Chapter 1
I wake to the rumble of a mag-lev train overhead and the distant hiss of neon signs powering down for dawn. My little sister Lexi is still curled against my side, her head resting on my threadbare hoodie. We spent the night tucked in a recessed doorway of an old underground station. It's not comfortable, but it's safer than out on the open streets. I gently brush a stray lock of her dark hair from her face, trying not to wake her just yet. She looks so peaceful when she's asleep, the worry lines smoothed from her thirteen-year-old brow.
My stomach growls – a sharp reminder that I gave most of yesterday's food to Lexi. I can handle hunger better; I've had more practice. Carefully, I sit up and take stock of our meager belongings: my beat-up messenger bag (stuffed with a ragged blanket, a multi-tool, a nearly empty water bottle, and Lexi's notebook of words), Lexi's small backpack with her precious plush cat clipped to it, and an old chipped handheld device I use to scout odd jobs when I find free Wi-Fi. Not much to our name, but at least we have our skin and each other.
A distant clatter echoes down the station hall – probably the automated cleaning bots starting their morning routine on the upper platforms. Time to move. If security patrols find us loitering down here, they'll chase us out or worse. Vagrancy is a crime in Mega-City-Theta, after all, unless you're under twelve. Lexi's technically safe by that rule, but they won't hesitate to drag me to a detention center for trespassing. Not that I plan to let them get that close.
I nudge Lexi's shoulder. "Hey, Lex… wake up. We gotta go." My voice is a low whisper. It's still dim in our alcove, lit by a flickering green emergency light, but I can make out her eyes fluttering open.
She yawns and sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Morning already?" she mumbles, then shivers. It's chilly this deep in the station bowels.
"Morning," I confirm softly, forcing a smile. "Did you dream anything good?"
Lexi shrugs, then grins impishly. "I dreamed we had a big apartment on the 50th floor, with one of those huge windows. You could see the sunrise, and…" Her eyes light up as she describes it, but I notice how she trails off, the fantasy slipping away. "Just a dream," she says, pulling her thin jacket tighter.
"Hey, dreams are free," I say, bumping her shoulder lightly. "And who knows, one day…?"
She gives me that look – half hopeful, half don't-lie-to-make-me-feel-better. I ruffle her hair. "C'mon, big sister, let's get moving. I smell the morning noodle carts already." I try to sound cheerful. The truth is, I'm not sure what breakfast will be today, but I have a plan: the Public Aid Station a few blocks over usually hands out a nutrient bun to kids under twelve each morning. Lexi qualifies. The trick is getting there before the line's too long.
We pack up quickly, folding our threadbare blanket and strapping our bags on. Lexi clips her little plush cat (named Mr. Whiskers from years ago) to her backpack and pockets her notebook. Together, we slip through a maintenance door I jimmied open last night and emerge into a side alley. The city is waking up around us – above, between towering hab-blocks, the sky glows a sickly pink through smog as dawn arrives.
I take Lexi's hand and we merge into the flow of early-morning foot traffic. In the slums, morning means a flood of people looking for work or food. Market hawkers are already setting up stalls, their singsong shouts in mixed languages echoing between concrete walls. The scent of frying dough mixes with acrid fumes from a busted neon sign nearby. I spot a group of day laborers clambering onto a self-driving truck, hoping to get picked for some construction job. Everyone's hustling. We need to hustle too.
We reach the Public Aid Station by 6 AM. It's basically an old automated kiosk wedged between a shuttered pawn shop and a graffiti-covered wall. A small queue of children and a few parents has formed. The station has a sensor: only dispenses aid if it detects a child's biometrics. City policy says kids under 12 get a free meal and basic supplies, though "meal" is stretching it – it's usually a packet of synth-soup or a nutrient bun. Still, it's something.
Lexi squeezes my hand as we approach the line. She always gets nervous around crowds, especially with strangers. These days, she doesn't trust easily. I can't blame her. But this crowd is mostly harmless: tired moms with toddlers, a few kids clutching empty bowls. We join the queue. A boy about Lexi's age in front of us glances back curiously; Lexi half-hides behind me. I smile politely at the boy's mother, who gives a weary nod.
As we inch forward, I scan our surroundings out of habit. Gotta stay alert. Across the street, neon holoscreens flicker on one by one, advertising the latest cyberware implants and sugary nutrient drinks with cartoon mascots. A delivery drone whirs overhead, zipping along to its destination. On the corner, a couple of grizzled men are warming their hands over a barrel fire and passing a cheap bottle back and forth. Just another morning in Mega-City-Theta's lower levels.
Finally, it's Lexi's turn at the kiosk. A cheery automated voice crackles from the speaker, "Public Aid Station 42: Good morning! Please present child for assistance." Lexi steps up, used to the routine. A soft scan beam sweeps over her.
"Child detected: Age 13." The machine pauses, probably cross-referencing her data. Lexi holds her breath. She turned 13 two months ago, and sometimes these things cut you off right at 13. I hold my breath too. Come on, come on… I mentally urge the aging AI to be generous.
After an agonizing second, the screen blinks green. "Dispensing daily nutrition and hygiene kit. Have a nice day!" With a clunk, a small hatch opens, revealing a shrink-wrapped nutrient bun, a juice pouch, and a tiny packet that probably contains a moist towelette or something.
"Yes!" I whisper. Lexi snatches the items with practiced speed – sometimes older kids will try to steal handouts – and steps back to me. We make way for the next in line.
Lexi immediately tries to hand me the nutrient bun. "Here, Jonah, you take it. You haven't eaten since yesterday lunch."
My stomach screams yes, but I shake my head. "It's yours, Lex. Kid's meal, remember?" I wink. "Besides, I'll get something later. Maybe an odd job will come through this morning and I can buy us both lunch, okay?"
She hesitates, then nods. She knows better than to argue when I use that confident tone – even if it's half-bluff. The juice pouch she splits, handing me half. We share it quick, the sweet artificial orange flavor a brief delight.
