Wistful Allegiance
“One step in the Higher Plane and suddenly y’brats think yer all that!” the old man was shouting, arms thrown high as Virgil took a drag from his cigarette. “Now y’wanna kidnap my granddaughter for Harmonia knows what. DisCorp lapdogs, the lot of you!”“C’mon, Pops, we’re not that bad. Look, Dante’s been tested at the Epicurean Institute too, and he’s alright!” Virgil waved the elder’s complaints off, turning his head to exhale smoke and motion to Dante standing by the door. “Augustine will be more than fine, and you’d be getting compensation for it too, you know.”
“Grandpa, didn’t you always say Virgil was a smart guy...? Maybe they are actually trying to help—” the young girl spoke up, concerned, but her grandfather raised a hand to stop her.
DisCorp simply did not do charity or kindness—not in District 01. The hungry understood that there was no such thing as a free lunch.
Still, Dante had sat in Doctor Beatrice Othniel’s office already and come out unscathed. Sure, he’d been poked and prodded, but the woman was, if nothing else, honest. She’d answered all of his questions clearly, and he couldn’t sense any of the animosity towards the Lower Plane he had grown accustomed to during his time in the Higher Plane. To her, District 01 dwellers, blighthearted or not, were just patients. There was no pretense in her smile—just a genuine, ravenous ambition, not unlike Virgil’s own.
He could see how the two had become close.
Shaking his head, Dante focused on the older man. “Alright, I think we both know you can’t keep her here forever. What, you think if you put her in a little bubble she’ll be fine? It’s the Institute now, or a padded room after the entire East Quarter goes up in flames later.”
“S’been workin’ just fine so far. ’Sides, what the hell do you know? Y’just parrot whatever this oaf says anyways—since y’were kids!”
He felt his blood rush to his head, his body flashing hot in an instant.
“Y’think I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about?! Shut your mouth, old man!” Dante clenched his teeth, the old man’s words the spark he certainly didn’t need right now. “First time I went berserk I woke up to six burnt corpses! Y’really want that for your girl? Just ’cause you’re too chickenshit to give this a shot, huh?!”
“Why you—Get out of my house! And you, Augustine, don’t y’say another word—”
“Alright! We get it, we’ll let you cool off.” Virgil stepped between the two of them, the old man having fearlessly walked up to confront Dante’s towering frame. “I’ll leave my card, just hit me up whenever. Let’s bounce, Dante.”
And so they walked out of the humble tin-roofed shack, leaving the old man gasping for breath as his granddaughter tried to calm him down. Speaking up had been a mistake—this is why he always left these things to Virgil—but how could he not be concerned? In the weeks he had spent in the Institute, he had truly come to believe there was some potential in this endeavor. Even if Dr. Othniel’s desire to help was selfish, even if all DisCorp saw was a new business venture...
If she succeeded, the days of living in fear of being labelled—no, of being a blightheart—would be over. Dante could have a real hand in making their promise come true, instead of just being dragged along for the ride.
Once they rounded the corner, Virgil turned to him. “Man, seriously?”
“Sorry—”
“Ugh, don’t.” Virgil tossed his cigarette on the ground, grinding it under his heel. “Pops was the most stubborn one on the list; he’s always been a real DisCorp hater. We still have other places to try... But try to keep your cool next time, okay?”
Dante only sighed in response, but it was enough for Virgil to turn and lead them to their next destination. While Virgil’s role in the Institute should have precluded him from carrying out this sort of grunt work, he had—for some unimaginable reason—trusted Beatrice enough to tell her of their origins. It was a dangerous gambit; they had worked hard to rid themselves of any traces of their lowborn start to get Virgil into this position in the first place. Even if the doctor held no prejudice, she could open her mouth to someone who did.
Trust the process, and do as I say, was it? Watching Virgil bound down the streets with all of his usual confidence, Dante did his best to rip out his doubts before they could burrow any deeper.
