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Slumlife wasn't pretty. Nor was it poetic. For Fii, it was a cacophony of daily rhythms that she learned by heart—a language all its own. It began each day with the rising haze that stained the sky an unsightly mix of rust and ash. Sunlight broke through the dust, leaving streaks of gold amidst the gray.

The tattered rooftop of her makeshift home flapped in the wind, waking her up with its repetitive tap. With a grunt, she rolled off her thin mattress, her bare feet finding the cool dirt floor beneath. No carpets here, just the grit and grime of the street creeping in.

She quickly tied her unruly hair into a messy bun, squinting into the half-light. Looking around, she saw the familiar patchwork of her neighborhood—walls slapped together with rusted metal sheets, each housing a world of secrets and memories.

A few streets over, the rhythmic thud of a football echoed. Kids, some half-dressed, darted around in a match, each goal celebrated with screams that rivaled the roosters. Nearby, Old Man Harrick sold fresh fruit from his rickety cart. Well, "fresh" was a stretch, but in the slums, you took what you got.

Every morning began to the sound of Mrs. Jain’s old radio, cranking out tunes from decades past.

Fii’s nose itched from the odor of spices, fried fish, and something foul from the murky drains. Underfoot, a worn path twisted around tightly-packed shanties, patches of dried mud, and small market stalls.

Thirsty.

She made her way to the small water pump at the corner, where a line of slum-dwellers waited with buckets and jugs. The pump, a relic from a time long past, groaned and creaked, but it still spat out water, albeit with a brownish tinge. She waited her turn, nodding to familiar faces, exchanging brief words and the occasional jest.

"Morning, Fii," greeted Mrs. Patel, her wrinkled face breaking into a smile. "Early as usual, I see."

Fii smiled back, putting her name to memory. Again.

She didn't know Mrs. Patel that well, but there were names she needed to remember. There was Mr. Krish, the fishmonger, and Miss Hari, who traded in secondhand clothes. As the line inched forward, she eavesdropped on the adults' banter, chuckling as the local rumors came to light.

When her turn finally came, she put her plastic jug down and tugged on the pump handle. A small stream trickled out, enough to fill a quarter of her jug. With everyone fetching water for their homes, the pump would run dry soon enough.

A few drops spilled on her as she raised the jug. Frowning, she set it back and pulled up her shirt, wiping her face. The fabric scratched her skin as it dragged across, her body sticky from the stifling humidity. It was summer. Every day, the heat grew worse.

She took a quick gulp, the coolness soothing her parched throat.

Her stomach grumbled. Right, breakfast.

She wiped her hands dry and headed toward a nearby stall, passing by a group of street urchins on the way. One of them, a boy of five, waddled towards her. He looked up with pleading eyes and a grimy face, his tattered clothing hanging loose.

Fii rummaged through her pockets, but all she found were a few Tinks and an empty candy wrapper. Her heart sank as she shook her head.

"I've got nothing, kiddo," she said apologetically. The boy slumped his shoulders and joined his friends.

By then, the aroma of fried meatballs wafted by, making her mouth water. They weren't really meat, of course—just a cheap imitation made from animal waste. But they smelled delicious, and a girl could dream.

As she walked, she passed the Tower of Songs. Even in the early hours, the soft strumming of a guitar wafted out, mingling with the distant hum of the metropolis beyond the Wall. The tower stood tall, its faded bricks covered in ivy that cascaded like a waterfall. The building, once a prison for criminals, had been re-purposed as a refuge for artists and musicians.

Further down, the Spirits' Alley beckoned. Even in the early hours, the narrow lane buzzed with activity. Tiny bars, each little more than a hole in the wall, lined the walkway, packed with patrons nursing pints of ale. On the left, 'Old Man Whiskey' nursed his customary bottle of whiskey, hobbling along as he did his rounds. A drunk sat by the gutter, muttering curses under his breath.

"Piss off, scumbag!" one of the patrons growled, kicking a stray dog away from the alley. "Stupid mutt!"

The dog whimpered and crawled under a row of dumpsters, seeking refuge. It watched the men with fearful eyes, its ribs clearly visible under its frail, mangy coat. It'd find no food there, not from those crooks. Fii watched the dog with a sigh, turning her gaze away. It was just how the world worked, but the sight never got easier to take.

Grime-ridden alleys were Fii's stomping grounds, with every twisted path and shadowy corner as familiar as the back of her hand. The slums buzzed around her. Street vendors peddled wares that danced between legality and danger, the sizzle of frying meat merging with distant shouts of a dice game turned sour.

Past the alley, she reached the Rust Market. Shops stretched for blocks, the merchants shouting as they hawked their wares. In the center of it all loomed the remnants of the old skyscraper. The upper half had collapsed, and most of the windows had been shattered. Still, its shape reminded her of an outstretched hand, reaching for the skies above.

