The Rust Belt did not glitter. It hummed. It buzzed with static life, like an old machine refusing to die, coughing up sparks of rebellion just to remind the universe it still worked.
Kai stood on the edge of the Sector 4 transit platform, the wind slicing through his threadbare coat. The metallic tang of ozone mingled with the familiar scent of burnt copper, welding fumes, and desperation. Behind him, the skyline was a patchwork of crumbling concrete towers, tangled holo-wires, and flickering billboards shouting propaganda from the Arbitral Council.
"Order ensures prosperity!"
"Lineage is destiny!"
Kai smirked. "And I'm living proof that's garbage."
He had one bag slung over his shoulder — half-filled with scavenged tools, a few data-slates of unapproved research, and the brass gear his grandmother had given him. Everything else — the memories, the noise, the unending struggle — was staying behind.
He wasn't sentimental. Or so he told himself.
"Leaving already?" a voice called from behind.
Kai turned. It was Mira, the scrapyard forewoman — a broad-shouldered woman with grease stains on her face and the kind of laugh that could scare debt collectors. She had been one of the few people in the Rust Belt who didn't treat him like a cursed prodigy or a malfunction waiting to happen.
"Grimstone offer finally came through?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Heard you were making enemies up in the clouds."
Kai chuckled. "Enemies come free with talent."
"Or arrogance," she said dryly, though her eyes softened. "You sure about this, kid? Once you leave, there's no coming back. The Council doesn't let gutter geniuses visit home. They're afraid you'll remember how to build something they can't control."
"I already did," Kai said, tapping the side of his head. "They can't erase that."
Mira shook her head. "You sound like Hart already. That woman's got fire, but fire burns both ways."
Kai smiled faintly. "Then I'll just have to build a suit that doesn't melt."
She laughed, loud and raspy. "There it is. The Zore insanity. Your grandmother would've loved to see this day."
That made him pause. The old woman's image flickered in his mind — stooped over, eyes bright with stubborn faith, her voice gravelly but kind. "You'll break their perfect machines one day, boy. You'll show them the cracks."
He reached into his pocket, feeling the weight of the brass gear, its teeth worn smooth from years of handling. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'll show them."
Mira noticed the shift in his tone. "You're not built for peace, Kai. Just… don't let them turn you into another weapon."
He looked up, the streetlight catching the sharp determination in his eyes. "Weapons are just tools. It depends on who's holding them."
"Spoken like someone who's never pulled the trigger," she muttered, but her smirk betrayed pride. "Go, then. Before the Council realizes it let one slip through the cracks."
As Kai turned to board the shuttle, she shouted after him, "And don't forget — when you're famous, I want naming rights on one of your explosions!"
Kai grinned. "Deal."
The shuttle doors hissed shut behind him, and for a moment, the world outside was replaced by silence — clean, recycled air and the soft hum of anti-grav engines. He sat by the window, staring out as the Rust Belt slowly receded, replaced by the glimmer of higher sectors.
From up here, the divide was brutal.
The lower rings were jagged, bruised — metallic veins of poverty cutting through the underbelly of the planet. Above them, pristine domes shimmered under artificial sunlight, guarded by invisible shields. The higher he rose, the more sterile the view became.
The Council called it progress. He called it segregation by altitude.
He leaned back in his seat, trying to quiet his mind. But the shuttle's steady hum only made it louder.
This was it. He'd forced open a door no one from Sector 4 had ever walked through. Now you have to survive it.
A soft chime interrupted his thoughts. The holo-screen embedded in the seat flickered, displaying the Grimstone Academy emblem — a fractured gear surrounded by flame. Below it appeared a notification:
Incoming Transmission: Victor Zhao, Chief Engineer
Kai frowned. The name was unfamiliar, but the tone that followed wasn't.
"Mr. Zore," came a clipped, icy voice. "This is Dr. Zhao. Before you arrive, there will be a brief evaluation to verify your practical competence. Consider it a… reality check."
Kai smirked. "You're the babysitter."
"I'm the man who will keep you from turning Grimstone into a crater," Zhao replied sharply. "Your theoretical results are… impressive. But theory doesn't weld metal or calibrate energy cores. You'll demonstrate your capability under field conditions. Fail, and you're out."
"Understood," Kai said evenly. "Just make sure the tools aren't designed to fail."
There was a pause — the kind born from mild surprise. Then Zhao replied, tone colder still: "I see why Hart likes you. You have a dangerous mouth."
"I prefer to think of it as… efficient communication."
The line went dead.