Rational Disturbance
Rubbing his wrists, Dante cast a glance at Dr. Othniel’s darkened form. He could only make out her face, illuminated by the harsh light from her holographic screens. “Your vitals are progressing well. Good work in sustaining today’s treatment.”“Feels like it’s getting rougher every week.”
At that, she smiled. “Yes... It must be hard on you, but as Aenean Disorder is a genetic condition, it requires fairly invasive procedures.”
“Is this what you’re doing to everyone else? I can’t say I really see what good it does...”
“Here. Take these.” Dr. Othniel handed him some pills and a little paper cup with water. “Patient confidentiality prevents me from sharing any particulars, but we have made great advancements already due to everyone’s sacrifices. Your suffering shall not be in vain.”
As evasive as ever—he could only hope she was right.
Outside the Institute, Virgil waited for him by a wall, the last rays of sunset fading behind the city’s distant skyline. Dante watched him for a moment, noting the worn, pocket-sized book he was reading. Eventually Virgil looked up, and it was unceremoniously shoved into his pocket the moment their eyes met. “Hey! Good work.”
Dante made a face and walked past him.
He quickly followed, crossing the Institute’s asphalt roads to reach District 01’s dirt paths. “What, no praise for me? I’m getting tested too, you know!”
What?
Stopping in his tracks, he turned to stare at Virgil. “I thought you were here ’cause you got promoted.”
“Haha, damn.” Dante hated when he did this. It made no sense why such a good liar would give up the ghost on his own schemes—he knew it had to have been on purpose then, but what did Virgil want from him? “Anyways—”
Always the same song and dance. What did he want from him? “So this is what all your time ‘working’ was for? Great promotion. I knew this was going to be a waste of—”
“How else do y’think they’re going to make the cure? I can’t just come in, get a blood test, and be done with it.” Virgil sighed, fishing in his coat pocket for a cigarette box and his lighter. “I just thought I’d let you know—but s’all part of the plan. I know what I’m doing.”
“Right—that’s why you’ve been going through these like water, huh?” Annoyed, he plucked the lighter from Virgil’s hand and pocketed it, leaving the man’s cigarette dangling unlit from his mouth. “Harmonia forbid you ever tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Hey! No need to bring the good Lady into this.” Tucking away his cigarette, Virgil shrugged. How he could keep his lighthearted disposition no matter the topic, Dante would never know. “’Sides, something good already came out of it—Beatrice told me you’d be taking some kind of pill today?”
“Already did.” He huffed, rubbing his aching wrists absentmindedly, his fingers tracing the bruises. Perhaps it was a good thing the old man hadn’t let Augustine join after all. “I don’t like it, Virgil. She had me thrashing like an animal in that chair for Goddess knows how long. What kind of science is that? Sure, I can take it, but what about all the people we’ve recruited?”
“It’s like a genetic thing, so—it’s gonna be a little rough ’til it can get better. Just let me know how you’re feeling.”
“Y’sound just like her.” Dante turned to walk again, irritation building to a quiet thrum under his skin. “Guess she sent her little lapdog to watch me?”
“Yeah? Real rich to get called a dog from the guy who probably had fleas ’til we were ten.”
“You tryin’ to go?”
“Alright, down, boy—I know you had a tough day.” With one resounding slap on his back, Virgil walked past him with a toothy smile. “Let’s take this observation someplace interesting.”
He should’ve walked away. The recent therapy sessions at the Institute had left a sour taste, and no matter how deep he dug to root out the fear, it kept finding its way back. Unlike Virgil, Dr. Othniel was honest, but they were alike in almost every other way. A terrifying prospect when they both knew there was little he wouldn’t do if it served a higher purpose—if it served their plan.
Dante wasn’t built like that; he couldn’t stomach what it took to get to the top. He knew that if it had been Virgil in his shoes, if he’d gone berserk and slaughtered a crew of innocents, he’d have walked into Dr. Othniel’s chair willingly. He’d have let her flush him full of exia until he broke his wrists from the thrashing so long as it got him what he wanted. If it let him “fix this messed up city,” there was no cost too steep.
