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Dreaming, in the non-goal-oriented sense, was something she had never experienced. Why program an AI to spend resources on frivolous things like REM sleep? Angela spent every moment of her time underground awake and fully aware of everything around her. She’d never bothered listening to Chesed’s complaints of nightmares and dreams during her time there; after all, how realistic could a dream really be?
As she began to forget when blood started flowing through her veins, she also began to feel her body tire in ways she'd never experienced before. Perhaps her body's desire for sleep had started the moment a guest had been able to draw blood from her shifting form, or maybe even long before that. One afternoon after Gebura and Roland had expertly dealt with another difficult set of guests, Angela closed her eyes for a moment of respite only to be whisked away to somewhere else.
As her eyelids fluttered open, she sat up from the mattress she was laying on. Where had it come from? She stood and smoothed the wrinkled fabric of her overcoat and knew Roland would be visiting soon. For a brief moment, her mind insistently screamed at her to wonder how she knew such a thing, but it quieted soon enough. She placed a worn kettle on the stove and began preparing a tray of tea for them to share. Like the Library, she simply had to think of an object for it to appear before her. The kettle began squealing moments after she turned the heat on, but it wasn’t strange to her.
In the blink of an eye, Roland was standing next to her as he pulled the squealing water off the stovetop.
“It's been a while since I've had tea with someone enjoyable to be around,” Roland said, hissing as he brushed the back of his hand against the kettle.
Angela clicked her tongue at him and took the kettle back as she poured their tea. “Is green tea alright?”
“Sure, whatever’s fine,” Roland said. He began lounging at the table nearby. As Angela placed the tea tray in front of him, she noticed bloodstains on the cuffs of his dress shirt.
“Another tough job?” As she asked, Roland tugged his suit jacket down to cover the stains.
He shrugged. “Just another day of Fixer work.”
Angela wanted to ask, but her mouth wouldn’t speak the right words. It was distressing until she remembered their plans.
“Well, let's finish up our tea and head out,” Angela said. Her tea was nearly too sweet, but she couldn't get enough of it.
“Why even serve tea if we’re just going to leave before we can savor it,” Roland said, but even as he griped, he quickly finished his cup and placed it back on the tray. It nearly broke as he set it down. Angela wanted to scold him, but the cracks in the teaware made it more charming than before.
“I wonder what it will be like out there,” Angela murmured. When Angela teleported herself throughout the library, she always felt like she was flying through space for the few moments she was traveling. Now, though, there was no warning before she and Roland were strolling down an endless sidewalk. Faceless businesses lined the street, but she was fascinated by them.
Some were obviously laundromats, some looked to be apartment buildings, and some were simply blank and empty. She wanted to stop by and see their wares, but Roland’s pace down the street was relentless, so she had to hurry to keep up with him.
“Where is everyone?” She asked, turning to face Roland. She expected more people to be wandering the streets, but the world around her was eerily still.
“We’ll be in the art district soon,” Roland said, her question ignored. He seemed carefree as he walked, his hands shoved in his pockets as they passed more and more empty shops and buildings.
“What would a grocery store look like in a place like this, I wonder,” Angela mused aloud.
“Same as anywhere else,” Roland said, nodding across the street at a low-profile building. What had once been a blank slate suddenly turned into a grocery store with a huge logo sitting on the street in front of it. “Surprisingly, most grocers are decently safe in the City. Even in the backstreets of District 23.”
“Do people not loot them? Take the produce for themselves?”
Roland shrugged, gently stopping Angela from stepping into the street as they reached a crosswalk. He pressed a metallic button before speaking. Why were they stopping when there were no cars or other pedestrians?
“You'd be surprised by the things that stay safe. Children often get a pass. Grocery stores keep everyone alive and the prices are always low, so syndicates would get a bad rep if they extorted them. Every grocery store has a syndicate guarding it, but that’s more of a formality than anything.”
“I see,” Angela said, nodding to herself. As she spoke, the signal changed to a pleasant green and Roland began crossing to the other side of the road. Angela followed behind him.
“That reminds me. Back when I first started out as a Fixer, I got a job request to find out why prices were skyrocketing at a local grocery store. It was my usual store, so I was invested in figuring out why the reasonable prices were suddenly higher than they’d be in a Nest. The owner and I would go out for drinks sometimes. Well, more accurately, he'd show up at my favorite bar and share his woes over a few drinks. Apparently, the syndicate in charge of protecting the place was hoarding groceries for themselves and forcing the owner to raise prices so they’d get the same cut of the money.
“The job request wasn't from him, but from some guy who was mad his savings account wasn't growing like he wanted it.” Roland paused to stop Angela from stepping into an impossibly huge puddle. It spanned the entire width of the street and seemed deep enough that if she fell in, she would never find her way out. “Anyway. The guy told me, ‘go find out why the syndicate is hoarding shit.’”
“Did he expect you to take care of a syndicate all by yourself?” Angela asked. As they continued walking, the streets became brighter. The buildings were no longer a dull gray, and murals decorated empty walls. The graffiti decorating the buildings shifted in strange patterns as they walked. Plant hangars decorated every street lamp, each with vibrant displays of foreign flowers Angela had never seen in person.
Roland snorted. “Nah, like I said, I was just at the beginning of my career. He just wanted info. It seemed like an easy job; find out what was making the syndicate hoard supplies and report back to him. My office at the time was well-known for their nearly perfect record with negotiation, so the guy was planning on getting the info and getting a discount on a second request, then taking the success to the owner and getting a fat check, or free food.
