Despite the Federation's fleets sailing between stars and their cities glowing brighter than suns, Sunset City remained what it had always been not like how it's name portrays it but a scar that refused to fade.
A place where the Federation's progress stopped at the border of poverty.
The streets buzzed faintly with the hum of half-broken drones. Neon lights flickered over rusted walls patched with synth-metal sheets, and every alley carried the scent of oil, metal, and the faint bitterness of recycled air. People lived close. The narrow passages were crowded with traders peddling scraps, beggars with half-fitted prosthetics, and children chasing down cleaning drones for spare parts.
Dominic walked among them in silence, the dull sound of his boots echoing against cracked ferro-concrete a mixture hot metal and concrete created by a crazy scientist that loves hybrid creations. Holo-signs flickered above him, advertising upper-sector medicine and anti-rad meals no one here could afford. He passed a vendor selling nutri-paste packs flavored "synthetic stew," according to the label, though it tasted more like damp cardboard.
Dominic seeing that remembered he was hungry when he first transmigrated. Then concluded he was injected nutrients during the treatment. Well it's not like I got any credits on me predecessor was robbed clean then murdered.
Down here, survival was a daily grind. People scavenged from old wrecks, recycled broken drone parts, or smuggled beast fragments stolen from the upper sectors, a dangerous trade, but profitable if you didn't get caught.
Dominic's home sat near the city's edge, where the walls looks a bit bent inward and the streetlights died with a few of them still flickering. It wasn't much, just a rectangular shelter of dented synth-metal panels, sealed with adhesive resin and powered by a single cracked solar cell on the roof. Inside, a single wall-terminal blinked weakly in between two old folding bed. A shelf by the side with parts in an arranged order. A large table close by held a half-burned data drive, a soldering kit, some parts, and a cracked photo frame the image of him and his foster grandfather, Jerry Veyl, caught mid-laugh beneath the artificial sun.
He stood there for a while, staring at it. The corners of the photo had faded, but the memory it carried hadn't.
This place was barely standing, yet it was the only place in the world that had once felt like home for his predecessor. Warmth filled his his heart for the first time in what felt like a long time.
Dominic moved his small pack on the floor and sat on a chair beside the table. The streetlights close to the window side flickering as rapid as a person having a seizure. Dominic stared at it somewhat amused. "Looks like the streetlight is have a seizure, too bad there is no doctor around here".
Actually he could fix it in minutes maybe less but he didn't. He just sat there, listening to the flickering hum of the lights and the faint pulse of the city beyond the walls.
"Home," he muttered under his breath. The word felt heavier than he expected.
Dominic traced the edge of the cracked photo frame. His fingers brushed over the frozen image of himself and Jerry Veyl, the only man who had ever looked at him like he really mattered.
Jerry wasn't blood, but he'd been more of a grandfather than anyone could ask for. A retired miner with a broken spine and a laugh that once filled this metal box of a home. He'd found Dominic years ago in the lower alleys looking half-starved, innocent, clutching a rusted pipe for protection. Instead of walking past, he'd offered a meal. Then shelter. Then a name.
The smell of rust and grease clung to everything Jerry owned, even the old man himself. His hands were always rough, his words gruff, but his heart was steady. He taught Dominic how to repair terminals, fix drones, and build something out of nothing. He'd say, "We can't all be heroes, kid. But if you can make something work again, you've already beaten the system once."
But the night Jerry died, the night everything fell apart. Dominic didn't remember laughter. Only pain.
And the sound of a dying man trying not to cough.
He could still see it when he closed his eyes: Jerry slumped on the bed, his breath shallow, the dull red of blood on his handkerchief. The medical droid, tried to contact a medical specialist but its program kept looping, stuck between insufficient data and insufficient credit.
Dominic had screamed at it, hit it, begged it to work. He'd even hacked into the droid's system, bypassing permissions, trying to rewrite its code with trembling fingers. But it was no use. The specialist and medicine he needed could only be purchased from the upper sectors and he didn't have the strength, the power, or the money to get it.
When the hum of the droid finally faded, so did Garron's heartbeat.
Now, sitting in the same room years later, Dominic couldn't remember the warmth of the man's laugh, only the stillness after it stopped. The silence that filled the room was the same one that had lived inside him ever since.
He clenched his jaw under the bandage.
"I wasn't strong enough," he muttered. Then, quieter, "And I wasn't rich enough."
The light casting faint light on the soldering tools Jerry and he had once used. Dominic stared at them, his expression hardening, the grief cooling into purpose.
Recalling that night, of his grandfather of his previous life fusing with this present life something in him had died with them, but something else had been born too.
A vow.
He would never be powerless again. Even though he transmigrated into this body, he can relate to this, this is his life now. This are his memories now.
Dominic picked up a small holo-brain that had been abandoned in the corner, its casing scratched, circuits exposed, and lights flickering weakly. It was nothing compared to the devices he remembered from his previous life, but the principles were the same. Every connection, every tiny resistor and capacitor, every line of code inside the memory core followed rules that his mind already understood, even if the tech itself looked alien. He then dismantled the medical droid that failed to fulfill it's purpose as parts to use later.
