The checkpoint gate was dark against the sky, white block-capitals painted upon the soaked cement read, “//EAST PORT.”

Thaqib descended down the road where all paths funneled into it. Five rows of steel cages lay before him, cameras covered all angles as drones flew past a gun nest mounted upon the angular guard tower. Laser sights scanned the crowd being ushered into the cages to await processing before being allowed into the port. Thaqib passed the point of no return and was unceremoniously shoved into the second row from the left.

He’d passed through this checkpoint hundreds of times and it had never been this packed. He wondered what was going on. Other port workers yelled and complained, pushing and shoving each other in frustration, each trying to get through faster than the other, being hustled into the cages like animals, prodded along with large batons. He was already late and with this situation, he might even miss the crew transport.

Suddenly, Thaqib saw a familiar face—Jazib was waiting in line, his line. He edged toward him, catching dirty looks from the others waiting impatiently.

Jazib turned and saw him. “Thaqib!” They met and shook hands. “Man, you look rough! What happened?”

“Met up with Malik and Samir. We got into it over last night. Don’t think we’ll be having much to do with them from now on. Almost got tazed by a Mako, could swear I was gonna get marked. Luckily I only got a couple of demerits.”

“Man, you gotta watch out! People are being taken away all the time. I hate to take their side Thaqib, but I was thinking, we can’t be acting up like last night. I got my parents to think about. What will they do if I get locked up? Maybe it is time we give our missions a rest?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Thaqib sighed, maybe it was time to give it up and start taking cultivation seriously as Rast had said.

“You didn’t tell me what happened last night,” Jazib said. “You get away from those Mako OK?”

“Yeah, but I got chased down by a Boomer!” Thaqib replied.

“What!? Are you serious?” Jazib asked, eyes wide.

“Deadly. Thought I was done for. Some dude showed up, all wrapped in robes, came out of nowhere and knocked the Boomer out!”

“He took out a Boomer? With what?”

“His bare hands!”

“That’s impossible,” Jazib replied struggling to stay upright amongst the convulsing mass of bodies shuffling through the cage.

“Thought I was toast. Didn’t want to admit it, but I was lucky he showed up.”

An old stout lady shoved her way past, elbowing Jazib in the ribs, he winced and gave the lady a nasty stare. “Who was he?” he asked.

“Don’t know. The guy bailed as soon as he took out the Boomer.”

“You think he was a triad?”

“Nah, this guy had skills,” Thaqib replied, beginning to feel squeezed in.

“Did you ask Rast about it?”

“Best he not know how much trouble we go into.”

“Maybe for the best,” Jazib replied.

Up past the highway Thaqib saw the billboard they were on top of during the night. His throw-up was gone. The word Immortality was back, gleaming brightly in the dark sky. Buff-drones probably wiped off his work within the hour. Existential futility swept over him, all that effort had amounted to nothing, just as Malik had said. The feeling of giving up their nightly missions left him with a void inside. What would he do without them? They were the only thing he looked forward to.

He looked back to the line and realized it had barely moved since he’d arrived. His watch read that he was about twenty minutes from being late for his shift.

“What’s up with this line anyway? I’ve never seen it so packed,” Thaqib asked.

Jazib leaned in close, “You didn’t hear? Something came out of Ghostgate last night, crashed into the harbour. The B.C.P.D. are still lookin’ for it. That’s why they’ve been stalling everyone.”

“Something came from Ghostgate!?” Thaqib said, suddenly lit with excitement, he couldn’t believe it. “What was it?”

“No one knows. Everyone’s got their theories though.”

Thaqib’s mind was beginning to flood with possibilities when up ahead of the line, he noticed something. There was a man standing there in what looked like beige and purple robes—the kind the man who’d saved him had worn. He wondered, could it be the same guy?

“Hold up,” Thaqib said to Jazib, starting to push his way up the line. Jazib looked back at him, a confused look on his face.

Thaqib did his best to weave his way through the angry workers packed tightly together while not letting the man in robes out of his sight.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” a round unshaved man said, scowling at him.

“Sorry!” he said, squeezing through the line that was getting progressively more condensed.

“Just wait, you’ll get through eventually!” Jazib said, calling after him.

Thaqib saw that the robed man was edging ever closer to the front of the line, if he got through the checkpoint before he got to him he’d lose him for good.

Thaqib made a final scramble through the line, finally getting close enough to the figure, he reached out an arm, grabbing the man on the shoulder. Thaqib got a great shock when he discovered it wasn’t a man at all but an old woman all bundled up.