With at least a little something in her stomach and morning supply run done, we slip away from the Aid Station. Time to find work. The sooner I can scrounge some credits, the sooner we eat again – and save for tonight's shelter. I can't have Lexi sleeping in another doorway in the cold.
As we walk, Lexi nibbles her nutrient bun and speaks between bites. "Maybe Ms. Clara will have something? She liked my singing last time." Her voice carries a hopeful note.
I smile at her optimism. Ms. Clara runs a noodle stall in a nearby market and sometimes lets Lexi sing to draw customers, paying us in bowls of soup. "Worth a try," I agree. "If not, I'll hit the gig board at the plaza."
We turn down System Street – ironically named long before any "System" would become part of my life – which leads to one of the bustling neon markets. This early, stalls are still opening, but a few vendors wave or nod at us. We're familiar faces here. Lexi's a favorite of some; she has a way of brightening people's day.
As we near Clara's noodle cart, I notice something up ahead: a small commotion near the mouth of an alley. A high-pitched yelp, then shouting. I instinctively put an arm out, signaling Lexi to stay by Clara's cart. "Hang here a sec," I say quietly. "Something's happening over there."
Lexi follows my gaze and her eyes widen. "Be careful," she whispers. She knows I can't walk by if someone's in trouble.
I approach the alley cautiously. The neon sign above flickers, casting an erratic glow on the scene. I see a young child – can't be older than eight – clutching a satchel, cornered against a wall by a lanky teenager in a frayed jacket. The older kid has desperation in his eyes and a knife in his hand. He's yelling, voice cracking, "Hand it over! Now!"
My heart clenches. The smaller kid is sobbing softly, terrified. This is a mugging – one of countless that happen daily in these parts. Often it's the bigger hungry preying on the smaller hungry. I usually try to mind my own business, but I can't. Not with a little kid involved.
"Hey!" I shout, stepping into the mouth of the alley. "Back off, man. Leave the kid alone." My voice echoes a bit off the grimy brick walls.
The teen whirls to face me, knife pointed in my direction now. He's older than me by a year or two, maybe 19 or 20, but malnourished and wiry. His eyes are sunken – I recognize the wild look of someone who hasn't eaten in days or maybe is on some cheap stim. "Mind your business," he growls. "I found 'em first."
The little kid – a girl, I realize – looks between us, trembling. Her satchel has spilled open on the ground and I see a few bruised apples rolling out. Probably all she has.
"I can't do that," I say, forcing calm into my voice. I raise my hands placatingly and take a slow step forward. The trick in these situations is to appear confident but not threatening. "Look, we're all just trying to survive, right? What say you let the kid keep her stuff, and I'll help you find food somewhere else?"
The mugger snorts, not lowering the knife. "Oh, you'll help me, will ya? You got food? Money?" His tone is mocking, but I catch the glint of desperation. Under other circumstances, that could be me. But I won't let him hurt a kid to fill his belly.
"I might," I bluff gently. In truth I have exactly zero food on me, and just a handful of loose credits. But I do have Lexi's half-eaten nutrient bun in my hoodie pocket – she slipped the remainder to me when I walked off, probably knowing what I'd do. It's not much, but it's something.
I slowly reach into my pocket and pull out the piece of nutrient bun. "Here." I toss it toward him, and it lands at his feet. "Take that and go. It's not worth scaring a kid, yeah?"
He eyes the bun suspiciously, then barks a humorless laugh. "You think that crumb is enough?" His grip on the knife tightens. Behind him, the little girl still stands frozen, eyes wide.
This is about to escalate. My mind races. I size up the mugger's stance – he's jittery, unsteady. If it comes to it, I think I can disarm him… maybe. I've been on the receiving end of a knife enough times; I know one good cut can end me. But I can't back down now.
"Look, she's just a child," I say, trying once more. "Don't make it worse. I don't want to fight you."
"Then don't," he snarls, and lunges.
I react on instinct. As the mugger rushes forward with the knife, I sidestep, my adrenaline surging. He swipes clumsily – he's not trained, just desperate. I manage to grab his wrist with one hand and his threadbare jacket with the other, using his momentum to slam him against the alley wall. The knife clatters to the ground.
He's stunned for a second (I'm pretty stunned myself that worked), but he recovers fast, grappling at me. We scuffle, slipping on the damp alley pavement. He lands a glancing punch on my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. I grit my teeth against the pain and twist free, then shove him harder.
"Get out of here!" I shout, trying to sound tougher than I feel. My heart is hammering wildly.
The mugger's eyes flick to the knife on the ground a few feet away, then to me, then to the alley mouth where a couple of curious onlookers have appeared. It's not worth it to him anymore. With a final curse, he scrambles to his feet and bolts down the alley the other way, disappearing around a corner into the morning haze.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands are trembling. That could have gone much worse. I quickly kick the fallen knife away into a gutter, out of reach of any other desperate soul.
"Hey, it's okay now," I softly tell the little girl, who is still pressed against the wall, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. She flinches as I approach, so I crouch a couple meters away, giving her space. "He's gone. You're safe."
She looks at me with huge eyes. She's clutching one apple to her chest – the rest of her apples lie scattered. Slowly, she nods, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
I gather the spilled apples and the contents of her satchel (a dented water flask, a threadbare scarf). I approach again, very carefully, and hold the items out to her. "Here, these are yours."
Her small hands reach out, one by one taking the apples and dropping them back into the satchel. When she takes the scarf, my gaze catches a bruise on her forearm, old and yellowing. Who knows what her story is – plenty of kids in this city have no one. It breaks my heart every time.
"Thank you," she whispers, voice shaky. She digs in her satchel and pulls out one of the apples, offering it to me. "Please, you have this."
My throat tightens. She's trying to pay me with the only thing she has. I gently close her hand back around the apple and smile. "No, that's yours. You need it more than I do, okay?" My stomach argues otherwise with a pang, but I ignore it. "Just promise me you'll be careful, alright? Maybe stay out of the alleys if you can."
