The stench of processed biomass filled my tiny shelter. Another bowl of gray sludge waited on the counter, untouched. My hands shook as I gripped the edge of the metal table.

  "Emergency broadcast from Outpost Seven," the radio crackled. "The swarm is overwhelming our defenses. Request immediate…" Static swallowed the rest.

  I closed my eyes. The warning signs had been there. The Union ignored them all, chasing their precious energy source. Now colonies fell silent one by one.

  "Multiple hostiles at Junction Beta," another voice cut through. "Cannot maintain position. Fall back, fall back!"

  The spoon clattered against the bowl. My stomach turned at the smell of artificial proteins. More screams filled the radio waves. More death. More…

  I jerked awake in my bed in San Marino, sweat soaking through my sheets. The ceiling fan spun lazily above, casting weird shadows across the walls. Five days. Two of these dreams now, each more vivid than the last.

  Mylo watched from his perch on the windowsill, eyes reflecting the dim morning light. Something about his stare made my skin crawl.

  "Not now," I muttered, pushing myself up. "Got work to do."

  The closet creaked as I pulled out fresh clothes: plain gray shirt, reinforced pants, steel-toed boots. Nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention at the Junkyard.

  The Union's pride and joy of San Marino. Their precious industrial complex where they stored their broken toys and failed experiments. Where apprentices like me weren't supposed to go without proper clearance.

  I checked my reflection in the cracked mirror. Better than yesterday, but not by much.

  "Coming?" I asked Mylo, but he'd already vanished. Typical.

  The morning air hit my face as I stepped outside, thick with the smell of metal and rust. Southern District waited.

  The junkyard sprawled over the southern quarter of the city, a grotesque monument of civilization's waste. Twisted metal spires reached toward the smog-choked sky, their jagged edges catching what little sunlight filtered through. The screech of hydraulic crushers echoed across the vast expanse, punctuated by the thunderous crash of discarded components.

  I navigated through canyons of derelict ships and vehicles, their hulls stripped bare by time and scavengers. The air reeked of oil, rust, and scorched metal. Sparks rained down from cutting stations above, creating brief constellations against the perpetual industrial twilight.

  The southern entrance bustled with activity. Haulers rolled through the reinforced gates, their beds loaded with fresh salvage. Workers swarmed like insects, directing traffic and processing new arrivals. I walked past them all, muscle memory guiding my feet. None of this was new; not anymore.

  The office stood apart from the chaos, a squat prefab structure that somehow maintained its dignity among the surrounding decay. Inside, the air conditioning hit my face like a blessing.

  "I have an appointment," I told the receptionist.

  The woman, probably mid-twenties, ran my ID through her scanner. "Mr. Lark will be with you in a moment." She led me to a side room that felt more like someone's personal space than a proper meeting area. Metal walls, utilitarian furniture, a pitcher of water with glasses. A few faded prints broke up the monotony of bare walls.

  The door opened and Joseph Lark filled the frame. His broad shoulders stretched his overalls, hands bearing the calluses and oil stains of someone who didn't just manage the yard but worked it. His thick beard couldn't hide the scars that mapped his face.

  He dropped into the chair across from me, tablet in hand. His eyes narrowed as he studied whatever was on the screen. I watched his expression shift from routine assessment to genuine surprise.

  "You were supposed to start tomorrow," he said, more to himself than me. "But that got pushed, and now..." He looked up, really seeing me for the first time.

  Lark's voice faded in and out as pressure built behind my eyes. "Your application shows no prior experience, yet somehow you've managed to set a meeting with-"

  The fluorescent lights blazed, piercing my skull. The room tilted. Metal walls dissolved into lunar regolith. The stale office air turned thin and hostile.

  JC's voice crackled through my helmet radio, stripped of his usual showmanship. "This is... this is a dark day for humanity. I've just received confirmation that Admiral Sebastian Voss has fallen in combat while defending Allos 9 from the Swarm."

  My throat tightened. That pompous bastard. All his speeches about Union superiority, all his dismissive press conferences. In the end, he'd died fighting alongside his crew.

  "The Admiral's last transmission indicated..." JC's voice broke. "He remained at his post until the end, coordinating civilian evacuation efforts even as the creatures breached the command deck."

  Something moved in my peripheral vision. A shadow where no shadow should be.

