"Grrr... Grrr..."
It was the only sound in the room.
A boy lay sprawled on the floor with his feet resting on the sofa, one arm over his eyes, the cold from the ground seeping into his back. In the end, what dragged him out of sleep was not light, some noise from outside.
It was his own empty stomach.
He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the cracked ceiling and exhaled.
'Hungry again.'
Sleeping helped. Hunger felt farther away that way, which was reason enough to do it whenever he could.
He pushed himself up and crossed to the fridge by the wall. The thing looked old enough to die out of spite. He opened it anyway.
Empty.
"Argh."
He had known it would be. It's not like food can just respawn out of nowhere.
'But I wish it could.'
Cold walls, dust in the corners, and a broken window that never shut properly.
'I need to see the old man. He might have some kind of job for me.'
He was wearing only a pair of pants and a necklace at his chest, the ring cold against his skin. His fingers brushed it on instinct before he crossed to the chair by the wall and pulled on the first clothes he found. Shirt. Socks. Boots worn enough for the cold to slip through anyway.
Before leaving, his fingers touched the ring once more.
His mother had left him almost nothing. This was one of the only things that remained, and the only one that was important. Even if someone offered him good money for it, he would not sell it. Not after what she had said.
'One day, it will change your life. She always said. Stupid me still believe in those words.'
Maybe that had only been something mothers said to make old things sound less useless. Maybe not. He kept it anyway.
Then he climbed out through the broken window and dropped lightly to the ground outside.
"Shit, it's cold."
Then, after a beat:
'Not like it was any warmer inside.'
He walked with his hands in his pockets, using dark windows and broken glass to check behind him. One reflection caught enough of him for a glance. White hair. Pale yellow eyes. Lean and wiry, built more by bad living and constant movement than training.
A Zone 0 was the kind of place where people ended up when life had already chewed through most of what they had. Failed awakeners or trash classes. People born low and staying there. And when a Breach opened in the wrong street, that only made everything worse. Death could crawl out of those things and half the district would disappear before anyone important showed up to care.
He clicked his tongue softly.
'Been a while since one opened around here.'
He kept walking.
The old man's place stood a little apart from the rest of Zone 0, close enough to reach on foot, far enough that most people could pretend they were not really there. The forest lay off to one side, the mountain rising behind it like something waiting in the dark. He never went near either one. He had enough sense for that. Soul Beasts did not care whether someone was hungry, desperate, or sixteen tomorrow.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Warmth did not exactly welcome him, but it was better than the street. The place was small, half tavern and half whatever the old man needed it to be on a given day. A few tables and chairs. Old wood that had been cleaned more times than it had ever been replaced. Behind the counter sat the old man himself on his usual stool, short enough that he looked even smaller behind the bar, with the same four stubborn hairs still clinging to his head like they had signed a contract with fate.
The boy shut the door behind him. "Morning, Kneehead!"
The old man looked up and clicked his tongue at once. "Neo, one day you'll learn respect for your elders. And one day you'll stop making fun of the most precious thing a man has."
Neo lifted both hands in mock surrender. "You're right. That was cruel. I crossed a line there."
"You always do, you little dickhead."
That was how it usually went. A few words thrown one way, a few thrown back, neither of them meaning enough bite to count. There were not many people in Zone 0 Neo could speak to like that. The old man was one of the only ones.
The old man's eyes dropped to the ring hanging from Neo's necklace. "You know, if you sold that thing, you could probably get a fair amount of Creds for it."
Neo snorted. "You say that every time."
"And every time I'm still right, so what do you say?"
"It's not for sale." Neo stepped closer and rested one arm on the counter. "You know it's the last thing my mother left me. She said it would change my life one day."
The old man made a dry sound under his breath. "Mothers say a lot of things."
"Mine was right more than most."
The old man studied him for a moment, then said, "Tomorrow's the day, isn't it. If you're lucky, you might actually get out of this shithole."
"True, but…" Neo's stomach chose that moment to remind both of them why he was there. He looked down, then back at the old man. "I need food now, tomorrow doesn't help me eat today. Come on, baldy. Give me something. Pretty please."
The old man clicked his tongue harder, though there was no real heat behind it. "You're a shameless brat."
"That's why you like me."
"I tolerate you, those are two very different things."
"That's close enough, no?"
The old man bent down, searched beneath the counter, and came back up with a folded note. He tossed it across. Neo caught it and opened it at once.
Courier work.
He read the rest and looked up. "Seriously? This place? You trying to get me killed?"
"It's the safest thing I've got for you." The old man's voice had turned flatter now. "I'm not sending you anywhere worse when your Resonance is tomorrow. Take the box from the storage, bring it where the note says, get paid, and come back alive."