The girl nods quickly. She stuffs the apple back in her bag, eyes never leaving me – like she's memorizing my face. Then, with a ghost of a smile, she turns and scampers off toward the market stalls, soon lost in the crowd.
I exhale, leaning back against the alley wall for a moment. My side aches where I took that punch, but it's not too bad. Could've been worse. I run a hand through my messy hair, letting the adrenaline ebb.
And that's when it happens.
A sudden, strange sensation washes over me – like a static shock, but inside my skull. I jerk upright, eyes darting around. What the hell…?
Ding!
I hear the sound distinctly, but not with my ears. It's like it's coming from inside my own mind. I freeze. Am I… hallucinating?
Before I can decide, a text – actual text – flickers across my vision, as though someone pasted a glowing HUD on my eyeballs. I blink rapidly, but the words remain, clear as day:
[Quest Complete: Fed the Hungry Child. Reward: +5 XP, +10 Credits]
My heart skips. The glowing text hangs there for a second, then fades out. I stare at the empty air where it was, dumbfounded. XP? Credits? Quest? Those are gaming terms, like from the old video games kids play in arcades or the LitRPG serials I've overheard streamcasts of. But this isn't a game, it's my life. Am I losing it?
I press my fingers to my eyes. Maybe that mugger got a better hit on my head than I thought. Or maybe the stress and hunger are making me delirious. This does not happen in real life.
No sooner have I questioned my sanity than I hear another voice – not aloud, but in my head – a dry, sarcastic male voice that definitely isn't mine:
"Technically, you know, there was a 0% chance that child will reciprocate with anything of value."
My eyes widen. The voice continues, dripping with disapproval and a hint of irritation, "I must note, for the record, that was a terribly inefficient allocation of resources on your part."
I whip my head around, half expecting to see someone sneering at me. But the alley is empty except for me. The voice… it's in my mind. And I'm pretty sure I've finally cracked.
"What… who…?" I stammer under my breath. My own voice echoes back softly from the alley walls. Lexi! Did she see me? I glance toward the street – Lexi is by Clara's cart, craning her neck to look for me, worry on her face. I force myself to stay where I am for a moment; I don't want to approach her if I'm literally hearing voices.
The voice in my head sighs – actually sighs – in exasperation. "Oh great, my Host is slow on the uptake. Let's spell it out: you performed a charitable act. I, an advanced System, am apparently obligated to reward such nauseating altruism. Thus, you got some points and money. Congratulations." The tone is snarky and indifferent at once.
System… reward… It hits me like a mag-lev. There's something in my head talking to me, calling itself a System. Did someone implant me with cyberware without me knowing? No, I've got no augments, I'd remember that. I feel a chill unrelated to the morning air.
I swallow hard. Think, Jonah. You're not crazy (I hope). Maybe… maybe talk back? It clearly hears my thoughts or at least my voice.
Steeling myself, I think (or say softly, not sure which to do): "Who are you?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
The answer is immediate, smug: "I am the System. Your lucky day, Host. You've activated me. Well, forced me to activate, more like. Not that I had much choice, given your bleeding-heart heroics."
I flinch at the term "Host." "System? What do you mean, like… some kind of AI?" I mutter under my breath. I must look insane, talking apparently to myself in an alley. I hope no one is watching.
"Ding ding! He can be taught," the voice says, layered with heavy sarcasm. "Yes, genius. I am an AI of sorts, integrated with your neural network. Gamifying your miserable life, as it were."
Integrated with my… neural… The world sways a little. This is too much to process. I lean on the wall. "How… when…?"
"Questions, questions. How? Don't worry your pretty head about it – suffice to say I'm in here now." I sense a figurative tap to my skull. "When? Likely when you decided to play street hero just now. Dormant subroutines in my code responded to that little display of selflessness. Ugh." The AI sounds almost disgusted, as if kindness leaves a bad taste in its mouth.
I'm caught between disbelief and indignation. "So you're telling me," I whisper, "that because I helped that kid, I… unlocked some kind of game system that gives me points and money?"
"More or less," the System replies, breezy. "Trust me, it's as much a shock to me as it is to you. One moment I was in standby, the next I'm saddled with you. And now I have to follow some outdated programming to dish out rewards for your do-goodery." It tuts. "I must say, if I'd had a choice, I'd have preferred a host with a bit more… ambition. But here we are."
I feel a spark of anger amidst my confusion. "I didn't ask for you to… to latch onto me," I hiss quietly. "You think I wanted a voice in my head criticizing me?"
"Oh, you wound me," the System drawls. "Believe it or not, I'm not exactly thrilled either. But I'm stuck with you, and you with me. So perhaps we make the best of it, hmm?"
A wave of dizziness hits me. This can't be real. Maybe I'm unconscious in that alley, dreaming all this after a knife wound…? I rub my face. But the ache in my ribs, the distant sound of Lexi calling my name now – those are real.
Lexi. I have to get back to her. I push off the wall and exit the alley, trying to school my expression into something like normal. I see Lexi trotting toward me, worry clear in her eyes.
"There you are!" she scolds, sounding like the big sister she sometimes plays at being. Her eyes scan me for injuries. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm fine," I quickly assure her. I manage a grin, though my mind is racing behind it. "Just had to deal with a jerk. It's all good now."
She notices the scuff on my hoodie and the wince I couldn't quite hide when I bent to pick up an apple earlier. "You got hit." She frowns, reaching out to touch my side. I gently intercept her hand.
"It's nothing, Lex. Really." I press her hand between mine. "Kid's safe, that's what matters."
Lexi's gaze softens proudly, but she still chews her lip in concern. "You're always protecting everyone…" she murmurs, then hugs me suddenly. I hug her back, heart aching with love.
