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Steed stepped into his high-tech apartment, a sleek space dominated by polished chrome and glass, where the soft lighting subtly adjusted as he moved. The walls were adorned with holographic displays, currently set to show a serene countryside, though with a touch of a button, they could transform into abstract art. Lounges and chairs were scattered throughout the room, while freeform glass ports offered varying views of the city below. Decorative plants—some real, others artificial—were placed alongside objects d'art, and tape viewers for casual reading added to the sophisticated ambiance.
A voice chimed in from the corner, crisp and clear, cutting through the dim atmosphere of the room. Emerging from the shadows was Steed's personal robot, an elegantly designed automaton that glimmered with a silver-toned sheen. Its slender frame exuded a sense of refined sophistication, the contours of its body smooth and streamlined, reminiscent of futuristic art deco designs.
The robot’s glowing eyes flickered with an ethereal blue light, conveying a sense of awareness and intelligence. They were expressive, almost human-like in their ability to reflect a range of emotions, from curiosity to concern, even if they remained ultimately mechanical. A delicate array of articulated limbs moved with precise grace, allowing it to navigate the space effortlessly. Each joint clicked softly as it approached, showcasing its intricate engineering.
Its voice was crisp and polite, carrying an underlying hint of warmth that contrasted with its robotic nature. "Will I be needed this evening, sir?" it inquired, the tone formal yet imbued with a subtle friendliness. The robot’s exterior was polished to a mirror-like finish, gleaming under the ambient light, while the faint hum of its internal mechanisms provided a reassuring presence. As it hovered slightly above the ground, the gentle whir of its propulsion system added to its otherworldly charm, making it an indispensable companion in Steed’s adventures.
Steed paused, considering his restless mood, before shaking his head. “No, you won’t be needed tonight. Initiate sleep mode. Override command: Hibernate Alpha.” The robot responded with a subtle whir, its glowing eyes dimming as it entered a low-power state. Its sleek form seemed to relax, hovering slightly lower to the ground as it powered down, waiting silently for the next activation.
Steed crossed the room to the sideboard, his movements languid yet purposeful. He poured himself a drink, took a sip, and immediately grimaced at the taste. With a sigh, he discarded the glass and mixed another, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Pausing at a chess set displayed on the sideboard, he absentmindedly shifted a few pieces before heading to the leather sofa. A large, curving desk stood nearby, its surface almost bare, except for a few scattered items that hinted at recent use.
His restlessness was palpable. After a moment, he stood again, the half-finished drink in his hand. Feeling the warmth of the alcohol begin to take hold, a small smile curled at the corner of his lips. His eyes drifted to the console by the wall, a sleek device embedded with dozens of dials, each controlling different aspects of the apartment.
Steed wandered over to the console, dialing in commands with precise movements. Cracking noises echoed from the walls and ceiling, a subtle response to his input. Across the room, in a tall wall recess, smoky images began to swirl, colors slowly eddying in a hypnotic dance. He adjusted the dials further, refining the display until the figure of a smiling young man emerged from the misty depths—a digital companion, bejeweled and lustrous, entirely at his command.
Steed smirked at the hologram, raising his glass in a mock toast before setting it down. It wasn’t what he needed tonight.
Steed sighed, his eyes narrowing in boredom as he lazily turned the dial. The young man in the misty recess began to dissolve, his form distorting into a blur of colors before vanishing completely. Steed sipped his drink, his mood still unsatisfied. He turned the dial again, the swirling hues reforming, but this time, a different shape began to emerge.
Out of the mist stepped a beautiful young brunette woman. Her face was striking—soft yet bold, with a playful intensity behind her green eyes. Her hair, thick and glossy, fell just past her shoulders in voluminous waves. She looked like she had stepped out of a fantasy, yet there was a sharpness to her beauty that suggested she was not one to be underestimated.
She wore a sleek, metallic dress that clung to her form like beachwear. The material shimmered subtly, wrapping around her curves with precision. The dress, almost scandalously minimalist, had a daring neckline and stopped just above her thighs, leaving her long, toned legs bare. It was as if the outfit was designed for both a futuristic catwalk and a sun-soaked paradise. The soft, metallic silver fabric glinted in the ambient light, and the design—a blend of geometric lines and organic flow—seemed to move with her body like liquid. Around her neck hung a collar, and from it dangled a small ankh, catching Steed’s eye immediately.
