Arcane, Voice of Zaun

As we walked around the Slumps, the air thick with the acrid stench of chemical waste and desperation, I studied Lloyd more carefully. He moved with a predator's grace, each step purposeful and measured. His white hair seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the underground, and those red eyes of his missed nothing.

Despite everything he'd done, despite the fear that still churned in my gut whenever he looked at me, I couldn't help but be fascinated by him. He commanded respect not through size like Cole, but through something else, something that made even the toughest-looking people we passed step aside.

"Lloyd?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper. The word felt strange in my mouth, like I wasn't worthy of speaking it.

"What?" His response was curt, but not angry. Not yet.

"Can we go to my house? It's not far from here and I'd..." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, born from a desperate need to hold onto something, anything, from my old life.

"No," he cut me off, the word falling like a guillotine.

"Your life before this doesn't matter, stop thinking about it." His voice had an edge now, just like it had been in the isolation room.

"But-" I tried again, foolishly.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my face with frightening speed. Despite the violence of the movement, his grip wasn't painful - just firm, inexorable. We kept walking, my feet stumbling to keep up as he held my face.

"I said no," he growled, each word precise and cold. "I allowed you to come here, I allowed you to use my knife, I don't allow this. You belong to me now, the sooner you realize this the better."

The grip vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving my skin tingling where his fingers had been. I kept quiet, swallowing the words that wanted to escape. That's right, I thought bitterly, for a moment I'd believed... but it didn't matter what I'd believed. None of it mattered anymore.

Leave it all behind Paul, I told myself. You are now Paul Atreides. The name felt like a brand, burning itself into my mind, replacing everything I used to be.

The walk back to the house seemed longer, each step taking us through the maze of the underground city. The chemical fog that perpetually hung in the air had thinned somewhat, allowing glimpses of the massive pipes and conduits that snaked overhead, a world of glass and iron, that's what the Undercity truly was.

The few people we passed gave Lloyd a wide berth, their eyes carefully averted. I wondered if I would learn to command that kind of fear one day, then immediately wondered why I was thinking about that at all.

We made it back to the house just as the sun was rising somewhere far above us, not that we could really tell down here in the eternal twilight of the Undercity. The massive metal door of the hideout creaked open at Lloyd's touch, revealing the now-familiar interior. The people on their shift turned to look at us, their expressions carefully neutral, but after they saw it was just Lloyd they went back to doing what they were doing before. Some were cleaning weapons, others counting stacks of coins, all of them seemed to just be keeping watch.

I was about to head to my room, my legs still aching from what had happened in the last 24 hours 24 hours? It had felt so much longer.

Yet before I could move even a step more Lloyd's voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Uhmm, to the room," I mumbled, already knowing it was the wrong answer.

"No," he said, and I could hear the hint of amusement in his voice. "It's daytime, the safest time for begging." He clicked his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and Cole materialized beside us like a ghost summoned from the shadows. In the better light of the hideout, I could see the network of scars that decorated his massive arms, I wondered how many people he had killed, in some way I didn't want to know the answer.

Another gang member approached, carrying what looked like trash but turned out to be my new tools of trade, a dented metal bowl that had seen better days, and a sign with words so poorly written they made my mother's basic teaching look scholarly.

plise monei

The sight of the misshapen letters made my chest hurt, remembering how mom had tried to teach me to write properly. I pushed the memory away, just like Lloyd had told me to.

"Do you know how to beg?" Lloyd asked, examining me with those unsettling red eyes.

"There is a wrong way to beg?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Of course there is a wrong way to beg, there is a wrong way to do everything."

"Then no, I don't know how to beg." At least I was honest about my ignorance.

"Okay then just stay quiet, and jiggle your bowl at people who pass by, that's pretty much the basics. Do you understand?"

I nodded, clutching the bowl and sign like they were a shield.

"Very well then," Lloyd said, turning to Cole. "Take him up to the Entresol level, have him choose the spot." Without another word, he moved deeper into the house, leaving me with my new guardian.

Just like that, I was back outside, but this time with Cole as my silent shadow. We traversed through sewers and maintenance tunnels, the bowl and sign getting progressively grimier as we went. The journey took us through places I'd never seen before, despite having lived in the Sumps my whole life. Finally, we emerged onto a new street, wider and slightly cleaner than the ones I was used to.

The Entresol level.

This was new territory for me. We walked some more in silence, the only sound our footsteps, the chatter of people and even the rhythmic sound of a clock, somewhere. Eventually, we reached what appeared to be a market, though calling it that might have been generous. It was more like an organized chaos of vendors and customers, all haggling and hustling under the sickly green glow of chemical lamps, still much better than the dark lanes, that place was capital thievery.

Cole finally broke his silence, speaking directly to me for the first time. "I'm leaving you here, find a place to beg. I'll stay close just don't keep eye contact with me no matter what.."

"Okay," I muttered, looking down at my bowl and sign, now covered in the grime and waste from our journey through the sewers.

I walked alone through the crowded streets, trying to be invisible while simultaneously looking for a good spot to be visible. The contradiction of it all wasn't lost on me. Finally, I noticed a place where people seemed to be constantly coming and going, a steady stream of potential marks.

That could be good.

I looked up at the sign above the door, the letters swimming before my eyes before settling into something readable.

"The Last Drop," I read aloud, my voice barely a whisper. "This could be a good place as any."

After saying that, I settled down next to the door, arranging myself and my pitiful props just so. I stayed quiet, just like I had been told, with just some movement of my bowl, ready to begin my new life as a professional beggar.