The taste of rust coated my tongue. Not actual rust, but the metallic tang of the recycled water we drank. You get used to it in the Silicon-Detroit ruins.
Above, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers clawed at the perpetually smog-choked sky, monuments to a world that choked itself to death.
Below, we scavenged, hustled, and prayed to whatever forgotten gods still listened.
"Another run, another few chips closer to our salvation," Raze announced, cracking his knuckles.
Raze was our muscle, a walking tank with a shaved head and cybernetic enhancements glinting beneath his grime. Pixel, our tech wiz, was already hunched over his makeshift rig, a chaotic mess of wires and salvaged components. Glitch, skinny and nervous, was checking our route on a cracked datapad.
"Salvation's gonna cost us," Pixel muttered, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "The Council's hiking the price of badges again. Another fifty chips."
Fifty chips. Enough for a week's worth of nutrient paste, or maybe a faulty purifier that wouldn't give you the runs.
The Council controlled everything: food, water, medicine, even air filters. And the only way to get anything was with those goddamn chips. Our chips came from "Dream Dust," a synthesized hallucinogen we cooked up in a busted-out apartment on the 37th floor. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid.
"Alright, let's move," I said, pushing myself off the dilapidated sofa. I was Max, the strategist, the one who kept us from killing each other, most of the time. "Glitch, lead the way. Raze, you're on point. Pixel, scan for Council drones."
The lower levels were a maze of collapsed buildings and choked tunnels. Neon graffiti pulsed on the crumbling walls, advertising everything from black market cybernetics to pleasure bots.
It felt like the air itself was rotten, filled with the smell of things dying and the sadness of people giving up. We moved like shadows, our footsteps muffled by the ever-present debris.
We reached our usual corner, a dimly lit alcove beneath a collapsed highway overpass. Junkies and pleasure-seekers were already gathering, their eyes glazed over with tension.
The deals were quick, dirty, and dangerous. Chips changed hands, and Dream Dust disappeared into the crowd. We were almost done when the ground vibrated.
"Company," Raze growled, his hand resting on the plasma pistol strapped to his thigh.
Around the corner, they came. TheScorpions. A notorious gang known for their brutal efficiency and penchant for harvesting organs. Their leader, a hulking brute with chrome teeth and eyes like chips of ice, stepped forward.
"Well, well, well," Chrome Teeth said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Look what we found. Little rats playing in our territory."
Adrenaline surged through me. This wasn't good. We were outnumbered, outgunned. "We're not looking for trouble," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We'll leave."
He chuckled, a chilling sound that echoed through the tunnel. "Leave? Oh, but the fun's just beginning. We heard you make good Dream Dust. And we have… needs."
Raze stepped forward, his eyes blazing. "Get out of our way."
Chrome Teeth smirked. "You gonna make me?"
That's when the shooting started.
It was chaos. Plasma fire lit up the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. Raze went berserk, tearing through the Scorpions with brutal efficiency. Pixel scrambled for cover, hacking into the overpass's lighting system to give us a temporary advantage. Glitch, surprisingly, was a decent shot with his modified slingshot.
I grabbed a discarded metal pipe and swung, cracking a Scorpion across the helmet. We fought like cornered animals, desperate for survival. But they were too many.
"Fall back!" I yelled, pulling Raze away from the fray. "We can't win this!"
We turned and ran, the Scorpions hot on our heels. We sprinted through the tunnels, dodging debris and collapsed structures. The taste of fear was acrid in my mouth.
We finally lost them in a maze of collapsed tunnels. We were battered, bruised, and breathless, but alive. For now.
Back in our apartment, we patched ourselves up. The silence was heavy, broken only by Pixel's frantic tapping on his keyboard.
"They took everything," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "All the chips. Everything."
The dream of badges, of security, of even a slightly better life, vanished. We were back to square one.
"We'll get it back," I said, my voice strained. "We'll find a way."
But even as I said the words, I didn't believe them.
Days turned into weeks. We scavenged, hustled, and scraped by. The Scorpions were still out there, a constant threat hanging over our heads. Then, Pixel came to me, his eyes grew large, reflecting a blend of fear and a strange sort of joy.
"I found something," he whispered. "A data cache. Hidden deep in the old Council archives. It contains… information."
Information about the Council's corrupt dealings. Secrets that could bring them down. Secrets that could be worth a fortune.
The decision was easy. We would use the information to buy our way out. To leave Silicon-Detroit and find somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't a concrete jungle of death and despair.
We sold the data to the highest bidder, a shadowy organization known only as "The Resistance."
The chips we received were more than we ever dreamed of. We had enough to buy not just badges, but a ticket on a transport ship to the outer colonies. A new life.
As we stood in line to board the ship, a familiar figure approached. Chrome Teeth.
"Leaving town?" he sneered. "Too bad. I was just starting to enjoy our little game."
I didn't say anything. I just stared him down, my hand resting on the energy pistol I'd bought with our newfound wealth.
"Enjoy your new life," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "It won't last."
We boarded the ship, leaving Silicon-Detroit behind. As the city receded into the distance, I couldn't shake the feeling that Chrome Teeth was right. We had escaped, but we hadn't won. We were still trapped in a game, controlled by forces we couldn't see.
Years later, on a dusty colony world on the edge of known space, I received a coded message. It was from Pixel.
"They found us," the message read. "They know what we did."
We ran again, always running. We had traded one concrete jungle for another, one set of oppressors for another. Then it hit me: the real fever wasn't in the concrete jungle, it was in us. The greed, the desperation, the constant need for more. It had poisoned us all.
I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if we'll ever be truly free. But one thing I do know: the game never ends. It just changes the rules.