Onyx trusted old systems more than new ones because most of them had already failed in every way they knew how, which meant they wouldn’t surprise him. The relay was tucked inside a maintenance alcove three levels beneath the nearest inhabited tunnel, its metal housing dented by decades of repairs and impacts and improvisations. Somebody had sprayed a faded cartoon synthdog across one side years ago, and somebody else had added horns at a later date. The resulting creature stared back at him with cheerful menace while he removed the front panel.
The hinges protested with a tired whine, and Onyx nodded to himself. “Same.”
He pinched the middle finger of his left hand glove between his teeth and tugged it free; precision work always felt better bare-handed, particularly when dealing with equipment older than most of the people living above it. The fault wasn’t exactly dangerous, just power lagging through the relay’s circuits by half a second and heat gathering along one cable where it should’ve dispersed elsewhere. The Ghost Lines contained hundreds of things far more likely to kill somebody.
But it irritated him anyway.
He leaned in, tools spread before him, and worked peacefully for a while, nothing but the steady click of meticulous work, grounding him in the moment like nothing else ever did. Water trickled somewhere deep in the concrete, and air moved through forgotten vents like whispered secrets Onyx couldn’t decipher. This deep in the Lines, it always felt a bit like he was encroaching on a place the city had forgotten how to mourn. Sad, somehow, like a lot of forgotten things were. The tunnels were full of them: abandoned routes, obsolete systems, names scratched into concrete by people who'd moved on or disappeared entirely. Sometimes it felt as though The Ghost Lines remembered more of the city above than the city remembered of itself.
After a while, he heard footsteps nearby, light and uneven, the rhythm veering halfway toward music before remembering it was supposed to be walking. It could only be one person.
“‘Sup.” Kairo was carrying a mug of something steaming and a level of energy that should’ve been illegal at this hour. His gaze landed on the relay. “Oh, wow. We really are excavating ancient civilisation tonight.”
“I’m repairing the infrastructure,” Onyx said.
“Well, that’s much less exciting.”
“It keeps everyone alive.”
Kairo considered that. “Fine. Slightly less exciting.”
Returning his attention to the wiring, Onyx said, “You’re in my light. Go to sleep.”
“You say that every time,” Kairo said, crouching beside him and taking a sip from his mug. “Want some?” He offered the drink to Onyx.
Onyx glanced at it and shook his head.
“It’s strong. Could strip paint. Bit like you, really.” Kairo leaned in to peer at the wires without even a vague hint of respect for personal space. He was almost as bad as Rayne, although at least Rayne had an excuse for not understanding the need for physical boundaries.
Onyx frowned and adjusted a connector.
Kairo leaned a little further.
“Kairo.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re casting a shadow.”
“Oh.” Immediately, Kairo scooted three inches to the left. “Better?”
“Marginally.”
“I’ll take it.”
The relay clicked beneath Onyx’s hand and a damaged capacitor came free, which he set aside. Kairo crouched beside him, his mug balanced between both hands as if to warm them. It was odd; most people lasted about thirty seconds before becoming bored with this kind of precision work. Kairo, Onyx had come to learn, could legitimately spend an hour fascinated by someone else’s process if it involved wires, strange noises, or the possibility of discovering something interesting. It was one of the things Onyx had come to admire about him, strangely.
“You fix a lot of stuff,” Kairo said eventually, almost absently.
Onyx reached for a replacement component. “That’s generally how maintenance works.”
“No, I mean everything.” He said it casually, although the observation underneath held more weight to it. “Like, you find all the weird little problems everyone else steps around. Relays and lighting, or doors, or water filters. Half the reason this place stays standing is because you keep wandering around fixing things.”
Lifting one shoulder briefly, Onyx secured the new component and listened to the power flow settle into a cleaner rhythm. “Someone has to.”
“Sure.” Kairo took another sip from his mug. “But most people don’t decide to do it at three in the morning.”
“It’s quieter,” Onyx said, which was true. There was nobody around to bother him, usually. No reason for him to be on high alert. Just him and the drips and the rats and the quiet focus that he often chased when he couldn’t sleep because the dreams got too bad. Circuits never shouted. Relays never bled. A faulty connector had never asked him to choose who came home.
The relay housing shifted; he reached across to steady it, and as he did, the movement pulled his t-shirt high along one side. Cool, damp tunnel air touched his exposed skin and he suppressed a shiver.
Without meaning to, Onyx glanced over at Kairo whose attention had drifted from the relay entirely. Now his gaze rested lower, on the scar across Onyx’s side, the older one that was jagged and pale where an interface port should’ve been.
For a long time, Kairo said nothing and simply watched Onyx work, the tunnel echoing around them, water ticking in the distance. For a moment Onyx thought he might not say anything, but, well, this was Kairo.