“The syndicate that protected the place was kind of a plush job. In a safe part of the backstreets, in a reasonable district. They hadn't had a fight in years. I assumed they were forcing the owner to give them so much food so they could start an army or something and start fighting against bigger syndicates in the area. I knew some of the members tangentially, too. So I wasn't all that worried about it being a dangerous job. Just find out the real reason and report it back, no combat necessary.”
“Were they successful at starting their army?”
Roland chuckled as a huge bird flew above him, dangerously close to swooping down and picking him up. “It wasn’t anything like that. I asked around and found out real quick that the owner was lying to me when he told me his woes over beers. He got the syndicate members to stop shopping in person and delivered everything to their hideout so they wouldn't get suspicious at the raised prices. He hid the ‘extorted’ supplies in the back and only stocked limited supplies out front to sell the story, too. He just kept telling anyone who asked that the syndicate was putting pressure on him to provide more food and money to them.”
“And what average person would confront a syndicate and find out the truth,” Angela said, nodding in understanding.
“Exactly. I thought maybe it was a misunderstanding. Well. I hoped it was. I'd known the guy for years. I had fun drinking with him. But when I mentioned it to him, he pulled a knife on me. I tried to tell him I would forget about it if he stopped scalping people, but he'd lost it. His eyes… they were empty. He didn't even want to get into a nest. He wouldn't tell me what he was saving for. Just kept telling me I had to die since he couldn’t trust me not to leak the truth.”
“What happened next?”
Roland shrugged before pointing at the building in front of them. “The gallery I mentioned.”
“Did you have to kill him?” Angela asked as they stepped inside. Her breath was stolen as she entered. The ceilings were so high above her, it nearly made her dizzy to look up at them. The far side of the building had an artificial waterfall, sending a haze of mist into the air. Rainbows filtered through the mist, making everything at that side of the building soft and surreal. It looked like a lush jungle encased the entire back wall.
“Pretty sick, right?” Roland asked, chuckling at Angela's awestruck expression.
“It's amazing,” Angela murmured. “From all the guests talking about their ‘art’, I didn't expect to find something ACTUALLY beautiful in this City.”
“Yeah, those sickos have a screw loose,” Roland said, pointing at an enormous portrait on the wall. “See that? One of my closest friends painted it.”
Angela turned and tried to study the huge painting, but whenever she tried to focus on detail, her eyes would glaze over and she’d forget what she’d been looking at. Sometimes she thought she recognized a face, but when she tried to recall who it was, her mind would wander. The colors would shift and dance across the canvas. Even so, she knew it was beautiful. She wanted to know who it was, but the painting wouldn't let her.
“Who painted it?”
“———,” Roland said. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. But Angela understood, somehow. She could picture who he was talking about. She wanted to apologize for asking, but that didn't feel right. He wouldn’t be mad for her asking about that.
“I'm sorry you had to kill your grocer friend,” Angela said. She knew what the City was like, but her heart felt strange. Aching, at the thought of him killing a friend. He must have felt so much pain.
“Huh? Oh, I didn't,” Roland said. “I told him to charge less, basically. Helped I was an up-and-coming Fixer, I guess. Made him promise he wouldn't do it again.
Roland shook his head and sighed unhappily. “But it turned out the guy who hired me didn't trust me to tell him the truth and followed me. Heard the whole thing. Told a different syndicate and he got a huge payout. They wiped out the other syndicate for incompetence and tortured the owner for scamming. Pretty gruesomely, I guess. I never went back.”
“How unfortunate,” Angela said. She wanted to say more, but… it felt strange. She usually scoffed at sympathy from those who had no experience in what they were claiming to care about. It felt empty and almost cruel. But now… she wanted to comfort Roland. He was acting unaffected, but she could tell he was standing more stiffly than usual as they walked around the gallery.
Roland would occasionally point out more art, and Angela would stare at the interesting shapes and colors. Some pieces seemed strange and boring, but others made her heart swell. Some made her feel like she could take over the world, while others made her drop to her knees and weep. She had no idea art could elicit such emotions. Was this what humans felt every time they saw art?
“I hope nothing bad ever happens to you again, Roland,” Angela said, choosing her words carefully.
“Me neither,” Roland said. He turned to face her and gave a small smile. “Don't get too upset, okay?”
“Upset?”
As Angela spoke it, she sat straight up from where she'd been napping. Her heart was racing as she got her bearings. As she panted, she watched Netzach sweep listlessly across the library floor, way too far away to notice her.
“Woah, what's got you scared?”
Her gaze snapped to Roland, who just entered the room. “I think I just had a hallucination.”
“Huh? You were asleep, though,” Roland said. “Oh, you might’ve been having a dream. Kinda like watching a TV show while you’re sleeping. Guess you really are that much closer to being a true human.”
“A dream… do they mean anything? Are they… lost memories?”
“What do they mean?” Roland gave her a sour look. “I don't believe any of that nonsense that dreams are premonitions or something. They're meaningless images and sounds your brain puts together to keep itself occupied while you rest.”
Angela nodded shakily. She still felt strange from her dream. Her limbs felt heavy and she wanted to fall back asleep and go back to that colorful place with that talkative Roland. “Do you… happen to have any experience with a grocer?”
“A grocer? What, like the guy who runs a grocery store? No, I usually eat out,” Roland said, cocking his head slightly.
The more Angela tried to remember the details of her dream, the more she forgot. The person she’d been so confident in identifying in that strange portrait… she was clueless, now. Could a dream like that really be meaningless? She frowned and sighed; she could think about this later.
“I see… Well, in any case, I have something else to add to my bucket list,” Angela said, hopping off her desk and making herself presentable. “I believe our next guest should be receiving their invitation soon, so let’s get ready.”