The market district of Bastion Theta-6 was a chaotic symphony of metal, voices, steam, and light.
It twisted across modular catwalks and platforms stacked like a vertical bazaar, suspended by massive cables and reinforced support beams.
Power conduits hummed underfoot, and holo-signs blinked in midair—advertising plasma lances, scrap-modded armor, engineered pets, and 'low-mileage' skybikes scavenged from the outer ruins.
Kein tightened the strap on his shoulder guard and stepped into the crowd, cube resting against his chest in low-power idle mode.
The moment he entered the main strip, a chorus of synthetic and organic voices rang out.
"Fresh coolant filters, three for a hundred!"
"Anti-feral serum, guaranteed or we don't refund your corpse!"
"Rare dungeon scrap, cleaned and mostly stable!"
He moved with purpose. This was routine, but always unpredictable. The city may have had steel bones, but its heart pulsed here—beneath hanging cables and flickering neon.
Kein weaved through bodies, armor, and drone carts.
A woman passed him clad in little more than red-sheen leather straps and a shimmer shield generator strapped to her thigh.
Her armor, if it could be called that, glittered in the filtered sun.
Kein blinked, then muttered, "Sure, but what exactly is that protecting?"
Behind her followed a towering brute in full riot-plate who looked like he hadn't removed it in months.
Next came someone wrapped in tattered gray synth-cloth, hood pulled low, whispering to a floating eye drone.
And then, the fish.
Literally.
A humanoid with webbed hands and a translucent glass helmet walked by, filled with circulating water.
Tiny bioluminescent fish swam in the dome, including one that blinked at Kein. The being gave him a courteous nod.
"...Right." Kein sighed, stepping aside.
He finally reached a shop labeled SCRAP&SOUL—a vendor booth cobbled from broken vending machines, ship plating, and a large panel that still flickered with the words "TEMPORARILY OUT OF STOCK" in ten languages.
Behind the counter sat a squat, machine-bodied vendor with a head shaped like a forge bellows. Steam hissed from its joints. One eye was a welding torch.
"Ahhh, the hunter returns," the vendor croaked in a gravel-pitched, digitized voice. "Kein. You still owe me from last cycle."
Kein leaned on the counter.
"I paid that with an arc stabilizer."
"That was a fake."
"It worked for twenty minutes."
The vendor chuckled, a sound like grinding bolts.
"Semantics. What you want?"
"Low-heat rations, one hardlight mesh panel, and do you still have that Mark-7 solvent injector?"
The vendor's single working hand clicked open a storage hatch, tossing out wrapped items with mechanical precision.
"Mesh is expensive. Forty credits."
Kein raised an eyebrow.
"You sold it for twenty last time."
"Last time was before the Ashen Storm hit Sector 9. Prices doubled. Or tripled. Depends if I like you."
"You don't."
"Then forty."
Kein sighed, flicked open his cube's trade interface, and bartered three cracked drone cores for a discount.
Around them, the market swelled. A young girl in scavenged gear shouted, "They say the Leviathan's moving again!"
A tall man selling fungal tea replied, "Leviathan's a myth. That's just pre-quake tectonic drift."
"I saw the waves. Saw the sky ripple," said a third, older woman, her skin patchworked with interface scars. "It's real. And it's hungry."
Kein ignored the noise, pocketed the solvent injector, and moved to the next stall.
This one was manned by a trio of identical twins. Triplets? They looked like clones. All wore identical goggles and had the same tight braids.
Their shelves displayed weapon mods, scrap glyphs, and a small sign: DON'T TOUCH THE SPHERES.
One of them turned to him. "Need burst amp coils? They're fresh."
"Got any stabilizer grease?"
"High-quality. From a collapsed Titan rig."
"How much?"
"Two hundred."
Kein stared.
They shrugged in unison.
"Everything's expensive, friend. Sky's bleeding. Monsters are learning. Inflation's inevitable."
He pulled out a twisted orb of rare alloy, placed it on the table. "This is from a Class IV Aberrant. Still hot."
The leftmost twin picked it up. "Mmmm. You got grease. Deal."
As they made the exchange, the middle twin whispered, "You might want to be careful out there, Reclaimer."
He glanced up. "Why?"
"There's a signal. Something new. Unmapped. High-frequency pings from the west."
"Old world tech?"
"Or something worse."
Kein didn't respond. He took the grease and left.
As he moved, the cube on his chest pulsed.
> [Class Progression Threshold: 97%]
[Energy Sync: High. System Recalibration Approaching.]
[Note: Class Evolution Detected. Awaiting Energy Core Saturation.]
He slowed.
Six years. And finally, he was close.
He thumbed the cube's surface, and it opened into a thin ribbon of light. Data streamed across his eyes—combat efficiency logs, core usage, memory thresholds.
A subtle line blinked at the bottom:
> [Reclaimer Variant Detected: "Gravecode Architect." Confirmation Pending.]
"What the hell is a Gravecode Architect?" he muttered.
The cube didn't respond. It never did until it chose to.
He passed a music vendor blaring an old synth track. A woman danced barefoot on a hoverpad, and a crowd gathered, clapping. A dog with three cybernetic legs barked in rhythm.
At another stall, someone shouted, "Half-off if you don't ask where it came from!"
The merchant waved what looked suspiciously like a still-dripping alien tooth. The customer nodded.
Kein arrived at a booth selling trap nodes.
"Looking to cripple something big?" asked the vendor, a lizard-faced man with multiple piercings.
"Maybe. Got multi-delay arc webs?"
"Sure, but they're unstable."
"Everything is."
They bartered in silence. A child tried to pick Kein's pocket. The cube emitted a shock pulse and the kid yelped, scampering away.
From the sky, the sun shimmered—just briefly—as if something passed across the false dome.
People looked up.
> [System Alert: Minor Atmospheric Fold Detected.]
[No Evacuation Necessary. Remain in Cover Zones.]
Kein didn't flinch.
He completed his purchase, nodded once to the vendor, and started back toward his room in the lower levels.
He didn't notice the hooded figure watching him from a nearby balcony.
Or the way the cube, just for a moment, flickered with a glyph he'd never seen before.
---
Kein returned to the outer plaza. His bag was full—supplies, mod parts, three ration packs, and a stabilizer node.
Later, in the quiet of his room—little more than a steel box with a reinforced bed and a flickering ceiling panel—Kein sat cross-legged, cube in hand. He retrieved the stabilizer node from his pouch.
"Let's see what you do," he whispered.
The cube opened.
He pressed the node into its core. The stabilizer locked in place, a faint hum vibrating the room.
> [System Input Detected. Sync In Progress. Core Interface Expanding…]
The cube hovered in front of him, spinning slowly.
97%.
He could feel the change coming.
He leaned back, listening to the murmur of voices and the thrum of generators beneath the market floor.
His eyes widened as cascading glyphs swirled outward in a ring. A deep tone echoed in his ears.
Kein slowly collapsed backward onto the bed, the cube slowly dimming beside him.
> [System Cooldown: Initiated. Estimated Duration: 17 Hours.]
[Do Not Disturb Process. Neural Integration In Progress.]
He didn't hear it. He was already unconscious, breathing slow and steady, fingers twitching with the edge of change.
...