It was there that she met Rao, the cyber-tech vendor. He sat behind his makeshift store, surrounded by a variety of gadgets and electronics. Old cellphones, laptops, tablets, and other devices lay in haphazard piles, some in pieces, others still in decent condition. Rao's stall always drew a crowd, especially on Saturdays.

Rao wore a greasy blue vest, and his peppered-black hair glistened with oil. His large forehead seemed even bigger thanks to the pair of goggles resting atop his brow.

He tinkered with a pile of circuit boards as he mumbled to himself. Beside him sat a metal bin overflowing with wires, rubber padding, and other bits.

Fii strolled past, peering at the items in the stall. She never bought anything from him, but she liked browsing nonetheless.

"Morning, Rao," she called, grinning when the man glanced up. "How's business?"

"Ah, Fii," he grunted, pushing his goggles back and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Eh, so-so."

Fii leaned closer, examining a silver object in the corner. "What's this?"

He squinted, scratching the side of his bald spot as if searching for inspiration. "That? Dunno. Some new thing, I guess."

"You guess?" she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

Rao shrugged, ignoring the comment as he dug through a box of circuits. He pulled out a tiny square chip and showed it to her, his toothless grin widening.

"Check this out, kid." He held the chip before her, wiggling the device with a hint of pride. "Latest MEG-chip I got my hands on."

"Oh? What's a MEG-chip?" Fii asked, leaning forward to examine the item.

"Multi-Encrypted Geolocation Chip." Rao nodded with satisfaction, rubbing the surface with a dirty cloth. "Latest tech. Fancy, eh?"

"Wow, so fancy." Fii struggled not to roll her eyes again. "What exactly does that do?"

"You mean besides encrypt your location and send fake info to the hawks in the sky?" Rao smirked, slipping the chip into a small baggie. "Tells people where you ain't."

"Huh," she exclaimed, taken aback. "Neat. Who'd use that, though? It's not like the bigger gangs even have the tech to track people."

The man glanced around furtively. "There're plenty of things going on in the slums these days," he whispered, nodding conspiratorially. "Walls have ears, kid. Walls have ears..."

"Right...anyways," she shrugged, already bored by the conversation. "Can I get a synthie roll?" she asked, handing over her meager earnings from a couple of days ago.

Even though Rao's shop was primarily a cyber-tech outlet, he also ran a small side business selling street food. The only reason Fii frequented his stall was the food. While she'd never admit it aloud, those synthetic meat rolls tasted great.

Rao scrutinized the coins in his hand, grumbling under his breath. "Hmph, that's barely enough for a single roll, kid!"

Fii sighed. This was old news.

"C'mon, Rao. You know how I am, I'm good for it. Besides, I helped you carry all those boxes the other day, didn't I? C'mon, gimme a break, will ya?" she pleaded.

After a moment's consideration, the merchant begrudgingly nodded, motioning her to sit down as he headed over to the corner to prepare her order.

Fii didn't particularly enjoy begging, but she often did what she must. That was the way life worked, a lesson she learned early in life. The only other alternative was stealing, and Fii never stooped to that level. Instead, she took odd jobs and errands here and there. She even got paid sometimes; mostly in canned goods and other sundries. Still, beggars can't be choosers.

"You want the special sauce?" Rao called back.

"Sure."

Rao eventually returned, passing a steaming parcel wrapped in newspaper to Fii. A squirt of bright green liquid dripped on top, giving the impression of chili sauce. Not that Fii was sure it even was, though. Rao called it the special sauce, but no one knew what went in.

Still, she wasn't complaining. In this part of town, at least you got what you paid for.

She unwrapped the parcel and devoured the synthie, savoring the juices that dribbled onto her chin. The insides tasted more like soy than chicken, but with the right spices, who cared?

The metropolis glistened in the distance, a towering symbol of prosperity. Lights flickered from its glass-walled towers, revealing hints of its bustling energy. High above, planes and hovercrafts glided effortlessly through the sky. It seemed so close, yet worlds apart.

At the Wall, metropolis security personnel checked IDs for people crossing over. Down below, the slums remained unattended.

Why bother? The slums posed no threat or interest. So long as crime and corruption remained under control, the MetSec never bothered to go too far into the slums. Slum-dwellers had to deal with their own problems. That was the reality.

But it's home.

She sighed, taking another bite of her roll. It was better not to think of things she couldn't change. What mattered was getting through the day and earning a living.

Still, Fii wanted to make it beyond the Wall someday, but that was a pipe dream. The closest she ever got was sneaking up and touching its surface, feeling the cold steel against her fingers.

She went back over to Rao, who had already finished with his first round of sales.

"Need any help today?" she asked.

