NERO Tears of Aja: Ep 1 Hajir’s Diner
NERO Tears of Aja: Ep 1 Hajir’s Diner
Dawn stretched across Darth Point Alley, the light slanting off the jagged buildings like claws. Nero sprawled across the dirt, her reddish-brown skin streaked with grime, a faint smudge trailing from her scarred cheek. The remnants of last night’s indulgence surrounded her – a half-crushed cigarette butt, a broken vial of Lycerin, and an empty bottle rolling toward the gutter. A breeze nudged it further.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, Nero snagged the bottle before it could escape, sniffing the neck. Her catlike yellow eyes narrowed at the bitter-sour scent of cheap gin. Not worth it. But she drained the last few drops anyway, huffing at the insultingly small burn it left in her throat.
The diner’s sign flickered just ahead, its cracked neon barely cutting through the dawn. Inside, the world changed.
A maze of conveyor belts filled with plates of food crisscrossed the dining floor, each stopping perfectly at the table where they’d been ordered. The roof, a clear dome of glass, threw in splashes of morning sunlight. The scent of oven-baked donuts and hot garbage mixed in the air, a strange but oddly fitting combination.
Nero pushed open the door, her presence sharp and unsettling, like the metallic hum of the solar stove that filled the space. She ignored the lingering glances, barely sparing a glance at the mismatched tables scattered haphazardly across the floor. Her boots crunched against sawdust as she slid onto a tattered stool at the counter, her scar catching the light like a blade.
“Nero,” Hajir greeted from behind the counter, his wide frame moving with mechanical efficiency as the stove behind him hummed, processing orders. “How you doin’?”
“Two steaks, raw. Four eggs, sunny-side up,” she snapped.
Hajir chuckled nervously, wiping his hands on his apron. “On a diet, Ro?”
Nero didn’t bother with a response. Her gaze swept the room, catching on a woman tucked into a corner booth. Aja.
The conveyor belt before her had stopped with a neat stack of pancakes, untouched, beside a steaming mug of coffee. Her hands fidgeted with a napkin, her wide eyes locked onto Nero with a mix of fear and determination.
Nero’s lips curled into a faint sneer. Annoying.
She rose, boots scuffing against the floor, and prowled toward the booth, her steps measured, deliberate. Aja flinched as Nero slid into the seat across from her.
“Yes?” Nero purred, leaning forward, her yellow eyes narrowing.
Aja gulped, her fingers crumpling the napkin into a tight ball. “Byrd sent me,” she managed, her voice wavering.
Nero tilted her head, sniffing the air around Aja like she was sizing up prey. “This is getting old. Quick – what does she want?”
“She needs your help,” Aja stammered, her words tumbling over each other in a rush.
Nero huffed and leaned back, dragging Aja’s coffee across the table. She sniffed it first – always sniff first – then took a sip. Her nose wrinkled at the bitter, cold taste. “Been waiting here a while?” she asked, sliding the cup back with deliberate disdain.
“Yes…no, I mean…a little,” Aja replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nero shoved the plate of pancakes toward herself and began eating without hesitation. She chewed methodically, ignoring Aja’s fumbling attempts to gather her words.
“Peoples True Republic has suffered – ”
“Pass the butter,” Nero interrupted, her tone clipped.
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Aja hesitated but complied, sliding the dish across the table. Nero didn’t even look up as she barked at the counter, “HAJIR! Send my order over here.”
The conveyor belt whirred to life, delivering a fresh stack of pancakes. Nero grabbed the plate and dug in, gesturing for Aja to continue as she chewed.
“Byrd believes that you could help us recover…” Aja paused, her voice faltering under Nero’s piercing gaze.
“How much are we talking?” Nero asked, her tone flat, unimpressed.
“Our funds…” Aja began, but Nero cut her off with a raised hand.
“I don’t do charity work,” she said simply.
Aja fumbled with her bag, pulling out a sleek nanocard and sliding it across the table. “We’ll be at the Passage at the third moon, Hearts Echo,” she said quickly, rising to leave. “Thank you…for your time.”
Nero picked up the card, barely glancing at it before slipping it into her pocket. She didn’t bother watching Aja leave, her focus already back on her food.
Then, the diner door slammed open.
Two men strode in, dressed in pristine white linen suits that clashed starkly with the grimy sawdust-covered floor. They didn’t belong here, and they didn’t care who noticed.
The old man at the counter resisted as they grabbed his arm. His protests were cut short by the sharp crack of a gunshot.
The first shot silenced the room.
The second made everyone freeze.
Everyone except Nero.
She slid her hand under the table, her fingers curling around a jagged shard of metal she’d broken off earlier. Her yellow eyes flicked toward the men, her expression unreadable but vaguely amused, like she was deciding whether they were worth her effort.
The men noticed her, hesitating for just a moment too long. Nero tilted her head, a slow, deliberate motion, and let the corner of her mouth curl into the faintest smirk.
They chose to leave.
As the door slammed shut behind them, Nero let the shard clatter onto the table. The body of the old man lay crumpled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. The patrons returned to their meals, the tension already fading.
Nero leaned back in her seat, grabbed her fork, and went back to her pancakes as if nothing had happened.
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