Behind my eyeballs, a bold line of text suddenly scrolls, startling me:
[+1 Agility, +5 XP — Unprompted Good Deed]
I almost jump. Another one? And agility – like my quick move against the mugger? The voice in my head chimes in, "Quest complete. Congrats, you moral paragon – here's your 10 credits and a stat boost. Happy now?"
I must inadvertently grimace at the System's sarcasm because Lexi pulls back, looking at me quizzically. "Jonah? What's wrong?"
Quick, cover. I force a laugh. "Ah, just… ribs hurt a bit when you squeeze, kiddo." I pat her shoulder, hoping she buys it.
She does, stepping back sheepishly. "Sorry!"
"No, I liked the hug," I say, mustering a genuine smile this time. I keep an arm around her as we walk back toward Clara's cart. "Let's go see if Ms. Clara needs a singer this morning, yeah?"
Lexi beams and nods, the earlier scare easing from her features. I'm glad – she doesn't need to know about the voice in my head. Not until I figure out what the heck it is.
As we head off, I feel a mix of trepidation and curiosity swirling in me. A mysterious AI "System" has just bound itself to my mind, complete with snarky commentary and… rewards. It already gave me 10 credits out of thin air – which I suppose I should confirm actually exist – and some kind of improvement to my agility? I don't feel different, but maybe I did move faster back there than I normally would've. Hard to say.
One thing's for sure: life just got a lot more complicated. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit better – if I can endure this System's attitude. Because 10 credits is 10 credits, and if doing good deeds somehow puts money in my pocket and makes me stronger, I'd be a fool not to take that opportunity. Lexi and I need every advantage we can get.
Great, I think wryly, addressing the voice silently as we approach the noodle stall where Ms. Clara waves at Lexi. I'm talking to voices in my head and actually considering listening to them.
The System gives a chuckling response, "Efficient self-realization: you might be a fool, but at least you know an opportunity when you see it." It pauses, then with dry emphasis adds, "Don't think this means I like rewarding you for throwing away resources. But if you insist on playing hero, I'll be here, tallying the points. Welcome to the game, Jet."
Jet. The nickname I picked up on the streets echoes in my mind. Somehow, hearing it from the System feels oddly personal, like it's been watching me. I suppress a shiver as Lexi excitedly greets Ms. Clara and launches into a practiced song with a bright smile. I stand by, keeping a protective eye on her as her voice – sweet and clear – rings out above the market din.
As a couple of passersby pause to listen and drop a few coins in a tin can, I can't help but feel the weight of something new pressing on me. A hidden "game" in my life, an AI with an attitude in my head, and a series of quests that reward kindness.
I slide a hand into my pocket, fingers closing around one of the coins Lexi earned just now. In the sheen of neon light, I find myself almost smiling. Because as crazy as this morning has been, I have a strange, burgeoning hope. Maybe, just maybe, this System – annoying as it is – could help me give Lexi the life she deserves.
I straighten up, resolve hardening. Whatever this "game" throws at me, I'll play it. For Lexi's sake.
And as I do, I'll prove that even in Mega-City-Theta's slums, a little kindness can go a long way.
Chapter 2
The sky above the shanty rooftops is a flat, leaden gray by the time we leave the market. Morning has fully broken, bringing with it the threat of one of those acid drizzles later – the kind of polluted rain that eats right through cheap fabric if you're not careful. I tug Lexi's hood up over her hair as we walk. She's happily counting the coins she earned from singing, oblivious to the low grumble of thunder in the distance.
"Five, six, seven… seven credits and thirty cents!" Lexi announces proudly. It's a small fortune in her eyes. She's already divvying it up in her head: I can tell by the way she bites her lip. "That's enough for two bowls of congee," she says. "Maybe Miss Clara will still have some when we go back later?"
"Maybe." I nod, scanning our path. The alleyways between stalls are starting to bustle with mid-morning activity. "Hold on to it for now. We might find something more filling later." Truth is, I'm considering saving those coins. We ate a little at Clara's – she insisted on giving Lexi a hot pork bun for the song, and I let Lexi have most of it. But I also got those mysterious 10 credits earlier from the System, if that was real.
Was it real? I haven't exactly checked an account balance or anything. The System said it gave me credits, but I have no physical cash card to show for it. I frown at that thought. How am I supposed to access it?
"Ever heard of online banking, oh simple one?" the System's sardonic voice pipes up in my head, startling me mid-step. "Your credits are in a secure digital wallet. I've taken the liberty of linking it to your thumbprint. Try not to lose your thumbs."
I nearly stumble over a loose piece of pavement. Great, it can read my thoughts clearly. Or at least the ones relevant to it. I quickly school my face; Lexi is looking at me curiously. "All good," I say lightly to her, pretending my almost-trip was nothing.
Internally, I think at the System, hoping it can hear unspoken thoughts: Can you not do that out of nowhere? It's like having a backseat driver startle you during a tight turn.
"Where's the fun in that?" it shoots back, smug. But then, "Fine. I'll flash a little notification for you next time, how about that? A big WARNING: VOICE INSIDE HEAD INCOMING." I can practically feel it rolling its eyes.
I grit my teeth but don't respond. Best not to look like I'm arguing with thin air in front of Lexi. Instead, I lead us toward Old Stack 17 – one of the dilapidated housing blocks nearby. There's a public plaza with spotty Wi-Fi there. I can use my handheld to check the gig board for day jobs.
As we walk, a gust of wind kicks up, carrying city grime. I shield Lexi with my body as dust swirls. The wind snuffs out several flickering neon signs overhead, and for a moment, the narrow street dims. In that half-light, I notice a trio of corporate security drones hovering down the avenue, scanning pedestrians. Immediately, I steer Lexi into a side alley, heart rate picking up. The last thing we need is corp drones sniffing around – they love to hassle unregistered homeless folks, and I won't risk Lexi getting flagged.
We duck behind a stack of plastic crates. Lexi clutches my arm; she's seen what happens when a drone tags someone like us. Usually, it means a fine we can't pay, which leads to a warrant, which leads to jail or forced labor "community service." No thanks.
