Evolution Protocol

The junkyard stretched out like a mechanical graveyard as far as the eye could see. A frozen sea of carcasses—old industrial modules and dismembered drones—lay stacked without order, as if the innards of technology had vomited themselves into the open.

Nael moved cautiously between two towering walls of wreckage, where the shadows cut through the artificial light of the fake sky suspended above the district. The air was saturated with ozone, iron dust, and a sharp stench of burnt plastic. With every step, his ragged shoes knocked against shards of wire or rusted metal plates, triggering brief, muffled echoes, as if the scrapyard itself was holding its breath.

He pushed aside a curtain of oily tarps and ventured deeper into the labyrinth. Around him, broken crane arms pointed at the sky like accusatory fingers. Some machines had collapsed under their own weight, sinking partially into the ground and weakening the terrain around them—spots best avoided for fear of being buried alive. Nael shivered. Faded logos of long-dead companies peeled from the rusting hulls: OrbiTech, FossGrid, Evo-Kernel Systems.

Nael had been scavenging for over an hour. He was sweating heavily despite the zone's relative coolness—nothing like the suffocating heat of the forges. His bag hung limply from his shoulder, nearly empty save for a few NutriPacks he had managed to save. He groaned as he swept aside a pile of useless components.

"Just junk..."

He straightened up, wiped his forehead, and looked around. Then, between two half-melted filtration modules, he saw it.A generator.

Not brand new—far from it. But intact. Compact. Its stabilizer ports and energy core were still in place. The casing was dented, but the indicator lights still flickered faintly—a sign it could be restarted.

The machine consisted of a large rusted cylinder with a central fan and several other components Nael couldn't identify. Truth be told, his education wasn't on par with that of the Aristocrats.

A grin spread across his face.

'Finally found you…'

He knelt down and began untangling the dead cables coiled around the machine. His hands trembled with excitement. He could already picture his bag filled with NutriPacks—the blacksmith's reward for such a find. More than anything, this would prove he wasn't some useless nobody, as some believed after his repeated failures.

Suddenly, a hard blow struck his back and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Nael rolled to the side and scrambled upright. Standing before him, stepping between the carcasses, was a tall, slim figure with messy hair and a sneer etched on his face.

The blacksmith's apprentice.

He had never given his name. A quiet type, always lingering near the adults, always avoiding eye contact. Now he stared at Nael with crossed arms and open disdain.

"I'd have bet you were too slow to find it in time," he said mockingly. "But as always, you do exactly what you're told."

Nael clenched his fists.

"You followed me?"

A scoff.

"Followed? Maybe. Who knows?"

He stepped forward and eyed the generator.

"Not bad. A Helion Mark III. The old man's gonna pay a ton of NutriPacks for this, easy."

Nael took a step back, jaw tight.

"Why are you doing this?"

The apprentice shrugged."Because I feel like it. And because I'm sick of Kim and Lys still giving you attention, even though you flunked the trials. Twice," he added with a laugh.

Silence. A cold fury rose in Nael's throat."You little bastard," he whispered.

Nael was usually calm. But the events of the past few days had pushed him to the edge—enough to abandon his usual restraint.

A cruel smile spread across the apprentice's face.

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to insult me—after you're caught." He leaned in. "See, I told the Militia some rat was poking around the scrapyard. I was just waiting for you to find a generator. But for you to actually find one…"

He glanced again at the machine, greedy.

A low thud echoed in the distance. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps.

Nael froze.

The Militia.

The sounds grew closer—mechanical and methodical. Several men. Probably a drone scout, too. They had been spotted.

The apprentice turned on his heel."I'll leave you to explain things, Ghost—"

Unfortunately for him, he didn't finish that sentence. Nael lunged.

They tumbled to the ground, exchanging elbows and punches. Metal clanged, grunts filled the air. One tried to bite, the other struck the gut. Nael, blinded by rage, pounded the apprentice's chest. Then the footsteps grew too close. A sharp command echoed.

"Target acquired. Neutralize."

A laser bolt skimmed a barrel, which exploded in a shower of sparks.

The boys broke apart. The apprentice sprinted away. Nael followed, panting and exhausted.

After only a few meters—just outside the scrapyard—the apprentice abruptly turned and shoved Nael into a side alley.

Nael stumbled, rolled through putrid, stagnant water.

"Ugh!!"

By the time he got up, the apprentice was gone—along with the generator.

Behind him, Militia agents barked orders. Spotlights swept the alleys. Drones buzzed in the air.

Nael ran, faster than before.

He skirted a crumbling wall, slid under a pipeline, slipped on an oil patch. His heart pounded like a deranged piston. An alarm sounded nearby.

He turned right.

***

He'd been running full-tilt for nearly fifteen minutes now, dashing through the crumbling alleys of the district's northern edge. Behind him, what felt like the entire Militia was in pursuit, shouting commands.

'Don't they ever get tired?!'

After digging through the scrapyard, arguing, fighting, and now this chase—Nael was beyond drained. He couldn't even remember the last time he had run this hard.

'Just leave me alone already!'

He darted down more alleys, taking shortcuts only he knew—hence the ironic nickname: Ghost of the Alleys. Eventually, he reached a familiar place: the orphanage.

He slowed slightly, thinking quickly as his pursuers closed in. Hiding in the orphanage wasn't a bad idea on paper. The Militia had no authority to extract anyone from the Center since it was protected by the government.

But there was one person far more terrifying than everyone in the Furnace combined: the Matron, Mrs. Lys.

Despite her strict but motherly demeanor, she was terrifying. She must have held real clout, considering the Governor himself had put her in charge of the Center's children. Nael shivered at the thought of the punishments she might inflict.

'I'd rather die than scrub those walls with a toothbrush again!'

Decision made—and knowing the Militia would find him anywhere—Nael turned sharply into an adjacent alley, toward the voices.

He had a risky idea.

He clutched his near-empty bag tighter and pushed himself onward.

A few exhausting minutes later, he slowed.

And stopped cold.

Before him loomed a massive structure.

A transfer gate.

Ten meters tall, built of black titanium, it was encircled with thick cables connected to cryogenic batteries. Gravity pylons floated around the arch, stabilizing the space within. Warning signs pulsed red. It hadn't been used since the Governor's last passage. Nael could tell—there were no guards. No one expected what he was about to do. Not even him.

He hesitated, weighing the risks.

The portal allowed travel between the Upper and Lower Districts of the orbital ring, though such transfers were rare. Even the Chosen followed safety protocols for traversal.

But Nael was just a nobody. Weak. And what he was about to do could very well kill him.

Nael gasped for breath.

Behind him, bootsteps drew closer.

He pulled out his NutriPacks. He had six. Not enough. Not for thermal shock. Not for pressure resistance.

He looked up at the arch.

Energy crackled, the gravity field was unstable, but active. He could go through. Maybe…

A voice shouted from behind.

"THERE! HE'S THERE!"

Nael looked at his hands. One was empty. The other trembled.

No more time.

He ran. Straight toward the gate. The air shimmered around him. His legs threatened to give out, but he kept going. The light inside the field blazed brighter. His bag nearly slipped.

And he jumped.

Through the current, through the forbidden, through the fear.

A searing pain tore through him. Raw electricity. His nerves screamed.

Then silence.

The last thing he saw were the agents lunging for the activation lever.

'Eat shit, assholes,' Nael thought with a faint grin.

Then—nothing.

His journey into the unknown—and toward a new life—had just begun.