"Imprinting completed. You're free to go!"
Security outside the elevator was surprisingly light, not at all what Kang had expected.
The "exile" process was straightforward. They scanned his IDB—Identification Bar—to register him as a temporary Slum resident for three months.
Once his sentence was served, he could leave via any elevator back to the city.
However, if he appeared in the city before his time was up, by any means, he'd instantly become a wanted criminal. The only way to evade detection would be to forcibly remove his IDB, which would brand him an illegal citizen worldwide.
Simple, effective, and no guards needed, this gateway checkpoint system is foolproof.
Kang glanced at the IDB on the back of his left hand, a transparent, barcode-like circuit embedded in his skin. They called it bioware augmentation or something, must be quite high-tech he guess.
The female officer offered him some final words before returning to the city.
"Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. You've got enough credits to live comfortably for three months, so don't get mixed up with the locals more than you have to."
They must have checked his bank account to know that. Rosaline had given him a hefty sum of credits, with a sly "You earned it with your body" wink.
Now, what's the plan? Kang looked at the jungle of metal and concrete sprawling beneath the high ceiling, bathed in dim artificial light.
"So this is the slum, huh?"
He didn't know why, but he could feel it deep in his body. Something about this place was familiar. Compared to the clean and futuristic city above, it was the grim atmosphere here that made him feel alive. For the first time since he'd woken up, he could finally be at ease. This was it—the "homeland" he'd been searching for.
Kang spread his arms wide and shouted.
"I'M BAAAACK!!!"
-----
After leaving the elevator area, Kang soon reach the main avenue of Slum 9. The avenue stretched wide beneath the flickering glow of neon signs, a chaotic artery pulsing through the underground slum. Rusted walkways and patched metal stalls crowded both sides, their vendors shouting over the hum of generators and the hiss of steam vents.
The air was thick with the smell of oil, smoke, and cheap synthetic food. Gangs lounged in the shadows, their augments glinting under shifting lights, while drones buzzed overhead, scanning faces and advertising black-market wares. It was loud, grimy, and alive—a restless heart beating deep below the city's polished towers.
Yeah, he was sure of it now. This was home, the kind of place he'd grown up in. The noise, the chaos, the rough edges hidden under neon light—it all felt familiar in a way that stirred something deep inside him. Sure, things looked a little different now, cluttered with tech and strange contraptions he didn't quite recognize, but the feeling was the same. He could practically smell it.
Oh wait, there wasn't any of those smells. No reeking piles of trash, no stench of waste baking under the heat lamps.
Well, that was one part of home he didn't mind leaving behind.
The crowd was a chaotic blend of humanity and machine. Augmented workers in grease-stained overalls brushed shoulders with sleek couriers wired to their headsets. Street kids darted between the masses, their eyes glowing with low-grade implants, while mercs in armored jackets loomed like walking fortresses. A few corporate runaways hid their faces behind mirrored masks, pretending not to belong here. Among them moved dealers, hustlers, and scavengers, each with their own rhythm and purpose, all swallowed by the endless pulse of neon and noise.
In other words, Kang stood out like a sore thumb here. Dressed in casual clothes, with no visible augmentations or cyberware except for his IDB, he might as well have worn a sign that said newcomer. The way he glanced around eagerly, like a tourist on his first trip to the undercity, only made it more obvious.
Soon enough, he felt someone approach from behind and place a heavy hand on his shoulder. Kang didn't bother dodging. Instead, he turned around calmly.
The man towering over him was massive—broad-shouldered, rugged-faced, and easily a head taller. That was saying something, since Kang himself stood at a solid one-eighty, considerably tall for a Neo Asian.
"You new here?" the man growled, voice low and rough, clearly trying to intimidate him.
"Not really, but yeah~"
Kang replied, unfazed. He might be new to the area, but not to this kind of "greeting".
The man frowned, clearly displeased that his attempt at intimidation had fallen flat against Kang's calm expression.
"Newcomers to the Slum have to pay." The man finally dropped the pretense and went straight to the point.
"Pay? To whom?" Kang asked, tilting his head.
"The Bruisers. That's our gang. We run this street."
The man jabbed a thumb toward the emblem on his armored jacket. Sure enough, there was a crude symbol of a bloody fist, sprayed over with the word Bruisers in messy red paint.
"By 'run this street,' you mean you know everything about this area, right?" Kang asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.
That definitely wasn't the reaction the man expected. His expression darkened, patience evaporating.
"We're the boss here. You listen to us—or you regret it."
"Sure, sure. Oh, by the way, how about we talk in that alley over there? We're kind of making a scene standing here." Kang nodded casually.
That was the last straw. The man grabbed him by the neck and dragged him toward the alley Kang had pointed to. The crowd watched them go, their expressions tinged with pity. Just another clueless newcomer about to become another victim of the Bruisers.
Or so they thought...
-----
"Now let's see if your fists are as tough as your mouth!"
The gangster shoved Kang hard against the alley wall, then yanked off the glove from his left hand, revealing a sleek black metallic prosthetic. That immediately caught Kang's attention.
"So that's what they call an 'augmentation,' huh..." he murmured, studying it with curiosity. The metal fingers flexed smoothly, almost lifelike. Kang couldn't help but admire how far technology had come, how it gave back what people had lost.
Just as he was thinking that, the metallic hand suddenly filled his vision. Kang didn't move. The metal fist went past his head and smashed into the wall, sending cracks across the concrete and dust into the air.
"Not bad, not bad at all," Kang nodded, a bit impressed.
The gangster leaned close, his breath hot with anger. He couldn't understand this guy. Any normal man would be trembling right now, but this one looked like he was giving a product review.
"Pretty, but about as useful as a metal knuckle, I'd say," Kang added.
The man snarled. "So you're one of those ignorant purists, huh? Can your 'metal knuckle' catch a knife or block a blade like my hand can?"
He lifted the prosthetic again, its surface gleaming under the flickering neon above.
Kang frowned, genuinely confused.
"Why would I ever want to catch a knife with my hand, or use it to block one?"
They stared at each other in silence for a heartbeat, clearly operating on entirely different wavelengths.
Which meant the time for talking was over.
The gangster took the initiative and aimed for Kang's stomach with his metal hand. The strike was fast and could have taken Kang down immediately—if it had connected.
It didn't.
Kang sidestepped at the last moment, slipped his left arm under the man's and lifted it up while his right palm struck down on the shoulder joint. A sharp crack echoed through the alley.
"Eeeeekkkk!!!" the gangster screamed.
"What the hell? What kind of man screams like that?" Kang frowned. "You should really work on your scream—it sounds embarrassing."
Do they even allow that kind of scream in gangs nowadays? Back in Kang's time, only proper manly shouts like guh, ack, or kuh were acceptable. How the times had changed.
A dislocated shoulder wouldn't be enough to stop a two-meter-tall thug, though, so Kang decided to add a little bonus. He drove his knee straight into the man's chin. The gangster dropped like a fly and stayed down.
Kang bent down and slapped the man's cheek.
"Oi, stop playing dead. It's just a harmless concussion. Unlike you, I know what I'm doing."
The gangster breathed through his teeth, trembling.
"W-who the hell are you? You don't look like a merc..."
"That's because I'm not," Kang said, his voice calm but deadly.
"I'm here looking for someone, and you better pray you can help me find her... because you will not enjoy the consequence of wasting my time." Kang whispered, "Believe me!"
The gangster stared at Kang's face.
He believed him.