[You have obtained Metal Fragments x1]
[You have obtained Metal Fragments x1]
[You have obtained Plastic Shards x1]
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
Acre dropped to the ground and shouted at the top of his lungs out of the blue. His voice was quickly swallowed by the howling wind.
"I can't do this anymore," he murmured to himself, taking in the bleak sight around him. He was tired—and not just in the physical sense.
He stood atop one of the endless mounds of waste that stretched as far as the eye could see. Where garbage didn't cover the ground, barren land peeked through. The smell was acrid, the air thick with smoke and dust, and the sky bore a constant, sorrowful orange glow.
In the distance, another ship was unloading its cargo. Through the smog, only the vessel's blinking lights and the shower of falling waste could be seen, crashing down with metallic clangs.
His planet was a giant landfill for the entire sector—a Waste World, in formal terms. A godforsaken place.
And any hope of leaving this hellhole had been crushed a month ago.
On his sixteenth birthday, like all children of the Imperium, Acre underwent the implantation surgery. A device was inserted into his left temple, with wires running down the side of his face and neck.
It would integrate him into the Imperial Interface and assign him a designation.
A decent designation could have been his ticket out of this forgotten planet.
[You have been assigned an F-Rank Designation: Scavenger]
Acre could still recall the sharp sting of disappointment when he awoke to that message after the surgery. Only then did he realize how naïve and foolishly hopeful he had been.
"Scavenger" was the designation of ninety-five percent of souls on Noxis. This was, after all, a waste world—and the Emperor, in his wisdom, always designated accordingly.
And yet Acre had believed he would be different. Exempt from the mundane and harsh fate that everyone around him had inherited.
A life spent knee-deep in garbage. A life of hard work for meager pay.
The Scavenger designation came with two main features.
First was the scavenger's pickaxe—an almost magical tool that could disintegrate waste materials seamlessly.
Second was the spatial inventory, where gathered materials automatically went to be sorted and converted into standard units.
It might have sounded fascinating on paper, but the reality was far less glamorous. Both the pickaxe and the inventory worked only on waste. And the materials they yielded sold for next to nothing.
"Is this really living?" Acre began to sob. "Backbreaking work all day… and for what? Just to survive another day of the same?"
He earned barely enough to cover food and shelter—certainly not enough to buy a way out of this place.
"I can't keep doing this!" he gritted his teeth and stared up at the sky.
"Lord Emperor… just kill me, man!" he shouted again.
This time, his voice echoed through the wasteland.
He froze—the ever-present winds had completely stopped. The world was still, as if time itself had paused.
Then came the sound of thunder.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and looked up. Moments ago, the sky had been empty. Now, angry ash clouds were spiraling, forming a massive eye above him.
"I was just joking…" he chuckled nervously, remembering it was heresy to question the Emperor's will. "My foolish youthful heart got the better of me, my beloved Emperor!"
But the storm didn't stop. It only grew worse. Wind tore through the air, lifting garbage into a frenzied dance.
"May you hold the throne forever!"
"Your wisdom—it cannot be questioned! You're the smartest ever!"
"You are the handsome… handsomest Emperor to ever rule the Imperium!"
"Your balls are huge… big balls, Emperor!"
He muttered every praise he could think of, repeatedly prostrating himself. None of it worked. The thunder grew louder; the winds blew harder.
Acre regretted everything he had said. True, he was tired, but he didn't want to die. Even in the depths of despair, he clung to one thing: as long as he was alive, there was still hope.
Realizing his words weren't helping, Acre turned to run. He was tens of kilometers from home, but maybe he could find a crevice to hide in.
Then it came—lightning, heavy as heaven itself. A bolt struck him before he could even leave the mound.
One moment he was running; the next, he was rigid and out cold. His body tumbled down the heap, bouncing against jagged refuse before landing flat on the ground.
---
The first thing Acre felt was an itch in his throat. His face was pressed into dry soil, and he was breathing in dust.
Coughing harshly, he rolled onto his back. Pain erupted everywhere—his nose might be broken, and several bones too.
He opened his eyes and squinted at the bright light above. Gradually, the blur faded.
It was the same sad orange sky he had known all his life.
For a moment, he just lay there, gathering his thoughts. Everything seemed the same… yet something felt off.
His injuries, the burn marks on his clothes, the faint crackling sound nearby. His skin prickled as he felt a tickling sensation at his left temple—where the implant was.
Acre yelped when he tried to touch it, a jolt of electricity shocking his fingers. The device was damaged and likely short-circuiting.
Heart pounding, he forced himself upright and summoned his interface screen.
He half-expected it not to respond.
[Imperial Interface Implant Device Has Sustained Damage]
[Warning: It Might Not Function Properly]
[Immediately Contact a Mechanic for Repair!]
[Basic Citizen Information
Citizen ID: Nox-3-113-26-2350083227
Registered Name: Acre Garrison
Sex: Male
Age: 16
Birth Address: Noxis, 3rd Partition, Node 113, Site 26
Current Address: Noxis, 3rd Partition, Node 113, Site 26
Designation: Scavenger (F)
Designation Code: F-SCV-3-113-26-1039
Designation Status: Active/Licensed]
There was a warning, but the interface still seemed functional. Still, Acre couldn't shake the dread of having a damaged electronic device embedded in his skull. If it exploded, he'd die instantly.
He needed repairs—and he already dreaded how much it would cost.
Could he even afford it? What if he couldn't? Would they just leave it in his head?
He thought his day couldn't get worse. He was wrong.
At first, he thought it was just the wind. Then came the unmistakable hiss.
He forgot all about the implant and spun around. The wastelands might have looked lifeless, but some creatures thrived here. Hardy, dangerous creatures.
The glowing green eyes and the viscous fluid dripping from its barbed mouth gave it away—a tainted vermin. An infected rat the size of a pig. A bite from it was untreatable—at least, not where he was.
He'd thought he was in a safe spot. But the stories flooded back. Encounters like this were almost always fatal. The infected rats were faster, stronger, and deadlier than humans.
Without a gun, they said, you didn't stand a chance.
Too much was happening at once. He hadn't even processed what had happened to him, and now death was sprinting toward him.
Acre stood frozen as the rat lunged. Should he just give up? No—its bite wouldn't kill him swiftly. It would tear him apart piece by piece, toxins burning through his veins.
He couldn't die like this—not without seeing the better worlds.
The rat was meters away, leaping straight at him.
Only then did instinct kick in. He summoned his scavenger's pickaxe, raised it high, and slammed it down with all his strength.
The tool was sturdy, but could it even hurt the beast?
The rat's body crashed into his, knocking him backward into the mound. Sharp debris tore into his back. He groaned in pain—then froze.
The blood wasn't his.
The rat lay still, cleanly decapitated.
He blinked in disbelief, shaking his head. Impossible. The Scavenger Pickaxe only worked on waste. He had tested it himself—it didn't even react to soil or stone. Scavengers hit each other with it all the time without harm.
If it could disintegrate anything, that would be absurd.
But the proof was right there.
[You have obtained Infected Rat Skull x1]
[You have obtained Infected Rat Skin x1]
Acre opened his inventory—and sure enough, both items were listed.
Not only that, but the inventory had changed.
It should only have ten slots, one of the reasons scavengers earned so little. To make profit, they had to choose between quantity and value.
Now, the window scrolled endlessly upward. Slot after slot, with no end in sight.
Acre let out a breathless laugh. His implant was certainly broken…
But now, he wasn't so sure he wanted it fixed.