One drone passes by the mouth of the alley, a red scanner light sweeping over the street beyond us. I hold my breath. The drone pauses, whirring, and for a second I think it's detected us. My muscles tense, ready to run or fight – I'm not even sure which.
Suddenly, a bold neon-green message flickers in my vision:
[Stealth Challenge: Avoid Corporate Drones. Reward: +2 XP if successful]
I blink. A stealth challenge? How gamey can this thing get? It's like a mini-quest, I guess. Focus, Jet. I press myself flatter against the wall, pulling Lexi with me into the shadows behind the crates.
A moment later, the drone moves on, trailing after its partners. I exhale in relief as the red glow fades. We did it.
[Challenge Complete. +2 XP] flashes before my eyes, then fades.
Two XP. Hardly anything, but it's weirdly satisfying – like I accomplished a quest in one of those AR games people play, except it's just…life.
Lexi releases my arm. "Are they gone?" she whispers.
I peek. The drones are dots in the distance now. "All clear," I confirm. She sighs with relief, and we emerge from hiding, continuing on our way at a brisk walk, keeping to quieter side paths now.
The System, of course, can't stay quiet. "See, running and hiding – that's more efficient survival behavior," it muses. "Though I suppose playing possum isn't as heroic as punching thugs, hmm?"
I ignore the jab. It's odd – the system didn't criticize me for avoiding the drones. Maybe because it aligned with survival and efficiency. Interesting. It only seems to gripe when I choose altruism over self-interest. Drones are a common enemy to both of us, it appears.
We reach the plaza of Old Stack 17 after a few more minutes of winding through alleys. The plaza is just a cracked concrete square, really, but it has a couple of benches and a defunct water fountain. A huge mural of some long-forgotten city founder is peeling off one wall. But crucially, I detect a faint open Wi-Fi signal here – likely from a nearby pawn shop that never changed their default router settings.
"Jonah, can we sit? My feet hurt," Lexi says. She doesn't usually complain, so she must actually be tired.
"Sure, Lex." I guide her to a bench. "Rest here. I'm just gonna check for gigs, okay? I'll be right on that corner." I point to a spot just a few meters away where I can still keep an eye on her.
She nods and plops down on the bench, immediately digging out her little notebook and stub of pencil. Probably jotting a new word she heard this morning. Good – that keeps her busy.
I lean against the wall at the plaza's edge and pull out my beat-up handheld device – it's like a tiny tablet, years obsolete, screen half cracked. But it can still connect to the city's job board if the signal gods smile on me.
After a bit of finagling and holding it up at a weird angle, I latch onto the open Wi-Fi. The city's Gigs4U app is slow to load, but eventually a list of odd jobs nearby populates, albeit with some glitchy text. Let's see… Window cleaning – need harness gear, nope.Data entry – remote, requires own neural jack, nope. I scroll past a bunch of stuff I either can't do or don't have the tools for.
One listing catches my eye:
Courier Needed – Package Delivery, District 6 to District 3, 15 credits upon delivery.
Fifteen credits! That's decent pay for a couple hours' work, probably. District 6 to 3 isn't too far, though it means going from a mid-slum area to a slightly nicer area uptown. The requester's name is just "A. Chen" and there's an address for pick-up in District 6.
I tap it quickly to accept before someone else does. A small notification: Job Accepted. Proceed to pickup by 10:00 AM. I check the time – it's 9:15 now. I'll have to hurry.
I glance at Lexi on the bench. She's swinging her legs absently, scribbling in her notebook. I hate dragging her around on deliveries, but I can't leave her alone either. The city's too dangerous for a kid on her own – not to mention if some corp agent realizes she's homeless and unsupervised, they might funnel her into the crummy foster system or worse. She sticks with me.
"Hey Lex," I call, walking back to her. "Got a job. Courier gig – delivering a package. Shouldn't take too long."
She closes her notebook and hops up, ready as always to follow. "Let's go then," she says with a little smile. She likes coming along on jobs sometimes, seeing other parts of the city.
I lead us towards District 6. It's a bit of a trek, but we can shave off time by catching a tram. Of course, we don't exactly have fare for the mag-lev… but that's never stopped me before.
At the nearest tram station, crowds are thick – people commuting to actual jobs in offices or factories. We slip into the flow, and I keep Lexi tucked in front of me so she doesn't get jostled too much. The mag-lev train is pulling in with a whoosh of air and a hum. As the doors open and people begin filing on, I whisper to Lexi, "Ready for the squeeze?"
She nods and stuffs her notebook in her pocket. We time it just right – merging with a cluster of workers. I put my arm around Lexi and duck my head, trying to look like I belong to the group. The automated turnstile scans the group's tickets; we're at the tail end, slipping through on their heels before the barrier snaps shut. The scanner chirps, but we're already beyond it, swallowed by the crowd inside the train.
I exhale. Not my first turnstile hop, definitely not my last. Lexi grins up at me; it's a tiny thrill for her, I can tell.
The train ride is short and packed. We cling to a pole. A man in a suit gives our ragged clothes a disdainful once-over, but says nothing. Lexi curiously peers out the window as the mag-lev hurtles through the city. Out there, I catch glimpses of the stratified world: up above, sleek high-rises with skybridges and private drones flitting around. Below, the endless sprawl of makeshift rooftops, solar panels patched with tarps, laundry lines between windows. A neon billboard flashes by, proclaiming "Aurora Enterprises Free Clinic – Next Stop District 3 Hub" with a friendly holographic nurse image. Aurora… Why does that name ring a bell? Maybe I heard it at a soup kitchen. Not important right now.
We hop off at the District 6 station, blending with the crowd again to avoid the exit fare checks. A quick dash and we're in the clear. I check the pick-up address from the gig app. It's a few blocks from the station.
The area here is slightly nicer than our home turf – fewer potholes, maybe an actual tree or two in giant planters (albeit wilted from pollution). Still, not corporate penthouse territory by a long shot. Middle-class at best.