Neo read the note once more, then folded it shut. Courier work meant low-rank Soul Cores, middlemen, and people cheap enough to try something stupid if they thought they could. Nothing unusual there.
"Fine," he said. "I'll do it."
The old man's eyes stayed on him another second. "Be careful kiddo."
Neo was already turning away. He lifted one hand without looking back and headed for the door with the note tucked into his pocket.
That was enough talking. He had work now.
The side storage room was little more than a narrow shed with a warped wooden door. The key was where the old man always left it, tucked beneath a cracked flower pot nobody had bothered throwing away. Inside, the crate waited exactly where the note said it would.
Neo crouched, checked the weight, ran his fingers along the edges, then lifted it.
Low-grade Soul Cores. People with money bought them in bulk for training, experiments, cheap artifacts, or whatever other nonsense rich people did when they had too much of it. For people like Neo, they were just another thing moved from one greedy hand to another.
'Courier work. Which usually means someone else decided the pay wasn't worth the risk.'
That was the part no one said out loud.
The route itself was enough to annoy him. Poor district to poor district, the kind of place where every look stayed a little too long and questions were treated like disease. Neo kept walking with the crate in his arms in a steady pace, eyes moving without seeming to.
At one corner, two men stood near a wall pretending to look casual and failing at it. One smoked. The other kept scratching at his jaw. Their clothes were worn enough to blend in, but their boots were better than the rest of the street deserved.
Neo did not look at them directly.
He just changed route.
The shortcut between two buildings would have boxed him in with both arms occupied.
'Anyone who rushes for two minutes in this place deserves what they lose.'
By the time he reached the place, he was already sure the job had teeth.
The door was on the second floor, just like the note said. Three knocks. Two seconds between each one.
A lock turned. The door opened.
Five men. One at the door, others inside, and the shape of the room behind them arranged badly enough that nobody was trying very hard to look honest.
One of them looked him over and said, "You're late."
Neo did not blink. "No, I'm not. I'm exactly on time."
The man's mouth tightened a little. "Fine. Bring it in."
Neo stayed where he was.
"Payment first."
The room behind the man shifted. Another figure moved deeper inside. Then another. Neo did not need more than that. Cheap men always imagined numbers that made them look impressive.
The one at the door let out a short breath. "You're a courier, kid. You hand over the crate, I check it, then you get paid."
"That's not what the note says."
The man's expression cooled. "And what if I say one of the cores is damaged?"
"Then I say that sounds like your problem."
Silence stretched for a beat.
Neo held the box where it was and waited.
"Payment first," he said again.
The man took half a step forward, just enough to test him. "You're awfully confident for a starving brat carrying scraps."
Neo turned his head slightly, eyes on him now.
"And you're awfully cheap for someone buying Soul Cores by the crate."
Something flickered in the room after that. Neo pressed before either could settle.
"You stalled too long," he said, voice easy. "Your men were outside before I got here. If you wanted this to look less pathetic, you should've told them to act natural."
One of the men farther in frowned. "Who would care what some kid says?"
"Enough people." Neo shifted the box a little under his arm. "Especially if I tell them you tried to pull this over low-rank cores. Half the district hears you open with a scam, and suddenly every other deal starts costing you more."
The thin man at the front stared at him for a moment, then clicked his tongue and reached into his coat. He pulled out a fold of worn bills and slapped them into Neo's free hand.
"There. Hundred Creds for the Soul Cores." His jaw stayed tight. Then he added five more. "And the extra five for wasting your precious time."
Neo counted once.
One hundred and five.
He gave a small nod, stepped forward just enough to set the crate inside the doorway, then straightened again.
"See?" he said. "Not that hard. Reputation is important in places like this."
The man opened the box and checked the contents with practiced fingers. When he looked back up, there was something uglier in his face now, but also a little respect.
"You're smarter than you look."
"I get that a lot."
Neo turned and started down the stairs.
"What's your name?" the man called after him.
Neo lifted one hand without looking back. "Not tellin'. But if you need another delivery, ask the old man for someone dumber next time."
By the time he was a few streets away, his hand had already slipped into his pocket again, fingers touching the folded money there just to make sure it was real.
One hundred and five Creds.
'So what. A few meals and then back to this again?'
That was the part he hated. Not the work or even the people. It was having to measure his life in scraps so small they barely felt real. A few days here. A bad week there. Another errand. Another box. Another handful of coins to stop himself from dropping dead.
Neo kept walking.
'I'm not staying like this forever.' The thought settled cold and firm. He had no intention of living the rest of his life carrying other people's garbage for men who thought hunger made obedience free.
By the time the old man's place came back into view, he had already smoothed the irritation off his face.
Then he stopped.
Something was wrong.
The building looked the same. The air didn't.
A smell drifted faintly from inside.
Blood.