"Kael!" Tarek's voice echoed down the slope.
"Guys, he's down there!" he called back to the others.
Kael turned, glancing once more at the tower before starting up the incline. The glow behind him faded with every step, swallowed by the dark.
When he reached the surface, Tarek was waiting, mud streaked across his gear and worry carved deep in his face.
Tarek swore under his breath. "Zone's worse every damn run," he muttered, then looked at Kael. "You okay?"
Kael nodded, though his hands still shook. "Yeah… just got too close."
He didn't realise he was shaking.
"You gave us quite a scare," Tarek said, his tone softening.
"Yeah." Kael managed a faint nod.
"Good. Keep your head next time."
Tarek turned, barking new orders at the crew. They moved fast, gathering what they could before the fog thickened again.
Kael slipped a hand into the pocket of his cloak. The rod was there—hotter now, almost burning through the fabric. The lines carved into it glowed faintly blue, each pulse syncing with the beat of his artificial heart.
He stared at it, feeling the weight settle in his chest.
Whatever that thing in the pod was, it hadn't just woken up.
It had recognised him.
_________________________
The Scavenger's Hub was a furnace of noise and metal. Heat bled from the generator stacks, mixing with the stench of oil and rust. Voices rose over the hum of drone wings and the crackle of old speakers.
Kael followed Tarek through the line, their cart rattling over grates. The pile they'd brought in — two derelict drones, a half-intact cyborg corpse, and a nanite vial glimmering faintly in its case and other not so valuable things — drew a few hungry stares from nearby scavengers.
The counter at the front was run by a strange looking being — tall, insect-thin, with dull bronze skin that caught the light like old copper. Its eyes were compound, reflecting the glow of the neon boards above as it leaned forward.
"Team Forty-Seven," Tarek said, sliding his ID tag across.
The alien's mouth plates clicked. "Unload."
They did. The being's gloved hands moved quickly, examining the corpse's plating, tapping the drones' shattered shells. When it lifted the nanite vial, its pupils dilated, and the clicking stopped for a beat.
"This one's pure," it said. "Ninety-eight percent active. That'll fetch high."
Tarek grinned. "Told you it was really valuable."
The being keyed something into a rusted console and a line of numbers flashed on the display. "Total: four hundred twelve Hex. Twelve percent to team lead."
It reached below the counter and laid out credchips — black metal strips no longer than a finger, each one glowing faint blue along the edge. The alien touched each chip briefly before sliding them forward.
Kael picked his up. It was warm to the touch, the faint vibration pulsing through his fingertips.
"That's your share," Tarek said, watching him. "Not bad for a first run."
Kael turned the chip over slowly. The glow caught on the ridges of his hand — his first money here, earned with sweat and danger instead of pity.
For a long moment he just stared at it. Back in his old life, money had always meant someone else's control — his parents' rules, their debts, their resentment. Every coin he earned went straight to them, and still his mother told him he'd ruined her life.
Here, in this broken place, he'd bled for it himself.
Dangerous, yes — but the risk was his own. The reward was his own.
He wondered, briefly, if they'd felt anything when he died. Probably not. Maybe relief.
The thought didn't sting the way it used to. He closed his hand around the chip until the glow pressed faintly against his skin.
He nodded, voice quiet. "Feels strange… but good."
Tarek chuckled. "Don't get too attached. Credits don't last long out here."
The alien let out a low chitter that might've been laughter, already waving the next team forward.
Kael pocketed the chip carefully. The hum of the hub faded for a moment, drowned out by a single thought — for the first time since waking in this broken world, he'd earned something of his own.
___________________
The bar was half-empty when Kael walked in. Neon light spilled through the cracked window, painting the floor in dull blues and reds. The hum of broken signs mixed with the low murmur of tired scavengers nursing cheap synth-ale.
Lura looked up from behind the counter when she saw him. Her copper hair caught the light, eyes sharp and curious.
"Back already?" she asked, drying a glass with a stained rag. "So, how'd it go?"
Kael dropped onto a stool, setting his pack beside him. "We got lucky this time. A few drones, a cyborg body… and a nanite vial."
Lura raised her eyebrows. "A vial? No wonder you came back alive." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "How much?"
"Four hundred and twelve Hex," Kael said. "My share's… good enough."
Lura let out a low whistle. "Not bad for your first run. Guess that means you can afford your own place now."
Kael smiled faintly but said nothing. The thought hit him harder than he expected. A place of his own — quiet, empty, no one waiting for him. In his last life, that kind of thing would have been lovely, to avoid abuse from his father but now he didn't like it.
Lura must've caught the flicker of sadness on his face, because her grin softened.
"Or," she said, tapping the counter with one finger, "you could just stay here."
He looked up. "At the bar?"
"Sure," she said, smirking. "Free bed, free food. But you work for me. No pay. No complaints."
Kael let out a small laugh. "So basically, slavery."
"Call it friendship with bad terms," she said, setting a drink in front of him. "Your choice."
He picked up the glass. The liquid was cheap, bitter, and warm.
"Let me think about it," he said.
Lura smiled. "Don't think too long. Places like this don't stay safe forever."
Kael glanced around the dim bar — the flickering lights, the hum of tired voices, Lura's quiet smile — and for a brief moment, he felt something close to belonging.