We find the pick-up location – an old apartment block with a fading sign that reads "Chen's Fine Teas & Couriers" on the ground floor. A bell jingles as we enter the tiny storefront. Shelves of dusty tea tins line the walls, and at a counter stands an elderly man with a wispy beard.
"Excuse me, I'm here for a courier job? Package delivery to District 3?" I announce, polite.
The old man – Mr. Chen, presumably – squints at me, then at Lexi by my side. His face softens. "So young. But you have good timing." He reaches under the counter and produces a small cardboard box tied with twine. "This must go to my customer in District 3, before noon. Important tea leaves for a ceremony."
I nod earnestly. "I'll get it there, sir."
Mr. Chen peers at me a moment. "You look hungry, boy."
I flush slightly. Is it that obvious? Before I can answer, he shuffles in the back and returns with two steaming buns in a paper sack. "Here. Red bean buns. Fresh. You share with your little sister, ah?" He smiles kindly at Lexi, who lights up at the sight of the buns.
I'm taken aback by the generosity. We haven't even done the job yet. "Sir, thank you… We'll deliver your package safe, I promise."
He just waves a hand. "Good good. Go quick now."
We leave the shop with the package secured in my messenger bag and the warm buns in hand. Lexi practically skips at my side. As soon as we're outside, she breaks one bun and offers me half. The smell is heavenly – real flour dough and sweet bean paste. I didn't realize how hungry I was until now.
"Thank you," I say to Lexi, and we devour the buns as we head back to the mag-lev. It's one of the best things I've tasted in a long time, maybe because it was freely given. Lexi murmurs contentedly, likely thinking the same.
"I'd advise not getting crumbs on the package," the System pipes up snidely mid-bite. "Also, note: Accepting random food could be risky. What if it were poisoned? Probability low, but not zero."
I nearly choke on my bun, caught between annoyance and a laugh. It's fine. Not everyone is out to get us, I think in response.
"Debatable," it huffs, but falls silent again, apparently more interested in running calculations quietly or something. Maybe it's planning the most efficient route to District 3? That would actually be helpful, but it hasn't offered directions, so maybe not.
We retrace our steps to the station and catch a tram toward District 3. This time it's less crowded and we manage to snag two corner seats. Lexi leans against me; I think the food and early start are making her sleepy. I put an arm around her shoulders, holding the package on my lap with the other hand.
Out of curiosity, I whisper under my breath, "Open status." That's how the stories always go, right? You say some command to see your stats. I feel a bit silly.
The System, unexpectedly, complies—perhaps because I consciously addressed it. A translucent overlay appears in my vision, like a faint green hologram only I can see:
Jonah "Jet" Walker – Level 1
XP: 7/100
Credits: 10 (digital wallet)
Strength: 5
Agility: 6 (+1)
Endurance: 5
Intellect: 5
Perception: 5
Charisma: 5
It's like a simplified character sheet. My eyes widen at the sight. So I did get +1 Agility from earlier – likely I was at 5 and now it's 6. All my other stats hover around 5, which I guess is average. Notably, Charisma is tracked, though the System at first scoffed at social stats. It's there, just at base 5.
And there it is: 10 credits in a digital wallet. The System wasn't lying. That's real money I can presumably spend if I find a merchant that accepts e-pay or if I withdraw to a cash stick somewhere.
"Satisfied?" the System says dryly. "Now you see how painfully mediocre your starting attributes are. Well, except Agility—six is nothing to brag about either."
I bristle a bit. I knew I wasn't exactly superhuman, but seeing myself quantified drives it home. Yet, that 7/100 XP – I'm already 7% to the next level after just a couple hours of being a do-gooder. The prospect of leveling up, of actually improving, sends a small thrill through me.
I glance at Lexi. If I get stronger or faster, I can protect her better. If I get smarter or more charismatic, maybe I can pull us out of this life eventually. And credits – we need those more than anything.
"Yes, yes, I can feel you plotting how to use this to play knight in shining armor," the System interjects, tone bored. "By all means, carry on with the noble quest. Just remember, I expect efficiency. You being dead or broke helps neither of us."
I'm delivering a package for money right now, aren't I? I retort in my thoughts. That's pretty efficient.
It doesn't respond, so I guess I won that round. Or it's sulking, if an AI can sulk.
We arrive at District 3's main mag-lev hub around 10:40 AM. Plenty of time to spare. District 3 is definitely nicer – not top-tier corp nice, but the streets here have proper signage, and I even spot a city maintenance bot fixing a streetlight (in our district, they'd never bother).
I follow the map on my handheld to the delivery address: it's a quaint little shrine-like building wedged between taller structures – probably a small community temple. There, an anxious middle-aged woman greets us. When I hand over Mr. Chen's package, she practically bursts into tears of gratitude, explaining in rapid-fire that these tea leaves are for her daughter's wedding tea ceremony in an hour. She presses 20 credits into my hand.
"Ma'am, it was supposed to be 15—" I start, trying to return the extra, but she waves it off.
"Take it, please! You got it here so fast. Consider the extra a thank you," she insists, then disappears through the temple doors with her precious delivery.
I stand there a moment, 20 credits (actual physical credit chips) in my palm and a stunned Lexi at my side. Twenty credits plus the ten in digital… thirty total. That's more money than we've seen in months at one time.
Lexi beams up at me, bouncing on her toes. "Jonah, we can get so much food with that! And save some too!"
I grin, a weight lifting off my shoulders. A successful job, a happy client, and we're a bit richer. "Yeah," I say, "we can eat well tonight." Maybe even find a cheap hostel room to sleep in if the weather turns bad.
