Angus stepped out of the rusted elevator.
The metal doors groaned as they clamped shut behind him, echoing down the alley like a dying breath.
He moved forward, boots crunching over broken crates and crumpled cans. The stench of rot and old oil hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sour smell of rain that had nowhere to go.
At the alley's edge, hover cars zipped past, their engines whining — sharp, electric shrieks that cut through the noise like glass breaking underwater.
Angus took one last drag from his cigarette.
Held it.
Then exhaled slow, letting the smoke drift between his teeth.
He flicked the butt toward a puddle beside a sagging trash bag — it hissed on impact, then went dark.
Gone.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Neon lights bled across the skyline, casting the city in fractured color — pinks, blues, and sickly greens danced over cracked concrete and rusted steel like bruises blooming on skin.
A sign buzzed above him:
"New Ramen Shop — Open Now."
He saw it. Let it flicker in his vision.
Then shoved the thought aside.
His mind reached for something — anything — to hold on to.
But he did what he always did:
Pushed it back down.
The sidewalk beyond was chaos. Crowds surged like floodwater, faces blank, eyes dead. Everyone moved, but no one looked. No one felt. Just another day in the underbelly of the Yen Region.
Hover cars screamed overhead, their repulsors crackling — high-pitched whines that reminded him of a lightbulb about to burst.
Angus kept his head down. Shoulders hunched.
Hands buried in his coat pockets.
Fade into the crowd.
That was the trick. Become no one.
He pushed through the sea of bodies until the city seemed to open — and there it was.
The Tōji Gate.
Massive red pillars towered in front of him, stretching nearly a hundred feet wide. The ancient structure loomed like a god left behind by time, casting long shadows across the stone path beneath it.
Angus paused beneath it, breath slow.
He lifted his head — just for a moment.
The journey ahead stretched like a fogged window. He couldn't see through it.
I don't even know where to start.
Frustration tightened in his chest.
Even if I did… I'd need a ride.
Just then, a blur streaked past.
Three hover bikes.
They roared by like phantoms — sleek machines, dark chrome flashing under the lights. Each rider was lizard-like, their jagged green scales catching the glow of passing signs. One had a short, twitching tail. Another, long and whip-like. The third? A tail that ended in a jagged spike, dragging sparks when it hit the pavement.
The trio didn't slow.
They veered hard and disappeared into a crooked building just down the road.
A rusted neon sign flickered above its door:
Liz's Bounty Hunting.
The lights blinked once.
Then again.
Then held.
Angus stared at the sign, lips tightening, gears already turning.
Angus eyed the row of hover bikes parked carelessly near the alley's mouth.
"Wouldn't be so bad if I just took one," he muttered, bitterness thick in his voice. "I mean… they did try to kidnap Sakura."
He hesitated.
"But should I? I mean… stealing's stealing. Doesn't matter who it is."
His foot tapped nervously against the cracked sidewalk. "Maybe I'll just walk."
Then —
A voice.
Barely a whisper in his ear:
"Do it."
Angus snapped his head around.
"Huh?" he breathed. "What was that?"
Nothing but the hum of a hover car fading into the distance.
Still, something coiled inside him. A thought that wasn't quite his. Like an itch at the base of the brain — the kind you can't reach, no matter how hard you try.
The urge crawled through him, digging deeper.
Take the bike. Get to Merc faster. Don't waste time.
The itch became unbearable.
He gave in.
Marching to the nearest bike, he crouched beside it and whispered, "Thanks, Dad," kissing two fingers and pointing toward the ceiling above — whatever god might be watching.
He jammed his hands into the control panel, fingers prying open compartments.
Sparks flew as he twisted and connected the wires.
One surge of light — and the bike lifted from the ground, humming with life.
Yes.
He swung his leg over and gripped the handles.
But before he could throttle—
The door to the bounty hunter building creaked open.
Three figures stepped out. Scaly. Reptilian.
The same lizards who had tried to take Sakura.
