The next morning, Alex set out early, the cold wind of the Rust Quarter biting at his skin as he moved through the narrow streets. The market was just beginning to stir, vendors setting up their stalls, their breath visible in the frigid air. The familiar scent of rust and decay filled the air, mixed with the distant hum of machinery and the chatter of early morning buyers.
Alex's plan for the day was simple—find a few more small, broken items, repair them, and sell them for a profit. But as he walked through the bustling market, something felt different. There was a tension in the air, a sense that something was off.
He stopped at a stall run by a man he hadn't dealt with before, eyeing the selection of broken tech spread across the table. A few small radios, some defunct power cells, and an old, cracked data tablet. All things he could fix easily.
"How much for the tablet?" Alex asked, picking it up and inspecting the damage.
The vendor—a tall, wiry man with graying hair and a sharp, suspicious gaze—looked Alex up and down before answering. "Ten tokens. It's busted, though. Screen's cracked, and the power core's shot."
Alex nodded. "I'll take it."
He handed over the tokens and tucked the tablet into his bag, moving quickly to find a spot where he could work on the repairs. But as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The vendor had watched him a little too closely, his eyes lingering on Alex longer than usual.
Is he onto me? Alex wondered, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. Or am I just being paranoid?
"Recommendation," the AI chimed in, its calm voice breaking through Alex's thoughts. "It would be prudent to vary your purchase locations and items to avoid suspicion. Repeatedly buying repairable items from the same vendors may draw unwanted attention."
I know, Alex thought back. But there aren't many places to buy tech around here. I'll have to start looking further out.
The AI's advice was sound, but Alex knew it was easier said than done. The Rust Quarter's market was limited, and word traveled fast. If people started catching on to what he was doing, prices would skyrocket, and he'd lose the advantage.
Finding a quiet alleyway, Alex crouched down and pulled out the tablet. It wasn't in terrible shape—the screen was cracked, but the damage to the power core was fixable. He began working quickly, using his tools to carefully replace the damaged components. His hands moved smoothly, guided by the AI's subtle energy regulation, making the process quicker and more efficient.
Within an hour, the tablet was back in working order. Alex tested it, watching as the screen flickered to life, displaying the faint remnants of old-world data that had long since lost its meaning. Satisfied, he stowed the tablet and made his way to a different part of the market.
The second vendor, a woman with a rough demeanor and a sharp tongue, barely glanced at the tablet before offering him fifteen tokens. Alex took the deal without haggling. He wasn't looking for a big score—he just needed consistency. Small profits, day by day, would add up.
As the day went on, Alex continued the cycle—buying small, broken items, repairing them, and selling them off to different vendors. By the time the sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the market, he had managed to double the tokens he had started with.
It wasn't enough to get rich off, but it was enough to keep Serena, Nia, and Elara fed and safe for another week. And that was all that mattered.
As Alex made his way back to the shelter, the wind biting at his cheeks, he couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of accomplishment. He was making this work—slowly but surely. And with each repair, with each sale, he was getting better, learning more, pushing his limits.
But even as he felt the satisfaction of a job well done, a part of him couldn't shake the lingering worry. The vendors were starting to notice him. And in the Rust Quarter, attention was dangerous.
I'll have to be more careful, Alex thought, his eyes scanning the darkening streets as he approached the shelter. If I push too hard, I'll attract the wrong kind of attention.
But for now, he had a plan—and it was working.