The Meeting

The neon sign above the bar door flickered erratically, its colors pulsing like a heart on the verge of stopping against the soot-darkened facade. Leo stood still, his thumb tracing the edge of the card in his hand.

He read the message on the back once more, though he already knew it by heart. The address was correct, but the knot tightening in his chest told him that maybe he wasn’t.

Beside the entrance, the bouncer stood like a figure sculpted from raw iron. His prosthetic arms gleamed under the flickering light, every joint finished with a robust, utilitarian design.

The joints flexed slightly as he shifted his weight, his cold eyes scanning Leo with a disinterest that still felt menacing. Leo’s breathing grew heavier as he passed, the faint metallic sound of the bouncer adjusting his stance echoing in his ears.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, and the sound of the bar hit him like a wave. The shrill and uncontrolled laughter mingled with the sharp whine of electronic instruments and the heavy beat of saturated speakers. The air was dense, thick with sweat, smoke, and the sour smell of spilled alcohol.

Leo hesitated at the entrance, his eyes examining the chaos before him. The room was bathed in lights shifting between green, red, and purple, scattering across the walls like an out-of-control kaleidoscope.

Tables cluttered the space, each surrounded by groups shouting over one another, their voices rising and falling in waves.

In one corner, a group competed to flip metallic cups in sequence, while others whispered tensely, leaning over the tabletops.

The bar seemed like a world of its own—a place where the masks of everyday life were left outside, and people surrendered to their excesses. To Leo, though, everything felt out of place, as if he were watching a chip from a movie without the sound.

Each step deeper inside made the air feel heavier on his shoulders. His palms were damp, and the card in his pocket felt heavier than ever.

He walked to the counter, where an older man was wiping a metallic glass with slow, methodical, but unenthusiastic movements. The bartender’s eyes settled on him, assessing him with the same coldness as the bouncer outside, as if recognizing that Leo didn’t belong there.

“Don’t just stand there staring, kid. If you’re ordering, spit it out,” the bartender said, setting the glass down with a loud clink.

Leo hesitated, glancing around. Others were alone, hunched over their drinks, their faces cast in shadow. He pointed at a drink nearby, swallowing hard.

“One of those, please.”

The bartender didn’t respond. With quick movements, he placed a glass under an automated tap, the viscous liquid filling the container. A holographic display appeared in the air, showing the price. Leo raised his wrist to pay and muttered a “thank you” that disappeared into the bar’s cacophony.

He stared at the drink for a moment before raising the glass to his lips. The liquid tasted metallic, bitter, and burning as it slid down his throat. He winced, setting the glass down with a dull thud, staring at the remaining liquid as though it were a challenge.

Lucy would hate this, he thought, the memory of her cutting through his mind with sharp clarity. She’d probably wrinkle her nose, delivering one of her biting critiques about toxic environments and the poor choices of the people around her. Even so, there was something comforting about the memory of her voice—balanced between harshness and compassion.

But Lucy wasn’t there. And the image of her smiling face had been replaced by another—her lifeless body, eyes open but empty. Leo gripped the glass tightly, as though the gesture could erase the weight of the memory.

He took another sip. It was still bitter, but not as unpleasant as the emptiness that had followed him since her death.

He lifted his eyes, scanning the room. In the center, a platform housed humanoid robots dancing to the music’s rhythm. Their movements were so fluid that, from a distance, they could be mistaken for humans. Only their gleaming joints betrayed the truth. Still, the people around them watched in fascination, as if seeing something more than just programmed machines.

In another corner, a group of men raised their glasses, beckoning women to dance with insistent gestures. The women smiled, but Leo noticed their hesitant steps backward, trying to create space without provoking them.

Further back, at the edge of the oscillating lights, Leo saw someone who wasn’t part of the euphoria. A thin man sat alone, his face partially hidden by a hood. A cloak covered his right arm, and his foot tapped the floor restlessly. The man kept glancing at the watch on his wrist, his drink barely touched in front of him.

Leo leaned on the counter, watching him for a long moment. Something about the man made him freeze. It wasn’t the hood or the cloak, but the way he seemed disconnected from everything around him as if he were waiting for something—or someone.