The same ones who owned the bike.
Angus's eyes widened.
Rev. GO.
The engine screamed as he rocketed forward, the bike bursting through the alleyway. He didn't hear any shouts — maybe they hadn't seen him. Maybe he'd gotten lucky.
Buildings blurred past, neon lights smearing into streaks of color. The Center of Dera Final came into full view — if you could even call it that.
This place wasn't a district. It was a wound.
No culture. No glory. Just a festering sprawl of homelessness, gangs, and abandoned tech.
No fancy name. Just "The Center."
Here, buildings leaned against each other like dying men. Stacked endlessly, pressed so tight it made the Yen Region feel like open plains.
The roads — if you could call them that — were just alleyways stretched thin.
Some structures were even bolted to the ceiling of Level One, hanging upside down like tumors of civilization.
Angus kept his head low and gunned the bike forward, the stolen engine humming beneath him. His back ached from hours of riding. Crossing a spaceship the size of a moon wasn't exactly quick business, even with a fast hover bike — but at least it was better than walking.
The gas meter blinked red. Low.
Figures. Still, he was close.
The narrow corridors began to open up. The chaotic tangle of the center gave way to towering pillars of synthetic marble, engraved with elegant slits like ceremonial carvings.
Between the pillars stretched a massive staircase, climbing up into the sky. There was no other path—no elevator, no hover pad, no welcome ramp. Just stone steps, wide and ancient-looking, waiting like a test.
Angus groaned.
He coasted into a narrow alley nearby and found a sheet of warped scrap metal leaning against the wall. Good enough. He shut the bike off and rolled it behind the metal, out of sight.
"Hopefully no one finds it. But hey—stole it anyway."
He smirked, then added under his breath, "Thanks again, Dad."
With a sigh, he turned back toward the stairs and started climbing.
"It's 3048," he muttered. "And we still don't have a damn escalator?"
The steps went on forever. By the halfway point, his breath was ragged, and sweat clung to his brow. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the stairs were draining his strength just to prove a point.
At last—the top.
Angus dragged himself over the final step and looked up.
The Merc Region.
Light burst across the horizon—giant simulated torches mounted on high posts, blazing with artificial flame. They lined the marble walkway like guardians, flickering orange and gold against the pale white buildings beyond.
Everything here was made of the same synthetic marble—clean, grand, intimidating. Unlike the stacked chaos of the Yen region, these structures breathed. There was space between every building. Air. Intentional silence.
Patches of artificial grass framed the path—perfectly trimmed, vividly green, too flawless to be real. Even the air felt fresher up here, like it had been filtered before touching your lungs.
And then, in the distance:
A massive waterfall.
The water shimmered as it fell from a towering sculpture, crashing into a crystal basin below. Around it, a bustling market thrived—metal booths and tarps, clashing hard with the clean marble of the city. The shops looked temporary, almost rebellious. Loud voices echoed through the square, bartering, laughing, shouting. This was where real life cracked through the facade.
He walked down the wide path, noticing something odd—no vehicles, no traffic. Just people. Everyone moved on foot, smiling in a way that felt... off. Like their faces were painted on. He'd never seen this many happy people at once, and none of it felt real.
Up ahead, two guards stepped into his path, blocking his view of the city beyond. They wore flowing white garments over carbon-fiber armor, and holstered sleek weapons at their sides. Their skin glistened with moisture, gills running down their cheeks. Bare, webbed feet slapped against the polished stone as they moved into position.
"Sir," one said flatly. "You are not allowed past this point without a building contract."
"Huh? A building contract?" Angus blinked. "You mean... I need to buy a house just to walk in?"
"Yes," the other replied. "It is the only way through."
He leaned, trying to look past them, but the guards mirrored his movements, constantly blocking his line of sight.
"Alright," he muttered. "So how much does a contract cost?"
"Nineteen thousand credits minimum. One thousand per month after that."
"What? I'm not paying that."
"Then get out."
