Under the fading drips of rain, a murky fog began to settle in as the heat within the soil gently rose to meet the gentle breeze brought forth by the passing rain.
As the temperature shifted, it did little to aid Rust's injured leg as he slowly strode alongside Scrap.
With a hefty dose of worry plastered all over his face, Rust couldn't help but gaze upon the covered sky as the city up top towered over the junkyard below.
The city of angels, one may believe, if that person was crazy or dumb. Those above were as red as the devils down here; the difference was they preferred to leave the dirty work to others.
Along the city lines above, six massive pillars descended toward the junkyard below in order to sustain the city up top and keep the underbelly hidden from the light.
"Hey Rust, ever wondered how things are above?"
Scrap's question was a universal query for those who lived in the junkyard. Very few people got the chance to see the city of light. The rule was that it was more likely for one up top to be thrown in here than for one from below to reach the top.
"Don't know. I've been born and lived here all my life; I'm afraid."
The bitterness of his tone was clear for all to see. Every ounce of indignation down in the junkyard originated from a simple question: "Why?"
As things stood, Rust himself had long accepted his lot in life, but even an old-timer like him felt bitter at the giant structure that towered over them, reminding those below of the natural divide brought forth by the chance of birth.
All their efforts were worthless in the long run. The top controlled the flow of goods down here, which mainly consisted of refined goods and food, even if rarely fresh, mostly canned with fists full of additives and artificial flavors. What did the junkyard give in return?
Two things mostly: being a dumping ground for refuse, they specialized in material extraction and recycling. Nothing down here remained whole. Once it hit the lower level, every object was stripped clean by the vultures down here, metals refined into bars of raw material, wood refurbished and used in local constructions, and computer chips salvaged and reintegrated into improvised working stations.
The second thing the junkyard offered was specialized malice. Rust laughed a little at his remark, yet given his own history, the six pillars that held the city up top were the dividers between factions down in the junkyard. Each group was an organization that focused on different things: from assassinations, espionage, hacking, trafficking, weaponry, to Rust's sector, which focused on military force or mercenary groups used in different wars, be it down here or up there.
At a steady pace, both of them were approaching their destination, the Sixth Pillars Fortress, also known as the 'Devil's Coldreane.'
The night promised to be an eventful one, as the front entrance came into view.