The slavers dragged Kai from the pen and into the mezzanine, shackles clinking at his ankles. The air shifted instantly—gone was the stink of straw and sweat. Here it smelled of tobacco, cologne, and coin. A raised platform stood at the center, ringed with iron railing. The bidders lounged in half-circles of cushioned chairs, drink glasses glowing amber in the lamplight. Their eyes cut sharper than blades.
"Lot Twenty-One," the auctioneer announced, voice thick with performance. "Male. Zone Alpha stock. Quiet disposition, strong frame. Untested. Place your bids."
Hands lifted, tokens flashed. Numbers rattled off in clipped cadence.
"Two hundred."
"Three."
"Three fifty."
A pause. "Four."
Kai stood still, arms loose at his sides. He let them study him, let them weigh his silence. Inside, DM murmured. [Posture correct. Eye contact minimal. Do not show interest in the crowd. Curiosity adds cost but not value.]
They're circling, Kai thought back. Not serious yet.
[Observe.]
The bids climbed slowly, begrudgingly, until they stalled. Murmurs rippled. A woman in silver rings leaned forward as if to push higher, then reclined again. Another man sipped his drink and shook his head. The auctioneer stretched the silence, but no new voice came.
"Four hundred. Going once… going twice…" He let the moment hang, his smile straining. "Unsold."
A gavel cracked against wood. Disappointment slid through the crowd like smoke, then dissipated. The bidders turned their eyes elsewhere as if Kai had already ceased to exist.
The guards led him back down. Shackles scraped stone.
[Unpurchased again,] DM noted. [You remain inventory. That buys time but not progress.]
Kai's jaw tightened. Time's a rope that only gets shorter.
[Then we shift tactics. What remains of your assets?]
Concrete shard. Arcade coin. That's all.
[Not enough for extraction. You require hands.]
Kai lowered his voice to a whisper no guard would bother with. "Then I'll find them."
The pens stretched in crooked rows. Faces behind bars: gaunt, angry, half-broken. Most wouldn't last a week, but some still had light in their eyes. Survivors, not livestock. He scanned them as he passed, memorizing details.
A boy no older than sixteen with scars etched like maps across his arms, gaze sharp and feral. A woman with cropped hair, knuckles cracked bloody from beating the bars. An older man hunched but steady, eyes calm as a held blade.
Potential.
Kai flexed his wrists against the shackles, feeling their weight. If I move, I can't move alone.
[Correct.] DM's tone sharpened, approving. [Recruit. Select those with proven resilience. You cannot carry liabilities through this city.]
I'll need at least two. Maybe three.
[Choose carefully. Every ally doubles risk but multiplies options.]
They shoved him back into his pen, door clanging shut. The auctioneer's voice rose above, announcing the next lot.
Kai sat on the cold stone, eyes closed. The city outside roared with the Sweep, but inside he counted faces, measured chances, and whispered with DM about escape.
Hands first. Then the break.
--
Kai had been watching the cages for days, measuring who sagged into despair and who still scanned the world for cracks. Most were already defeated—breathing, but hollow. Two, though, had fire left.
The first was Riven, a wiry boy no older than seventeen. He had sharp eyes, quick hands, and the twitch of someone used to slipping through alleys and pulling coin off distracted wrists. His left ear was half missing, bitten off in some street fight, but the grin he gave when Kai caught his gaze wasn't timid—it was daring.
The second was Sera, mid-twenties, cropped hair, a soldier's shoulders. She moved like she hadn't forgotten training, scanning the guards, counting rotations. Her knuckles were split raw from hammering the bars, not from panic but testing their strength. She'd come from somewhere disciplined.
When the guards were gone and the corridor slept under the Sweep's chaos, Kai finally leaned close to the bars. "You want out?" he asked low.
Riven was at his side instantly. "Always."
Sera's eyes narrowed. "Plans get people killed. You have one?"
Kai nodded. [Explain methodically,] DM prompted.
He tapped the bar once, then glanced at the gate's welds—ugly beads of metal, fused in a hurry, more rust than strength. "Flicker," Kai whispered.
Both frowned.
"Spirit guardian," he clarified. "Small. Fast. Can slip where they can't see. He'll gnaw at the welds, make them brittle. But it takes time. He can turn into pretty much anything so it will be useful"
Sera leaned against the bars, masking interest with fatigue. "And while you're chipping at iron with a ghost mouse, who keeps us from being spotted?"
"You," Kai said.
She didn't argue. She just nodded once.
Riven smirked. "And me?"
Kai held up the smooth arcade coin. "You're distraction. If a guard gets too close, you start running your mouth. Pretend you're trading this for a favor. They'll stop, they'll laugh, they'll sneer. All I need is three breaths."
The boy's grin widened. "Three? I'll give you six."
Kai layed it all out then, voice level, DM humming in the background like a metronome:
Step One: Wait for the Sweep to peak. Guards will be drunk on chaos, half their heads outside the pens. Noise covers noise.
Step Two: Sera positions herself by the corridor bend, "asleep" against the bars, but her ears open. Any sign of boots, she coughs once—signal to halt.
Step Three: Flicker slips free, spectral threads glimmering faint as breath, and burrows along the welds. Kai keeps his body low, feigning exhaustion while his guardian eats at the rust. He'll chip at weak points with the shard hidden in his bandage when no one's watching.
Step Four: Riven watches guard posture. If one drifts too close, he rattles his cage, flashing the coin like it's gold. His act pulls eyes to him, buys seconds.
Step Five: Once the welds are near breaking, Kai braces both hands on the bars and pushes. The sound must coincide with a surge of Sweep noise—firecrackers, gunshots, or screams. DM will count the rhythm, cue him when to strike.
Step Six: With the gate split, the three move. No rush, no panic—smooth steps, shadows on shadows. First target: supply rack by the mezzanine stairwell, where confiscated tools and trinkets are kept. Weapons. Leverage.
[Contingencies?] DM asked.
Kai added them without pause. If Sera goes down, Riven covers lookout with noise. If Riven fails, Kai himself distracts, buying time for Flicker to finish. If both fall—Kai goes alone. He hated that clause, but the City didn't honor mercy.
Sera exhaled slowly when he finished. "It's reckless."
"Everything here is reckless," Kai replied.
Riven pressed his face close to the bars, eyes bright. "Reckless is better than rotting."
Kai leaned back against the cold iron, the coin turning over in his fingers. DM whispered in his mind, steady as ever: [Probability: twenty-three percent. Better than zero. Acceptable if you commit fully.]
Kai let a faint smile curl at the corner of his mouth. "Then we commit."