When the man stood, adjusting his cloak with precise movements, Leo readied himself. He downed the rest of his drink and followed, keeping a safe distance.

The daylight outside was harsh, and Leo squinted, trying to keep the man in sight. He moved naturally, his steps firm and relaxed, blending into the crowd’s rhythm. Leo, on the other hand, weaved through the throng, trying to stay invisible while his eyes darted from face to face, ensuring he didn’t lose his target.

The streets began to narrow, the crowd thickening. The sound of the bar faded into the background, replaced by the constant hum of the city. When the man turned into an alley, Leo quickened his pace, pushing past unsuspecting passersby to stay close.

The alley was quiet, its walls coated in soot and faded graffiti. Leo looked around, but the man had vanished. He walked further in, crouching to check behind crates and piles of trash. The silence was so heavy he could hear his breathing.

Then he felt it. A movement behind him—too fast to be natural. He turned, but not quickly enough to avoid the blow that sent him sprawling to the ground.

The man stood there, framed by the faint light trickling down from above. His cloak slipped off his right arm, revealing something Leo had never seen before.

It wasn’t flesh. Nor was it metal. It was something alive, yet incredibly precise, as if designed to mimic organic matter. The material rippled, its surface faintly pulsing with lines of blue light running through it like veins. Every movement seemed to echo a restrained power, waiting for a command.

Leo took a hesitant step back, the air still knocked out of his lungs.

“You’ve got quick reflexes, kid,” the man said, his voice low, carrying a dangerous calm. His eyes, however, were sharp, analyzing Leo like a predator sizing up its prey. “Now tell me. Who sent you? The Vanguard?”

Leo clenched his fists, struggling to steady himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, his voice shaky but firm enough not to sound completely vulnerable.

The man tilted his head slightly as if considering something.

“Then why were you following me? You don’t seem like the type to wander into alleys without a reason.”

“I want to know what you were doing at the bar,” Leo shot back, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs. He had no intention of answering questions without getting some answers of his own.

The man chuckled softly, though his eyes remained emotionless.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts can be a fatal mistake in a place like this.”

Leo pulled the card from his pocket, his trembling hand raising it between them.

“I found this with my sister,” he said, his voice carrying something deeper than anger. “Lucy. Her name was Lucy.”

For a brief moment, the man’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he studied the card in Leo’s hand. “Lucy?” he repeated, the word slipping out almost as a whisper. “Where is she?”

Leo hesitated, his body instinctively curling inward at the memory.

“She… she’s not here anymore,” he said finally, his fingers tightening around the card.

The man didn’t respond immediately. His posture, once relaxed, became rigid. He stepped forward, but before he could speak, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Heavy, deliberate, echoing through the alley like drumbeats.

Leo turned his head, his heart racing, as two shapes emerged from the shadows. The faint glow of an energized blade lit up the hand of one, while the other gripped a pistol that caught the dim light, its surface reflecting in threatening glints.

“Well, well… if it isn’t the great Diego,” sneered the man with the blade, a cruel smile twisting his face. “You should know by now that we have eyes everywhere.”

Diego—the name finally gave form to the man—didn’t move immediately. Instead, his arm began to pulse more intensely. The blue lines grew brighter, expanding and contracting like they were breathing. The material shifted subtly, taking on lethal contours that seemed to sharpen the air itself.

“You have ten seconds to leave,” Diego said, his voice colder than the metal at his side.

Leo took another step back, his gaze darting between Diego and the two aggressors.

“Ten seconds?” The man with the blade laughed, spinning it casually between his fingers—a movement that was both relaxed and brimming with menace. The weapon’s glow reflected in the dim alley, like a spark ready to ignite. “You won’t last that long.”

Diego didn’t respond. Instead, his arm pulsed with growing intensity, the lines of light expanding and contracting in a rhythm that mirrored anticipation. The material began to reshape itself, acquiring lethal outlines that seemed to project tension into the air.

He stepped forward, and the sound alone was enough to silence the laughter. The atmosphere in the alley grew suffocating, every movement radiating a clear intention: there would be no conversation, only action.

Then he lunged, swift as a shadow, his arm’s glow lighting up the way.