Chapter 1: Edge of Nowhere
Falcon lived in a box....
Not a metaphor. A literal rusted metal bunk bolted to the edge of City No. 235-67, where the towers stopped scraping the sky and the trash started piling up. It was a tiny room, just barely tall enough to stand, with no bed—just cold steel floors, scattered tools, a broken sink, and shelves stuffed with books no one in their right mind would touch.
It had been his grandfather's place.
The old man had been sharp—too sharp. A mechanic, a chemist, a bio-hacker—before such words became crimes. Before they became a death sentence. He'd passed on knowledge—three deadly arts: Machinery, Biology, and Chemistry. Knowledge that went deeper than textbooks and had ways of making people disappear. The kind that didn't just change the world, but destroyed it.
But that was before. Now, all Falcon had left was the stench of burnt metal, the hiss of garbage fires from the vents, and a gnawing emptiness in his gut. No Authority. No credits. No bloodline. Just garbage, and the space between what he was and what he needed to become.
And like every day, Falcon needed to eat.
He slid on his boots—one size too big, like everything in his life—and stepped into the world that felt like an endless stretch of decay. The air always had a gray tint, thick with smog that swallowed everything but the flickering lights in the distance. The kind of city where hope was just another smog cloud, dissipating before it could settle.
Trash No. 45. The dumping ground for all things forgotten. The city's waste—organic, digital, mechanical—ended up here. And people like Falcon dug through it, hunted for scraps, and scraped by. No glory. Just survival.
The others were already out, picking at the latest pile of garbage. Kato was there, skinny as a rat, fast as a shadow, his body a map of old scars. Not dangerous. Just useful. He waved as Falcon approached, a grin twisting his face.
"Yo, sleep in again, trash prince?"
Falcon didn't even bother to look up. "Looking for food. Not jokes."
Kato chuckled. "Sure, sure. But hey, if you find anything edible, hit me up first. I'm craving a pre-collapse snack pack."
Falcon let out a dry breath. They both knew there wasn't anything edible here. The best they could hope for was a few useful parts for bartering. But it was all they had.
He kneeled down, sifting through the fresh pile—broken circuits, shards of metal, charred wires. Then, his fingers brushed against something different. A panel, etched with symbols that didn't belong. Not corporate. Not serial-coded. Just… there.
His fingers stopped. Something felt wrong. But before he could think on it—
A shadow loomed.
"Well, well. Look what the rat dragged in."
Marco. That smug sneer stretched across his face like he owned everything in sight. Two lackeys flanked him, their eyes full of low-tier aggression. Marco had Authority—just enough to push people around, just enough to make him dangerous. Not enough to make him a king. Not yet.
Falcon stayed crouched, fingers still on the panel. "Keep walking."
Marco's footsteps came closer. "That yours? You know the rules. No Authority, no claim. You're zero. You find something good, it's mine."
Falcon's voice was flat, calm. "Not handing anything over."
Marco's boot kicked the pile of scrap, scattering pieces like broken promises.
Kato stayed quiet behind them, smart enough to know when to shut up. He couldn't win a fight. Neither could Falcon—not with strength alone. But Falcon didn't need strength.
"Got a problem, rat?" Marco leaned in, the stink of his arrogance thick in the air. "Or maybe you want another lesson?"
Falcon didn't flinch. Didn't move. "I got nothing you want. Just trash," he said, his tone as cold as the ground beneath him.
Marco stared at him for a long moment. Something flickered in his eyes—boredom? Caution? He spat at Falcon's boot, then gave a lazy nod to his lackeys.
"Keep digging, freak. You'll die in this dump anyway."
They left, leaving Falcon alone in the trash, but not without a prize. He pulled the panel free, its weight pulling at his coat. It hummed faintly—almost imperceptible, but enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
It was heavier than it looked. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe—just maybe—it was his chance.
He stared toward the distant skyline, where the towers of the Inner District pierced the sky like sharpened blades. The place where people with Authority lived. People who mattered. The kind of people Falcon would never be, not without more than what he had.
He didn't have power. He didn't have Authority.
But he had something better.
Knowledge. And one day, that would be enough.
To be continued....