  The lunar surface snapped back to fluorescent-lit office. I found myself on my feet, chair knocked backward. Lark stared at me, one hand hovering over his security comm.

  "I..." My legs shook. "I apologize. Just got dizzy for a moment." I picked up the chair, trying to ignore how my hands trembled. "Won't happen again."

  Lark's expression shifted from alarm to something closer to concern. "Maybe we should reschedule—"

  "No." I sat down hard. "I'm fine. Please continue."

  "Right..." Lark's eyes narrowed at the documents. "Like I was saying, something smells here. Someone who until yesterday was broke suddenly redeems the debt of one of my best workers for 170 grand ones. That doesn't usually happen."

  I kept my smile steady, maintaining eye contact. Joseph hadn't changed, honest, hardworking, sharp as a plasma cutter. But even he lived by the junkyard's golden rule: credits talk, questions walk.

  He shook his head. "Keep your secrets then. Just sign here and you can be on your way." The pad slid across the desk. My finger pressed against the scanner, and green light confirmed the transaction.

  "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lark." His calloused hand engulfed mine in the handshake.

  The morning heat hit me as I stepped outside, making my way toward the entrance. That's when I saw him.

  My heart stopped.

  He stood there, impossibly young, barely into his twenties. No grey in his hair, no deep lines around his eyes. His left arm gleamed dull silver in the morning light; an old Union surplus model, not the sleek prosthetic he'd died wearing. The servos whirred softly as he shifted his weight.

  Ty Wright. My brother. The rest of our family? Dead, or might as well be.

  A century of memories crashed through me. His hands, flesh and metal, showing me how to strip wire without cutting myself. He was the only light in my life at the Junkyard and the reason I kept going. That happened a lifetime ago, but to me, it was yesterday.

  But here he was. Young. Whole. Alive.

  The hydraulic joints in his leg hissed as he took a step forward. Even now, he moved like someone carrying an invisible weight. His eyes were soft beneath the metal plate above his brow, watching me with that quiet intensity I'd forgotten until this moment.

  'Flick'

  'Auch'

  My forehead stung from his flick. Some things never changed. Ty's way of showing disapproval hadn't evolved much since we were kids. The familiar gesture brought a rush of memories, both from this timeline and the other.

  "The hell did you do to get that much money, Mellody?" His voice carried that edge I knew too well, rough like salvaged metal.

  The warmth I'd felt seeing him alive vanished under his scrutiny. Classic Ty; straight to the point, subtle as a sledgehammer. His cybernetic arm whirred as he crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. The morning sun caught on the worn chrome, highlighting every dent and scratch.

  "Got lucky," I shrugged, knowing it wouldn't satisfy him.

  Pain bloomed across the top of my head from another flick. His flesh hand this time; he knew better than to use the metal one for these little corrections.

  "Like hell you did," he growled. The servos in his leg ground as he shifted his weight, a sound that used to keep me awake at night. "That amount of credits don't grow on trees. Not that there are many trees around."

  "Will you just trust me?" I asked, my tone sharper than intended. The words felt hollow even as they left my mouth.

  Being fifteen again brought its own special kind of hell. In my other life, people had learned to take my word seriously. Now? Every statement came with doubt, every action questioned. They had good reasons, sure, what fifteen-year-old suddenly produces that kind of cash? But the constant scrutiny grated on my nerves.

  Ty towered over me, his cybernetic eye whirring as it adjusted focus. The metallic hand pressed down on my shoulder, heavy and cold through my shirt. For a moment, hope flickered in my chest.

  "Would you trust yourself if you were in my shoes?" He reached for another flick but paused, noticing how I swayed slightly.

  The words I wanted to say, 'Yes, yes I would', died in my throat. Partly because it was a lie, mostly because I didn't fancy another wave of pain across the top of my head. But my patience had limits, and this metal mule pushed every single one of my nerve terminals.

  "Whatever I did, it's already too late." I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Credits exchanged hands, contracts were signed." I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. "Now, are you following me or not?" I spun on my heel and marched toward the workshop.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Behind me, Ty's sigh carried the weight of a hundred worries. The irregular clank-whirr of his leg followed, each step a painful reminder of repairs I needed to make. Soon.

