Coming Undone

Chapter 8: Low Life

Fia's nose still hurt. His ears rang from gunshots, and his lip throbbed from the fight several hours ago. He'd spent his whole night tending to the chaos, breaking up fights and keeping his little wing of the MLA tightly under his control. He hadn't slept.

But with the sun coming up and the heat blooming across the sandy, dust-encrusted city of New Medina, he was about to nestle himself into the lap of luxury and enjoy a little well-deserved rest.

Fia paused and peered upward. He had to squint as the morning light crested the skyline downtown and cast hot, golden rays in his vision. Even with the sun in his eyes, he could see home.

The White Dunes.

Towering above the nearby strip of hotels, shops and plazas was an ivory-white hotel that reached thirty stories straight up. Flags fluttered in the breeze above a vast fountain of black marble, and a half dozen species of birds chattered atop row after row of decorative palms and acacia that rimmed the premises. Things were clean, too. The tiles under Fia's feet were the only ground for miles that didn't bear a layer of reddish dust, since they were polished every morning. Even the cacti, which in most parts of town collected litter and plastic refuse in their thorns, had been picked clean and neatly trimmed into shape.

Fia licked his fat lip, and dusted off his shirt again.

There were a few blood stains...

He ignored the eyes of strangers as he marched to the entrance and ducked in past a doorman. He, an MLA lowlife, didn't seem like the type to enjoy such an establishment.

Which was exactly why he was there.

A blast of cool air knocked a few final grains of sand off Fia as he stepped into the vast lobby and inhaled a noseful of rich scents from the bar and restaurant the sprawled out near the back. Patrons and guests came and went, most in suits.

The lobby soared upward, and for about a dozen stories open air greeted him. He could see his second story room, right at the top of a flight of stairs.

It wasn't a penthouse, and it wasn't a suite.

But it was better than the gutter.

He marched towards it, with one detour.

Fia stopped at the front desk, and made eye contact with a familiar human.

"Anything for me today?" he asked, wiping his fat lip another time to make sure he'd kept his blue blood from crusting up.

"Nothing today." The human said, tugging at the cuff on his suit. "I'll ring you if anything comes up, Fia."

The Springer gave an appreciative nod, and continued on.

He trudged up the stairs, where a chilled shower spiked with corathol waited in front of a video feed with the evening news.

Fia went to his room, keyed in his entry code, and shut the door behind him with a sigh. He was home, in the quiet comfort of an elegant and freshly cleaned room.

In a matter of moments, he was stripped out of his sweaty, sand and blood caked clothes and was unwinding in the shower, inhaling deeply as the alcohol soothed his cuts and washed the grit off his skin.

The news drew Fia's attention.

Not the scroll of text at the bottom. He didn't care about stock prices, or the strained relations between New Median and the Human home world. The talking points spouted by one of the two commentators bored him, and only helped him focus all the more on the one and only reason he watched the news.