The road led us straight to the walls of Tollhaven, if you could call them walls. They were more like piles of scrap welded with spite. Towers made from old comms rigs stabbed the sky at odd angles, each one buzzing with lanterns, cables, and what looked like an entire colony of birds arguing over property rights.
And the smell...
... I gagged.
Cadence murmured, "Ah. Fermented humanity."
Cadence, unbothered in hologram form, tilted her head. "This is… louder than projected."
"It smells like a corpse became an air-freshener.
Cadence nodded. "Accurate."
Beyond the walls, the noise intensified. Clattering carts, yelling vendors, livestock bleating like they regretted being alive. Tollhaven was the first civilisation I'd seen since awakening in the Badlands, if civilisation meant throwing chaos under a tarp.
"Feels more alive than the Badlands," I admitted.
Cadence sniffed dramatically. "Alive is a generous term."
We joined the flow of people heading toward the city entrance. Some rode on scrap-bikes. Some walked beside animals, crates stacked precariously on their backs. Some shouted prices for spices, cloth, or questionable medical treatments.
Then came the line.
Two lines, actually.
One for people with glowing wrists ... ID chips.
And one for everyone else.
Guess which one I belonged in.
"Welcome back to bureaucracy," Cadence said politely.
A guard with a clipboard and the visual charisma of a damp towel barked at the line of unchipped travellers.
"WRISTS OUT! IF YOU DON'T HAVE A CHIP, WAIT OVER THERE!"
I raised my wrist.
The scanner beeped in a tone that conveyed disappointment.
The guard nodded toward the secondary line. "No chip, no credit. Keep moving."
We shuffled forward at the speed of despair.
The unchipped line ran alongside :
A water station guarded like it dispensed diamonds.
A med tent that turned people away for insufficient credit.
A vendor charging credits to clean garments.
I eyed a small stall selling charge-time for portable devices.
"How much for a short charge?" I asked.
"Thirty credits," the vendor said.
I tapped my bare wrist.
He squinted. "Are you joking?"
I hoped that Cadence or luck would intervene ...
"Try another stall," he said sharply. "Or a different town."
Cadence whispered, "retreat recommended."
I remorsefully left.
We were nearly through the line when someone spoke behind me.
"You look like someone who's just learned Tollhaven's sense of humour."
I turned.
A man in a long coat leaned casually against a stacked crate, arms crossed, expression carved from equal parts charm and suspicion.
He looked like the sort of man who always knew exactly where everyone's wallet was, even if he wasn't the one holding it.
Cadence murmured, "He is either helpful or very predatory."
"I attract both," I whispered back.
The man gave a polite smile. "Name's Rourke. And you, miss…?"
"Iris."
He nodded once, filing the name away like a dangerous tool.
"You're new. And what looks like unchipped. Tollhaven doesn't treat either particularly well."
"That's becoming clear."
"You know how it works here?"
"I'm learning quickly."
He gestured at the crowd. "Everything here is credit-based. Food, water, charging stations, rooms, transport. You can't even take a dump without a chip."
"That seems … excessive."
"That's Tollhaven." Rourke shrugged. "Order, security, protection from Hub. At least, that's the sales pitch."
"Sounds like a bureaucratic nightmare."
"Nightmare," he said cheerfully, "is the polite phrasing."
A merchant nearby shouted at someone:
"NO CHIP, NO FOOD! PUT IT BACK!"
Cadence whispered, "Iris, I believe we have enough data to conclude this place is economically hostile."
"I'm getting that impression."
Rourke's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the plating on my shoulder, the posture, the gait. "You're enhanced, but nothing like I've seen before. So does that makes you independent?"
"Very independent," I confirmed.
He leaned forward. "Then you need a chip."
I crossed my arms. "And you know where to find one."
"I know where to find many things." He smiled thinly. "Including solutions."
Cadence murmured, "Classic manipulation incoming."
He continued. "But chips aren't cheap. Legitimate channels require registration. Sponsorship. certain checks if you know what I mean ?"
"I'm guessing that's not happening."
"No, but there are other options ..."
I sighed. "Let me guess. Someone like you can help me ?"
"Correct."
A pause.
"And what do you want in return?"
His eyes softened in a way that made them more dangerous, not less.
"My daughter," he said quietly. "She was taken recently. Nothing violent, just leverage. Negotiation pressure. They won't hurt her… but they won't give her back unless I give them something I can't afford to lose."
"And you want me to get her out."
"Yes."
Then, with that predator's smile: "Quietly. Cleanly. No trail, at least not with one that can be traced me that is..."
Cadence's voice sharpened. "He is omitting something."
I didn't look away from him. "You're leaving details out."
"Only the ones you don't need."
"So all of them."
He chuckled.
"Come. We shouldn't talk here. My place is right inside the wall."
He gestured toward the inner streets.
I hesitated.
Cadence whispered, "Probability of ulterior motives: 86%. Probability of ambush: 32%."
"Always the optimist," I muttered.
He walked ahead.
We followed.
Guards opened the gate with a simple nod.
The world opened to a symphony of noise, traders yelling, machinery grinding, livestock making uncomfortable noises, and someone in the distance attempting to sing against its will.
Tollhaven was a maze of: stacked shacks, metal bridges, smoke vents and crowded alleys.
People moved everywhere, haggling, pushing carts, leading half-mechanical beasts, bartering loudly enough to weaponize sound.
Cadence observed, "The data is concerning."
We followed Rourke through a narrow alley, deeper into the city's underbelly.
Lanterns flickered overhead, illuminating faces that watched with too much interest. The buildings leaned close like they were gossiping about us.
Cadence murmured, "I have identified five potential ambush points."
"And ?"
"Two are efficient."
"Comforting."
Finally, Rourke stopped outside a building with a flickering neon sign that read:
THE BITTER GEAR
One window was cracked. One door hinge groaned like a dying animal. People slouched outside with the expression of professional regret.
Rourke gestured to the door.
"Well? You want a chip or not?"
I stared at the entrance.
Cadence whispered:
"This is statistically suspicious."
"I know."
I stepped forward through the door.
A man inside closed it behind me.