She stood there in the recess, her expression blank, showing no hint of interest or emotion. Her arms remained at her sides, and her lips, though full and inviting, didn’t curve into a smile. She was simply a form—waiting for instruction. The ankh at her throat gleamed, stirring a flicker of curiosity in Steed’s otherwise languid demeanor.
Steed smiled faintly, intrigued. He clicked another dial, and with a faint hum, the hologram solidified. She was real now, her presence filling the room as the glow around her dissipated.
He extended his hand toward her, and without hesitation, she stepped forward from the recess, her movements smooth, almost ethereal. Her fingers slipped into his, cool yet firm, and Steed led her out into the open space of his apartment.
For the first time in what felt like hours, Steed’s boredom began to lift, his mind turning over the possibilities that now lay before him.
As the girl turned to face him, Steed, emboldened by the moment, moved in swiftly. His arms wrapped around her slender frame in a confident embrace, pulling her close. But instead of melting into him as he expected, she stiffened. Her body resisted, and she pushed back ever so slightly, her hands gently but firmly pressing against his chest.
Steed's brow arched in surprise, though he didn’t release her immediately. He held her loosely now, his hands resting on her waist, still amused by the unexpected turn. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked with a chuckle, his voice dripping with playful curiosity. "Are you available, or aren’t you?"
The girl, her expression a mix of apology and determination, took a soft step back, breaking free of his hold. "I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself," she replied calmly, her voice even, though there was no malice in it. She seemed almost embarrassed by her reaction as she backed away further, her gaze flickering between him and the door.
Steed, ever the charmer, smiled, following her retreat with measured steps, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "No need to apologize," he said, his tone light, teasing. "Just wasn’t expecting such a formal introduction."
The girl glanced over her shoulder, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch the ankh around her neck, her smile small and uncertain. Yet she maintained her distance, clearly not ready to indulge his advances, no matter how suave his approach.
Steed watched her closely, noticing the subtle way her eyes darted as if she felt cornered. His smile softened, but the curiosity remained in his voice. "Alright," he said gently, stepping forward as she instinctively backed away. "What’s the problem here? Did I get you by mistake? Or are you some private date... but a little particular?"
His tone was light as he moved toward her, but his steps were deliberate. The girl retreated, her back inching closer to the wall as Steed closed the gap. "Come now," he said, his voice smooth with amusement. "It’s alright. There’s nobody here but you and me."
But she stopped in her tracks, raising a hand between them, her voice quiet but firm. "No."
That one word was enough to halt him. Steed paused, tilting his head in mild surprise. "Is that all your vocabulary consists of?" he quipped, a teasing edge in his voice. "Or... do you simply prefer women?"
The girl’s eyes met his, unwavering. "No," she replied, her voice calm and resolute.
“What’s wrong?” Steed asked, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.
The girl hesitated, her eyes glistening with unspoken emotions. “I just felt sad and put myself on the circuit. I regret that now,” she admitted, her voice soft.
“What made you sad?” Steed inquired, his interest piqued.
“All my friends went through Commencement, and now they’re gone,” she replied, her tone heavy with a mixture of longing and sorrow.
“They were likely renewed,” Steed assured her, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “It’s all right.”
The girl’s response was flat. “I think they were killed.”
Steed’s expression turned serious. “The word ‘killed’ is forbidden,” he cautioned.
“I’m using the term because that’s what men and women like you do—you kill,” she shot back, her gaze unwavering.
“As an Iceman, I don’t kill,” Steed insisted, maintaining his composure. “I ice Runaways. Now, who sent you?”
“Nobody sent me,” she replied firmly. “I felt sad and put myself in the circuit.”
“Then what is your name?” Steed asked, curiosity evident in his tone.
“Tara-7-King,” she answered, the name rolling off her tongue with a mixture of defiance and pride.
Steed studied her for a moment before commenting, “Well, Tara – Ra-boom-di-ay! Let's go have sex.”
“No!” she screamed, her eyes wide with shock.
“Is it okay if we wait until later, then?” he asked, his tone light.
“No!” she reiterated, her voice firm.
Growing testy, Steed leaned in. “What are you doing on the circuit, then?”
“I was bored and wanted something to do with myself,” Tara admitted, crossing her arms defensively. “But I’ve changed my mind.”
“What’s on your mind now?” he pressed.
