The next morning started the same as always—with hunger gnawing at my ribs and the acidic stench of Sector 9 burning in my nose.
Except this time, I had five and a half Cosmic Units and a system interface glowing beneath my skin.
Didn't make breakfast materialize. Didn't keep my stomach from twisting. But it gave me direction.
The perks I'd unlocked from reaching Trader Rank 2 floated in my mind's eye:
[Basic Analysis Enabled]– Analyze any item for interstellar trade value.[Storage Expanded: 10 Item Slots]– Store physical items digitally.[Trade Log Filters Unlocked]– Sort offers by type, rarity, or realm.
No instructions. No guide. Just those perks and the unspoken promise that this system—whatever it was—had chosen me.
One person per 10,000 light years.
Somewhere, civilizations were trading weapons for poems, AI cores for feathers. And me? I was still digging through piles of junk, looking for something that could feed me tonight.
I hit the scrapyard harder than usual.
Now that I could scan items, the game had changed. I didn't need to know what something did, just whether it held value elsewhere.
First thing I tested: an old wristpad, cracked in half.
[Analyzing…]– Status: Obsolete Human Tech– Rarity: Common– Trade Value Estimate: 0.1 – 0.4 C.U.
Worth Uploading? No
Next: a piece of melted circuit board.
[Analyzing…]– Status: Scrap– Trade Value: Negligible
Worth Uploading? No
And then… a dented metal container. Looked like a food canister at first, but the markings were off—etched symbols in a language I didn't recognize.
I activated the scan.
[Analyzing…]– Status: Artifact – Origin Unknown– Potential Use: Storage Vessel (Pressure-Sealed)– Rarity: Uncommon– Estimated Value: 1.5 – 3.0 C.U.
Worth Uploading? Yes
Jackpot.
I tapped yes, and the item shimmered away into the system's storage slot. It wasn't gone physically—it had just… shifted. Like quantum compression. Or magic. Or both.
[Item Uploaded.][Awaiting Trade Requests…]
I kept scavenging for another hour, occasionally checking the trade interface. Still nothing. Either no one wanted the container, or it wasn't rare enough to draw instant attention.
So I went back to Mira.
She gave me the side-eye like always, but I dropped a full 1 C.U. on her table and watched her eyebrows shoot up.
"I want weird stuff," I said. "The weirder, the better. Even if it's broken."
She didn't ask questions. She just pulled a cracked visor lens, a strange fossilized chip, and a key with no teeth out of a ragged cloth bag. Probably things no one else ever wanted.
I used the scan on all three.
Fossil chip: Junk.Visor lens: Possibly tradeable.Key: No known function, but value undetermined—system flagged it "unreadable technology."
Interesting.
I bought the key and visor for 0.8 C.U. total. Uploaded the visor.
[Uploading Visor Lens…][Awaiting Trade Request…]
The key, I kept in my pocket. My gut said I'd need it later.
By midday, I was back in my corner of the scrapyard when a chime rang in my mind.
[Incoming D.T.R.]– Sender: Srin of the Hex-Eye Market– Item Requested: "Visor Lens (Cracked)"– Offered: 2.2 C.U. + 1x Encrypted Trade Chip
Accept Trade?
[Encrypted Trade Chip]– Function: Unknown– Tier: Rare (Trade-Only Item)– Decryption requires Trader Rank 3+
I accepted immediately.
[Trade Complete.][+2.2 C.U. Received][Item Received: Encrypted Trade Chip]
Cosmic Units: 6.9Items in storage: 2Hunger level: Still miserable
But I was getting somewhere.
I used 0.5 C.U. to bribe a food stall vendor to trade me a protein slab under the table. Tasted like metal and ash, but it filled my stomach enough to stop the cramping.
That night, I sat under the same flickering neon sign that had lit my corner of the world for years. Except now, I wasn't a scavenger.
I was a Trader.
Not powerful yet. Not respected. But I was building something.
The system glowed faintly in my vision.
[EEP Rank: 2 (Trader)]Trades Completed: 3/10Next Rank: Unlocks Decryption, Planetary Trade Listings, and Artifact Appraisal
Each rank meant more tools. More power. More leverage.
And the best part?
No one else could use this system within 10,000 light years.
Not a soul.
Let the rich throw credits at each other. Let the powerful hoard their weaponry and tech.
I had something they didn't.
Access.
And I'd trade my way to the top—no matter how long it took.
One broken relic at a time.
📌 Author's Note:
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— S.A.