Harmonia take him. If this idiot was right about anything, it was that they couldn’t do this without each other. Dante would be damned if the guy ended up a broken husk on the Doctor’s chair after they’d come so far—for all his confidence in Virgil’s judgment, it wouldn’t be the first time Dante had dragged him out of trouble. Likewise, the six bodies consigned to oblivion spoke full well how far Virgil would go for him too.
Virgil looked back at him, lips curled into his usual feline smile. Waiting.
Dante followed Virgil into the growing dark.
Encrypted Recruitment
Dante sneezed the moment they stepped onto the main cobbled street, District 02’s heady atmosphere living up to its local name—the Carmine Haze. From the moment Virgil had led him to one of the derelict maintenance tunnels that ran between the giant District walls, Dante had been trying to figure out what he was getting dragged into this time. If the pill Dr. Othniel gave him was related to Aenean Disorder, then they’d likely need to test out his magic, and after he’d ghosted what remained of the Prodigals he’d only gotten a chance to use it as Virgil’s bodyguard. Just like old times.Well, whatever they were here for, Dante knew it’d be a pain in the ass.
Without so much as a word, they fell into lockstep and merged into the river of bodies, Dante always slightly ahead of Virgil, shoulders straight and jaw tight. This was the red-light district, Leonidas family territory—there was nothing unusual about a suit with a bodyguard prowling the streets for one thing or another. He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair to rearrange it into a facsimile of professionalism, to give the vipers of District 02 one less reason to mess with him and, in turn, with Virgil.
Behind him, the man spoke casually, “We’ve got a meeting at that bar you hate.”
“I thought you were taking me someplace interesting.”
“Yeah, interesting for me.”
Damn slave driver. He’d flick his forehead right then and there if he could.
Unfortunately, Dante found that he still knew the way quite well. Before he knew it, they had dodged skeevy promoters and giggling hostesses to take a sharp left down an alleyway, finding that familiar old greasy black door. Behind that would be stairs leading down, and then another slightly less disgusting door.
Virgil wasn’t completely right. It wasn’t so much the bar that he hated; the place was fine, comfortable even. You couldn’t hear the bustling streets, there were no girls trying to drink you into bankruptcy, and whoever the previous owner had been had invested in a half-decent air filtration system; the perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke only smarted his eyes a little. No, the problem was the nosy manager and the bartender’s annoying face—which was, surprisingly, nowhere to be seen when they entered.
Dante looked around. The place had changed slightly: the old bartop now had a smooth sheen, and where the lights flickered before, they burned neon hot. He could even smell some food; the last time he visited, even Harmonia Herself would’ve struggled to scrape together a bowl of peanuts here.
“Heard they got a new owner recently, wanted to try their sandwiches,” Virgil said suddenly with a pat on his shoulder, walking past him to sit at an occupied booth.
“Well look who it is! Finally made your way from the Meadows, Virgil?” The stranger greeted him pompously, not sparing Dante a glance and thus missing his eyeroll.
They must be some Higher Plane shmuck, since no one down here would ever call District 01 by its official name. It always sounded like a sick joke—who’d ever look at their little pile of ashen dirt and call it a garden?
Despite his earlier concerns, it did appear to be a normal meeting. The conversation between Virgil and his guest appeared to be all business, so when Virgil waved him off, Dante slunk to the bar to order a meal and some dry soda. He would, at the very least, not drink while on the job, if he could drink at all on these new meds. Sitting down, he noted that the new bartender was quiet, a little rough around the edges—he’d set down Dante’s pulled pork sandwich with a clatter that startled some patrons—but Dante could see a certain set to his shoulders that felt reliable. Familiar.
