Chương 215: B4. 13.1 - Visiting the Understrip

My prediction was correct—Deen was awake. Awake and pissed. Standing in the middle of the living room, with her hair still a tangly golden nest, she glared at me with laser eyes. At least it wasn't nighttime. She couldn't do that thing in movies where the wife hid in the darkness, waiting to turn on the lights once the drunk husband came home. Wait, what? Deen wasn't my wife. Who'd want a psychopath to be their partner?

"Good morning, Deen," I said.

"Your face tells me that your morning isn't so good. Come, eat breakfast. Or just drink this coffee I got you. You'll feel good after." She took a deep breath before opening her mouth.

"Why did you—?"

"We don't have any food here," I cut in.

"I had to buy some. Cecilia went along. It's as simple as that. Would you rather that I left her with you?" Deen frowned.

"You should've—""I didn't want to interrupt your beauty sleep," I said, knowing her next sentence before she finished it.

"You were even snoring; didn't you know that?" Deen covered her mouth. The exposed part of her cheeks above her hand turned pink.

"I wasn't snoring."

"You were. And be thankful I didn't record it. We're going to have breakfast, and that'll be the end of this discussion." I gazed up at Deen, trying to be as fearsome as possible. I wanted to eat the weird cake and pastries I bought, and I wouldn't tolerate any bitchy delays. Deen snorted.

"Yo-you look so cute when you're trying to be angry." I rolled my eyes.

"Anyway, I got you this coconut coffee. Don't complain about the calories, okay? Just drink it. Enjoy it."

"Yes, Mom," Deen said, reversing my usual joke. I was pleased to report that we had a peaceful breakfast. Cecilia explained how we were going to find her contact, an information broker going by the name of Marlon. An unthreatening name. It didn't have the unconventional badassery I expected from a sinister character. Could've gone with 'Axiom'. If he wanted a two-word name, what about 'Cipher Wren' or something? While discussing stuff, I checked different news channels on TV. No missing frat boys.

No mysterious fires in the desert. I should be happy that the police hadn't started investigating our latest crimes. But I wasn't. Disappointed, actually. Was I getting addicted to thrill and danger? I should relish the peaceful times, like our grocery shopping around lunchtime.

"If you want any specific snacks, just tell me," I told Deen and Cecilia, feeling magnanimous. It wasn't my money that I was spending. Our cart slowly filled up. I chose microwavable and frozen food because I couldn't be bothered to cook. Deen chose fresh produce and chicken breasts for healthy recipes.

"You're going to cook that?" I raised a skeptical brow at the fruits and vegetables covering my ice cream tubs. If Mom were here, she'd also buy healthy produce.

"Don't expect me to touch rabbit food."

"Avocados are bad for rabbits," said Deen, holding up the green fruit.

"How did you know that? Have you… fed a rabbit avocado before?" Deen averted her eyes while shaking her head.

"N-no. Where would I get a rabbit? I'll make avocado toast tomorrow."

"Fun fact: other countries use avocado for dessert. They add sugar or condensed milk. Here, our avocados are more for savory recipes, like guacamole, avocado toast, salads. Didn't they have avocado ice cream back there? I'm going to—""Be serious here for a moment, Erind." Deen grabbed the pushcart's handle before I could swerve to the freezers.

"What did you talk with Cecilia about?" Deen asked in hushed tones. Deen tilted her head at Cecilia in the middle of the aisle; we were about ten feet away from her. Cecilia was reading the description of various detergents. Something to clean her chemistry set, she mentioned earlier.

"So, that's what you're worried about. I didn't let it slip that I'm… you know. If Cecilia suspects anything, then that's all to it—a suspicion."

"Refrain from increasing that suspicion," said Deen.

"I know, I know. Anyway, I'm going to look for avocado ice cream. Stay here and watch Cecilia. I'll be back in less than a minute." Should I reveal to Deen that Cecilia tried to convince me to keep secrets from her? Probably not. It'd be interesting to have some double-crossing setup, a triple cross, even, but Deen would just kill Cecilia. What about revealing to Cecilia that I was an Adumbrae? Not now. Cecilia wanted a lot from the Adumbrae with the bizarre crystal, but I wanted nothing from her.

All her promises were yet to materialize. I'd wait until she had concrete uses for me. Her only present use, if it be counted as such, was helping me distribute the Red Hood video. However, she'd really suspect that I was an Adumbrae once she saw its contents. Either I was Red Hood or one of her minions.

