The planet of Noxis was divided into Partitions.
Each Partition had several Nodes.
And inside each Node lay at least a single Node Center and multiple Sites, the equivalent of villages.
Site 26 of Node 113 had been Acre's home for as long as he could remember.
It was a settlement of no more than a hundred souls, clustered in about fifty bunkers scattered across the dusty plain.
Like most sites, it was intentionally made dependent on the Node Center. The Site was purely residential—no factories, no markets, no real defenses. People had to travel all the way to the Center for even the barest necessities.
And dependency was not the only design choice—it was policy.
To build a wall, you needed a permit that cost a fortune per inch.
To own a gun, you needed an even pricier license to bear arms.
So the residents did what they always did—pray they would not be targeted by bandits or wild wasteland beasts, and hope the steel bunkhouses were strong enough to hold against any breach.
It was all deliberate.
The government wanted the Node Centers to look "better" by comparison. Anyone who could afford it would rather stay inside the cracked concrete walls, paying steep fees to live under the illusion of safety, guarded by half-trained militiamen.
Acre returned from the Node Center just as darkness fell.
Like every other scavenger in Site 26, he came home to a ghost town. A few flickering street lamps cast a dim, yellowish light—just enough to keep the shadows from swallowing everything whole.
His home was the standard Model 1 bunker—basically a steel box with a door and a window. One room for eating, sleeping, and existing. The toilet was hidden behind a curtain.
He used to live in a bigger one.
His parents, lifelong scavengers, had managed to save enough for a Model 3 bunker—three whole rooms. One for sleeping, one for meals, one for… necessary business.
He lost it three years ago, when both of them didn't return from a scavenging run.
"Uhm… good evening, Acre."
Acre nearly jumped, almost dropping his keycard.
Someone had appeared from the side of his house—another familiar face.
"What was that for, Rosie?" he scolded, heart still pounding.
"I–I'm sorry!" she flinched, stepping back like a kicked puppy.
Acre sighed. "What do you need?"
Rosie immediately brightened, quick to forget being scolded. "I noticed your left bunk wall dropped to ninety-three percent durability. Want me to fix it?"
Rosie had received her implant around the same time as Acre. Her designation was [Patchhand]—still F-Rank, and not much better than [Scavenger].
Patchhands specialized in repairing structures with minor degradation. Their main tool was a hammer, plus a three-slot inventory for components. Repairs were simple—too simple, in fact. Demand was low, and the city was oversaturated with Patchhands all fighting to find something, anything, to fix. Many called them a nuisance.
Some Sites, like theirs, only employed local Patchhands to help them survive.
Acre already knew about the wall damage—Rosie had reminded him every day. He'd planned to wait until it hit ninety percent before calling her; the fee would be the same anyway.
She waited anxiously for his answer, clutching her coat. Her parents were still around, but now that she was designated, she had to contribute. Taxes came for you the moment you got your implant.
"Alright," Acre said finally. There was no reason to be stingy now—not with his glitch. And Rosie was hardworking.
Her eyes lit up. She pulled out her trade tablet, fingers trembling slightly as she set up the transaction.
[Patchhand – Rosie Shade (ID: F-PTCH-3-113-26-145) Service Offer
Offered: Basic Bunk Wall Repair
Requested: 30 Credits
(10 Credits – Components)
(20 Credits – Service Fee)]
[Accept Offer?]
[Service Accepted]
[8% Service Access Fee Applied]
[32.40 Credits Deducted]
Even services were taxed. The base price was thirty credits, but he ended up paying thirty-two. Rosie would get taxed too—after deductions, she'd take home about thirteen credits in net profit.
"Thank you, Acre! You're a huge help!" Rosie beamed. "I'll start right away!"
"Rosie."
She turned, pausing mid-step.
He tossed her two cactus fruits. She fumbled but caught them.
Her eyes went wide. "You pulled these from your inventory? How did you—"
Acre didn't let her finish. He shut the door behind him.
Inside, the air was fresher—filtered. Without filters, a small bunker like his could suffocate you. He kicked off his boots, stripped his heavy suit, and collapsed on his bedroll.
While chewing on another cactus fruit, he reopened his inventory.
He'd sold six stacks of depleted battery packs earlier, but instead of losing them… the stacks had doubled.
He had an unlimited supply of anything that entered his inventory.
The implications were insane—but so were the risks. He couldn't keep selling to Olech's guild. The taxes were bad enough, but selling rare scrap repeatedly to the same buyer would raise suspicion.
He needed other buyers.
But scavengers were only authorized to sell scrap. Anything else would flag as an irregularity, and the punishment for exploiting a malfunctioning device would probably be death—or worse.
With a sigh, Acre switched to his Profile Window.
Any bulk trade would require a trade tablet, and those devices automatically displayed the trader's profile.
[Basic Citizen Information
Citizen ID: Nox-3-113-26-2350083227
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
Status: Active / Licensed]
He grimaced at the sight. That "F" rank had been there since day one.
He swiped left to return to the inventory window—
—but instead of switching screens, a new window opened.
An input field. With a keyboard.
Acre blinked. That wasn't possible. The profile data couldn't be edited—it had never been editable. It was meant to be viewed only, not changed.
He sat up straight, heart thundering, a strange mix of fear and thrill twisting in his gut.
He might have just found another glitch.