24 The Black Market (2)
Sebastian delved into the black market, his eyes gleaming with a maniacal joy.
The air was filled with a symphony of sounds: the jingling of coins, the hushed whispers of secret transactions, and the occasional eruption of a failed negotiation.
As he entered, the air was heavy with the mingling aromas of sweat, metal, and an unmistakable hint of paranoia that clung to the atmosphere.
As he moved, Sebastian's eyes danced over the array of stalls. None of them had their goods on display, but instead there were images with signs providing detailed descriptions of what the items did or their primary uses.
It was a den of thieves, where sanity was a rare commodity, and displaying items was out of the question.
Criminals, their faces obscured by shadows and hoods, peddled artifacts that seemed to hum with hidden power.
The collection comprised a mix of handmade treasures crafted by the locals and enigmatic artifacts of unknown provenance, rumored to be gained through deadly thefts.
That was an usual rumor in Somnium, and in the black market, of course, as people often killed and robbed others just to steal their belongings.
The air often carried whispers of the latest victim, their demise a mere footnote in the day's transactions.
In this underworld, the line between predator and prey was blurred, with alliances as fleeting as the items that changed hands.
Patrons of the market, draped in cloaks of anonymity, eyed each other warily, knowing that today's trading partner could be tomorrow's assailant.
The stalls, while bustling with trade in exotic artifacts and lethal weaponry, also served as arenas for silent standoffs, where a glance held the weight of a threat, and a handshake was as binding as a contract written in blood.
In this realm, where the pursuit of power and wealth drove individuals to the brink of humanity, stories of betrayal and violence were common.
Tales of thespians ambushed in Somnium, stripped of their hard-won treasures, or crafters kidnapped to work as slaves were common.
Yet, amidst the chaos and danger, there was a perverse order, a set of unspoken rules that governed transactions.
Deals were made, and debts were settled, often with the finality of a blade or a curse.
<Ohhh, what a delightful little instrument of chaos! Sebastian's thoughts raced, his eyes filled with gleeful madness, infatuated concealed dagger that oozed sinister charm.< p>
< Just imagine the beautiful chaos it could unleash! It sucks that I can't bring it with me in Somnium, and here on earth it's not that useful unless I'm up against an Auditor. >
The dagger pic was surrounded by tables covered in pics of more cold weapons and medieval armor that looked like they came straight from Somnium's battlefields.
However, the next stall had pictures of modern firearms, their sleek surfaces whispering promises of deadly efficiency.
Through it all, Sebastian's grin never wavered. To him, the black market was a playground, a place where his crazed desires and the thrill of the hunt felt right at home.
The sights and sounds around him were not warnings of danger, but invitations to dive deeper into the chaos.
His laughter, like a ray of sunshine piercing through the noise, revealed his uncontainable joy.
At a certain point, Sebastian arrived in front of a small wooden hut. It was a pretty common sight in the Blackmarket. After all, there wasn't much space down there.
Those who provided services other than selling items often did so to guarantee a sense of confidentiality.
The woman that Sebastian had planned to visit was one of those individuals.
At that moment, the young man stepped inside. Apart from a woman wearing a mask, there was nobody else present at the location.
Upon witnessing Sebastian's entrance, she couldn't help but observe him closely, intrigued by his presence. No, it was… amusement?
"You must be the Slum Reaper, Sebastian Wells," she said.
Sebastian was smiling from ear to ear. "The Whispering Siren! Were you keeping an eye on me?"
"Of course," he said, a hint of amusement lacing his words. In the time leading up to his regression, he had developed a regular customer relationship with her and had gained a deep understanding of her habits.
"I came here to buy information."
"Like everyone," the Whispering Siren said. "Based on what my little fishes told me about your recent activities, I bet you are searching for the Nightshades, the Rust Reapers, and the Cobalt Serpents."
Sebastian's grin widened, delighting in the unspoken understanding.
<Ah, the epitome of professionalism, ladies and gentlemen, where words are redundant!>
The sound of his deranged chuckle filled the small hut, creating an unsettling atmosphere.
"I'm indeed searching for the Nightshades right now. What can you sell?"
The woman, through the slits of her mask, looked at Sebastian in the eyes.
"I can tell you many things. For their headquarters, the cost is 50 thousand Starcoins. The price for the names of the gang members depends on their importance within the organization. I can also tell you something else, but the cost depends on the information."
"A little pricey, uh?"
"Give or take."
"Let's say I just want to know if there is one of them in the Black Market today, and where he or she is. How much for that?"
"1000 Starcoins," the woman said without batting an eye.
"A deal then," they agreed, their grins mirroring a mutual agreement.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Sebastian pulled out a bundle of cash from his pocket and handed it to the woman. With meticulous care, she counted the bills, handling each one delicately as if they were fragile treasures.
"Head to the Tech Nexus," she said. "It's a secluded corner within the market, veiled in obscurity and known to those that dabble with technology."
The Tech Nexus, a name that whispered of convergence and innovation in the shadows, beckoned those who craved the forbidden fruits of cutting-edge technology.
Tucked away from curious gazes, this clandestine location served as a meeting point between scientific innovation and the illicit underworld—a covert marketplace within the black market, teeming with contraband gadgets and devices that operated beyond the boundaries of the law.
There, people could buy identities and the likes. The place caught Sebastian's attention because he knew he would soon need such services.
When Sebastian turned to leave the place, the Whispering Siren warned him. "You better wear a mask, Sebastian Wells. You thought nobody was paying attention to your little tricks, but you're not as invisible as you think. Other people are keeping an eye on you."
