Junk-Town was not a city built by architects; it was a city vomited by industry.
It clung to the steep, rocky walls of the Great Canyon like a fungus. Thousands of rusted shipping containers were welded together in towering, precarious stacks. Neon signs, scavenged from the trash of the inner rings, flickered in sickly pinks and greens, casting long, twitching shadows over the muddy streets.
Steam hissed from burst pipes, mixing with the smell of fried synthetic meat and stagnant oil. It was a place where people didn't live; they rusted.
Zeno pulled the collar of his patchwork coat up as he navigated the crowded market alley.
He kept his head down. In Junk-Town, making eye contact was an invitation for a fight or a sales pitch you couldn't refuse.
To his left, a man with a mechanical jaw was selling "fresh" water that looked suspiciously brown.
To his right, a group of scavengers were betting on a fight between two robo-rats.
Zeno's hand stayed tight on his bag. The Aether Core inside felt heavy against his hip, like a hot coal.
He wasn't here to browse. He was heading to "The Pit".
The Pit was a bar built inside the hollowed-out turbine of a crashed airship. It was the office of Garp, the only Fence (black market dealer) in Ring 9 who wouldn't stab you in the back immediately. He'd wait until you turned around first.
Zeno pushed through the heavy iron doors.
The noise of the market was instantly cut off, replaced by the low hum of a ventilation fan and the scratchy sound of jazz playing from an ancient vinyl record. The air inside was thick with cigar smoke.
"Well, look what the smog dragged in," a gravelly voice rumbled from behind the counter.
Garp was a massive man, wide as a vending machine. He had no legs; his torso was welded onto a mechanical spider-walker chair that hissed every time he moved. He was wiping a dirty glass with an even dirtier rag.
"I have something, Garp," Zeno said, sliding onto a stool. He kept his voice low.
"Everyone has something, kid. Usually, it's garbage." Garp didn't look up. "If it's another bag of copper wire, get out."
Zeno reached into his bag. He didn't take the object out. He just opened the flap enough for the blue glow to spill out.
For a second, the dim bar seemed to brighten. The eerie blue light illuminated the scars on Garp's face.
The wiping stopped. The jazz seemed to fade into the background.
"Is that..." Garp whispered, his eyes widening. He leaned over the counter, the servos in his chair whining. "A Pre-War Core?"
"Blue grade," Zeno confirmed, closing the bag quickly. "Liquid state. Still active."
Garp whistled, a low, impressed sound. "That's not just an engine part, Zeno. That's a ticket to the Inner Rings. Where in the hell did you find a relic like that?"
"Rust Sea. Inside a Mecha-Whale."
Garp looked at Zeno with a mix of suspicion and greed. He tapped his metal fingers on the zinc counter. Clink. Clink. Clink.
"I can give you 5,000 Credits."
"It's worth 50,000," Zeno countered instantly, his gray eyes hard.
"It's worth a bullet in the brain if the Knights see it!" Garp hissed, spitting a piece of cigar on the floor. "5,000 is for the risk I'm taking just looking at it."
Zeno hesitated. He knew Garp was lowballing him, but he also knew he had no other options. He couldn't sell this on the street. He needed the money to fix his father's old bike and buy passage to the Barrier.
"10,000," Zeno said firmly. "And a full tank of clean water."
Garp grunted, scratching his greasy beard. He stared at Zeno for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. You drive a hard bargain, gutter-rat."
Garp reached under the counter to grab his cash box.
But his hand froze mid-air.
He looked at Zeno's bag again.
The blue light leaking from the fabric wasn't steady anymore.
It was pulsing.
And underneath the blue... there was a sharp, rhythmic Red flash.
Beep... Beep... Beep.
The sound was faint, but in the sudden silence of the bar, it sounded like a bomb countdown.
Garp's face went pale. He didn't grab the money. He grabbed a double-barreled shotgun taped under the counter.
"Whoa!" Zeno raised his hands, startled. "Garp, what the hell?"
"You idiot!" Garp roared, leveling the gun at Zeno's chest. "You didn't bring me loot! You brought me a Beacon!"
"A what?"
"That's a military tracker, you moron! It's transmitting a signal!"
"I didn't know!" Zeno stammered, looking at his bag with horror.
"Too late!" Garp yelled. "Get out! Take it and—"
BOOOOM.
The heavy iron doors of The Pit didn't just open. They exploded inward.
Twisted metal and debris flew across the room. Zeno was thrown off his stool, crashing hard onto the dirty floor.
Dust and smoke filled the air.
Through the haze, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Three figures emerged from the smoke, stepping over the ruined door.
They were tall, towering over ordinary men. They wore full-body armor made of polished white steel—a stark, terrifying contrast to the rust and filth of Junk-Town. Their helmets had no visors, only a single vertical slit glowing with menacing purple light.
On their chest plates was the emblem of a spiraling storm.
The Vortex Knights.
The enforcers of the Inner Rings. The monsters in the bedtime stories of Ring 9.
The leader of the squad stepped forward. In his hand, he held a long spear tipped with a buzzing chainsaw blade.
He scanned the room. His helmet turned mechanically and locked onto Zeno.
"Target Identified," the Knight's voice was amplified, synthetic and cold. "Class-A Artifact detected. Direct order: Recover the asset. Purge the witnesses."
Garp screamed, "Not in my bar, you tin cans!"
He pulled the trigger. BLAM.
The buckshot hit the Knight's chest point-blank.
It should have shredded him. Instead, a faint, hexagonal ripple of energy appeared on the armor's surface. Aether Shielding.
The bullets flattened and fell to the floor like useless coins.
The Knight didn't even flinch. He raised his spear.
"Obstruction detected."
"Run, kid!" Garp yelled, trying to reload.
Zeno didn't wait. He grabbed his bag and scrambled toward the kitchen exit.
Behind him, he heard the buzzing of the chainsaw spear revving up, followed by the sickening sound of metal tearing through metal—and flesh.
Zeno kicked the back door open and sprinted into the dark alleyway, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He had the Core. He had the money (in his dreams).
But now, he had the most dangerous army in the world on his tail.