A month passed. I was still living in the junkyard, my body still as thin and fragile as that first day. But the bottles I collected, the ones filled with what I could only call nutrient liquid, had kept me alive. And in that month, I discovered their secret.
Once a week, without fail, a transport ship appeared in the sky. It would hover over the deepest part of the junkyard and release a storm of bottles, jars, and containers, tumbling like rain into the heaps. That was when I realized: these were discarded leftovers, waste from somewhere far above. Trash to them, treasure to us.
In a month, I had gathered nearly four hundred bottles. I no longer rationed myself to one bottle per meal. Now I could drink three at a time, enough to silence the hunger and steady my hands. My body was still small, still weak, but I finally had the strength to work.
From the pile of scraps I had hoarded, I cobbled together a strange contraption. It was ugly, uneven, and closer to a creature than a machine. One wheel was larger than the other, the handlebars were bent iron wrapped in scraps of paper, but it rolled. A crooked bicycle of my own making.
By then, I had grown used to the old man who had once called me a rat. We spoke from time to time. He told me that if I wanted more than liquid bottles, I could take my repaired scraps to the nearest village and trade them for money. One day, I finally asked for directions, climbed onto my misshapen bike, and pushed east.
I do not know how long I rode, only that when the village finally appeared, I understood how crude my junkyard shelter truly was. Here were shops. Here was even a school. The air smelled less of rust and more of bread.
I rode through streets and alleys, wide-eyed at the strange life of the village. Among the shops, one caught my attention more than any other. Its window displayed two exquisite frames, machines, tall and gleaming, posed as though ready for battle. A weapon-and-mechanics store.
I stopped my crooked bicycle and stared, entranced. Something stirred in me, perhaps the shadow of knowledge from another life. My eyes traced the joints, the metal plating, the balance of each frame. The craftsmanship looked dazzling at first, but the longer I studied, the more flaws revealed themselves. The joints were misaligned, the materials too brittle, the structure more decorative than practical. These machines might look fierce under the lantern light, but in real battle, they would crumble.
I drew in a quiet breath, shook my head, and pushed open the door, my bundle of repaired scraps clutched to my chest. Inside, the shop smelled of oil and iron. I placed my repaired scraps on the counter, and the shopkeeper turned them in his hands, brows lifting in surprise.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"I found it," I said simply.
He narrowed his eyes. "Found? These pieces are worth money. No one just throws them away. You didn't steal this, did you?"
I shook my head. "Just picked them up."
When he learned I came from the junkyard, his suspicion eased. With a grunt, he said, "Then you have some luck. I'll give you something for this."
But his payment was not coins. He pulled out a barrel-shaped container, then asked me, "Do you have a card?"
"A… card?" I repeated, blank.
"A storage card," he explained, "where money is kept. We don't use coins here. Only credits."
I must have looked lost, because he sighed and said, "Fine. I'll help you. For these parts, I'll pay you five hundred credits. The cheapest card costs one hundred. I'll take you to buy one, and you'll have four hundred left."
I followed him, still dazed, to another shop where he bought me the simplest storage card—plain, without any functions but holding money. He showed me how to use it, and for the first time since waking in this world, I held wealth that was mine.
Four hundred credits. My first money.
I did not spend it. The liquid bottles I had were enough to keep me alive, and hunger no longer drove me mad. So I kept the card safe, mounted my crooked bicycle, and rode back through the wastes toward the junkyard.
The world was larger than I thought, and for the first time, I felt its weight shift in my hands.