"I need some other outlet for this video," I muttered, peering through the misty glass of the freezers for any green containers.

"Or maybe I can reshoot this stupid take." That wasn't possible while Cecilia was around. Good news—I found avocado ice cream. Another good news—pictures and videos of Red Hood saving people started to circulate on Snippet. Finally! They were soon taken down, of course. The government couldn't allow Adumbrae sympathizing sentiment to spread on social media. However, the fact that I saw a couple of posts meant there were so many getting posted that some slipped past the automated censors.

People were also becoming creative in tricking the AI to approve their posts. And there was no bad news. Not yet. I wasn't trying to jinx us. Maybe we'd return to the usual programming of problem after problem while looking for Cecilia's not-friend. 6: 35 p. m. —was what my phone told me before I turned it off. It would stop any attempts to remotely hack our phone, according to Cecilia. Where we were going, that was an expectation, apparently.

"If you told us before we left the condo," Deen said with a tired sigh, "we would've left our phones there." She was looking for a place to park near our destination. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"You really should fix this habit of yours, Cecilia," I said.

"And don't make the excuse that we didn't need to know back then."

"Alright, I won't," replied Cecilia.

"But I will still think of that excuse. And my late, in your perspective, cautionary advice will have no impact on our safety. Both of you can handle any danger the Understrip may throw at us."

"It'll be my first time visiting the Understrip," said Deen.

"Me too," I chimed in.

"And we got a place here. I just don't like getting packed like a sardine." Deen knew I was referring to my hatred of crowds. As for Cecilia, she'd think I meant my fake claustrophobia. The Understrip used to be old casino service tunnels running parallel to the famous Las Vegas Strip, the main avenue full of mega-resorts, casinos, and sprawling augmentation hospitals for the wealthy. Mom had told me about the Understrip's origins years ago.

Something about Greaves not having enough space on the Strip for their tech buildings, so they expanded the tunnels instead. Permitting issues and some other concerns halted their projects. The city traded a patch of land for the tunnels. Greaves got their place, with taxpayer-funded roads leading to it, and the city had this real estate under the Strip to fill. And fill it, they did. One side of the Understrip had smaller augmentation establishments and plastic surgery clinics.

There were also gambling places and a red-light district at the far end, open for business most of the day. The other side was full of parking structures, freeing space on the Strip above for other buildings. Most of Las Vegas' commerce was on the Strip, the Understrip, or the Greaves' township on the other side of the city. Tunnels again, I thought with a grimace. People might get bored with the repeated setting.

But from the pictures I found during my research, it looked like a small city down there, full of lights and people. That should be varied enough from the tunnels of La Esperanza. Deen drove her car into a parking elevator closest to Marlon's 'business place', if it could be considered that. The guy was definitely conducting business there, but he had no permits and stuff. And his place of business didn't exist officially.

Shielded by multi-story car parks was a side tunnel dubbed by the locals as the 'Little Strip'. Either that was true, or Cecilia was making shit up because this was my first time hearing about it.

"Get ready," Deen said after parking her car. We tucked our long hair into plain caps and wore masks to cover our noses and mouths. Add in shades to hide our eyes. We looked plenty conspicuous, but that was the price of hiding our identities.

"Wear your mask too, Cecilia," I said.

"Don't argue. There's no record of your face everywhere. But you're with us. Will be easy to find us if they find you."

"Who's this 'they' you speak of?" Cecilia asked, though following my instructions.

"A lot of theys out there," I answered, adjusting my glove. Cecilia hadn't asked about this.

"Hopefully, we won't add to their number after our little meeting with your not-friend."

"We're not here to make enemies," Deen said.

"Any last-minute warnings, Cecilia? Tell us everything now, whether you think we need to know about it or not."

"Nothing comes to mind," Cecilia innocently replied.

"Marlon isn't capable of causing trouble for you. The challenge is extracting information from him." Cecilia had told us that Marlon used to be a 'bio-sculptor', a fancy term for a cosmetic and augs surgeon for celebrities and other famous people. Infamous people, as well. Some accident led to the disfigurement of a criminal boss's wife, and Marlon was now on the run. He wasn't really doing a lot of running. His clinic along the Little Strip was some sort of open secret.

