I had an old bike from my teenage years that I hadn't touched since moving here. Not really knowing what else to do, I decided to go out that evening and ride into the city. Despite having lived here for five years, I had never truly ventured beyond my neighborhood. The only glimpse I had of the outside world was the towering monolith of Homhance. But now, with this rare stretch of free time, it felt like the moment to change that.
I pedaled through the neighborhood, still as deserted as ever. The buildings were a mix of modest rental housing and small houses with gardens, yet this social diversity had never been a problem—everyone kept to themselves. Soon, I left the area and followed the road toward the unknown, heading toward the city's cluster of skyscrapers.
The landscape changed quickly. Trees and open fields gave way to a battered stretch of asphalt riddled with holes, some lazily patched with what looked like glue. The homes became shabbier, built from sheets of metal or crumbling brick. The farther I went, the worse it got. Individual houses disappeared, replaced by collective housing stacked like chaotic piles of scrap and cement. Electrical cables dangled from rooftops and windows, and the whole structure seemed to defy gravity through sheer miracle.
Strangely, there weren't many people outside. I saw one group welding wires—probably trying to hook up a new "unit" to the grid. Others loitered along walls, standing apart, watching everything in silence. When they noticed me, their gazes darkened. One began walking in my direction, but when he realized I was just passing through without causing trouble, he leaned back again, and I continued my path without slowing.
Finally, I reached the city center. The road evened out again. The buildings around me were now tall, pristine, majestic—this was clearly the upscale district, home to all the luxury boutiques. A dense crowd filled the sidewalks, making it impossible to continue by bike. I dismounted and began weaving through the sea of people. Everyone here looked perfect, polished, happy—or at least they pretended to be. I didn't feel like I belonged.
I made my way to the pharmacy listed on the prescription. It was affiliated with Homhance, and I retrieved the medication without issue. Stepping outside, I slipped into a narrow, empty alley to catch my breath. That was it—I had completed my mission for the day. Nothing left to do but make the same journey in reverse.
As I gathered the courage to face the crowd again, my eyes landed on a colorful poster nearby. I moved closer. It read: "ARENA – Join us November 13th at 10 PM for an epic showdown between WarHammer and LightningStrike." The poster featured two fighters who looked anything but friendly. WarHammer was huge, bald, with a face like a bulldog. LightningStrike was leaner, his sharp gaze filled with smug certainty. But it wasn't just their expressions that stood out—they had cybernetic limbs. WarHammer had a massive hammer instead of a hand, and one leg was an assembly of metal cylinders and joints. LightningStrike had two prosthetic legs below the knee and a lance for an arm.
These enhancements reminded me of Homhance's work—but rawer, more brutal. These weren't made for research or utility. They were built to fight. They must have built them themselves. If there was another cybernetic market in Homhance City, it wouldn't last long—Thomas Homhance would wipe it out like everything else in his path.
Suddenly, I heard shouting from the end of the alley. A crowd was moving, and I could make out their chant: "Go WarHammer! Go WarHammer!" They were fans, marching toward the event. I glanced at my phone—the fight was tonight, in just a few minutes. So these people were headed straight to the Arena. Intrigued by who would attend such an event, I followed from a distance, drawn like a moth to the flame.
In less than ten minutes, the crowd stopped in front of a small, unimpressive shop. I didn't know what to expect. I had blended into the group and followed them inside, into the store labeled "Arena." I looked around. All I could see were posters, keychains, fake weapons, and action figures—nothing like the epic fight the flyer had promised. Of course. A gimmick. A flashy advertisement to lure in curious newcomers and turn them into paying customers.
I stood there, disappointed, ready to leave—until I realized I was no longer surrounded by the WarHammer fans. I looked around and spotted them gathered at the back of the store. Just then, the wall behind the counter began to rise, like a garage door, revealing something else entirely. The group surged forward, visibly excited, and began moving into a hidden hallway. Everything about this felt sketchy. Maybe it was time to back out.
I turned to leave for good, but another group—just as fired up—was coming in behind me. My exit was blocked. I had no choice but to blend in once again and move along with the rest.