Green neon lights flickered across the skyline. Towering buildings stretched toward the stars, their glass walls glowing with emerald currents of unknown energy. Bridges hovered in midair, cars drifted silently along magnetic streams, and deep circular hollows spiraled into the city's underbelly, swallowing light into endless darkness.
At the far north, a massive holo-poster shone brighter than the rest.
"WANTED – 1 Billion Sors."
The projection displayed the image of a girl—delicate features, sharp eyes, lips curved in defiance.
A voice boomed through the hollow streets.
"Her price is one billion sors! Who dares to claim her?"
In the depths of the neon slums, dimly lit bars and half-broken houses crouched under the shadows. Gangs crowded in filthy alleys, lustful eyes fixed on the stage at the center of a rundown square. A cage stood there, its steel glowing faintly with energy locks. Inside sat the very girl from the poster, dressed in torn outfits, glaring silently at her audience.
Men cheered, whistled, and threw bids like predators circling prey.
But at one corner, far from the noise, a single figure sat alone.
A dusty wooden table stood before him, with nothing but a chipped cup resting on it. He leaned back, half-hidden by the shadows, his face unreadable.
"Wrrk…" he muttered, blowing into the cup. Dust scattered, mixing with the neon light. "This city tastes the same as always—like rust and dirt."
A drunk man beside him slammed a hand on the table.
"Oi! Pretty girl! How much you cost? Forget a billion, I'll give you one trillion sors if you come with me tonight!"
Laughter erupted around.
The figure slowly lifted his head. His hair, messy yet soft, caught a glint of neon. His voice was calm, almost too calm.
"…I am not a girl."
The crowd hushed.
"…What did you say?" the drunk asked, blinking.
The figure smirked.
"I am a boy. And my name is—"