"I always need help," he replied, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Lighting one, he drew in a deep breath, exhaling with a puff.

Fii turned aside, trying to hide her annoyance. She didn't have anything against smoking, but that brand gave off an overpowering odor, and she hated the smell of tobacco.

Rao noticed her discomfort and chuckled. "Not a fan, eh? Can't blame you, but these babies keep me going through the day."

"Aren't there, y'know, those less obnoxious ones? You've been smoking the same stuff since forever."

"Nothing beats a good, old-fashioned smoke." He shrugged and tapped the cigarette, watching as ash sprinkled onto the ground. "Anyway, you offering help or just criticizing my vices?"

"Yeah, got some errands for me to run?"

"Hmm, well, I do need to fetch a new batch of synthies from the market. Think you can swing by for me?"

She nodded, finishing her meal.

"Here's the address." Rao handed her a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it and some sort of passcode. "There are a bunch of crates marked with my initials. Grab whatever you can carry and bring it back here. I'll pay when you return, and if anyone tries to hassle you, let 'em know Rao sent ya."

She grinned and shoved the note in her jacket.

"No problem. Be back in a flash."

---

Stepping outside the Rust Market, she felt a brief breeze tickle her nose. With a spring in her step, she weaved her way through the crowds, dodging a few errant pedestrians along the way. She used to worry about getting trampled, but years of practice gave her an edge. Besides, it helped to be fast on your feet around here. Darting through the crowd, Fii's worn-out shoes hit the uneven ground in rhythm.

She had barely traveled halfway when she heard a series of gunshots close by. Startled, she jumped back, hitting a passerby.

"Hey! Watch where you're going," the woman hissed, rubbing her arm. Fii mumbled a hurried apology, looking for the source of the noise.

Another gunshot rang out, followed by several more.

Shit. Fii stepped around a corner, avoiding the crowd. A handful of people screamed, scrambling away from the scene.

Gunshots meant only one thing: trouble. Trouble for Fii, and everyone else in the vicinity.

A truck zoomed past, screeching to a halt as gang members opened fire on each other. She recognized the markings on its side. These were the Gully Rats, a gang notorious for its brutality. Their rivals, the Reaper Posse, fired back without a care for civilians caught in the crossfire.

Time to leave. Fii made a dash for safety. As she sprinted, she spotted a young boy cowering in a corner. Eyes wide with fear, he trembled as bullets ricocheted around him.

Damnit.

Before she could second-guess herself, she rushed over to grab him. Wrapping him protectively with her arms, she leapt to cover behind a dumpster. A bullet whizzed past, narrowly missing them both.

Fii held the boy close to her chest and shut her eyes tight. Please don't see us. She knew that hiding was risky, but she had no choice. She could feel the boy's heartbeat as she sheltered him, and the rising panic in her own.

Seconds later, the fight ended. Who won, Fii had no idea. It didn't matter either—all that mattered was getting out of there before they came back.

Cautiously, she peeked over the edge, scanning her surroundings. An empty street lay before her, with no signs of the gangs. She checked on the kid, who looked back with tearful eyes. His black hair stuck out from under a worn cap, and dirt smudged his pale skin.

Fii forced a smile and tried to soothe him. "It's okay, it's safe now," she said quietly. The boy clung to her as they slowly crawled out from behind the dumpster.

They got up, still holding hands. "You alright?" she asked.

The kid nodded silently, his lip quivering. He wasn't hurt, but his whole body shook, and he refused to let go of her.

"Can you tell me where your parents are?" she tried again.

He pointed at a nearby building, too petrified to speak. She took him over and knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, a middle-aged couple opened. Seeing the child, the man yelled in alarm, clutching him close to his chest. The child whimpered, clinging to his father as Fii explained what happened.

After reassuring the parents, she excused herself. She had to get going if she wanted to make it before lunchtime.

An hour later, she reached the market stalls, breathing heavily from her run. Finding the street, she stopped in front of a warehouse and scanned for Rao's crates. Spotting them at the end of a row, she pushed a cart over and stacked them up, straining to lift. Damn, those crates are heavy. With a final shove, she loaded her cart and wheeled it outside.

A warehouse worker walked over, a scowl on his face. "Where d'you think you're going, kid?" he grunted.

"Delivering for Rao. Y'know, Rao from the Rust Market? Cyber-tech vendor. Small guy, round belly. He told me to pick this up from here."

The man rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah, whatever. Give me his authorization code. And hurry, we don't have all day."

"Right, hold on." She took out Rao's slip of paper, skimming over it. "The code is U7-18A39," she replied confidently.

The worker shook his head, folding his arms. "Nope. That's wrong."

