Darkness wrapped around him like wet cloth. In the distance, the ragged sprawl of a shantytown flickered with weak lights, smoke rising slow between haphazard roofs. And then it hit him, Kalten’s voice echoing in his mind:
"Where are we?"
Kalten had answered flatly. "The Grit."
The Grit. Cordell turned slowly, trying to piece together what that meant. He wasn’t in the city anymore, not the shining, towering version of it he saw earlier today. This was the forgotten lung of the city, choking on fumes and decay. Far off, nestled like a virus against the industrial bones of the district.
He recalled Felix’s voice, that sardonic tone curling around the memory:
"The Grit's divided in two. First, you've got Driftshore, used to be a major shipping hub back when the city gave a damn. Now it’s just rust and regret... the Cutthroats run the show there. Paranoid bastards with more knives than teeth."
Cordell started walking. There was nothing else to do.
The path to Driftshore was a snaking artery of cracked freight rails and moss-eaten fences. The air stank of hot diesel and melting plastic. As he moved, the sprawl came into view: cargo containers piled like crooked teeth, train cars gutted and reborn as homes, tarps sagging between poles and rusted beams like torn fabric caught in the wind.
The closer he got, the louder the town became. An alley widened into a thoroughfare, a main artery of life pulsating through this dead district. Vendors hawked wares under glowing string lights zigzagging across the alley, peddling everything from rusted parts to black-market cyberware. The road was alive, even at night, with the chaotic rhythm of commerce, desperation, and survival.
Cordell kept his head low, blending into the anonymity of shadows.
In the dark, his total lack of implants went unnoticed.
He passed stalls stacked with rusted cybernetic limbs, hard drives stacked like bricks in old milk crates, hacked comm units, and boxes of blinking ocular replacements. It smelled like grilled meat.
He stopped at a food stand where the scent of something meaty and spicy wafted thick in the air. The vendor, a wiry man with sunken eyes and a cybernetic jaw, rattled off something in a language Cordell didn’t recognize. Thai, maybe.
"?????????????????????????? ???????????????????????" he said with a rehearsed smile, the mechanical jaw whirring softly with each word.
Cordell blinked.
"Uh... I don't understand."
The vendor pointed at a laminated sign:
Pho: 7 Credits
Pad Krapow: 10 Credits
Khao Soi: 9 Credits
Som Tum: 11 Credits
Drinks:
Blight Cola 3 Credits
NeoBerry Fizz 3 Credits
Red Volt Energy Drink 3 Credits
Cordell fished out two crumpled 10-credit notes and held them out. "What's... a pho?" he asked
The vendor gave a half-toothed smile. "Soup. Rice noodle and crickets. Yummy! Very good. You like."
Cordell winced. The idea of eating insects churned his stomach.
"Just the noodles, alright? No bugs, Only noodles. And throw in a NeoBerry Fizz too."
The vendor sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed uncle. A few minutes later, he handed Cordell a dented pink can of NeoBerry Fizz and a steaming bowl of noodles. Cordell devoured them with a desperation that bordered on savage. The broth scalded his throat, but it felt like fire that reminded him he was alive.
When the bowl was empty, he ordered another. Then another drink.
The world felt slightly more real again.
He moved through the market, eyes sharp now. His neck felt exposed, bare of a neural deck, a common implant almost everyone here seemed to sport. He needed a hood. Out here, lacking neural hardware didn’t mean death, but it marked you. Like a stray with no tags.
At a stall built into the husk of an old train car, Cordell found what he needed: a black, hooded coat thick enough to obscure his neck.
The vendor, a woman with silver braids and mirrored eyes, grunted. "Twenty credits."
Cordell slapped a 10-credit note into her hand. "I'll take it for ten," he said, testing her reaction. The hand stayed up.
She didn’t move. He groaned and gave her another. She took them both and handed him the jacket.
As Cordell slipped the jacket on, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "I need to get out of here. Back to the city."
The woman’s expression didn’t change. She raised an open palm, signaling for payment.
Cordell hesitated for a moment, then slapped a 10-credit note into her hand.
She took it without a word and lowered her hand, then responded, "You want leave Driftshore? Go back to Wisteria? Need Cutthroat pass. Since takeover, no pass, no way out."
Cordell frowned at the lack of information. "Any cheap rooms around here?"
The woman extended her hand again.
He scowled at her greediness and turned away.
As he weaved between makeshift buildings, looking for a place to crash, then he noticed them: three figures, subtle, but too steady in their interest. Their skin had a faint orange hue, subtle but unnatural, and their eyes tracked him with silent hunger.
Cordell cut into a side alley, then another. They followed. He darted left, heart pounding, and then
"Psst."
A hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back into a narrow passage. He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed him against the wall, her finger firmly placed on his lips.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Shhh," she whispered, her face framed by loose, dark hair and an expression of quiet resolve.
Footsteps thundered past. One of the chasers yelled, "He went that way! Go, go!"
Cordell barely breathed.
When the sound died, the girl stepped back.
"Thanks," he muttered. "Who are you?"
