Chromatically Cursed

PROLOGUE

Song: Planets and Stars by Pavvla

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Steam sputters and hisses from the stopped locomotive as sunlight glints sharply off the polished pistons and gears. Throngs of people shuffle about each other, carefully navigating the station walkways. Cautious, sharp eyes peer through the smoke and haze, watching the passengers. They note the colors of the wristbands that each one wears: Black, Solum. Black, black, black, oh. Green. Terrenum. The eyes linger on the green band a little longer. This station is located closer to the outskirts of Caenina. Most Terrenums don't get out this far. She wonders, briefly, what brings him out here, to the depths of hell. Oh well, his mistake.

The young woman stands, the hood of her wool coat shading her cheeks. There's an itch at the base of her neck. It scratches and whines, "Go faster, keep up," but it's over-eager. She knows better: stay distant, but watch closely. Her fingers twitch, like a cat's whiskers when it senses it's prey.

The Terrenum's head stands above the rest of the crowd, his broad shoulders pushing through the swarm. His work boots clunk heavily on the concrete platform. He carries a metal lunch box, the handle rattling with each step. Grease is smeared and caked in the wrinkles of his hands. Mechanic, probably. His brown hair is starting to grey at the roots, at least that's what she can see sticking out from under the tattered cap on his head.

She follows him out of the station, down the main street, past the darkened shop windows and the cheap liquor stores. She sees the overworked citizens crowding around barrels, huddling together, feeding off the warmth thrown by the hot coals inside. A cold breeze bites at her exposed skin. A scrawny, scabby dog dashes in front of her, one of its ears cut off at the tip. She scoffs, "Stupid thing."

The mechanic slows down as he approaches the busy street. The young woman sees her chance. She walks up just behind the Terrenum, barely brushing her arm against his. He shifts and she shifts with him. Her hand carefully slips into the weighed down pocket that probably contains his wallet. Just as she brushes his fingers against it, a whistle blows, "Stop! Thief!"

Magistrata come running from around the corner, batons in hand. The young woman quickly pulls her hand out and makes a run for it. Men jump out in front of her. She shoves them aside. Suddenly she's jerked back, pulled by her jacket. She slams into the concrete sidewalk, hitting her head. Her vision blurs. Someone groans, whether it's from herself or another person, she has no idea.

Hands grab and wrestle with her. A stray kick of hers hits a Magistratus in the jaw. Her cheek burns where his hand collides with it. Finally, after much struggling, she is subdued. Someone rips the hood from her face. A collective gasp comes from the observing crowd. "A Satis," an old hag hisses.

Her eyes, one light blue, one deep green, burn with fire as she stares down the Mags. The Captain, the one she kicked, stands over her, staring into her eyes. He spits, "Stupid thing."