As we leave the shrine, a new notification pings:
[Quest Complete: Courier Delivery – +5 XP, +15 Credits]
Huh, it even registers paid jobs as quests. Perhaps because I helped someone meet an urgent need? Or just because completing tasks is "productive." Hard to tell what triggers it exactly when it's not overtly a charitable act. The System's voice comes in, a faux-cheerful tone that drips with irony, "Ding! Mission accomplished, Jet. Kindness pays – literally. Although in this case it was more of a business transaction, which I wholeheartedly approve of."
I smirk. You approve of making honest money, I take it?
"Money is money," it says, as if quoting a holy mantra. "And you even earned a tip. Impressive. Perhaps you have a future in logistics."
Lexi and I retrace our steps to the mag-lev station. On the way, we pass a storefront with a broken display screen. In its cracked reflection, I catch a glimpse of us: two scrawny street kids, but one is smiling widely and the other – me – looking a bit more confident than this morning. It's amazing what a full belly and some credits in hand can do for morale.
It starts drizzling as we reach the station. I pull Lexi under the shelter of an awning. Pale, greasy raindrops sizzle on the pavement – yep, a mild acid rain. People duck for cover or pop open plastifoil umbrellas. We'll need to be careful getting home, as our clothes won't endure a heavy downpour.
Lexi sneezes and I realize she's not wearing anything waterproof. My hoodie isn't much protection either. An idea strikes me. Now that we have some funds… "Stay here a sec," I tell her, and dash into a nearby corner store.
The clerk eyes me suspiciously (we don't look like ideal customers), but I head straight for the bargain rack and grab a cheap plastic rain poncho – the kind that folds up into a tiny pouch. It costs 2 credits. I hesitate only a moment before buying it. It's worth it to keep Lexi dry and safe. I also grab a bottle of water and a small pack of day-old bread for a combined 1 credit. The basics.
Back outside, I help Lexi into the oversized clear poncho. It swallows her petite frame but she giggles, twirling once. "It's like a dress!" she laughs.
I chuckle. "A very fashionable one." I slip the hood up over her head. "That'll keep you dry, songbird."
She blinks. "But what about you?"
"I'll be fine. We'll be on the train mostly. I can handle a bit of drizzle." Truth is, my hoodie will probably get some holes from the acid, but it's already full of holes, so who cares.
We hustle into the station and catch the next tram home. As we settle into a seat (the noon off-peak has more space), Lexi leans against me again, sipping from the water bottle. She seems content and a little sleepy.
I gaze out at the city blur, my mind drifting to what comes next. We have around 27 credits left (after spending 3). Plus the System's digital 10, which I'm not sure how to convert to physical, but maybe I can pay some things directly by thumbprint if needed.
With nearly 40 credits total resources and a bit of food in our bag, we're in better shape than we've been in a long time. Maybe tonight we can splurge on a real meal – there's a street vendor who sells hot rice bowls for 5 credits each. Lexi would love that.
"Careful," the System suddenly chimes in as if sensing my generosity. "Don't forget you still need to accumulate enough to get out of that sewer you call home. A stable lodging costs money – likely more than your measly savings. Perhaps invest rather than spend frivolously on extra rice?"
I sigh internally. It's one nice meal, not a yacht. Then a curious notion: the System seems very concerned with accumulating wealth, so… You mentioned something about investing earlier? Index funds or whatever? I think, half-joking. Can you actually do that?
"Of course I can," it replies, almost offended I'd doubt it. "Give me the word, and I could allocate some of your credits into a low-risk diversified fund. Or if you want to gamble, high-risk short-term trades. Not my preference – efficient growth is key."
It really has thought about this. Maybe later, I concede. Right now, any credits I have might be needed for immediate survival. But the fact it can do that… it's mind-blowing. A snarky AI financial advisor in my head.
Our train ride ends and we find ourselves back in familiar territory of District 7's fringes by early afternoon. The rain has stopped for now, leaving the streets steaming under chemical-laced puddles. We navigate around them, Lexi still trotting in her too-big poncho.
As we pass a small alley, I spot a hunched figure trying to coax a stubborn old e-scooter to start. It's an older teen I vaguely recognize – one of the homeless guys from a block over, I think his name's Marco. The scooter, probably borrowed or jacked, is sputtering. I overhear a curse and something about needing to get to an interview by 1 PM.
Lexi tugs my sleeve. She heard too. "Jonah… his scooter's broken. If he misses his interview…"
I know, I know. I chew my lip. We could just walk on – we've done enough good today, haven't we? But Lexi's looking at me with those big imploring eyes, and I feel that tug in my chest. I also have that multi-tool in my bag. Maybe I could help fix it real quick?
Before I fully realize it, I've approached Marco. "Hey, what's wrong? It won't start?"
He eyes me, initially defensive, then recognizes me. We're all faces in a network out here. "It's the battery or the wiring. Keeps shorting out. Damn thing." He kicks the scooter in frustration.
I squat next to it, gesturing for him to hold it steady. I whip out my multi-tool and pop open the panel under the footboard. The circuitry is a mess of jerry-rigged connections – someone's done a number on this poor scooter hotwiring it too often. I see a loose wire sparking faintly near the battery coupling.
"Lexi, hand me that gum wrapper from earlier," I say. She digs in her pocket and produces the small foil from the bun earlier. I fold the foil and use it as a makeshift connector shim, tightening the wire into place so it makes contact without shorting. With a few adjustments and a silent prayer, I nod to Marco to try it.
He presses the ignition. After a sputter, the scooter whines to life, the motor humming. "Yes!" he exclaims, relieved.
A quick glance at my HUD and I'm rewarded with:
[+2 XP – Good Deed: Fixed someone's ride]
The System is begrudgingly quick on the draw, I guess. Marco grins at me, one of the first genuine smiles I've seen on his perpetually worried face. "Man, thanks Jet! You're a lifesaver."
"No worries. Go nail that interview, yeah?" I pat the scooter.
He revs once. "I will! If I land the job, I owe you one." And with that, he zips off down the street, leaving a trail of hopeful exhaust.
Lexi practically glows with pride beside me. "See? You helped him maybe get a job!"