  ******************************

  The workshop loomed ahead, a behemoth of industrial architecture stretching twelve stories into the smog. Its upper levels masqueraded as residential units, all identical windows and faded paint, but the ground floor betrayed its true nature. Massive bay doors gaped open, disgorging the sounds of machinery and the acrid smell of welding. Steam vents dotted the exterior walls, releasing periodic bursts that added to the perpetual haze.

  "Could get you another apprenticeship," I muttered, half to myself as we approached. "Nineteen's not too old." But the words tasted like lies. Ty had tried apprenticeships before, three times. His body could handle the work, but his mind wandered. Except...

  A memory surfaced, sharp and clear despite the century between then and now.

  Chen's food stall sat a block away from the workshop, a splash of color in the industrial grey.

  The lunch rush packed the counter, apprentices crowding around steaming bowls of noodles and protein broth. Chen's arms moved in constant motion, stirring four different pots while barely breaking a sweat. Mia darted between customers, her twin buns bouncing as she collected empty bowls and credits.

  Ty and I claimed the far end of the counter, away from the crowd. The familiar scent of spices and artificial proteins made my stomach growl.

  "Chen." I nodded at the cook.

  He glanced up from his pots, stubble-covered jaw clenched in concentration. "Busy day. Wait?"

  "No rush," I said, settling onto the worn stool. "Take your time."

  I pulled out my pad, fingers flying over the surface as I drafted a contract. Legal terms and conditions flowed naturally, muscle memory from a lifetime of negotiations I technically hadn't lived yet.

  Ty leaned over my shoulder, his cybernetic eye glowing as it tried to focus on the text. His brow furrowed deeper with each paragraph.

  "What's all this about?" He squinted at the screen. "Contingent... preliminary assessment... provisional authority?"

  "Just making sure everything's covered." I kept typing. "Our parents cutting me off wasn't exactly a surprise. Had to plan ahead for everyone's sake."

  The lie tasted bitter, but it was easier than explaining time travel and apocalyptic futures.

  Ty's metal hand clenched, servos whining. "About that..." He shifted on his stool. "I knew it was coming. Been pulling strings for months to get you transferred to my sector. Figured the Junkyard would be better than wherever they'd dump you." He scratched his neck. "Never thought you'd pull something like this though."

  My fingers stopped mid-stroke. In all my years, my other years, he'd never mentioned this. I'd always assumed Dana arranged my transfer through official channels. But Ty had been watching out for me, even then. Even now.

  "Everything's going to work out," I managed, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Trust me."

  "You used to lie like a kid." Ty said in a hushed voice. "Now you lie like someone who’s done it too much."

  The lunch crowd ebbed and flowed around us. Ty demolished three bowls of noodles while I refined contract clauses. Chen's spoon never stopped stirring, creating a steady rhythm beneath the workshop's distant rumble.

  A soft weight landed on Ty's shoulders, making him jump. Mylo stretched lazily across his metal plating, completely at ease.

  "Cats usually run from me," Ty whispered, frozen in place. "The arm spooks them."

  "Oh, hey Mylo. There you were." I watched my brother's bewildered expression as Mylo made himself comfortable. The cat's eyes met mine, filled with that familiar mischievous glint. Whatever had been bothering him lately seemed to have passed. Or maybe he’d simply buried it deeper. Hard to tell with Mylo.

  "Is it your cat?" Ty asked while petting Mylo with a dumb smile on his face.

  "More like I'm his human," I answered.

  Ty laughed, not knowing how much truth sat in that sentence.

  The dawn painted the industrial district in shades of rust and amber. The lunch crowd thinned, leaving behind empty bowls and lingering steam. Streets that buzzed with activity just hours ago now stretched empty, save for the occasional apprentice hurrying back to work.

  Chen wiped down his counter, shoulders relaxing as the rush died down. No twin buns bouncing between customers today; Mia's absence left a quiet gap in the usual rhythm. The last customer shuffled away, credits changing hands, and Chen's permanent scowl softened just a fraction.

  I'd only known him a few days, but Chen never showed the irritation most vendors directed at loitering apprentices. He let me sit here, never rushed me away. That alone made him worth keeping close. The fact that he might be beneficial for Ty was just a convenient bonus.

  "So, what brings you here today, girl?" Chen's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  "Came by with a proposal." I slid the pad across the counter.

  He picked it up, squinted, then reached for a small box. The glasses he pulled out were ancient; actual glass and metal, not the synthetic stuff everyone used now. "Right, let's see what we have here..."