She hesitated, then replied, “I’m curious.”
“Curious about what?” Steed inquired, intrigued.
“I just wanted to know how an Iceman lives,” she said, her gaze flitting to the ground.
Steed smiled, his demeanor shifting as he removed his gunbelt. “So, how about that sex?”
Tara shook her head, adamant. “No.”
“Come on, you said you were curious,” he reminded her, leaning closer.
“I’m curious,” she insisted, “but not about sex—or about your gun,” she added, glancing at the weapon apprehensively.
“I’m willing to listen, Tara,” Steed offered, his tone softening.
She hesitated, glancing away. “I’m afraid to tell you.”
“I’m not armed,” he reassured her, his voice firm. “Just say what’s on your mind.”
Finally, she broke down, her voice trembling as she asked, “Why is it wrong to run?”
Steed’s expression shifted to one of seriousness. “It’s illegal to ask anyone that question—especially me.”
Tara’s brow furrowed, and she pressed on. “I’m sorry, but what if someone wants to live?”
“You have to go to Commencement,” Steed replied, his voice steady. “It’s the law!”
He stretched out his right hand, revealing the red crystal flower embedded and centered in his palm. It was the same shape as the black crystal that had rested in the palm of the dead runner.
“When the crystalflower turns black,” Steed explained, a laugh escaping his lips, “it’s all over.” His amusement faded slightly as he added, “The only way to be, legally, thirty-one, is to compete in Commencement with your peers.”
In a sudden movement, Steed drew his pistol and pointed it directly at her. “But if you’re a dissenter,” he warned, “then I’m forced to do my duty.”
Tara’s eyes widened in fear. “I didn’t say I’d run,” she rushed to clarify, her voice shaking as she launched into her spiel. “I just—”
Steed interrupted her, grabbing her wrist and turning her hand palm up. “What class are you?” he demanded.
As he examined her palm, he noted the green crystal nestled there.
“I’m Class Alpha-7,” Tara replied in a tone mixed with defiance and vulnerability. “I go red next year.”
Steed studied her for a moment, puzzled. “You’re years away from that. Why are you thinking about such things? Why risk legal action by even talking about them?” He offered her his gun, the weight of it reflecting the gravity of the moment. “Do you want to try it?”
Tara shook her head firmly, and Steed's gaze traveled over her, lingering in an admiring, almost predatory manner. He took in her sleek form from her toes to the crown of her head, momentarily distracted by the glimmer of jewelry around her neck. It was identical to the ankh he had removed from the body of the dead runaway.
“May I have your address?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.
“Classification 7B/4A-XY,” Tara responded, her tone soft yet assured. “Sector 32, Level 15.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to try?” Steed asked gently, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern.
Tara nodded, a determined look in her eyes.
“Well, it’s nice to know you can nod your head,” he remarked with a playful smile.
“It’s also nice to know you can smile, too,” she replied, a small grin breaking through her serious demeanor.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Emma, along with a disheveled young black man, burst into the room, laughter echoing off the walls. Both appeared stoned and utterly hilarious, and they crowded around Steed. Emma wrapped her arms around him, her laughter bright and infectious.
Amid the uproar, Tara seized her chance to slip away unnoticed. Steed, catching sight of her retreating form, made a half-hearted attempt to follow, but Emma’s raucous laughter filled the space, drawing his attention back.
“Steed!” Emma shouted amid the noise, “What are you doing with this lovely lady? Don’t tell me you’re working!”
At Steed’s bemused expression, Emma erupted into a fit of laughter, the sound ringing like a bell in the air. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she picked up an atomizer from the sleek surface of the sideboard. The atomizer was a curious contraption, its glass body elegantly shaped, and adorned with intricate engravings that caught the light like tiny stars. A delicate silver nozzle sprouted from the top, leading to a bulbous rubber pump that looked as if it could unleash a whimsical fragrance at a moment’s notice.
With a swift, playful flick of her wrist, Emma hurled the atomizer at the ceiling. It shattered on impact, sending shards of glass cascading down like twinkling confetti. A great pink cloud of "Fizz,” the slang term for the euphoric drug that sent the room into a haze of giddy pleasure, settled over them all. The air became thick and sweet, wrapping around Steed, Emma, and their companion like a soft, intoxicating embrace, eliciting giggles and carefree chatter as they inhaled the euphoric essence that filled the space.