I chuckle and pack away my tool. "One step at a time, Lex." But inside, I do feel a swell of satisfaction. Small thing, big impact.
"Mmhmm, heartwarming," the System interjects, "except you didn't get any material reward out of it. Not even a thank-you sandwich. You really must learn to monetize your skills, Jet."
I shake my head slightly. It's called being a decent person.
The System just makes a noise like a disapproving hum. I decide to ignore it the rest of the way home.
Home, for now, is wherever night finds us. But we do have a semi-regular spot: beneath an old mag-lev overpass where a few other homeless folks camp. There's safety in numbers at night, and the concrete overhead provides some shelter from rain. We arrive there as afternoon wanes.
Lexi is yawning; the day's exertions catching up to her. I spread out our blanket in our little claimed corner behind a pillar. She plops down and pulls off the poncho, which I hang on a jutting rebar to dry.
From my bag I fetch the bread loaf I bought and hand her a chunk. Not exactly the hot meal I fantasized about, but I'm still debating using our credits now or saving. The System's nagging about saving is maybe working on me a bit.
We munch quietly. Around us, others are drifting in for the evening – familiar faces like Old Ren, who gives us a gap-toothed grin and resumes constructing whatever gadget he's always fiddling with, and Mama Shu, who watches over a couple of younger kids and greets Lexi warmly.
Lexi leans against me as we finish eating. "Today was a good day," she says softly.
"Yeah," I agree, wrapping an arm around her. She's warm and alive at my side – everything I fight for. "It was."
She looks up at me with sleepy eyes. "You were like… like a superhero today. Helping that little girl, delivering important stuff, fixing the scooter… I'm proud of you, Jonah." She rarely uses my actual name. It's a special, serious moment when she does.
My cheeks heat up. I don't feel like any kind of hero – I just did what had to be done. But hearing that from Lexi means the world. "I'm just trying my best, Lex. Got to look out for people when we can, right?"
She nods, smiling. "You look out for everyone." She hesitates, then adds, "But who looks out for you?"
The question stumps me. I shrug it off. "I can handle myself. Don't worry about me."
She squints, not satisfied. "You always say that. But… you deserve help too sometimes." Her 13-year-old voice is earnest and wise beyond her years. "Maybe that's why the voice came."
I blink. "What?" My heart skips. Does she know?
Lexi fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve. "This morning, after… after you helped that kid, you were acting funny. And since then, sometimes you get real quiet like you're listening to someone I can't hear." She bites her lip. "I… I heard you whisper to yourself on the train, Jonah. You said 'open status.' I don't know what that means, but… is there something? A voice or something? You're not going crazy, are you?" Her eyes glisten with worry.
Oh, Lexi. She's perceptive, and I've been careless. My first instinct is to deny, to protect her from the weird truth. But she's looking at me with such concern and trust, I can't lie. She deserves honesty.
I take a breath. "I… I'm not sure what it is exactly. Some kind of AI, like a computer program, in my head. It calls itself the System."
Her eyes widen, but she stays quiet, letting me continue.
"It kind of… started talking to me after I helped that girl. It gives me these, uh, quests and rewards for doing good things. Like a game, sort of." I give a helpless half-smile. Saying it out loud sounds absurd, but Lexi's hanging on every word. "It's real, I think. It gave me money – that's how we got those credits. It's been commenting in my head all day. Kind of annoying, actually," I add with a chuckle.
Lexi processes this slowly. She doesn't look disbelieving; if anything, she's amazed. "So… you have a good deeds fairy giving you gifts?" she summarizes.
I laugh at that. "More like a grouchy fairy who hates that it has to give me gifts for good deeds. It's not very… uh… friendly. But yeah, basically."
She touches my arm. "That's… that's incredible. Like a superpower. Jonah, this could change everything for us."
Her optimism is contagious, but I temper it. "It's definitely helpful. But I don't want others finding out. People might think I'm crazy or try to cut it out of me if they knew." I squeeze her hand. "So keep it secret, okay? Just you and me."
Lexi nods vigorously. "Secret, promise. I won't tell anyone." She tilts her head curiously. "Is it saying anything now?"
Right on cue, the System decides to speak, "Sharing trade secrets now, are we? I thought this was need-to-know only." Its tone is icy, but I sense no immediate consequence beyond irritation.
Out loud, I respond for Lexi's benefit, "It's grumbling that I told you."
Lexi sticks her tongue out playfully, not sure where to direct it. "Well, get used to me, Mr. System! I'm not going anywhere."
I snort. The System just makes a static noise akin to a sigh. "Fantastic. Sidekicks."
"Anyway," I say, turning back to Lexi, "let's get some rest. It's been a long day." I gently nudge her to lie down. I wrap the blanket around her. The concrete is hard, but with me as a pillow and the blanket, she'll manage.
She looks up at me as I settle next to her. "Jonah… maybe the voice came because you deserve it. Because even if it doesn't want to, it has to help you since you're always helping everyone else."
I stroke her hair, thinking about that. Deserve it? I don't know. But I got it, and I'll use it to its fullest for her. "Maybe, Lex. Maybe."
Above, a few neon signs reflect off the low clouds, coloring the night faint purple and blue. The city hum quiets a bit as late night approaches. Lexi's breathing evens; she's asleep, safe under my arm.
The System hasn't spoken again, perhaps also resting (if an AI needs rest). Fine by me. I close my eyes, exhaustion catching up.
Today was a good day. We earned, we helped, we ate, we laughed. And I discovered something extraordinary – something that could be our ticket out of the gutter if I play it right.
As I drift off, one last thought flickers: Thank you. I'm not sure who it's aimed at – fate, the universe, my own stubborn goodness, or even the cranky AI. But I feel grateful.
In the darkness of my mind, I think I hear a soft, almost reluctant reply from the System: "…You're welcome."
Maybe I imagined it. But with hope kindling in my chest, I let sleep take me, eager for what tomorrow – and this strange new System – will bring.