1
XAVE
A senseof foreboding falls over me as I approach the massive, abandoned warehouse as it looms before me in the darkness.
The sprawling structure, and the mostly deserted industrial district it’s in, wouldn’t be out of place in a horror movie, and everything about the building, from the thick chain and padlock on the front entrance to broken windows and layers of graffiti etched into the concrete walls, screams “stay away.”
It looks like the last place an exclusive, limited-invite rave would be held, which is exactly what the event hosts were going for. The atmosphere is part of the experience, and nothing gets spoiled rich kids more excited than cosplaying as regular people and pretending they’re taking a walk on the wild side when in reality, they’re attending a meticulously planned soiree with top-shelf offerings and top-tier entertainment.
A cool breeze grazes my skin when I reach a break in the chain-link fence surrounding my destination. I spot a white rabbit, about the size of my hand, with a black X stenciled inside it spray-painted on the ground. Following the instructions I was given, I slip through the fence and go to the left side of thebuilding, carefully stepping over the piles of trash and bits of broken glass littering the ground.
There’s another white rabbit painted on the corner of the warehouse next to the alley that runs between the building and the one beside it. The alley is long and dark and would make most sane people say “hell no,” but I’ve never claimed to be sane, and I step into the confined space with all the confidence of a horror movie actor who’s about to get offed by whatever homicidal being is after him.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the near total darkness in the alley, but my steps are sure and steady as I walk past piles of garbage bags and other things I can’t identify that line the narrow alleyway.
The night air is as still and silent as a mausoleum when I finally get to the back of the building, and the only indicators that I’m in the right place is another small white rabbit with the stenciledXpainted on the back entrance, and the rusty chain with a massive padlock still on it laying on the ground a few feet from the door.
A low buzz of excitement moves through me as I walk up to the door and gently rap my knuckles against the scarred metal. Two tiny lights, one blue and one red, appear in the darkness as a small camera mounted above the door comes online.
I wait for whoever is checking the camera feed to do their thing, and more of that same excitement dances over my skin when multiple clicks, like locks being disengaged, ring out in the quiet night.
The door swings open, and an absolute unit of a man stares at me from his place just inside the building.
At six foot two and two hundred and ten pounds, I’ve never been considered a small guy, but right now, I feel small. The dude in front of me is easily six-seven, and every inch of him is thick, solid muscle that makes my own sculpted form lookgangly in comparison. His midnight-black clothes and the gun nestled in his shoulder holster finish off his “fuck with me and die” vibe.
I wait as he gives me a long once-over, his expression unimpressed with just a hint of impatience.
“Name?” he asks in a low, growly voice.
“Jonathan Greely.”
That’s not my name, but it’s the name the person who invited me knows me by, so that’s the one I give him.
Resting one hand on his gun, he pulls a phone out of his back pocket with the other.
I wait as he checks his phone, most likely looking at the guest list to make sure I’m supposed to be there, then he releases his sidearm and tucks his phone back into his pocket as he steps back to let me in.
I’ve only made it about three steps inside when the door slams closed behind me and a big, beefy arm is extended in front of me like the barrier gate in a parking garage, stopping me in my tracks.
“Arms out,” he growls.
Dutifully, I put my arms out and widen my stance so he can search me.
He’s more thorough than I expect, but his touch is impersonal and professional, and he almost seems bored as he pulls my phone and money clip out of my pocket to examine them before tucking them back into my pockets and finishing his search.
“Hand.” He points to my right hand, and I extend it to him.
He pulls a small contraption out of his pocket and pokes at the back of it a few times. I hold still as he presses what I can now see is a stamp pad against the back of my hand, but there’s nothing on my skin when he pulls it away.
I keep my trap shut as he moves the unit attached to the stamp pad over my hand and flicks on what looks like a black light.
A barcode appears where he stamped me, bright against my skin as it glows under the bluish-purple light.
I make a mental note of the device as he turns it off so I can tell my cousins about it. That’s exactly the kind of tech they’re into, and I’ve never seen anything like it before.
When the unit is away, the guard points down the dark hall behind him. “Follow the signs. If you don’t, you’ll have my team to worry about. Understood?”
“Is your team as big as you?” I ask, unable to help myself.
