Riko didn't mind that Dawn hadn't bothered to attend his morning. When the sky appeared to be half asleep, as if it wouldn't snitch, skipping school always tasted better. The adults pretended not to see him as he slid through the chain-link opening behind the transit yard and made his way to Junk Zone 88. Even though it wasn't actually a mountain, everyone referred to it as the "Junk Mountain" because it was made up of stacked metal, broken screens, dead drones, and occasionally crushed scooters that had been accidentally and over time welded together. It felt more genuine to Riko than any classroom. The mess didn't try to be anything other than what it was: loud, broken, and impossible to put away.
The pieces of motherboard fireworks crunched under his shoes. He had run out of his apartment before anyone could ask where he thought he was going, so even though something hissed in a vent near his ankle, he continued to walk with his hands buried deep in his hoodie and his backpack half-zipped. They would not enquire as to why. They stopped asking why. That was how Riko liked it.
He reached a leaning tower of broken home-assistant pods, each with a cracked face that had once reminded families about grocery lists and grinned at them. They served as stepping stones for Riko. The metallic groan of shifting scrap took the place of the city noise as he ascended higher. Above, a gull let out a scream presumably disappointed that the trash didn't smell like fish. Near the summit, Riko took a seat with his legs hanging over the side on a broad slab of corroded solar plating. Although it was uncomfortable, it belonged to him.
He exhaled slowly, allowing the dusty, stale air to fill the void left by anxiety. He didn't want to think about the exam he missed, the teacher who would scowl at him the next day, or the message his mother had left for him that he didn't want to read. All he wanted was peace. But in Zone 88, silence was short-lived.
He noticed a flash of movement—no, not movement. Light. Beneath an overload of crumpled drone wings, there was a thin, bluish pulse that resembled a heartbeat hidden beneath metal ribs. Riko cocked his head. The light blinked once more before disappearing. He scowled. In Zone 88, nothing blinked like that. The batteries in the majority of screens had long since run out. Gripping a cable for balance as the junk moved beneath him, he slid off the panel and picked his way down the ridge.
He touched the metal with his ear when he arrived at the mound. Nothing, not even a hum or spark. Only icy steel. He pushed a broken rotor out of the way. Beneath it, the blue light flickered like a malfunctioning hologram. The edges warped and fuzzed whenever he attempted to concentrate on it. When the light scrambled sideways as if startled, he reached out and snatched his hand back. There was no shocking of the screens. Not even the strange ones
"What are you?" he whispered, half expecting it to answer. It didn't. It simply twitched, pulling itself deeper into the pile like a shy animal. Riko hesitated, then shoved aside a broken drone chassis and reached for the device. The moment his fingers touched its edge, the jittering glow surged, swallowing the static. The screen lurched upward and snapped to his wrist with a metallic click.
Riko squatted, bracing himself on one hand while the other carefully brushed away scrap chunks. The thing underneath flickered violently, like it was protesting the attention. He froze. The light steadied. A flat rectangle emerged from the debris—a screen, but unlike any he'd seen. Its surface rippled as if made of liquid glass. Riko leaned closer. His reflection appeared, fragmented and fractured, then dissolved into static.
Riko yelped, pulling to try and yank his arm free, but the screen clamped tight. Neon code rippled across it, rearranging with an eerie precision. The device vibrated once and flashed two words in sharp, floating text: **USER FOUND.** The junk around him shifted, metal settling as if in acknowledgement of the message, and Riko stood frozen, heart hammering at whatever this meant.