Dante paused the moment his teeth sunk in, pulling back to examine the cross-section of his sandwich: real melted cheese, juicy pulled pork, even pickles with a bite to them. He thought he’d imagined the taste of black pepper and mustard, but it was right there alongside the glistening fat running off the meat. All of it had an organic freshness that just didn’t exist in the Lower Plane. With a furrowed brow, he took another bite—it was good.
This was definitely not the slop they’d hand out at the feedholes of Dis trict 03, and it was unimaginably better than the lab-grown meats he’d grown used to in District 05. For a moment he feared for his wallet, but there was no way this District 02 dive bar would be serving sandwiches at premium prices.
Right?
He glanced back at Virgil, only to find him standing up to leave with his finely dressed acquaintance, hands gesturing wildly and smile just a little bit too lopsided. A poor mimicry of drunkenness if he’d ever seen one, which he often did in these clandestine “meetings.” Virgil didn’t look his way, and so Dante assumed this, too, was planned. If he’d brought him here to empty out his wallet on some illicit meat smuggling front, there’d be hell to pay when they got back.
Until then, he’d at least enjoy the meal.
“New ownership, huh? The guy’s got real taste,” Dante remarked, eyes glancing at the bartender polishing a row of glasses.
The man shrugged. “Seems to be common fare where he’s from.”
“Pah, he Dis royalty or something? Only place you’re eating real meat on the daily like this is way up top.”
“Or outside the walls entirely,” he appended with disinterest.
“No kidding?” So it was a foreigner. But if they were importing meat from Leran or Goddess knew where, why sell it so cheap down in the depths of the Lower Plane?
Chewing through another mouthful of his sandwich, he cast a sidelong glance at the man—We’ve got a meeting, Virgil had said earlier, and Dante realized that we had been more literal than he’d thought. Either way, he’d called it: Coming to District 02 was always a pain in the ass.
“Mm, I’m a little busy—” Noting the strange wolf logo, he pocketed the card while mirroring the bartender’s indifference. “Dunno if I can spare the time.”
“Well, that District 05 cleanup must’ve cost you a pretty penny. He’d be happy to pitch in with that in exchange.”
Dante almost fell out of his stool.
In a flash, his body grew hot all over, shuddering with the memory—or anticipation—of something. That yearning to let go of it all, the release of that wound-up coil that was his being. It howled in the emptiness Dr. Othniel had carved out of his core with her experiments. He understood it now; all of it had exposed the eager kindling of his aether, crackling and dry and starved, and now it strained to touch the spark. Behind the bar the man only arched a brow, as if Dante was just a loud customer and not the slathering, ravenous beast he felt like he was—as if it wasn’t taking everything he had not to lose control.
Was this what had happened all those months ago?
Then, a cold river washed over him, a shock of serenity that left him breathless. He struggled to maintain some sort of composure as Virgil came out of nowhere to clap a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry about that. Had to get the man up the stairs to his ride. Little bit too much drink, I think.” Dante could only wheeze out a breath, eyes trained on the bartender who had immediately turned away from him once Virgil appeared.
“Hey, put his food on my tab, ’kay?” Black dots speckled the corners of his vision, and Virgil’s words were garbled, as if coming from underwater. Still, Dante let him pull him out and into the alleyway, the world swaying on a pendulum with each step. “And you—let’s get out of here.”
Outside, the balmy evening air felt sticky and hot against his skin. Dante was so dazed that Virgil had to drag him through the crowds, so dense had the river of people become as the night pressed onward. So many questions he could ask, yet the thoughts slipped by him, formless water rivulets carving rivers through his burning brain. Once more he was on fire, a blaze threatening to burst, held together only by Virgil’s cold hand around his bruised wrist. Just like when they were kids—through half-lidded eyes, he could hardly tell them apart from the children they used to be, still getting strung along.
Even so—he followed him like a lifeline, out of the Carmine Haze and back home.
Cover Art by - illusyuen
Art 1 by - 八邊
Art 2 by - 焦糖水母
Art 3 by - Boni蘿蔔泥
Written by apricot