The route to South Checkpoint was dark and silent. Normally, even past curfew, someone would be lurking—smugglers,runners, patrol drones sweeping the alleys. But tonight?
Nothing.
The sky was getting even darker.
Eric kept his grip steady on the wheel, even as his mind itched with second thoughts.
This was stupid. An eight-hundred-dollar job to the South Checkpoint? He might as well have set himself on fire and asked for a tip.
The man beside him hadn't moved an inch since getting in, shoulders hunched, face buried in his hood.
The only thing he held onto was that damn briefcase, death-clutched and hugged against him.
He still hadn't even caught a glimpse of his face.
"So," Eric drawled, tapping the wheel, "what's so important you wanna risk your life out here?"
Silence.
Eric threw him a glance. The briefcase was still hugged to his chest, knuckles pale on the leather handle.
"Just drive," the man said after a moment.
Eric exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. He hated jobs like this. Too much quiet.
The kind of quiet that made your skin itch, made you wonder if you were walking into a grave before you even saw the shovel.
But eight hundred was eight hundred.
The road ahead was uneven, cracked asphalt blending into dirt the closer they got to the outskirts.
A few of Neal City's infrastructure had been rebuilt after the First Wake, but the southern districts never made the cut. Too close to the Ashspawn ruins and most of all too hard to control.
Eric's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Still no drones and still too quiet.
He adjusted his grip on the wheel.
"You military?"
The man didn't answer.
Eric rolled his jaw, narrowing him another glance. Still gripping that briefcase.
Not military, then. Or at least, not active. The military was stiff, sure, but they didn't shake like this guy was shaking.
"Smuggler?" Eric tried again.
No response.
"You know, conversation's free with the fare," he muttered. "Won't even charge extra."
Nothing.
It's just the checkpoint. One drop-off, then you're done.
And finally, they were here. Rows of reinforced concrete barriers lined the road, merging into a single entry point.
Thick chain-link fencing, double-layered with barbed wire, extended along both sides, curving inward.
High above, watchtowers stood, their searchlights sweeping the area in white circles, briefly killing the shadows.
At the center stood the main gate, a massive plate of steel embedded, designed to withstand both explosions and Ashspawn attacks.
It was flanked by automated turrets, some new, some worn out. Normally, they moved, but now they didn't.
"Here." his passenger broke the silence. "That's a thousand."
Eric turned to the outstretched hand, brow lifting. He took the notes, counting before shoving them into his back pocket.
"Man, you sure you wanna go out there?" He asked again, because, honestly, the two-hundred-dollar tip had just unlocked a little sympathy for this stranger. "The sky is—"
Without another word, the man unlocked the door and stepped out.
The checkpoint gates were open.
That alone was weird enough. South Checkpoint was a fortress, meant to keep things out—or in. The guards were usually a pain in the ass, barking orders, checking papers, searching cars like they expected a bomb in every compartment.
And yet… no guards. Just the man, vanishing through the gates.
Alright then. Eric thought. At least he tried. Yet it felt wrong. He couldn't place it, but something felt off.
His fingers brushed over the money in his pocket. Still there.
Everything else? Not his circus, not his monkeys. Hell, not even his zoo.
His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. Natalie was calling . His fingers twitched then dropped. Was there any point in answering just to hear her scream when he'd be home in two hours max?
He shoved the gear into reverse, but just as he was about to pull away—
*Thud*
Eric flinched, twisting toward the passenger seat, sighting that rectangular shaped, black leather coated object.
The briefcase.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
An eight-hundred-dollar fare. A two-hundred-dollar tip. And the dumbass had forgotten the one thing he'd been clutching so tightly.
Eric rubbed a hand down his face.
He should leave.
Just drive back, buy the meds, let Natalie chew him out, and forget about it.
Instead, he stared at the case, that gut feeling kicking in. Specifically the one that had kept him alive in the worst parts of Neal City.
Check it.
There were rules to shit like this. And the first was never open what isn't yours.
Eric cursed under his breath, grabbing the handle and pulling the case onto his lap. It wasn't locked, but he still didn't open it.
Instead, he glanced toward the checkpoint again.
The man was gone. Probably wouldn't even notice he'd left it until it was too late.
And Eric had just made a thousand bucks. There was no reason to go back.
His fingers tightened around the briefcase.
"…Fucking hell."
He turned the engine back on.
It screeched, rumbled, and with a heavy sigh, Eric drove back toward the checkpoint.
He'd wait five minutes. If the man didn't come back out, he was going home. All for the kindness of a two-hundred-dollar tip.
He parked. At intervals, he made the light blink, just in case it was too dark for the man to see. Other times, he watched the briefcase.
Check it.
Maybe he should. He could close it back. Nobody had to know. Not even the little mysterious dude. If he walked in on him with the lid flipped open or he noticed, Eric could just say he wanted an ID...
But then there was a tiny beep.
Eric pushed his ear closer.
Another beep.
He held his breath as he straightened up. He wasn't hearing things, it came from the briefcase.
Check it.
Curiosity gnawed at him as he clicked the briefcase open—
The glow hit first. Warm red, blinking and beeping. His stomach turned even before he saw them.
Red, blue and yellow wires. Weaving around in curls and attached to a timer.
00:04.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Eric didn't have a chance to think. The car door slammed open as he flung himself out, hitting the ground hard just as the briefcase exploded.
The force caught him mid-roll, launching him backward like a ragdoll.
His shoulders slammed into the chain-link fence. Pain reverberated through his body, enough to ignore the searing heat and the blast still echoing in the air.
Bits of metal rained down, clattering against the pavement, still hot enough to sear skin where they landed.
Eric sucked in a breath—then choked on it. And there amid the numbness and almost dead ears, it dawned on him—
He was out in the open. Right in the center of an Ashspawn-infested street actively bleeding. And right next to him was the warmth of his burning car.
That bastard.
Eric's eyes widened at the destruction. He needed to get out of here. Needed to stay alive.
But that—he realized, as the familiar monstrous screeches drew closer—
Was rapidly not becoming his choice to make.