Ricardia didn't know it yet, but today would truly go down as one of the worst days of her life.

She stood there on the street, completely flummoxed. Staring her down was the crumbling, abandoned facade of an old warehouse. It sat between a rusted production plant of some kind, and a boarded-up restaurant, its lettering long-faded. Ricardia checked - then double-checked her navigation - but she seemed to be in the correct location. The issue was the warehouse, and the fact that it stood exactly where the hotel she was expecting should have been. Ricardia let out a shaky chuckle. She must have been missing something, took a wrong turn somewhere after leaving the station's harbor. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Turning away from the building, Ricardia switched her overlays on again. But instead of the navigation function appearing as she expected, her feed was overrun with a blaring assault of alarms. It was her bank account, crying out in virtual pain. For a few long moments, all she could do was stare at the complete loss of her accumulated savings.

Zero. The number stared her down, accusing - a brutal, alarming red. With a steadily creeping chill, Ricardia waved away the alerts, pinging the travel agent who had arranged the trip for her. When the number came up dead, disconnected, her situation suddenly seemed far more dire. There was no denying it now: this was much, much worse than a few wrong turns.

Despite the climate-controlled air of the station, Ricardia had begun to shiver. The narrow, cluttered street she stood on seemed to press down on her, constricting. Her first impression of the dark, dingy Onyx had been a sense of the exotic, a touch of mystery and benign scandal that beckoned from the shadows. But now, fighting back tears, the curtain had been drawn away. There was true danger in this place, and instinctively, she knew it.

It took her a few more minutes to collect her thoughts, but eventually Ricardia came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to return to Onyx's spaceport. Hopefully, at the harbor, she could contact the authorities or find passage back home to Caeden.

She began to walk, a little unsteady. Most of her attention was still directed inwards, however, fixated on the travel agent who had screwed her over. Dagon. She rolled the name around in her mind, feeling it smolder like a hot coal. He had introduced himself to her by his first name, but she had insisted on referring to him as 'Mr. Agante.' Ricardia had been impressed by his smart outfits, the photos he'd posted online. She'd enjoyed his smooth talking. Ultimately, she'd fallen in love with his proposal. He'd offered to set her up in a place far away and appealingly mysterious. It would be pricey, he warned her, but it was exactly what she was looking for on such short notice.

Reality rushed in as a transport blasted past Ricardia, startling her badly. Looking up, she could see that she'd wandered far enough to reach one of the main thoroughfares of Onyx, and the torrent of sound and light that flowed through it. The station's distant overhead lights had begun to dim for a simulated night phase, but the dazzling billboards and storefronts easily broke the illusion. The vibrant lines of casinos, clubs, and dining halls were brilliant - and perfectly hid the maze of darkened streets beyond.

Ricardia could no longer retreat into her thoughts; navigating through Onyx's nightlife was a challenge that took all of her attention. She had to simultaneously refer to her nav system, avoid the thronging crowds, and keep her bearings all at the same time. Misdirected resentment bubbled up in her as Ricardia shoved past the revelers. Their drunk, effervescent state felt like a personal affront, as if the entire world was now enjoying themselves at her expense. She felt herself tense up as faces leered at her, spiraling past like little, manic galaxies.

She stuck out like a sore thumb: a sad, little soul dressed head-to-toe in conservative gray, scurrying past dresses that flared bright like supernovae. After a few minutes of this, there was a real danger of sensory overload - Ricardia felt herself slipping further and further into hysteria. She wanted to throw herself into one of the transports that flew by, hide in their cool, dark interiors. But without a single note to her name, her only option was to walk.

But each step was becoming more difficult amidst the pleasure all around her, and so Ricardia adjusted the nav system, charting a path away from the boulevard. A calmer, more-stable version of herself would have protested, but Ricardia wanted, needed, to get away from what should have been her new beginning - her escape. So she found herself fleeing into the darkness.

Away from the lights, there was a dramatic change in ambience. The world went dim and grimy as Ricardia picked her way down the street.

Separate from the main hub of Onyx, the rest of the station was little better than a maze of alleyways and twisting back-streets. The glitz was quickly replaced by taverns, small, run-down shops, and row after row of tenements, brutal in their construction.

Despite the labyrinthine quality of the streets, Ricardia kept herself moving with the help of her nav system. Like a helpful little deity, her feed overlaid a series of indicators that pulsed with light, pointing her in the direction of the harbor.

She kept her head down, focused on the route, only occasionally looking up to avoid the rare passerby. Ricardia felt that as long as she didn't peer too closely at anything, the same courtesy would be applied to her. She ignored the glances of those around her, told herself that the whispered voices she heard had nothing to do with herself. And as she continued, unmolested, it seemed to work. She tramped through the twilight, trying to tamp down that now-familiar fear that had returned with the darkness.