Those with failing black-market augs come to him for removal and repairs. I bet it was easy to come across secrets in his line of work, including locations of Adumbrae in the city—those Adumbrae being clients of the 2Ms, not real ones.

"No torture," said Deen.

"Unless necessary." I almost snorted. Deen was becoming more open to violence. Exiting the bottommost level of the car park, we were showered by lights of different colors. Small electric vehicles that looked like beetles, which can be rented with just the swipe of a credit card, carried people across the narrow road of the Understrip. Most people still chose to walk. As always, drones radiating ads were ever present.

Past the fancy signs atop establishments were pipes for exhaust fans, bundles of cables bigger than anacondas, and the rocky face of the tunnel. Would it cost too much to cover everything in concrete? Was this place safe during earthquakes?

"It's every bit as busy as I imagined," I said.

"Lead the way, Cecilia. I want to leave as fast as possible." We stayed on the side of the car parks, suffering the sounds of engines moving cars in elevators, and the clanking metals as cars looked around for empty parking slots. I had this idea of turning into Blanchette to tear down this entire place.

"Here," said Cecilia, entering the gap between two car park structures. A couple of twists and turns, and there was light again. We were at the narrow throat of the Little Strip. Easy to tell how deep into the Little Strip we were because the ads tried to be legal near the entrance, giving up their pretense further ahead. We'd get blinding ads with something like 'Augment Repair – Same Day'. Several shops later, there'd be a hand-painted sign saying, 'Install hidden weapons of your choice – ammunition included'.

"I'm not allowing that," Deen said.

"What?" I nonchalantly asked.

"I wasn't thinking of installing a gun in my arm." I definitely was. Deen gave me a stern look before turning to Cecilia.

"Do Adumbrae frequent this place?"

"More than you'd assume," said Cecilia.

"They're not here for augments. Cosmetic surgery is their goal. With hyper-regenerating flesh, an expert can sculpt their bodies into anything."

"How would that work? Like, won't regeneration undo plastic surgery?" I knew the answer. This was to present ourselves as clueless about the Adumbrae world beyond what the Professor's organization had told us, which wasn't much.

"You don't know?" Cecilia nodded down at my hand.

"I see well-trimmed nails. I see evenly-cut hair."

"This doesn't count," I said.

"Hair and nails are dead cells."

"And yet, they return. When you fought in my lab, you were severely injured, pummeled into the concrete floor by my test subject. Did you not break any fingernails? Patches of your long hair must've been pulled out as well."

"Oh, yeah… I guess we regenerate them. But that doesn't explain—""It works in the same way. Adumbrae. Corebrings." Cecilia stretched her left and right hands.

"You do not heal. You regenerate your perception of yourself. How can an Adumbrae change their self-view that they will not undo cosmetic surgery? A topic for another time, for we have arrived." Marlon's clinic had no signs. I thought it was an empty unit if Cecilia didn't point it out. She knocked in a specific way on the dusty glass door. The security camera above swiveled to look at us.

"A secret knock?" Deen incredulously asked.

"That's the security measure?"

"Marlon always accepts new customers," Cecilia explained, "so long as they are recommended by a previous customer. Teaching them a specific combination of knocks is an unconventional, but simple enough way of verification."

"He probably doesn't even care about the knock," I said.

"Just wants to add exclusivity to his business so he can charge higher."

"In terms of security," said Cecilia.

"Marlon has many favors to call in. Oh, good evening, Thelma." The door slid open, and we were greeted by an old lady in a dirty scrub suit.

"Customers?"

"Visiting acquaintances," Cecilia replied.

"Friends might be exaggerating our relationship. Tell Marlon that he owes me five dollars for coffee."

"Cecilia!" a boisterous voice called from inside the dark clinic.

"Do come in!" I didn't know any other disgraced celebrity surgeons, but Marlon looked like I expected him, maintaining an expensive look despite the unfortunate setting. Looking like forty, I bet he was much older. There were hints of work done on his face. He steepled his chrome fingers as we sat on old sofa chairs in front of his table.

"A new body," Marlon stated.

"I can pick up your features despite your mask." Cecilia flipped her hair.

"Unforeseen circumstances."

"Did you come to me for help relating to these unforeseen circumstances?"

"Indeed, we require—""Why should I help you?" Marlon asked.

"And earn the ire of Euphonia?"