Citadel Blue Book Novels & Stories

Citadel Lower Rings, Market Vault The passkey glimmered behind the trader’s glass, a sliver of tech small enough to fit in a palm, powerful enough to open half the Citadel’s veins. Abigail’s eyes locked on it like it was oxygen. “Now,” she whispered. Samuel muttered something about bad ideas but moved anyway. He slipped a hand beneath his jacket, pulling the trader’s attention with a clink of credits while Abigail slid the case’s latch. The siren wailed.

It was painfully clear the shop assistant was scenting my desperation and preying on me. "Any second-hand tribute is priced at a tenth of its original value." The girl sneered, her eyes gleaming with a cold complacency. She punched a few runes into her counter-slab and snapped, "Vacate the stall if you aren't trading. There is a line of wolves behind you." "These are authentic Citadel crafts!" I persisted, my voice tight with grit. Twenty thousand silver barely touched the surface of Ruth’s mounting fees at Bayview Medical Center. "Surely you can offer a tribute that reflects their true worth!"

He was a slick man in a velvet suit, who had initially looked at Ren’s casual hoodie with disdain, but was now practically bowing after seeing Ren’s credit pre-authorization. "The Citadel features reinforced bio-glass windows capable of stopping small arms fire," the salesman continued, tapping the tinted glass. "It has an independent oxygen filtration system that scrubs 99.9% of atmospheric toxins. You could drive through a chemical spill in Sector 9 and breathe air fresher than a mountain meadow."