  Ty leaned forward, watching Chen's expression shift as he read. The smile faded, replaced by something sharper, more calculating. He read through once, then started again from the top, taking his time with each clause.

  Chen's weathered fingers traced each line of the contract, his burnt fingertips leaving faint marks on the screen. "Girl..." His voice carried that particular tone I'd heard too often lately. "I know for a fact that you were broke until yesterday." His dark eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. "So where did you get this many credits?"

  "That's exactly what I told her as well!" Ty's metal arm whirred as he gestured.

  "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" I rolled my eyes, though I knew exactly why. "I won the lottery."

  They both stared at me like I'd grown a second head.

  With a sigh, I pulled up my second pad and displayed the credit transfer from the old lottery. Ty's jaw dropped so far I thought he might need mechanical assistance to close it. Chen remained stoic, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

  "And are you sure this is how you want to spend your credits?" Chen retrieved the pad with my proposal. "50k per year is not something to scoff at."

  "If this idiotic brother of mine manages to pick up even half of your knowledge, that's a win in my books." I shot Ty a sideways glance.

  Funny; normally Ty would flick me for calling him an idiot. His restraint meant he knew I was right, even if he couldn't admit it.

  "I do need an apprentice, not going to lie." Chen sized up Ty from head to toe. "And the credits could be used to get a better spot." His fingers moved across the contract, adding new lines.

  I tracked the key taps, reading the rhythm of his typing. Elias used to mock this skill as my most useless superpower, but it had its moments.

  Chen signed and passed me the pad. "Take a look and tell me what-"

  I signed immediately, maintaining eye contact. "I trust you."

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face despite his best efforts to suppress it.

  The contract was exactly what I'd anticipated: Ty would serve as both apprentice and employee. The 50k would cover his accommodation, with the remainder as salary.

  Some might call it a gamble, but earning Chen's trust was worth every credit.

  "Well then, I'll let you two get to know each other." I stood, brushing invisible crumbs from my pants. "Make sure you work hard." My eyes locked with Ty's. His face shifted, that familiar serious expression settling in like a mask.

  Mylo stretched across Ty's shoulders one last time before leaping down to follow me. The cat's tail swished with an air of satisfaction I hadn't seen in days.

  My brother might be an idiot, but he was a useful one. Back in my timeline, he'd discovered his talent for cooking late in life, after wasting years in dead-end jobs. The memory of his face lighting up when he first created something truly delicious stayed with me through a century of darkness.

  This time would be different. With Chen's guidance and my backing, Ty could skip the years of frustration and self-doubt. He could have the life he deserved, the one that got stolen from him.

  "See you around, Chen." My feet carried me toward San Marino's Free Market, Mylo padding silently beside me.

  Only one major problem remains unsolved now for now.

  ***********************

  The Free Market's glass dome stretched overhead, its weathered panels letting through weak ribbons of moonlight. Artificial lamps buzzed in irregular patterns, casting more shadows than illumination. The evening crowd shuffled through narrow aisles between stalls, their movements creating shifting patterns in the dim light.

  My feet carried me past rows of salvaged tech, but my mind wandered. The memories of my other life felt both razor-sharp and dream-like. Had any of it been real? Mylo padded beside me, his presence both reassuring and unsettling. What if he was just a hallucination, a comfort my brain created to cope with isolation?

  The thought hit like a physical blow. What if I was still there, trapped on that ship, slowly losing my grip on reality? The market's sounds faded, replaced by a high-pitched whine.

  My eyes snapped open. Cold metal pressed against my back. The preservation pod's interface glowed with familiar warnings. Four years. Four years since anyone had responded to my signals.

  The food processor chugged and wheezed, spitting out another portion of grey protein paste. Its efficiency had dropped to 47%, but it kept me breathing. The cabin's recycled air tasted stale, metallic.

  JC's voice crackled through the emergency broadcast system. His usual showman's flair replaced by something darker.

  "This is... this is a dark day for humanity. The Sanctuary Colony on New Eden has been breached. Initial reports suggest... there are no survivors."

  Admiral Voss's voice cut in, smooth and controlled. "Let's maintain perspective here. This was an isolated incident involving an undefended settlement. A single capital ship would have eliminated this threat. I assure you, this is the first and last catastrophe of its kind."

