The rain had teeth tonight.
It sliced through the rusted canopy above the alley, drilling holes into Ash's threadbare hoodie as he crouched beside a dumpster that smelled like burnt meat and forgotten lives. The sky above the crumbling city of Arken was the color of ash and gasoline, clouds churning like smoke over open fire. Lightning forked in the distance, but no thunder followed. Storms in this city didn't always make noise. Most of the damage had already been done.
Ash lit the last cigarette he'd been saving for three days. Not because he liked smoking. He didn't. It made him light-headed and nauseous. But it gave his fingers something to do while hunger clawed its way up from his gut like a wild animal begging to be fed.
"Twenty-one and already a cliché," he muttered under his breath.
He flicked the lighter closed, watching the flame sputter out. His boots, if they could still be called that, were soaked through from the ankle-deep puddles of city runoff. Somewhere nearby, someone screamed. A muffled sound, like it was underwater. Distant and familiar. No one would come. No one cared. That was the law of the Collapse.
They called it that—the Collapse. As if it were a slow-motion tragedy, a graceful downward spiral. But Ash had lived through it. Nothing about it had been graceful. It had been fire and riots, vanishing jobs, food shortages, mass migration, power cuts, and silence. The silence was the worst part. The silence of nobody coming to help.
Ash didn't want help anymore.
He wanted money.
He checked the message again. Juno's words glowed faintly against the cracked surface of his commpad:
Midnight. No cops. No tech. Just you.
Ash had ignored two of those rules. His commpad was ancient and fried, but it still pinged a signal to a backup inbox. He needed insurance. Juno Raith was unpredictable—a liar, a tech-broker, and possibly a killer—but he paid well. And Ash didn't have many options. He'd already sold his ID chip. Couldn't work legally. Couldn't get rations. Couldn't even enter the good shelters. All he had left was a body, a brain, and a pulse.
For now.
He looked down at his reflection in a puddle. Gaunt, hollow-eyed, a mess of wet curls and a three-day stubble. He barely recognized himself anymore. That was fine. Maybe the world wouldn't either.
---
The warehouse on Lot 19 looked abandoned—just like Ash remembered. It always reeked of rust, oil, and broken promises.
He slipped through the side door, heart pounding like a warning bell.
Inside, the shadows stretched long, interrupted only by the humming glow of cracked industrial lamps. Juno stood at the back, behind a makeshift table covered in copper wires, tools, and something that looked like a collapsed drone.
His smile cut through the dimness like a knife. "You're early. Or desperate."
Ash stepped closer, water trailing behind him.
"Both," he replied. His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.
Juno looked older than Ash remembered—more tired around the eyes—but the same smug smirk curled his lips. His hair was shorter now, streaked with silver and stress. He didn't shake Ash's hand. He never had.
"You bring a tail?" Juno asked, tone light but loaded.
Ash shook his head. "Just me. You got the job?"
Juno's smirk widened. He pulled a cloth off a lump on the table.
It wasn't a bomb. Not exactly. It looked like a cracked glass orb, about the size of a grapefruit, nested inside a ring of rusted copper coils. Tiny metal arms splayed out from the center, like spider legs mid-spasm. It hummed softly. A sound just under hearing, like static on an old radio.
Ash stared at it.
"What the hell is that?"
Juno shrugged. "Depends who you ask. Some say it's a quantum rift manipulator. Others think it's a failed energy capacitor. Me? I think it's a door."
"A door to what?"
Juno leaned in. "That's what you're here to find out."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "And the payout?"
"Ten grand. Half now, half after you come back."
"Come back?"
Juno didn't blink. "Assuming you don't explode. Or disappear. Or go insane. You know. The usual risks."
Ash stared at the orb. It didn't just hum. It throbbed. Like it had a heartbeat.
"I need the money," Ash said finally.
Juno slid a credchip across the table. "Then touch it."
Ash hesitated.
For just a second.
Then he reached out.
---
The moment his fingers brushed the orb, reality shattered.
He didn't scream. There wasn't time. There wasn't even breath.
It felt like being flung backward through space and memory at once. His body unraveled. His thoughts exploded into color. He saw a girl with silver eyes screaming. A tower of light. A city in two halves. Blood in the rain.
And himself—
Smiling.
But not him.
Then everything went white.
---
When Ash opened his eyes, he was still standing.
But the warehouse was gone.
So was the rain. The cold. The stink of oil.
He stood in the exact same city—but it was different. Clean. Sharp. Alive. The air was crisp. Lights glowed steadily above, not flickering. Drones buzzed overhead in perfect formation.
People walked past him. Wearing neat coats. Talking into clear visors. Laughing.
They looked at him like they knew him.
Ash turned in a slow circle. Nothing was on fire. No one was starving. No one screamed.
What the hell had happened?
He caught a flash of movement—looked up.
A massive video billboard covered the side of a building. On it, a face.
His face.
Hair slicked back. Eyes colder. Wearing a high-collared coat with silver trim. He didn't look tired. He didn't look lost.
He looked like he owned the world.
The screen read:
WELCOME HOME, CHANCELLOR ASHEN VIREL
And Ash, standing on the street below, whispered:
"What the hell is going on?"
In his mind, something pulsed. A voice not his own. Whispering through his bones.
Welcome home.
---