The blank Kael called home was a maze of chaos and opportunity, nestled on the crumbling edge of what was once a bustling metropolis. Officially, it didn't belong to any faction. In reality, it was a battleground of shifting alliances, black-market deals, and unspoken rules. The area had earned the nickname "Cinder's Cross" due to the ever-present haze of ash drifting down from nearby industrial ruins.
Cinder's Cross thrived on its lawlessness. Traders, scavengers, and outcasts made their way here to buy and sell the remnants of the old world. Smoke-streaked stalls lined the makeshift streets, offering everything from salvaged electronics to questionable food rations. Bartering was the dominant currency, though faction coins and Consortium credits were grudgingly accepted.
Kael blended into this chaos with practiced ease.
Kael's day always began early, well before the streets of Cinder's Cross stirred to life. The faint glow of an old solar panel kept his shed dimly lit as he prepped for the day's work. He filled his satchel with carefully selected items—repaired circuit boards, refurbished tools, and small vials of homemade antiseptic. Each piece was tagged with a price, but Kael knew flexibility was key.
He grabbed a reinforced case holding the drone power cell. This would be the highlight of his offerings today, provided he found the right buyer. High-value tech wasn't something you displayed openly in the Cross unless you wanted trouble.
Before stepping outside, Kael donned his coat, its interior lined with hidden pockets for smaller valuables. He slipped his revolver into its holster—a precaution more than a weapon of choice—and checked the motion sensor at his shed's entrance.
"Clear," he muttered, stepping into the cold, ash-filled air.
The streets of Cinder's Cross were already stirring, the early risers hawking their goods or tending to rickety stalls. A weathered man in a patchwork uniform roasted meat over an open flame, the scent barely masking the staleness of the air. Nearby, a group of children darted through the crowd, their laughter incongruous against the backdrop of decay.
Kael made his way to the market square, a rough circle of makeshift stalls arranged around the rusted skeleton of a toppled skyscraper. The centerpiece was the tower's exposed foundation, which now served as a meeting point for traders and informants alike.
Kael set up his station near the edge, unfurling a canvas sheet to display his wares. His reputation kept most trouble at bay—he was known for honest deals and reliable products. But it also made him a target for desperate scavengers who thought they could intimidate him.
The first customers of the day were regulars. A wiry woman with streaks of gray in her hair inspected a set of solar connectors, nodding in satisfaction as Kael explained their functionality.
"Good work as always," she said, slipping a small pouch of credits into his hand.
Kael nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd as he pocketed the payment. His attention was always divided in the Cross; there were too many angles to watch.
A gruff man approached next, his face partially obscured by a tattered scarf. He glanced around nervously before leaning in.
"You got anything... high capacity?"
Kael's hand hovered over the case holding the power cell, but he hesitated. The man's demeanor set off warning bells.
"Not today," Kael said smoothly. "Check back next week."
The man scowled but moved on without a word. Kael exhaled quietly. Selling high-value items required timing and discretion, and the Cross was no place for carelessness.
By mid-afternoon, the market square was in full swing. Shouts of haggling filled the air, mingling with the clang of metal and the occasional distant gunshot. Kael leaned back in his chair, sipping water from a battered canteen as he watched the ebb and flow of the crowd.
Despite its chaos, the Cross had a rhythm. Faction agents occasionally passed through, though they kept to themselves unless provoked. Independent scavengers formed loose alliances, their loyalty as fickle as the winds carrying ash across the landscape.
Kael's thoughts drifted to the cylinder he'd found. It was still tucked safely away in his shed, its mysteries unanswered. Part of him itched to dive into its secrets, but he knew better than to rush.
A sharp voice pulled him from his reverie.
"Kael!"
He turned to see Davin, a lanky young man with a knack for finding trouble. His wild grin and patched coat were as familiar as the wiry frame carrying them.
"What is it, Davin?" Kael asked, his tone flat.
"You'll want to hear this," Davin said, glancing around before leaning closer. "Word's out—something big's going down near the old rail line tonight. Could be worth a look."
Kael frowned. The rail line was deep in the neutral zone, where danger multiplied with every step. Still, Davin wasn't one to exaggerate.
"I'll think about it," Kael said, his voice cautious.
Davin nodded, already backing away into the crowd. Kael watched him disappear, a sense of unease settling in his chest. The day wasn't over yet, and the Cross had a way of surprising even the most careful.