She slapped his hand off her shoulder. “Get your filthy hands off me!” she yelled. Thaqib stumbled back in embarrassment, this definitely wasn’t the guy who’d saved him from the Boomer. His shoulders slumped in disappointment and then, he felt something grab him. Before he knew what was happening, he was lifted into the air by the scruff of this jacket.

He struggled to get free and was brought down, face to face with a B.C.P.D. agent staring through cybernetic eye-wear, pointed teeth sticking out of his gray gums, his pale gray skin—wax-like, the kind Babylonians got from being hooked on the blue liquid known as Vril.

“And where do you think you’re going?” the agent asked, dropping him down on the ground between the cages.

Thaqib struggled to reply, cursing his luck. This was twice he’d run into the cops in one day. “Sorry officer, I’m late. I gotta get through.”

“You wait in line like everyone else!” the agent spat.

Suddenly, Thaqib’s body went limp. Electricity flickered from a hand mounted taser which was now nestled between his ribs. He dropped to the ground in agony. “Portside scum,” the officer said as he crumpled to the ground. “Now you’ll wait until the line is empty before you go through.” Thaqib groaned in pain, writhing on the ground, trying to gain control over his body, to no avail.

He lay on the hard ground for an excruciating amount of time. He watched as Jazib passed by, leaving the checkpoint shaking his head, making Thaqib feel like an even bigger fool.

He looked up and noticed three huge screens mounted on the flood wall that rose above the checkpoint. They were displaying wanted signs for three people. He read the scrolling text, “Order of Zion terrorists cause anarchy on the harbour,” it read.

“Order of Zion?” he whispered, he’d never heard of them. He examined the mugshots that were lined up in a row. There was a woman and two men all wearing the same matching dreadlocked hairstyle. His eyes widened. Wait, he noticed the blond locks of the man in the last photo. He had a broad nose and a thick neck. But it was those locks that were unmistakable, he’d never seen anyone else with hair that color. He recalled what he’d seen the night before. He knew it, this was the guy that had saved him. He was a part of this Order of Zion?

Suddenly a hand grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and he was lifted up to face the agent again. “Get out of here,” the agent said, throwing him back into the now free-flowing queue.

Thaqib rubbed the back of his head. He made it to the checkpoint officer who scanned him. Like the Mako had before, the officer commented how late for work he was. Thaqib tried with every ounce of his will to keep from telling the officer what he thought of him and his checkpoint. About how it was actually their fault he was late for work.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally stepped through the other side of the checkpoint and into the port. The docks were lined with all manner of rust-bucket ships. Unusually however, they were accompanied by a group of black police cruisers. He wondered if they’d found anything yet, and hoped that if they had, he’d get a chance to glimpse at it before it disappeared into the dark spire known as the Sentinel which towered over the city. He watched as one cruiser loaded up with agents and sped off across the harbour.

His head was still reeling, the person that had saved him had been a part of this Order. Were they out last night because of the thing from the Veil? Was that why he saw the turrets on the wall firing into the sky last night?

He heard a horn signaling that a transport boat was leaving the dock, he realized it was his! He quickened his step, moving into a sprint and ran toward the landing where the boat was about to move out. By the time he had got to it, its moorings were already up and a thick plume of black smoke was pouring from its stack. If he missed this boat he’d be in big trouble. He ran quickly, dashing through wet puddles over the concrete.

He hit the landing and raced toward the boat. Over its railing he spotted Shazi, one of his crew and his least favorite person. Shazi’s eyes widened with glee at the sight of Thaqib running to catch the barge. He called the other crew over. A group of men came running to laugh and holler, heckling him, telling him to give up. Thaqib didn’t listen, he made it to the edge of the pier and leapt.

As his foot left the concrete, he looked down to see churning water. He landed with a bang against the metal siding of the barge and scrambled to grab hold of it. Over the railing he heard the crew hollering and laughing but not lending a hand to help him up.

Finally he got hold of something and pulled himself up on the deck and landed with a thud. Back slapping and whooping laughter met him.

“You’re late Thaqib!” Shazi bellowed.

“Thanks for your help,” Thaqib said, rubbing his back.

The boat pulled out and Thaqib watched the city stretch out before him, slowly disappearing into the fog.

He suddenly felt a weight pull him down, a dim realization that he had had enough of all this. He was sick of the cold and the damp. Of the cruel way people treated each other, of being stepped on by Babylon. He’d been kidding himself with his night missions. They were just a distraction. Was Rast right? Could he really go through the Veil if he learned to cultivate? Was there really something beyond it? Something better than here?

As the city disappeared into the wet mist, he realized he hated it here and more than anything, wished he could leave Babylon City and never return.