Ian didn't stay to mourn his ruined room. In the Silt District, a dead body—or a deleted one—attracted unwanted scavengers.
He threw on a tattered trench coat, hiding the faint blue glow still pulsing in his veins. Outside, the "Rust Rain" was falling. It was a corrosive, orange drizzle that hissed against the metal roofs of the slums.
[ STATUS: Mental Stability 68%. WARNING: Reality Dissociation imminent. ]
He needed a "Reality Anchor," something to stabilize his mind in this chaotic world. He navigated through the labyrinthine alleys, stepping over sleeping "Rodent Believers" and avoiding the steam-powered street lamps that flickered like dying stars.
He stopped at a pile of junk behind a derelict workshop—the "Mechanical Abbey." The monks here worshipped gears, but to Ian, they were just hoarding trash.
Suddenly, his Data Vision pinged. A faint, golden outline appeared amidst a pile of rusted pipes.
Ian knelt and dug through the grime. His fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. He pulled out a rectangular metal plate. It was surprisingly light, made of a composite material that shouldn't exist in this era of steam and coal.
Wiping away the grease, a logo emerged: [ UEF - 07: Bio-Logic Division ].
Ian's heart skipped a beat. This was the logo of the 7th Research Institute of the United Earth Federation. His former employer.
"So, the Federation didn't just die," Ian whispered, his eyes narrowing. "It landed here. And someone is using its corpse to build a nightmare."
A shadow fell over him.
"Interesting find, traveler," a voice boomed. A man with a brass pressure gauge embedded in his forehead stood there, holding a steam-powered rifle. "That 'God-Bone' belongs to the Abbey. Unless... you have something better to trade?"
Ian stood up, clutching the plate. He felt the silver coin in his pocket—the one left by the killer. The Eye of Tears.
The game was no longer about survival. It was an audit.