The next day, I awoke once more to the sound of the slamming door. I hurriedly got ready—the test was the day after tomorrow, and I still had work to do. The streets of Sector 107 smelled of burnt metal and trash, a stench that clung to you no matter how far you walked. I weaved through the narrow alleys, my boots thumping against uneven slabs of concrete, occasionally sinking into patches of desert sand and mud where the streets had broken down. In the background I could hear the soundtrack of Sector 107: a kid shouting obscenities at—well I'm not sure what, and a pair of oversized, radiation-scarred dogs fighting over a puddle of spilled gruel—or was it oil? The sun hadn't yet climbed above the Skyline towers, but the busted street lamps of Sector 107 lit my way.
I kept my eyes forward, as was best practice when travelling alone in Landfall. I ignored the beggars' cries and avoided eye contact with the rough-looking scavengers who lingered near the alleys. A merchant waved a hand at me from behind a cart of flickering old lights and cracked screens. "Fresh meat! Cheap!" he yelled. I had no interest—not today, and probably not any day soon for that matter. His "meat" looked anything but "fresh", and I wasn't sure where he'd sourced it—though, if my suspicions were accurate it would be best to keep my distance.
I continued down the alley, feeling disgusted and trying to shove the memory of the mystery meat merchant out of my mind. A group of kids darted past, laughing and tossing scraps of junk at a broken drone that sputtered and sparked, barely holding itself together. One of them paused long enough to snatch a flickering credit chip from a puddle, grinning triumphantly before disappearing into another street.
Eventually, the alley opened onto a wider thoroughfare that stretched through Sectors 100 to 150. Merchants peddled everything from low-quality holo films to syringes of "medicine" promising eternal youth, their signs flickering with hand-painted letters and faulty neon. Overhead, the occasional drone hummed lazily, its optics scanning for trouble—or more likely just collecting data for the corporate towers far above. People hurried past, faces streaked with dust and grime, clutching bags of whatever they had managed to scavenge or purchase. Others chattered or paused to watch a mutated street performer juggle glass bottles with three hands, eventually crunching the glass between his teeth and swallowing the razor shards. Elsewhere, a fight had broken out between two men, a crowd surrounding them and egging them on.
I hurried past it all. At another time, I may have stopped to observe the performer's grotesque skill, but I had places to be—the Landfall Public Library, to be exact.
Even though most of my notes were scribbled down in my notebook—which I carried everywhere with me—I still needed the library. The corporations that ran Landfall's archives and data-net kept most of their information behind heavily encrypted systems, and while I could memorise the basics at home, to study effectively I had to access their terminals. Schematics, formulas, precedent cases… everything that could give me even a sliver of an advantage. Apart from the limited access to the data-net provided at school the library was the only other place I could study.
I neared the end of the thoroughfare and spotted the Belts—the overhead conveyor system that had once been meant to move scrap and goods across the sectors. In typical Landfall fashion, the citizens had modified it as a sort of public transport. The metal tracks stretched above the street like a network of serpents, the massive gears groaning as they shifted crates of scrap. Flexible cords—scavenged wiring and reinforced tubing—hung from the underside, designed for people like me to hang onto.
I grabbed one, looping it around my wrist and tested the tension. Strong enough. I sprinted, leaping to catch the moving belt, and felt my stomach lurch as it carried me above the street. Wind whipped against my face, whipping up dust and the faint tang of burnt metal from below. I could see the streets unfolding beneath me: vendors shouting, scavengers hauling scraps, and a man with mechanical arms shaping molten metal into panels like it was nothing. I threaded my way along the overhead path, cord creaking with every movement. Hanging off the Belts for so long was tiring but like most residents of landfall I had adapted to it, I was skinny with wiry strong arms conditioned by hundreds of journeys.
When I reached the point near the library entrance, I released the cord and dropped onto a nearby roof with a soft thud, careful not to twist my ankle.
I spotted a pile of rubbish bags on the street below, I jumped down off the roof landing in the pile to soften my landing.
Just across the street stood the Landfall public library, a towering multiple story building. It was notably cleaner and more well maintained than the surrounding buildings. I joined the throngs of people passing in and out of the library and after jostling through the crowd entered the building.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and warm electronics rather than dust and rot, and the floors were smooth and swept clean. Nothing was stacked haphazardly; rows of shelves stood in neat, measured alignment, their contents tagged and organized. Multiple floors were connected by narrow staircases and a single creaking elevator, and I could see patrons moving methodically through the stacks, holo screens floating beside them as they scanned texts.
It was a public facility, certainly not up to the glossy standard of corporate archives in the Skyline towers, but compared to me it was practically a palace. Terminals lined the walls, each humming with quiet life, granting access to the Landfall data-net. I found a quiet corner tucked between a shelf of technical manuals and a small reading alcove, far enough from the main thoroughfare that the clatter of feet was just a faint murmur.
I dropped my bag, pulled out my notebook, and activated the small holo screen in the reading alcove. Blue light flickered across my notes as I accessed the data-net, fingers hovering briefly before searching for the information I wanted.
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For nearly an hour I had been buried in notes, switching between my notebook and the holo terminals. The financial sector of Landfall fascinated me—credits flowing in intricate loops between banks, investment firms, and shadow companies that nobody outside the Skyline District ever noticed. I mapped connections between raw material suppliers in the outer sectors and the construction corporations that built modular housing and infrastructure, noting where delays, inefficiencies, or corruption created openings for small traders. Technology firms loomed in the background, innovating, adapting, or scavenging old AI systems from the Ancients, while service corporations—transport, sanitation and energy—kept the city functioning.
I cross-referenced everything with my own scribbled notes, adding tiny annotations and symbols for things I couldn't fully memorise yet. The hum of the library faded into background noise; even the occasional creak of the elevator or the faint hiss of a distant terminal seemed part of a rhythm I had grown used to. My eyes ached from staring at the holo screens and my hand was cramped from scribbling in my notebook.
By the time I leaned back and rubbed my neck, the light had shifted, softening as the sun climbed higher. I had made good progress—enough that I could take a short break and not feel like I was wasting time.
That was when I heard the familiar clatter of boots on the floor below, followed by a series of muffled laughs. I down to see Kiran and Jaleel staring up at me, grinning like idiots.