The Fractured Age

Cinder's Cross wasn't a place you chose to live; it was where you ended up when every other door closed. The blank was an ecosystem of contradictions: desperate and vibrant, crumbling and thriving. Every alley and abandoned building housed stories of survival—some triumphant, most tragic.

The landscape of Cinder's Cross was a graveyard of the pre-collapse world. Rusted skeletal remains of skyscrapers loomed overhead, their once-glass facades long shattered. Streets, where autonomous vehicles once glided smoothly, were now cracked and uneven, overgrown with resilient weeds or cluttered with debris. The old world's infrastructure still lingered, stubbornly refusing to be buried by time.

A network of makeshift pathways and bridges connected the higher levels of the ruins, creating a vertical cityscape where the desperate and daring dwelled. Those who couldn't afford or manage the heights stayed on the ground, where the air was heavier with ash and the risk of violence was greater.

A wide river cut through the heart of the blank, its water gray and lifeless, tainted by decades of industrial runoff. Bridges spanning the river were controlled by self-appointed toll keepers, often gangs or small syndicates. On rare occasions, faction envoys ventured across these bridges, their motives as unclear as their loyalties.

Scattered throughout the Cross were hubs of activity: open markets, barter zones, and communal spaces. These were places of fragile peace, where weapons were nominally forbidden and trade was the only currency that mattered.

Kael's reputation in Cinder's Cross was that of a fixer—a problem-solver with a knack for staying neutral in a world where allegiances shifted like sand. This made him valuable to many, though it also ensured he had no true allies.

As he navigated the bustling streets, Kael exchanged curt nods and murmured greetings with familiar faces.

Mira, a grizzled mechanic with a thick accent and an even thicker wrench, waved him over to her corner stall. "You bringing me that stabilizer tomorrow, Kael? Don't make me wait."

The Twins, identical in everything except their eyepatches, tried to sell him scrap they'd clearly pilfered from one of his caches. Kael sent them off with a glare.

Joss, a wiry trader with a fondness for rum and rumors, sidled up to him in the market square. "Kael, you hear about the caravan that went missing last week? They say the raiders left no bodies this time."

Kael kept his answers short, giving just enough to keep the peace but never enough to invite deeper conversation. Trust was a rare commodity here, and he wasn't about to squander it.

Kael's workbench in the market square wasn't flashy, but it was organized. Displayed on the canvas were neatly arranged items: refurbished drones, medical kits patched with salvaged components, small vials of antiseptic, and hand-cranked power generators.

Haggling was an art form in Cinder's Cross, and Kael excelled at it.

"Fifty credits for the med kit," a wiry man with scars across his knuckles demanded.

Kael shook his head. "Eighty. The antiseptic alone is worth forty."

"Sixty and I'll throw in a pack of ration bars," the man countered, holding up a bundle of foil-wrapped packs.

Kael's eyes narrowed. Ration bars were as valuable as tech out here, but he wasn't about to be rushed. He grabbed one, inspecting the seal. "Seventy-five, and I take three packs. Final offer."

The man grumbled but agreed, handing over the bars and a handful of credits. Kael nodded, handing over the med kit.

Not all trades went as smoothly.

A young scavenger approached, her eyes darting nervously. She placed a small, scorched circuit board on the table. "What can you give me for this?"

Kael examined it briefly, the board's components fused beyond repair. He shook his head. "It's junk. Sorry."

The girl's face fell, but she didn't argue. She left quickly, clutching the useless piece of tech as though it were a lifeline.

Beyond the market square's visible dealings was a second economy—one of whispered transactions and covert trades. Kael was no stranger to this world, though he tread carefully.

Late in the afternoon, he met with a contact in a shadowed alley. The man, known only as Rett, was a smuggler with connections beyond the blank. He carried a duffel bag packed with carefully wrapped parcels.

"Got some microprocessors," Rett said, unzipping the bag to reveal the goods. "High-grade, Consortium surplus."

Kael picked one up, turning it over in his hands. It was genuine, but the risk of dealing with Consortium tech was high. "What's your price?"

"Five hundred credits a piece," Rett said.

Kael snorted. "I'll take two for six hundred, or you can find another buyer."

Rett hesitated but eventually nodded. The trade was quick, and Kael tucked the processors into his satchel before slipping away.

As the sun dipped lower, the activity in Cinder's Cross shifted. The market square began to empty, replaced by the hum of generators powering dim lights in the stalls. Fires burned in barrel drums, surrounded by groups of scavengers sharing stories or meals.

Kael returned to his shed, his satchel heavier but his mind restless. The day's trades had been productive, but the cylinder still weighed on his thoughts. He set it on the workbench again, its surface gleaming faintly in the shed's light.

Outside, the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the blank, a reminder of the precarious balance that kept Cinder's Cross alive. Kael sighed, leaning back in his chair. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he allowed himself a rare moment of quiet.