Page 180 of Code Bound
VESPER
The safehouse in The Gilded District is a place called Coney Island. That’s what the signs say when I storm into the man-made plateau, past the big wheel and wooden track, and into the Half-Moon Hotel. My stomach rumbles as I pass all the small booths selling foods, all kinds that I don’t recognize. Cipher said all of the places and items here in the Harrow are based off of things that existed back on Earth before humanity . . . left. I don’t know why they left. We don’t exactly have history books we can pick up in Dross, but I imagine it was for a good reason. Still, to think that they used to have all of these beautiful things, these strange things, all of the animals, and it was left behind?
It’s a fucking shame.
“It was not left,” Cipher pipes in as I make my way into the hotel lobby. “It was destroyed.”
“By who?” I ask, frowning.
He laughs. “By humanity.”
My throat goes thick. “How?”
“The how would take too long to explain, so instead, I will ask one question and the answer will tell you precisely what you seek.” He pauses. “How well has humanity handled Dross?”
“Luxe keeps it in squalor,” I reply.
“Exactly,” he says. “There is always someone climbing a ladder to the top and pulling it up behind them. It is human nature.”
I swallow. “Did someone . . . try to fight that nature?”
He breathes out, as if he needs lungs to live like I do. “Once.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and it’s clear that person failed. I assume that’s how humanity got off Earth in the first place, but obviously, things took a turn for the worst at some point. Look at the decay in Dross, the sickness. Look at how Luxe treats us. It was a failure and no one can convince me otherwise.
Inside the Half-Moon Hotel, it’s set up in a way I’m not familiar with. When I walk in, I expect to see tables and booths like in other safehouses. Instead, I’m met with a few plush chairs and a large counter where a very familiar man stands. It shouldn’t surprise me to see him here. After all, he’s been inside every safehouse I’ve ever entered, but I still don’t understand how that’s possible. Therefore, when I see him, I blink in surprise.
“I know you,” I say, coming to stand before him.
He smiles brightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, player. Could it be possible you’re thinking of one of my brothers? My mother says we look a little alike.”
“A little?” I tease. “You lot could practically be twins.”
“Clones, more like it,” Svetlana adds as she stretches on my shoulder.
He doesn’t react, just as none of his “brothers” react every time I bring it up. I’ve learned that some NPCs don’t deviate much from their programmed path. Others have much more freedom and there’s no way to tell which kind of NPC they are. However, this particular NPC and all his clones are of the lesser conversing variety.
“Welcome to the Half-Moon Hotel,” he says instead of responding to my teasing, launching into his script. “Courtesy of Coney Island, the Nickel Empire of New Babel. Consider it the People’s Playground, affordable for all and joy around every corner.” He leans over the counter. “Don’t postpone joy, player. Coney Island Always.”
“Uh . . .” I say, staring at him. “Is there food?”
“Is there food?” he repeats, flabbergasted. “My dear, this is Coney Island. There is food around every corner! If you’re feeling peckish, you can findNathan’s Famous Hot Dogsright outside. If those aren’t your particular vice, you can find everything from roasted corn to fresh clams on the boardwalk outside. However, if you’re looking for a room, that would be the Half-Moon Hotel. I can get you a room key and set you right up with a place to rest your head.”
“Can I get the key now and then go out on the . . . boardwalk?”
“Of course,” he says. “Just return your key before you leave or else I’ll have something chase you down and beat you senseless until you return it!” His voice is chipper as he says this, his smile wide. Never mind the rather violent words he’s saying.
“Got it,” I murmur. “Make sure to return the key before I leave.”
He nods. “Wouldn’t want to harm that pretty face.” He plops a key on the counter. “Enjoy your stay, player.”
The key he gives me is old and metal. A small tag on the key says “Room 414” on it. Without hesitation I tuck it into my inventory. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, my dear,” he says, bowing just slightly. “Try the hot dogs. You’ll love them.”
I consider just going to the room and escaping this place for a little sleep. I’m exhausted, both from the Wolf of Wall Street and because the Harrow is starting to wear on me. I’m too low of a level to keep facing all of these threats. If I don’t level up soon, I’m going to get sloppy. Locke doesn’t seem to be having the same issue.
I check my XP level. Still sitting at six hundred and eighty-nine. Fuck. This fight to one thousand XP has been brutal. I’d gotten a little bit of XP from the Wolf of Wall Street, and the loot crate with one hundred Harrow Coins, two Shards, and some random pieces of ticker tape. But the XP had been minimal, which means I’m still going to have to keep grinding so I’m a Tier Two before Dox gets here.
