creatures had died out with the Great Explosion apart from New-Man. It was hard to find any pictures of them. Here on the handkerchief were depictions of them in the most appealing forms I have ever seen. Granted, they weren't the most accurate depictions with their eyes too large and bodies too small. However, they were adorable.

"I don't want it. I want you to teach me how you do it."

The woman laughed. "You're a strange kid." With a twinkle in her eye, a gentle hand ruffled my short blond strands. "It's fine though. I can teach you how to embroider. My name is Mia, what is yours?"

"Titus. Titus Crowley." My hand went to touch my head where she had patted me. It wasn't a bad feeling at all.

I remembered how I visited her more and more frequently, hanging out until Pyros had retired for the day. Nash used to pull me by the ear and drag me back when I didn't return on time. Now though, I would stop by occasionally to check out her newer masterpieces. However, two months ago Mia vanished without a trace. Not even Nash knew where she went despite his vast connections with the underground in the Slums.

A hand rested on my shoulder and I glanced up from the article. There was Nash, calm as ever. "Are you going to check it out?"

I returned the news tablet and put on my hoodie again. "I'll let you know when I find something."

A tired-sounding sigh escaped Nash and he nodded numbly as I prepared to leave. "I should have known."

He stood up and walked over. I half expected him to flick my forehead but nothing of that sort happened. Instead, a gentle pat on my head had me speechless for a moment. "Live strong," he whispered.

It was the motto of people in the Slums. I was about to return the greeting when it hit me like a meteor what had been bothering me this whole time.

"Nash!"

The bearded man cocked an eyebrow to which I grinned. "I forgot the Pantiumite again. Can I send them by drones?"

Nash shook his head at my forgetfulness with an exaggerated annoyed expression. "Dear me, is this how I taught you to be? Whatever… do as you deem fit."

I grinned as Nash shooed me away. Mia's death was still heavy on my mind but I was glad for Nash's unwavering support, as dependable as always.

I made a promise not to kill for credits and I intend to uphold it.

However, killing for personal reasons doesn't count. Does it?