Chapter One: Life in the Slums
A flickering light buzzed above Alex Williams as he tightened the clasps on his worn-out scavenger suit. The room was metallic and bare, a changing room buried inside one of Detroit Guild's oldest branches—more like a rusted bunker than a government facility.
Around him stood eight grizzled, middle-aged men, each adjusting armor pieces, checking faded oxygen masks, and prepping battered rifles. Most of their suits were older than Alex himself.
"Look at the kid, first one dressed again," muttered Rigg, a thick-necked man with grease-stained gloves.
"Hard to keep up with someone who's got knees that still work," chuckled Marrin.
Laughter broke through the room like sunlight in a storm. The camaraderie here was raw, built on years of surviving together. They weren't warriors. None of them were Terra Beings. Just regular men doing a deadly job—scavenging the wastelands beyond the defense line for leftover weapons, mutant cores, and body parts that could fetch a price.
Alex nodded respectfully to the others but stayed quiet. He wasn't part of the banter today. Something in the air felt off.
Their leader, Grant, stepped into the room, still zipping up his half-torn combat suit. He greeted the group with a tired grin, clapping backs, bumping fists.
"Alright, brothers," Grant said, voice shifting from warm to steel, "remember—we're not out there to play heroes. We get in, we scavenge fast, we watch each other's backs. If it smells wrong, we bail. Understood?"
They all nodded.
Outside, their transport was already humming—a rusty hover-truck fitted with scavenged engine tech. The skyline of New Detroit loomed in the distance, jagged with ruin, its bones wrapped in smoke. As the vehicle rattled down cracked concrete roads toward the back line, Alex looked out the window.
Even from here, you could smell the battlefield—burned flesh, acidic mutant blood, scorched earth. The defense wall was barely holding. Everyone knew it.
The team arrived at a recently finished battle site. Mutant carcasses were scattered, still steaming. Broken terra-grade weaponry lay embedded in craters.
The team split up, combing the ruins for salvage. Alex crouched by a mangled war spear, carefully pulling it free from a collapsed mutant skull. He wiped off the blood and tucked it into his pack.
They worked fast. Hours passed.
"Check that bunker ruin," Marrin said, pointing. "Might be some good cores stuck in the metal."
Alex nodded and moved in that direction, hopping over torn earth and splattered mutant remains. Every now and then, he could hear the faint buzz of unstable geo-energy lingering in the air.
Then Grant's voice barked through the comms: "Everyone, pull back! We've got a confirmed Terra Spark-level mutant inbound. ETA five minutes. Either get out or hold your ground till backup."
Panic swept the crew. No one spoke. They didn't need to. Terra Spark-level mutants were walking disasters.
Everyone ran.
Boots pounded the dirt. The sound of gasping breaths filled the air. Alex's heart raced as he tried to keep pace with the others.
But bad luck doesn't knock—it crashes.
From the north end of the zone, a blur shot past debris. The mutant—huge, wolf-shaped, with armored bone plates and eyes glowing like twin blue suns—ripped into the team.
One head rolled before anyone even turned.
"MOVE!" someone screamed.
Alex dove to the side just in time to avoid a claw swipe that ripped through empty air where his chest had been. He hit the ground, rolled, came up behind a chunk of destroyed tank armor.
The second scavenger didn't even cry out—just gurgled as the beast tore him open from chest to groin. Blood sprayed across the rubble.
The mutant let out a shriek—a twisted, metallic howl that echoed like a death bell. Then it began to feast, ripping into the body like a rabid animal.
While the mutant devoured its kill, Alex's instincts kicked in. He reached down, yanked the level-one dagger from his belt, and hurled it with all his strength.
It buried into the mutant's rear leg with a sickening crunch.
The beast snarled in pain, staggering for a split second.
Alex bolted. He sprinted toward the first dead scavenger, diving and sliding across the dirt to grab the dropped rifle. His hands trembled, but he aimed it anyway, even knowing the gun would barely scratch the thing.
The other scavengers scattered. Marrin tripped over a rock and was caught. The mutant leapt on him, claws flashing. One strike. Two. It left nothing but torn flesh.
But now the injury was slowing it. The scavengers could at least see it coming. That alone saved lives.
Alex scrambled behind a fallen slab of concrete, chest heaving. He heard screams—two more gone. His knuckles turned white around the grip of the rifle. He peeked up.
The wolf mutant turned toward him, drool sliding down its jaw. It was limping, yes—but still fast. Too fast.
Then the sky cracked.
A thunderous roar split the air as three figures descended from above, glowing with geo-energy like miniature suns. The backup had arrived.
Terra Beings—real warriors.
They struck with coordinated precision. One drew the mutant's attention with a blade swipe, the other two flanked and slashed its legs. Geo energy surged with every move.
The mutant shrieked, tried to retreat—but it was too late. One of the Terra Beings brought a spear down through its spine, pinning it to the ground. Its death cry echoed, then fell silent.
Alex slumped to the dirt, soaked in sweat and blood.
After the debrief and body retrievals, Alex walked back home. No transport this time. Just cracked streets and bloodstained alleyways.
The slums of New Detroit stretched before him—collapsed buildings patched with scrap, tarps for rooftops, emaciated children with rust-colored eyes, and smoke stacks pouring toxins into the sky. Beggars lay curled under burnt-out streetlamps. A body cart passed him. No one even looked.
He passed makeshift markets, shady gang corners, and a collapsed highway turned into a tent city. He gave a kid a half-eaten protein bar. The kid didn't smile—just grabbed it and ran.
This was home.
He reached the rust-covered shack he shared with Sofia. Inside, warmth. The scent of boiling stew—barely enough for one, but split between two.
Sofia, sixteen, with sharp eyes and a spirit too strong for her age, looked up from the pot.
"You're late again," she said, worried but calm.
Alex dropped his scavenged gear by the door and collapsed onto a stool. "Mutant hit our crew. Five gone."
Sofia froze. She sat beside him, brushing ash off his shoulder.
"You need to stop gambling your life for scraps. I don't care about cores or guild payoffs. I care about you."
He nodded silently. But they both knew there was no other way.
She handed him the bowl. "Eat. Then shower. You smell like blood and regret."
That night, after she fell asleep, Alex stepped outside. The stars were choked by smoke, but he could still see a few.
He clenched the broken dagger in his fist—the one he'd thrown.
"This world's trying to kill us… but I swear…"
His grip tightened.
"...I'll get strong enough to kill it first."
---