It was gradual, but Ricardia began to feel the distinctive rumble of massive engines. There were other little details that stood out to her now: the street-lights seemed brighter, less sparse; taverns and bars began to crowd every corner, attracting denser crowds of people.

Arriving in Onyx, Ricardia had first disembarked on the bright, clamoring side of the harbor, a promenade designed to entice and direct the tourists, gamblers, and hedonists who were looking for a good time. But now, she was approaching from the opposite direction, encountering a very different side of the spaceport.

The people that eyed her from sagging stoop staircases and tavern foyers were not her fellow visitors. They were sailors, launders, and shopkeepers. To them, she was an insect that had slipped through the protective screen of Onyx's glitz and glamour, suddenly buzzing about their awareness. Ricardia was clearly lost - and that meant she could be taken advantage of.

"Heyo, love,' the call came from her left and ahead. Ricardia looked, saw a shaggy-haired man leaning against the doorway, half-swaddled by shadows. She gave the man a pinched little smile, didn't respond. His companion heckled the man, no doubt amused at his failure to get a response.

It was a duo. The man who'd spoken was lanky enough to resemble a mop, but the other one was built like a sack of flour, solid and wide. Ricardia tried to ignore their words, staring pointedly ahead.

But as she passed, Shaggy-hair rocked forward, grabbed onto her arm. Ricardia came to a standstill, absolutely floored. Shock tamped down her reaction.

"I just got a quick question for you, sweetie..." There was a flicker of light that danced across his eyeballs; his partner lumbered around to stand in front of her, rocking back on his heels. "You seem a little confused - a little lost. I was wondering if you needed a little help gettin' where you need to go." The man leaned in closer, a tiny little smile on his face.

"Excuse me," Ricardia managed to sputter. "I'm all right, thanks-"

"You sure?" The man's hand was still latched on; she could feel it through her clothes like something hot. "Just link with me for a second; I'll share a handy little thing."

Self-preservation finally kicked in, and Ricardia tried to pull away, but Shaggy-hair's grip tightened. She was jerked back, and she gasped. There was fear, hard, burrowing spikes of it, but a flare of anger rose too. She hissed in pain, trying to keep her breath under control. Around them, Ricardia was sure there were others on the street, but they drifted by, passive, either ignorant or intentionally neutral.

"What do you want?" The man's eyes narrowed a little at her tone.

"Like I just said," he responded, "I just wanna offer you a little helpful something." He forced his face directly into her vision, his eyes flashing bright again. "But not for free, of course. I'm no saint."

Ricardia sneered at him, but the man had managed to lock her gaze with his. She could see the miniscule code scrawling across his sclera.

Realization hit, and she tried to look away, to close her eyes, but it was too late.

Her feed flared to life across her vision, flashing a now-familiar alarm she was growing quite tired of. There were breaches of her account: her data, contacts, personal notes - and of course, her bank statements. With the alerts came incoming, foreign code that resolved itself into an image: some trash-head's idea of a treasure map, big-red "X" icon and all. It floated in front of her, inane. The hacker's crude calling-card was more of an insult than anything else. As Ricardia struggled to wipe away her feed, the hacker took a step back, letting out an incredulous laugh.

"Look at this," he said. "You've gotta be kidding."

"She's got nothing," the other man rumbled. "Someone already fleeced her."

Ricardia tried to twist away again, and succeeded. The men didn't seem perturbed.

"Someone's had a bad day," the hacker said, grinning. "Poor off-worlder, wotcha' gonna do?" He eyed her differently, now. It was more probing, visceral. "You're all bundled up. Hiding a Factor, are we?"

The larger man chuckled, "don't worry, love. We're good with Factors. We'll let you spend the night if you need."

"Yeah, girlie. You still owe us for that map." And as the shaggy-haired hacker reached out again, a little switch seemed to flick something on in Ricardia's head.

She understood that there were many worlds beyond her own, acknowledged their dangers in a vague, story-book sort of way. She knew there was theft, violence, prostitution out there, but it was one thing to hear it from a feed, and quite another to experience it. The violation of her physical existence, her privacy, had been completely, utterly shocking. To simply reach out and grab her was unthinkable.

This wasn't Caedem, but it was still civilization, damn it, and every one of Ricardia's synapses fired with a unified flare of indignation. Her chance for a fresh start had been snatched from her - she'd lost everything. And now this place was still trying to take even more. Ricardia's anger burnt hot-white, and suddenly, all she wanted to do was lash right back at Onyx and its inhabitants.

Her aim was startlingly accurate, and the sound of her fist against the hacker's flesh was like a sharp little pop of compressed air. It was a noise that would continue to echo intangibly in her thoughts. Around her, the street went silent.