Chapter 9: The Air Train Ticket
The stall owner glared down his nose, pinching the bridge as if the air itself was noxious. "Don't get so angry, poor boy? Did you look in a mirror lately? You look like... well, like dog waste. The items you asked for will cost 210 Sevan." His voice was laced with ill-concealed disgust.
Fighter tossed the coins onto the metal counter—a rude, rattling sound that earned another tight-lipped frown—and snatched the requested package.
"Huh," Fighter grumbled, shoves the items into a ripped pocket. "It is too f***-g expensive."
The owner meticulously counted the Sevan, puffing out his chest. "You should be honored that I'm selling you anything at all. You should feel lucky I'm a generous man."
"Generous man? What a load of sh—" Fighter cut himself off with a sneer. "F***ing asshole. I should have just used one of those Vending Machines."
He knew why he hadn't. The truth was, Fighter hadn't yet figured out how to operate the automated machines, forcing him to endure the lone stall owner's contempt. He glanced back; this was the only human-operated business in the station.
The station itself was immense, easily matching the scale of New York's Grand Central Terminal. A dense sea of commuters flowed and surged around him, but Fighter was a strange, isolated island of filth and bad smell.
After walking for barely a minute, the dull ache in his stomach sharpened into a painful, all-consuming hunger. His short temper, already a known danger, began to boil. He knew the warning sign: hungry Fighter was lashing-out Fighter.
His appearance didn't help. Shabby clothes, a rancid odor that clung to him like a shroud, and a wild, desperate look. He truly looked like a landfill that had somehow regained consciousness.
Two men leaning against a column stared at him with shocked, widening eyes.
One finally spoke, his voice hushed with disbelief. "Where did you come from? The Human Void?"
The Human Void was the mythical name for the planet's massive, uncontrolled dump sites—a cesspit of decay and forgotten souls that few had ever seen.
The question caught Fighter, and he threw his head back, letting out a loud, genuine, jarring laugh, punctuating it with a dry clap.
"Hahaha, you can say that! Hahaha!" he roared, then straightened up, wiping a stray smear of dirt from his face.
He walked toward the ticket counters, intent on buying passage.
A short line was visible, but as Fighter approached, the people seemed to disperse with unnatural speed. By the time he reached the electronic station, the line was completely gone. His body odor had acted as an immediate, invisible dispersal agent.
He leaned close to the screen. "I want a ticket to UCA," he muttered, scrolling through the list of destinations.
Found it. "Here, a ticket to UCA cost 400 Sevan."
He pulled out the coins, counted them carefully, and inserted the required amount. A second later, a small, laminated card—his ticket—slid out. Fighter snatched it and retreated, leaving a bubble of empty space behind him.
Broke and Sane
Fighter clutched the ticket card and rubbed the few remaining coins together in his palm. "I have only 99 Sevan left," he sighed. "I used to be so rich. What can I say? What to do in this economy..."
Rechel: [Are you okay? Did my owner gone insane? What a disappointment! You dishonest man. Ok]
Fighter didn't even flinch at the system's aggressive message. 'No, I am perfectly sane,' he thought with weary sarcasm. 'Just broke, starving, and currently wanted by anyone who can smell me.'
He was currently in the Human Unified Territory, controlled by the Central Unified Government—the setting of the novel. This government was founded after the unification of the "old world," the place where all humans lived before the [Flash]—the unified territory of Earth.
"To think this place was Earth, like my original world," he mused, looking around at the impossibly high ceilings and sleek, unfamiliar architecture.
He settled onto a hard metal bench near a flashing indicator board, the air train to UCA his only goal