The young man fell silent for a moment, at a loss for words, then decided to change the subject.
"So, your friend's just going to keep treating me like a punching bag? Isn't there another way to get the implants back to normal?"
*As if I'm going to keep putting up with this in my own head!* Siren fumed at the archive guardian's decision, but he couldn't just sit idly by either.
"I'll tell her to go easier on you, but for now, this is the only option we have. It'll take some time to repair the hardware, and until then, you'd better not do anything reckless." The hologram flickered and began to fade. "Oh, and before I forget—don't use the ether until I finish the repairs and final calibration!"
The guardian's figure dissolved completely into pixels, leaving him lost in thought.
After some time, Siren felt a strange itch below his abdomen. Thin wisps of black smoke began to rise from his skin. He could see it with his own eyes as an odd sensation crawled beneath his flesh.
*This is what she calls repairs? Well, at least now I'm sure this isn't some figment of my sick imagination or a body-snatching invader from another dimension.* He smirked, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling.
At that moment, he sensed someone's gaze. Across from him, in the far corner, sat a woman with crystalline growths on her face.
Her single eye reflected the dim light, glinting with a greenish hue. Her wrinkled, filthy skin was dry. The coarse fabric barely covered her tattered body. The crystalline growths sparkled, emitting a creeping ether mist that poisoned the air around her. Perhaps that's why she was so heavily chained and seated apart from the others.
The woman was blind, emaciated, and disfigured by disease. Looking away, Siren felt a faint tremor in his heart at the sight. He couldn't tell if she was mentally alive or if the ether in her body was merely animating her flesh.
*Can I say this is the fate awaiting me and others suffering from the disease?*
Siren had often seen people disfigured by sclerocyst taken from the mines by overseers before they lost their minds and became monsters. Their bodies were dragged out and burned alive in the open. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the poor souls wailed in agony.
It was believed that only this could stop the infection and prevent further ether poisoning. Once life left the body, the contagion would immediately seek a new host.
But not everyone saw the infection as a curse. He'd seen some in the camp selling crystallized bones, harvested right after the victims were burned to ashes.
Bones encrusted with crystals were as much an energy source as those mined from the earth.
It was a cruel but highly profitable business. Perhaps such "products" were another source of income for his former masters.
Soon, the truck began to slow. The loud roar of engines and exhaust quieted until it stopped entirely. Apparently, they had reached their destination—wherever that was.
The container doors creaked open, forcing the people inside to squint against the unfamiliar light. The sleeping guard woke, shook off his drowsiness, and stood. Moving past Siren, he began unchaining the captives from the railings, leading them out one by one.
"Get up and move!" he barked, striking the container's frame a couple of times, herding them like cattle.
Still bound by a single chain, the captives shuffled awkwardly on numb legs, stepping outside.
Under the scorching sun, they stepped onto searing asphalt that burned their feet. A dozen massive trucks with trailers stood quietly along a brick building. The air reeked of diesel and smoke, and high fences blocked the view, but even so, Siren could see tall concrete buildings on the horizon. The city sprawled beneath a blazing disc of light, glinting off metallic frameworks.
Siren held his breath. He had never seen such a massive city before. Towering buildings stood like the walls of an impregnable fortress, guarding majestic beacon towers. These absorbed vast streams of ether, filtering the air in their territory. Lush greenery peeked from balconies, blooming like scattered clouds. Feeling an itch across his body, he stared at the tiny black wisps of poisonous smoke seeping from his pores. They dissipated a few centimeters away, absorbed by the city's purification. The city itself was a massive dome, filtering vast oceans of energy, making infection nearly impossible for its residents.
Soon, other chained captives emerged from the other containers, just like him.
Among them, Siren, with his lean build and smooth skin, looked relatively presentable.
Last to exit, clinging to her chains, was the blind woman. Her single blind eye stared blankly in one direction, while half her face was covered in crystalline growths. She stumbled over the high edge of the door, knocking down the man in front of her. Without a word, he moved aside, his chains clinking. Though they were in the same boat, everyone had their own burdens.