Kai exhaled, a laugh escaping despite himself. "Guess we're not doing small talk."
The other passengers — silent, uniformed recruits from higher sectors — glanced at him, their faces half-curious, half-contemptuous. He ignored them. Let them look. Let them whisper about the Sector 4 boy who didn't belong. He was done playing invisible.
He reached into his bag, pulling out a battered schematic — the first crude design of the Apex Suit. The paper was creased and oil-stained, covered in overlapping notes and energy flow calculations. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't perfect. But it was his.
The shuttle climbed higher, breaking through the haze layer. For the first time, Kai saw the clean horizon — the sun reflecting off the glass towers of the higher academies. Somewhere beyond them, Grimstone waited.
A laugh bubbled up again, softer this time. "From the Gut Pit to the sky. Not bad for trash."
He didn't notice the small surveillance drone that detached from the undercarriage of the shuttle, its lens focusing on his profile. The Council didn't believe in letting ghosts rise without a trace.
The shuttle landed with a soft magnetic thud on Platform Delta-9 — Grimstone's outer perimeter. The air here smelled different: cleaner, but thinner, like freedom rationed by bureaucracy.
Kai stepped off, eyes narrowing as he took in the facility. The buildings were practical, angular — less polished than the elite academies but alive with movement and purpose. Holo-signs flickered with mottos like "Innovation Through Struggle" and "Chaos Breeds Creation." It felt… honest.
A slender figure waited at the end of the platform, arms crossed, a tablet under one arm. Anaya Patel, his negotiator from earlier, looked even more severe in daylight — precise, focused, and perpetually unimpressed.
"You made it," she said, her voice clipped but not unkind. "No detours, no explosions. A promising start."
"Yet," Kai corrected with a grin. "There's still time."
Her lips twitched — almost a smile. "Administrator Hart is expecting you. Dr. Zhao will be conducting your preliminary assessment before your formal introduction. If you pass, you'll be assigned quarters and access clearance."
Kai tilted his head. "And if I don't?"
Anaya's tone remained perfectly neutral. "Then you'll be escorted back to Sector 4."
He smirked. "Guess I better pass, then."
"You better," she muttered, turning sharply on her heel. "Follow me."
As they walked, Kai's eyes roamed over the courtyard. Students in varied uniforms tinkered with exo-gloves, drones, and mech prototypes. Some looked up, whispering at the sight of him. He caught fragments: "That's him… Sector 4… Divergent Flow… zero purity index…"
He smiled. Good. Let them whisper.
Anaya led him into a reinforced hangar bay, where Dr. Zhao waited — lean, poised, and visibly annoyed. His expression was that of a man watching a child handle dynamite.
"Kai Zore," Zhao said flatly. "Welcome to Grimstone. Let's see if you can do more than talk."
The hangar lights flickered on, illuminating a pile of broken mech components — parts scavenged from failed student projects. Twisted servos, cracked cores, half-melted plating.
"Your task," Zhao continued, "is simple. Reconstruct a functioning energy stabilizer using these parts. No blueprints. No guidance. You have three hours."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "You want me to make order out of garbage."
"Precisely," Zhao said. "Show me that your chaos has structure."
Anaya folded her arms, watching intently. "Do you need any—"
"Just space," Kai interrupted, stepping forward.
He rolled up his sleeves, scanning the wreckage. Beneath the rust, beneath the fractures, he could already see the shape of potential. His fingers itched with instinct — the same instinct that had kept him alive in Sector 4. He crouched, selecting parts with surgical precision.
A cracked flux core — unstable, but salvageable.
A bent conduction frame — could be reforged if he reversed polarity.
A trio of neural conduits — too burned for sync, but maybe good for pulse dampening.
He smiled, half to himself. "Yeah. You'll do."
As he began assembling, the air filled with the rhythmic clang of tools and the hiss of micro-welders. Zhao said nothing, but his eyes flickered with reluctant intrigue. There was no hesitation in Kai's movements — only the effortless confidence of someone who had built miracles in alleyways.
Two hours later, the stabilizer thrummed to life — rough, imperfect, but steady. Kai stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow.
"It's ugly," Zhao said quietly. "But stable."
"Kind of like me," Kai replied with a grin.
Anaya stifled a laugh. Zhao didn't. But his eyes softened, just slightly. "You'll do."
As Kai straightened, the old brass gear glinted in his pocket — a symbol of everything he'd left behind, and everything he was about to fight for.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. The wind shifted. Change was coming.
The test is passed — but unseen eyes are already watching, and Grimstone's revolution has begun to move.*