Before he could argue, the guards grabbed him effortlessly and marched him back down the long marble stairs, setting him roughly at the bottom.
'What the hell?' he thought bitterly, brushing off his coat. 'A fee just to exist in a place? I'm not buying a house—I just want to look around.'
As he stewed at the base of the staircase, a voice called from a few steps away. A man sat off to the side, draped in ragged white garments that looked like a dirty version of the guards' uniforms. His features were sharp and slender, cheekbones high beneath dirt-streaked skin. Long, pointed ears poked through matted strands of blonde hair, and though his beard was patchy and unkempt, his eyes held a strange, haunting clarity—like someone who had once belonged here, before the city spit him out.
"Hey," the man rasped. "Did they kick you out too?"
Angus sighed. "Didn't even get in. I asked what the contract was, they told me the price, and I said I wasn't paying that kind of crap. Next thing I know, I'm being carried out like I threatened someone.
" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Didn't yell, didn't start anything. Just said I wasn't interested—and boom, tossed like garbage."
The man chuckled. "Yeah... I used to live in there. They showed me this 'beautiful home' and all that marble crap..."
His smile faded.
"Then they dragged me past those white pillars, back behind the glitz. That's where the real houses are. Bare metal walls. No grass, no windows. Just hot air and buzzing lights. Felt more like a cage than a home."
Angus stared. "Wait—so the marble, the space, the waterfalls—it's all fake?"
"Fake as hell," the man muttered. "The contract locks you in. Miss a payment? You're out. Want to leave? Doesn't matter—they take away your building rights. I can't sign a contract now even if I wanted to. I'm blacklisted. Homeless forever."
Angus sat beside him on the stone. "Sounds like hell disguised as heaven."
The man just let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"Yeah… that's the lower merc region for you. All dressed up in marble to hide the rot underneath."
He shook his head. "Just a bunch of high-up scum scamming the rest of us—sucking people dry."
The words sit heavy with Angus. He feels a deep ache—for the man behind the wall, for the others trapped in contracts they can't escape without sacrificing everything.
"Why is the world like this?" he thinks. "I've never done anything to change it. I've spent my life feeling sorry for myself because I'm the last human... because I was discriminated against. But that doesn't mean I can't do something now."
Angus stares off into the distance, watching the chaos ripple through the Center. His gaze begins to blur. The once neon-lit cityscape dims, overcast by a shadow that slowly creeps over his vision.
Then—darkness.
A memory floods in. He's a child again, standing in a cold, dimly lit chamber. The first step of the Labeling Ritual.
A massive circle is drawn on the ground in blood—his blood. In its center, a smaller circle waits for him. At the cardinal points—north, south, east, and west—four candles flicker softly, casting long shadows.
Two silent men in white cloaks guide him forward. Their garments are seamless, featureless—no eye holes, no skin exposed. A large golden circle marks their chests, a symbol of divine authority.
They wave their hands in a slow circular motion over him, then exit the room without a word. Faint chanting echoes from beyond the golden doors.
Minutes pass in silence.
Then, glowing yellow letters emerge on the wall in front of him:
"Angus"
And beneath it:
"One Strength"
The doors open again. The two robed men re-enter. One gestures for Angus to rise.
As he stands, his heart lifts—his parents are there, smiling from afar. His mother and father look proud, joyful.
But then—
Without warning, the men draw hidden blades: silver and gold, twisted like spiraled fangs. They rush past Angus toward his parents.
The blades plunge into their stomachs.
Angus is frozen. Blood splashes across his face. His parents collapse. Their smiles fade. His legs give out as horror roots him to the ground.
The city fades back in.
Angus snaps out of the trance, heart pounding, eyes wide. The chaos of the Center swirls around him again, but now something inside him has shifted.
"I know what I must do. I can't sit here and feel sorry for myself anymore. I have to uncover my abilities. I have to find the ones who killed my parents. I can't let this world rot in cruelty and injustice. I must rise—I must fight back."