"Move, you bitch!" the guard shouted, striking the woman's back with his baton. She fell again, unable to keep her balance. Her frail body was too unsteady, and her blindness made it worse. Yet she didn't utter a sound, not even a whimper, as if she had long since lost herself and was driven by another's will.
Siren turned away, following the prisoner ahead of him. His body still ached, and the itching constrained him as much as the chains. He didn't resist or even consider escaping. Hope for a normal life had long since left his heart.
Even if he escaped now, an agonizing death would inevitably follow. Not to mention, the dead ether in his body would make him a target in any society.
Looking around, he realized he wasn't alone in these thoughts. The prisoners stared wide-eyed at the sprawling city. To Siren's surprise, he recognized some familiar faces—people who had worked with him in the mines. Their hunched backs and pale, scarred skin bore the marks of endless toil underground.
*Could it be that the survivors were caught again and dragged here?*
Siren had suspected there were survivors after the mine collapse, but he couldn't imagine their fates.
At that moment, the guards led them into the building. The chains clinked, and the stench of unwashed bodies filled the room.
They stood there for a while until people in formal uniforms arrived through a side entrance. Some wrinkled their noses, openly complaining about the smell.
Seeing them, the guards hurried, pushing the prisoners into lines.
From their behavior and the newcomers' undisguised arrogance, Siren realized a "trade" was happening. They had been captured to be sold to these people.
The prisoners were sorted and evaluated like merchandise, divided among the containers.
Most were herded into one group and taken away to an unknown destination, while a few were held back in a separate container.
Soon, it was Siren's turn. He was roughly shoved forward and placed before a lanky man with a bionic eye prosthesis that scanned him like a piece of meat.
A broker stood nearby, grinning smugly. The deal was clearly going well. The air smelled of rust and sweat, and the chains on Siren's wrists clinked softly as he clenched his fists, suppressing helpless rage.
The appraiser examined Siren's shoulder with his prosthesis, then stripped him with faint disgust.
"Synthetic? Pretty well-made. How many bionic implants are we talking? Half the body?"
The broker faltered but quickly recovered, his face lighting up as he sensed profit.
"A rare specimen! My guys found him in the sands. Look how sturdy and resilient he is! Skin's almost seamless, muscles in top shape! Probably someone's lover before he got caught." A hint of regret crept into the broker's tone—perhaps if he'd inspected Siren more thoroughly, he could've raised the price higher.
Siren gritted his teeth, feeling anger boil within. He'd been sold like this before, but back then, they hadn't stripped him in front of a crowd. Maybe because he was a child then, but the bitterness lingered.
The appraiser, squinting, ran a hand along the seam under Siren's ribs, sending a chill down his spine.
"Hm. Old scars, but fresh implants. Who patched him up like this? Any info?"
The broker smirked, gesturing grandly.
"No clue who he is, but as merchandise, he's prime. Could sell to a collector for a fortune. Or, worst case, a clinic for a tidy sum. I'll let him go for, say, three hundred."
The appraiser sneered, almost in disgust.
"Three hundred thousand? For infected synthetics with unknown hardware? I'll give you one-fifty, and that's generous."
Siren clenched his fists. His life, his pain, his memories—all reduced to a filthy deal. He wanted to throttle the broker but only lowered his gaze, hiding his fury behind a blank expression.
The broker frowned theatrically, contorting his face.
"One-fifty? That's robbery in broad daylight! Why not just gut me?! This guy's a fine specimen—look at the craftsmanship! Flawless skin, no glitches. Two-fifty, and that's a discount."
The appraiser grinned and slapped his thigh.
"I'll give two hundred, only because I can't be bothered to haggle. But if he's defective, I'll return him in pieces."
The broker, pleased, extended his hand.
"Deal. Trust me, this one won't disappoint. Good for parts or labor."
Siren stood motionless, but inside, he trembled with humiliation. They were selling him like an object, and he could do nothing but wait for his fate to be decided.