  Admiral Voss was wrong. So wrong. A capital ship wouldn't have saved them. Nothing could have. The creatures didn't hunt, they consumed. Like a tide of darkness washing over everything in their path.

  JC's voice cut through the static, listing names. Each one a person I'd known, worked with, argued with. Gone.

  "...and among the casualties, renowned xenobiologist Dr. Elias Crane, whose groundbreaking research..."

  My heart stopped. Elias. That arrogant, brilliant fool. He'd promised to be careful, promised he wouldn't take unnecessary risks.

  The radio continued, but the words turned to white noise. My fingers traced the edge of the captain's chair, feeling the familiar dents and scratches. My head throbbed. Instinctively, I reached for the med-box, only to find it empty. Right. The last pill went months ago.

  A soft meow echoed through the ship's corridors.

  "Hello?" My voice cracked. Silence answered.

  Another meow, closer this time.

  "Mylo?" Hope and fear tangled in my chest. "Are you... are you real?"

  The emptiness of the ship mocked me. Of course he wasn't real. Nothing was real except the isolation, the endless waiting, the...

  A third meow, loud enough to shake the walls. The ship's hull groaned, metal twisting. My clothes seemed to melt away and-

  "Watch where you're going, urchin!" A rough shove sent me stumbling backward.

  Something batted at my head. Mylo sat there, one paw raised for another strike.

  "I'm awake, Mylo," I muttered, reaching up to pat him. The market's familiar chaos surrounded us, real and solid and present.

  The market's sounds faded as reality twisted again. I gripped the nearest stall, steadying myself. These episodes were getting worse. Not hallucinations, something deeper. The memories felt too real, too detailed to be delusions. Which meant...

  No. I pushed the thought away.

  Daisy's stall loomed ahead, its owner a statue carved from pure intimidation. Her latest wig, electric blue with silver streaks, caught the dim light like a warning beacon. She tracked my approach with a predator's patience, noting my empty hands with a flicker of disappointment.

  Back in my timeline, my other timeline, Daisy and I had worked together for decades. She'd saved my life twice, and I'd returned the favor. Now she looked at me like something stuck to her boot.

  "Hello, Daisy." I craned my neck up to meet her gaze, forcing a smile.

  Her gravelly voice carried the weight of mountains. "Didn't expect to see you around here again, urchin."

  "Well, I did promise you to return in 5 days."

  Silence stretched between us like a rubber band ready to snap. The market's chaos continued around us, but our little bubble remained perfectly still. Other customers approached, saw the tension, and wisely found business elsewhere.

  I knew this game. Daisy used it to separate the desperate from the confident. First one to break the silence lost. Most people lasted thirty seconds. My record was four hours, but that was years from now, in a future that might never happen.

  So I waited, keeping my expression neutral as the minutes ticked by. A muscle in Daisy's jaw twitched. Good. She wasn't used to children playing her game this well.

  I kept my face neutral as seven minutes ticked by. "As promised, here's your share of the sale." I slid a small card across her counter.

  Daisy's massive frame tensed as she scanned the card. Her jaw dropped, mirroring Ty's expression from earlier. One hundred thousand credits would keep her stall running for years, far more than she typically earned scraping by on salvage deals.

  "You know," she drawled, each word slow and deliberate, "I'm really good at reading people." Her eyes narrowed. "And you are, from top to bottom, a run-of-the-mill urchin. So how does a mere urchin have this kind of credits?"

  I fought back a sigh. Third time today someone had asked me that. Instead, I forced a smug smile. "Maybe I'm better at treasure hunting than most."

  "The only thing you're better at is lying." She tucked the card into her inner pocket, movements quick and protective. "So what do you want?"

  The question hung between us. I knew her situation; how close she walked to financial ruin each day. This money would help, but wouldn't solve everything. Her suspicion made sense. And this time, she was right to be wary.

  I'd have preferred to rebuild our relationship slowly, carefully. But the reality slips were getting worse. Time was running out.

  "There might be a thing you could help me with."

  Daisy rolled her eyes and pressed a button. Her stall sank into the floor, leaving only dirty metal grating.

  "Follow me." She strode toward the market exit.

  I fell into step behind her, my heart pounding. Everything hinged on this moment. There was only one explanation for what was happening to me.

  If I was wrong, all my plans would become void.