Fii frowned, looking at the sheet. She ran a finger down the list. The codes here matched what Rao gave her, so why was the guy saying no? She glanced at the clock on the wall. If she took any longer, Rao would be left hanging.

Think fast, Fii.

"Sorry, maybe you got it wrong?" she suggested. "U7-18A39. It says it right here."

The man peered at her. "Lemme see that," he huffed, snatching the paper. His eyes scanned it over. "Oh yeah, sorry," he muttered. "Your info was correct after all. Sorry, been working here too long. Names, faces, codes... they get blurry after a while. Anyway, you got everything, then?"

"Just what I can carry, yeah," she lied, feeling a sense of relief. Phew. That was a lucky break. "I'll probably be back later when Rao needs some more. Thanks for letting me take these!"

The man waved dismissively. "Just get moving. And tell Rao to get his orders straight next time. Those crates shoulda been picked up yesterday."

"Uh, will do! I'll definitely let him know that. Right, see you around then!" She quickly pushed her cart out of the warehouse, hurrying to get away from the grouchy guy.

Halfway down the street, she saw someone lying unconscious on the sidewalk. A nasty cut streaked his forehead, blood dripping from it.

Dammit. It looked serious, but there wasn't much she could do on her own. She leaned over to check for a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the faint throbbing against her fingers.

She hesitated. Should she wait with the victim until help arrived? Or leave now and send for help once she got to Rao's?

That grouchy guy wouldn't like it if she lingered around. Then again, what if it was a robbery gone bad? Her mind raced, thinking through the best option.

Forget it, I can't stay here any longer.

Rao was expecting her, and she couldn't afford to make him mad. Deciding on a plan, she put her hands under the man's arms, struggling to drag him off the street. She only managed a few inches. Damn, he was heavier than she'd expected.

Groaning, she tugged a little harder. She braced her feet against the ground and pulled, inching him to relative safety. Finally, she moved him enough that no one would trip on him. At least for now, it'd be enough.

Fii stood up and wiped the sweat off her face. Quickly checking her surroundings, she hopped on the cart and wheeled herself towards the Rust Market, glancing behind occasionally.

Hopefully, that guy would wake up soon.

As she rounded a corner, she crashed into another person. Crap. Before she could apologize, something grabbed her and flung her aside.

In the confusion, her cart toppled, the crates clattering against the pavement.

"Oi, watch where you're going!" a deep voice snarled. Fii looked up to see a figure towering over her. Dark tattoos ran across his burly arms, and his bald scalp gleamed against the sunlight.

It was Zoltar. Shit. One of the Gully Rats' lieutenants, and a mean bastard at that.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, backing away.

"Well, well. Look who it is," he sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Little Miss Acrobat. Whatcha got there? Where d'you steal this from, eh?"

"It's not stolen!" she protested, eyeing him nervously. "Rao sent me to—"

He snapped his fingers, interrupting her.

A younger guy slunk forward from his shadow, his scarred face leering at her.

"Search her pockets and dump the crates," Zoltar ordered. "We'll see how good this one is at running errands after this."

The henchman jeered, grabbing her roughly.

"Let go of me!" she yelled.

He threw her against the wall, pinning her in place. A stinking hand clamped over her mouth, and another patted her down, sliding across her body.

She thrashed around, fighting against the grip, but he held on. Her muffled screams fell on deaf ears. Her eyes widened as she felt the intrusive fingers slip lower, digging into her hips. When he reached her pockets, she bit down hard, drawing blood.

With a yelp, he yanked his hand back.

Fii ducked and rammed her head against him, breaking free. Clenching her fist, she punched him squarely in the jaw, sending him reeling back, cursing.

"Why you little—!" he roared. The thug reached out and yanked her hair, slamming her head against the pavement.

Her vision blurred.

Zoltar strode over, laughing. He placed his foot against her chest and pressed down. She gasped for air.

"Listen up, twerp," he growled. "We've got some business to take care of here, so scram. Got it? Don't get in our way."

He kicked her aside, then motioned at his partner.

"Now clean up this mess," he ordered.

Fii scrambled to her feet, her head spinning.

"Hey, those aren't yours!" she shouted, charging at them.

Big mistake.

The bigger guy lashed out with his fist, striking her in the ribs. Pain shot through her as he punched her again. She collapsed, groaning in agony.

Zoltar glowered, his lips curling into an ugly smirk. "If you know what's good for you, you'll get lost. Unless you're looking for some trouble."

She shook her head frantically, mumbling an apology.

As she watched them leave with the cart, she slumped against the wall, defeated. She coughed, wincing from the pain in her ribs. Blood trickled from her mouth.

She brushed the dirt off her clothes, limping along. Staggering through the streets, she tried not to attract attention from the other passersby.

Damn it.

Now she had to go back empty-handed and explain what happened. How was she supposed to explain this to Rao?

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