Neo-Seoul's streets were unnervingly quiet.
The neon glow reflected off rain-slicked pavement an hour after sundown, but the usual bustle had vanished.
In the shadow of a crumbling sign for a credit-distribution drone repair shop, Ivan "Burn" Kwon flipped the switch on his repurposed hover-cycle.
The alley around him was deserted; storefront shutters were pulled down, and the buzz of patrol drones overhead felt oppressive.
A gauntlet had been thrown down three hours ago at the scrapyard.
Now everyone—from street thugs to boardroom executives—was scrambling to figure out what had happened.
Whispers rippled through the undercity: that night, a giftfight involving some of the most powerful bosses and even the official scrapyard enforcers had broken out.
"Three hours and still no word," Burn muttered into his wrist comm. "Where's the scrapyard team?"
Burn's contacts had gone radio-silent, and he knew the silence was scarier than any gunfire.
—
Far above, in a high-rise of polished titanium and glass, the Bishop stirred in his command seat.
A massive, borealis-patterned data-link map shimmered before him, pinging with erratic signals. "Status?" he barked at his lieutenant.
The answer was the same every time: chaos.
Transmission drones had been hijacked, corporate shipments were held at every checkpoint, and local gangs had started shaking down even the city's own regulators.
The Bishop frowned.
The Bishop slammed his fist against the console. "They never should've touched anyone without clearing it with the bosses first. Now the whole city's on fire. I want eyes on that scrapyard — all of them. Drones, mechs, enforcers, whatever it takes. And don't let anyone slip away."
He tapped a panel, sending encrypted queries to lieutenants scattered in the slums:
"Find out what went down. And watch your backs."
Bishop knew he was not gonna be able to get home early for dinner with his wife and would probably be sleeping on the hover cot again.
Dammit!
——
On the streets, ragtag teams of gang enforcers barked at pedestrians for information.
Meanwhile, in the lower city, bosses of the underworld huddled around a flickering holographic table in a back-alley meeting room.
In a back-alley meeting room, bosses sat around a holographic map of the city.
Outside their holo-tent, Surveillance drones hovered silently above, monitoring their discussion.
BANG!
"Those gutterscrapped fucks!" Hayman cursed in rage as he kicked a hole in an E alloy crate.
"Damn officials," snarled another Boss Tuilrie, "they had no right touching our people!"
"We should've been consulted first!" Hayman shouted thinking about the state of his men when he came to collect them.
At the head of the table sat one eye, he quietly listened to everyone go back and forth before he raised his hand, bringing them all to a halt of silence.
"It doesn't matter it seems they forgot who really has the power on this damn moon." One eye deep voice carried, although he was soft spoken, a man of few words his words carried weight.
Especially on scrapper Moon.
The others collectively agreed nodding.
One eye leaned back, turning his head to the side, where his right-hand man who stood behind him like a statue, bent down, ready for his orders.
"Send word to everybody cover all corners. " he told him before turning his attention back to the other gang lords and local bosses.
He only continued speaking after the door to the office had closed.
"Let our brothers know in the other cities. Send word to big Brother on the main world and our other sisterhoods and brotherhoods tell them the synthetics have breached the programming and it's time to decimate the central programming."
"Got a big brother one eye!" they collectively, replied in unison before they excused themselves, leaving only two people inside.
Another lord, Scarius was scarred across his left eye, tapped a digital map with a mechanical claw.
"Exactly. And whatever—or whoever—attacked the scrapyard… they've stirred more than just fear. They've started a war."
Outside, patrol drones scanned for unusual activity, beams slicing through the dim red haze of Scrapper Moon's second-worst radiation levels.
Even the locals dared not step outside; most shops had shut down.
The city's underworld and corrupt officials were in a standoff, each side shaking down anyone connected to the other—families, mechs, drones, everything.
——
Just hours ago, the scrapyard had been a powder keg; now the whole lower city was on edge.
In the twilight streets, a local shop owner shuttered his small noodle stand.
Gao's face was lined with worry.
"Business was already slow," he muttered to his android co-worker, Suva, "but now… people are scared. Even the mutated alley beasts have been quiet. Something big happened."
Suva's optical sensors scanned their immediate block.
The usual atmosphere of neon and radiation haze was absent, replaced by an eerie stillness.
The two exchanged a nervous glance—if the gangs were uneasy, it was only a matter of time before violence spilled over.
Gao lit a stick of incense, a habit from calmer days, and prayed quietly for his children's safety.
Patrol drones whirred overhead with their scanning beams cutting through the murky air.
Across the city, nowhere felt safe.
From distant corridors of power to the underbelly gutters, everyone was on edge, desperate to learn what sparks had set the city to smolder.
Meanwhile, hidden from all of Neo-Seoul's chaos, the interior of Joon-Seok's villa remained calm and quiet.
Three hours had passed since the scrapyard incident.
The fortified villa stood untouched, the siblings unaware that their movements had already drawn the attention of the TGCDG.
Agents were on their way—but still twelve hours out.
Inside, the world outside didn't exist.
The soft, golden lighting of Joon-Seok and Haewon's residence bathed the lounge, muffling the city's noise behind layers of reinforced glass and hum-filtered air.
The villa's golden light dimmed as the twin suns of Scrapper Moon sank beyond the horizon.
Through the crystalline windows, the city lights flickered uncertainly, distant and ghostlike.