The map was trash, but it was accurate.
Ren walked for another hour, his boots crunching over a landscape that shifted from loose garbage to compacted dirt and gravel. The purple smog overhead began to thin, replaced by the stinging, acrid smoke of thousands of cooking fires.
He heard the city before he saw it.
It was a low, constant thrum, the sound of metal banging on metal, shouting, and the distant mechanical grinding of gears.
Then, he crested a ridge of crushed concrete, and there it was.
Sector 4: The Slums.
It was not a city. It was a tumor growing out of the wasteland. Buildings made of corrugated iron, rusted shipping containers, and stone rubble were stacked atop each other in precarious, leaning towers. Neon lights, flickering and dying, buzzed on wires strung like cobwebs between the structures.
Ren pulled his wolf-fur coat tighter. He looked like a beggar, which was good. Beggars were invisible.
He approached the "Gate", a gap between two overturned tanker trucks welded together. A man sat on a plastic crate in the shadow of the trucks, cleaning his fingernails with a knife.
[Entity: Gate Guard (Tier 1)] [Affiliation: Black Serpent Gang] [Corruption: 0%]
The guard did not even look up. He just held out a greasy hand.
"Entry tax. One copper."
Ren didn't argue. He didn't ask questions. He dug into his pocket, found one of the three copper coins he had looted from the dead scavenger, and dropped it into the guard's palm.
The guard grunted, waving him through.
Ren stepped inside.
The noise hit him like a physical blow. The streets were narrow, choked with mud and people. Thin, desperate faces stared from doorways. Merchants shouted from stalls made of wooden planks, selling everything from rat skewers to rusted tools.
Smell of unwashed bodies. Rotting vegetables. Cheap spices hiding the scent of spoiled meat.
Ren kept his head down, clutching the machete wrapped in a rag under his coat. He needed money. Copper coins would not buy him a safe place to sleep, and he needed sleep to lower his Corruption.
He scanned the stalls, his left eye throbbing slightly.
[Item: Moldy Bread] [Item: Water (Contaminated)] [Item: Iron Nails (Rusted)]
Junk. All of it.
He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the hands that reached for his coat. He found a shop set back from the street, a structure built from a hollowed-out shipping container. A sign, painted in red dripping paint, read: SCRAP & IRON.
Ren stepped inside.
It was darker here, smelling of oil and heated steel. Behind a counter made of engine blocks stood a woman. She was massive, arms like tree trunks, skin the color of polished mahogany, and an artificial eye that glowed a faint, menacing yellow.
[Entity: Blacksmith Sara] [Class: Artificer (Low)] [Threat: High]
She looked up from a ledger. Her mechanical eye whirred, focusing on him.
"Buy or sell?" Her voice was like gravel in a mixer.
Ren placed the rusted machete on the counter. He unwrapped the rag.
"Sell."
Sara glanced at it. She didn't touch it.
"Scavenger trash," she spat. "The edge is chipped. The handle is rot-wood. I can't resell this as a weapon. I'd have to melt it down for the iron."
She looked at him, crossing her massive arms. "Five coppers."
Ren paused. The scavenger who died had three coppers in his pocket. Five coppers was likely the price of a bad meal.
He looked at the machete.
[Item: Rusted Scavenger Machete] [Durability: 15/40] [Material: Low-Grade Steel]
She was lying. It was not great, but it didn't need melting down. It just needed sharpening.
Ren looked around the shop. Piles of weapons lay in bins. Swords, axes, daggers. Most were in worse condition than his.
His eyes landed on a bin marked "UNUSABLE / SLAG."
Inside was a strange object. It looked like a black metal cube, about the size of a fist, covered in intricate, glowing lines that had gone dark.
[Item: Logic Drive (Damaged)] [Status: Bricked] [Hidden Data: Construct Blueprint (Incomplete)]
Ren's heart skipped a beat. A Logic Drive. That sounded like tech. That sounded like his language.
He looked back at Sara.
"Five coppers is robbery," Ren said, his voice flat. "The steel is tempered, not cast. You won't melt it. You'll grind the edge and sell it for twenty."
Sara raised an eyebrow. The mechanical eye spun. "You a smith, boy?"
"I know metal," Ren lied.
She snorted. "Fine. Eight coppers. Take it or get out."
"Eight," Ren agreed. "And the paperweight."
He pointed to the black cube in the slag bin.
Sara laughed. A loud, booming sound that shook the tools on the wall.
"That? That's ancient junk. dug it out of a ruin three years ago. Doesn't open. Doesn't melt. Too heavy to throw at rats."
She grabbed the cube and slammed it onto the counter next to the eight copper coins.
"Take it. Saves me the space."
Ren swiped the coins and the cube. The cube was heavy, cold to the touch. He shoved it into his pocket, his fingers tingling with that same magnetic buzz he felt earlier.
"Pleasure doing business," Ren said.
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
"By the way," he said, not looking back. "Your furnace ventilation is clogged. That's why your shop smells like sulfur instead of coal."
He walked out before she could respond.
Back on the street, Ren touched the cube in his pocket.
[Item: Logic Drive] [Requirement: Code Injection]
He smiled. A cold, thin smile.
Eight coppers was enough for food. The cube was the future.
But first, he needed a place to hide. His vision was blurring again. The Corruption counter was blinking in the corner of his eye.
[Corruption: 6.8%] [Warning: Mental Fatigue Detected.]
He ducked into an alleyway, away from the main street. He found a corner sheltered by a hanging tarp. It wasn't a room, but it was dry.
He sat down, clutching the cube. He closed his eyes.
"System," he whispered. "Hibernate."
The blue box didn't appear. But the static in his head quieted. The world faded.
For the first time in this new hell, Ren slept.