“When did that happen?”
Onyx didn’t look up, but could feel the weight of attention on him. “Long time ago.”
Kairo fell silent, waiting with an unusual level of patience. Patience always looked strange on him.
“Before the military,” Onyx finally added.
“Oh.” Kairo set down his mug and studied the scar a little longer, and Onyx busied himself with the work. “Did it hurt?”
Letting out a small, short laugh, Onyx said. “Yes,” and replaced another connector. The relay’s status lights changed from amber to green, giving him a tiny jolt of satisfaction.
Beside him, Kairo tilted his head, tapping a soft beat against his knee with his fingertips. “You know, if you ever wanted to, we could probably fix that.”
For half a second, Onyx thought he was talking about the relay, but he quickly understood what Kairo meant. The scar. The Hollow had equipment that could probably do it, same with many of the Patch Clinics dotted around the Lines. Onyx knew it; always had known it. Given enough time and resources, almost anything could be rebuilt and smoothed over. “I know,” he said.
“You ever think about it?” Kairo asked.
Onyx turned the screwdriver slowly between his fingers, the metal glinting in the light. “Sometimes.”
“And?”
It took him a moment to find the words. English could still occasionally slip out of his grasp during moments of intense emotion, or moments like this, where emotion tried to push in from the edges, insistent and raw. “Every system has history. You can replace parts, upgrade components, rewrite entire sections, but the history remains part of it.”
Kairo blinked. “That’s a very Onyx answer.”
Onyx shrugged. “It happens to be true.”
“Yeah, it can be true and also a very Onyx answer, you know.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Onyx’s mouth. “That’s a very Kairo reply,” he said, and that earned him a laugh.
“Yeah, okay,” Kairo said, still grinning. Then he sobered, a thoughtful tilt to his head, his brows drawn down a little.
Onyx recognised it — the moment Kairo stopped performing and started paying real attention. A lot of people missed it because they were too distracted by everything that came before it, but they’d known each other long enough now for Onyx to spot it immediately.
“You know,” Kairo said slowly, “I think that’s why I like old songs. Everybody’s always trying to clean them up, remaster them. Fix the noise. Remove the imperfections. Then you listen to the original and suddenly you can hear the room and the cheap mic and somebody bumping a stand somewhere in the background. You know? Like, the recording tells you how it survived getting here.”
For a moment Onyx could only stare at him.
Kairo shrugged. “What? I’m allowed one profound thought per month.”
“Hm,” Onyx said. “Maybe you should have more than one.”
“Easy now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” And there was that grin again, bright and always catching Onyx off guard.
Turning back to the relay, Onyx secured the final panel, but Kairo’s observation lingered in his head, surprisingly comforting in a way he couldn’t articulate. Which was weird in itself — Onyx rarely needed comfort.
Beside him, Kairo yawned, stretching his arms up over his head. Then, without announcing it, he reached toward the overhead controls mounted on the alcove wall and tweaked a dial. The lights stuttered, blinked, then steadied, harsh white softening into a warm, amber glow. The area around them immediately started to warm by degrees, the shadows seeming to relax a little. Onyx looked over at him.
Kairo suddenly appeared fascinated by absolutely anything except the fact that he’d just done that. “The other setting was annoying.”
“Was it?”
“Too bright. No depth.”
“Since when do you care about brightness?”
“Maybe I’ve matured.”
Onyx tried but failed to stifle a snort, and Kairo grinned again.
“I’m reporting that,” Onyx told him.
“Please don’t,” Kairo said. “Everyone’ll expect me to be sensible.”
Rolling his eyes, Onyx gathered up his tools and carefully folded them away in their sleeve, then tucked them into his workbelt. When he rose to his feet, Kairo followed with another huge yawn, and they began to make their way out. E.V.E.N’s current base was surprisingly nice compared to some hideouts they frequented, and the best part was that it had running water, which meant Onyx could clean up without having to trek to one of the old changing rooms scattered throughout the tunnels.
They were almost home when Kairo said, “I’m glad you kept it,” at his shoulder.
Onyx frowned; it took him a while to figure out what Kairo was talking about.
“The scar,” Kairo added. “It isn’t a flaw. It’s the opposite.”
“Hm.” Onyx nodded.
A second later Kairo muttered something about sleep, pointed himself toward his room, and vanished down a side corridor before Onyx could think of a response.
The base fell quiet around him, nothing but the steady trickle of water through distant pipes. Onyx stood there a moment longer, hand absently brushing the old scar at his side, the skin bumpy and hard beneath his fingertips. History remained a part of the system. Kairo was right about the songs: the imperfections were often where the story lived.
By the time he reached his room, Onyx was still thinking about that.