A frail-looking boy sat at his workbench, skin that looked like unwashed parchment pulled tight over his cheekbones. He had long, dark and glossy hair that flowed down messily to his neck. If one were to look closely, they would see the deep and bruised circles under his eyes.
He was cleaning a mask meant to filter toxic air. He the handled the respirator with the mechanical and precise grace of someone who knew a lose screw was a death sentence. He paused, his breath hitching as a sudden breeze of corrupted air flowed into his store through the windows. He looked at his respirator's power bar: Two hours. He needed to finish this repair and charge his respirator or he may not have enough power to survive the night.
Ding!
The door rang as a new customer came into the store.
"Store's gonna be closing in 15 minutes" the boy said without looking up.
"come back tomorrow if you need a repair."
The figure didn't speak for a few moments.
"I don't have until tomorrow". The voice spoke, it was raspy and dry which stayed true to the living conditions of the slums in City-06.
"Well, that's why you should always check your remaining time unless you're willing to pay extra"
The customer gave way to a slow and guttural cough. "How much is extra?."
He asked massaging his chest.
He looked to be about middle aged with broad shoulders and his hair though mostly black had been salted with tinges of gray, his eyes also had the same bruised circles as the boy's, a grim badge of the work they all did.
"That'll be one-hundred fifty."
"One-hundred fifty? That's forty more than the usual!" He exclaimed in shock.
"One-hundred thirty, no negotiations " The boy said as he stated his final price.
The man sighed and dropped a handful of coins onto the rugged table. "Alright. I'll be back in an hour."
"Come back in 30 min". The boy as as he put down his current project.
Once the man left, the boy groaned. "Another half-hour of my time. I need a break."
He pulled out meat made an Iron-Clad Mite. It was a six legged beast with a natural salty and metallic after taste and like the great wall it also drank the light around it.
"So chewy!" He wanted to spit it out, but ten credits was too much to waste. He grimaced, swallowed the dark mass, and got back to work.
"still though, this is way too tough and chewy" he grimaced as he swallowed the dark mass and resumed his work.
He didn't have a lot of time so he had to finish soon.
He looked toward the window. The Zeron was so massive it was said a million people could live inside it. It was a perfectly symmetrical box, save for the colossal thrusters at its rear. City-06 only saw fifteen of these ships a day-a pittance compared to the fifty that serviced the richer cities.
The ship was currently only used to deliver shipments. All together city-06 only took in about fifteen Zeron imports and exports daily. But it was quite low compared to the other five cities that normally took in over fifty imports and exports daily.
"Well at least that makes the housing here cheaper. And that's that…"
The boy finished cleaning the customer's respirator, his fingers moving with a twitchy, mechanical speed. He tightened the final screws with a satisfying click and placed the unit onto the crowded shelves that lined the walls of the store.
Every mask on that shelf was a story of someone trying not to die; now, he had one more to add to the collection.
Whrrrr.
The power station hummed to life as he plugged his own respirator into the charging port. A spark danced near the connection, and he flinched. It was dangerous to wear the mask while it was tethered to the station—surge protection was a luxury the slums of City-06 hadn't seen in decades—but he had no choice. If he wanted a continuous stream of filtered air while he waited for his power bar to climb out of the red, he had to play chicken with the electrical current.
He sat back, the short cable keeping his head pulled close to the machine. He was a prisoner of his own workbench, breathing in the sterile, recycled scent of the charger while the massive shadow of the newly arrived Zeron loomed somewhere high above the city's smog.
Whip whip whip "let's see, where was i?" As he flips through the pages of an old book he had recently bought, these days neural implants were an extremely luxury that only those living near the center of the city could afford them; as even buying a neural implant cost over fifteen what he could barely scrape from his work of repair, to say less about the crushing cost of maintenance that came with it. But that wasn't even the main reason for his rejection.
Taking in the neural implant meant the Empire had control over you mind and body, one update; one "misunderstand" and you'd lose you freedom in an instant; there was NO way he would risk giving his mind to the great Clans!
Ding!
"Just when it was getting interesting!" he forcefully closes the book and looks back at the middle aged man.
"Left shelf, number 23 and you're welcome" "Thank you" he said as he put back his mask but his movement. The boy turned the sign from open to closed as he watched the man depart and turned to leave through the back door.