Hours passed as he traced wires, replaced damaged circuits, and debugged the miniature processor. Frustration gnawed at him at first but he had to remind himself that the laws of physics and logic hadn't changed. Memory of Jerry guiding his hands, patiently showing him how to repair tools and salvage parts, helped him focus. Slowly, the holobrain's lights stabilized, a faint hum replacing the flickers, the hologram interface blooming with basic data streams.
Encouraged, he planned to start taking on more jobs, moving through Sunset City, repairing old wall-terminals, fixing things here and there, and occasionally patching the odd drone that had gone rogue.
The night stretched on, the city quiet except for distant drone hums and the occasional shout from the alleys. Dominic continued working, soldering, coding, and repairing. Each task sharpened his skills, each small success feeding the determination that had taken root.
He woke early, before the dim glow of the weak solar panels could light the streets properly, stretching his stiff muscles and scanning the narrow alleys for work. His weak solar panel outside barely lighting his small room. Old terminals needed repairs, broken holo-panels needed replacing, and abandoned drones often required patching before someone would risk buying them. Each repair paid three credits, just enough to buy one nutri-paste pack with one credit leftover, a small margin that forced careful budgeting.
First on his list: an old wall-terminal in the alley behind his shelter. The terminal's interface had frozen, displaying error codes in red. He opened the back, cleaned dust from the circuits, replaced a fried relay, and re-soldered some frayed connections.
Next, a small holo-panel above a corner market flickered, projecting only half the display. Dominic adjusted the lenses, re-threaded the fiber conduits, and restored the feed so the merchant could display holo-signs properly.
In the afternoon, a scavenger approached him with a broken micro-drone. Its rotors were stripped, its stabilization module fried. Dominic replaced the blades, cleaned the motor, and balanced the gyroscope. The drone buzzed to life again, zipping around the alley in testing before the grateful scavenger handed him a few credits.
Finally, the day ended with a personal project: a malfunctioning holo-watch left by Jerry. Dominic spent hours tracing faulty capacitors, reconnecting a power line, and testing the audio circuits. Each success reminded him that he was no longer powerless.
Dominic's next day started with a request from a neighborhood mechanic: a drone that monitored rainwater collectors had gone rogue. Its sensors were misaligned, and the control chip was overheated. Dominic recalibrated the sensors, replaced the chip from the parts he had, and performed a short flight test.
Next, he repaired a broken wrist-flashlight for a street kid, its input buttons were jammed, and the internal battery was corroded. Dominic cleaned the contacts, reassembled it, and watched as the kid's eyes lit up with gratitude.
Midday brought a more complex task: a local trader's encrypted credit module had been locked after a failed transaction. Dominic worked methodically, bypassing old security protocols, decrypting the memory, and restoring access without losing the stored credits.
He finished the day with a small gadget build: a signal booster for an old surveillance sensor. Using scavenged components, he soldered circuits, tightened loose connections, and calibrated the output. By evening, the sensor hummed steadily, sending clean signals to it.
Dominic's days in Sunset City settled into a rhythm, harsh but predictable. The morning sun had barely risen over Sunset City when a firm, synchronized knock rattled Dominic's door.
Knock knock.
His hands instinctively reached for a tool, but curiosity drew him to the door instead.
Outside stood two men in Federation military uniforms, polished boots gleaming even in the slum dust. Their expressions were neutral, professional, but their presence carried authority enough to silence the whole alley.
"Dominic Solari?" one asked, voice clipped, eyes scanning his small shelter.
Dominic nodded slowly, hand resting on the doorframe.
"There's an early recruitment happening next week," the man said. "The Academy is opening spots ahead of schedule."
"Early recruitment?" Dominic repeated, brow furrowing.
"More people are receiving True Names," the second soldier added, his tone even but firm. "During the first trial, many do not survive. The anomalies, the Eidolon system's reaction, have accelerated deaths. Nova and other military Academy must fill the gaps."
Dominic's gaze shifted toward the skyline. The distant holo-trains shimmered faintly, gliding toward the direction of Skyreach City, the Academy's domain. Skyreach was pristine compared to Sunset City: gleaming spires, elevated transit networks, and orderly districts designed to cultivate power.
For him, this early recruitment was opportunity disguised as doom.
"Your application has been processed, it's mandatory, any deserter will be dealt with following the military laws," the first soldier continued. "Ensure you are ready. Travel to Skyreach is at your discretion. Academy staff will expect you."
Dominic's mind already raced through calculations, credits saved, tools packed, routes to the transport hub. Each thought reinforced the plan he had been building for weeks. His days of repairing, hacking, and tracking had all led to this point.
He nodded. "Understood."
The soldiers gave a curt nod, then turned, their boots clattering against the metal street beneath them as they disappeared into the alleys. The sound faded, leaving only the distant hum of the city.
Dominic stood still for a moment, sorting his thoughts. Understanding fully well that a tracker had been placed in him while he was unconscious during the trial. If not how would they have found him who doesn't even have an identity yet?...
Tomorrow, he would begin preparing for the journey to Skyreach City. The Academy, with its trials, credits, and rigid hierarchy, awaited him and along with it, the next chapter of his life follows.
Adapt or...Perish?