"You looked like a lost rabbit 'bout to be eaten," she said, releasing him. "Name’s Lira. You?"
"Cordell. Yeah, I guess I am. You know a safe place to sleep around here?"
"Got creds? You can crash at my place. But you gotta pay. No freeloading."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
Lira’s home was tucked away in a cluster of stacked containers, four stories up, accessible via welded train car stairs. Inside, the space had an unexpected warmth, a few mismatched armchairs, a small table covered with odds and ends, and a cozy, handwoven rug that softened the cold concrete floor. Faded neon lights from outside flickered through the gaps in the walls, casting a soft glow over the room. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a refuge from the chaos of Driftshore.
Lira gestured toward a 13-year-old boy sitting at the table, eyes glued to a battered handheld screen. "This is Furo." she said, nodding in his direction. "My little brother. He knows how to get by around here, even if he can be a little stubborn sometimes."
She turned back to Cordell. "You want something to eat? It’s not much, but we’d be glad to share."
Cordell declined dinner but stayed for the company. As they sat in the quiet of the room, he asked his questions.
"What's Driftshore, really?"
Lira leaned back, her eyes distant. "Used to be called Old-Port. Biggest shipping hub in Wisteria, long before I was born. Then came the embargo, a trade war that shut the ports down. Half the district lost their jobs. The rich pulled out, and the whole place just withered. Crime moved in, like plague. Cutthroats rose fast. Now they run Zyme and bleed the locals dry for protection money."
Cordell blinked. "Zyme?"
She gave him a puzzled look. "Where are you from not to know Zyme?"
"Nowhere. I’m from the Wastes. Doesn’t matter."
She shrugged. "Zyme's a drug originally made for laborers. A stimulant to keep them working longer hours. But someone messed with the formula. Now everything feels sharper, louder, brighter. You get this burst of energy, hyper-focus, euphoria. Feels like your brain’s been supercharged. But it burns through you fast. Leaves you wanting more."
She gestured to the skin beneath her eyes. "Too much Zyme and your skin turns... orange. Lips, fingers, under the eyes. You saw those guys earlier? Users."
Cordell exhaled. "How do I get out of here? Back to Wisteria?"
"You don’t. Not without a pass. They put the system in place after the Cutthroats took over Driftshore. No one sells them. They’re hoarded, traded for favors, not creds."
He leaned forward. "Tell me more about the city. Wisteria, right?"
She smiled. "Third biggest in the States after LA and New York. Thirteen zones. Six main districts. You’re currently in The Grit, lowest of the low."
Lira gave a slight nod, her gaze turning inward for a moment as she organized her thoughts. "Yeah... Wisteria’s a whole beast. Six major districts. Each of them? It’s a maze of different worlds, each with its own vibe, its own undercurrent. But it all connects. Let me break it down for you, one quarter at a time."
Lira looks at him for a moment, her expression shifting as she starts talking about the city.
Lira: “Alright, let’s start with Solace. It’s the cultural and commercial heart of Wisteria. There are three neighborhoods in the district, each one with its own vibe. First up, there’s Little Sado, the Asian district. The place is lit with neon lights, clubs, and arcades. It’s got an electric, lively atmosphere. But under all that flash, there’s a darker side. Fixers operate here, recruiting mercs for high-risk jobs, often shady work. If you’re looking for something dangerous or illegal done, this is where you’d find it.”
Cordell: (Nods) “I see. And what kind of jobs are we talking about?”
Lira: “Anything, really. Advanced tech Smuggling, corporate sabotage, bodyguard work... Sometimes, it’s cleaner than others, but it always comes with a price.”
Cordell: “Got it.”
She continues, her tone more neutral.
Lira: “Next, there’s Canopy Overlook. It’s the densest residential area in the city, packed with towering mega-residences. Tens of thousands of people live in these massive high-rises. It’s a hacker’s paradise, full of cybercriminals and data thieves. The sheer amount of information flowing through the place makes it a hotbed for illicit tech deals. If you’re into data trades this is where you’ll want to be.”
She shifts to the next neighborhood without missing a beat.
Lira: “After that, there’s Galloway. It’s a rough, working-class district that’s seen better days. There are three main neighborhoods there. First, you’ve got New Antioch. It’s a religious area, mostly home to Christian and Hispanic communities. The megachurches dominate the landscape, and the locals are tough, they’ve got a militia to defend the streets from the gangs lurking nearby. They’ll fight tooth and nail to protect their turf.”
Cordell: “A militia? How big are they?”
Lira: “The militia’s big, but it’s mostly made up of devout believers who’ve armed themselves. They’re fiercely protective, but they’re not as well-trained as the gangs. Still, they manage to hold their ground, even with the constant pressure from outside forces.”
She continues with a slight change in tone.
Lira: “Then, there’s The Bricks. It’s a place covered in graffiti, with decaying buildings and an ever-present gang presence. Territory fights are constant, but the people there form tight bonds. It’s all about survival, and they rely on each other to get by in that chaos.”
Cordell: “Sounds like a tough place.”
Lira: “It is. But there’s strength in the community. Moving on, Gearbelt. It’s the industrial core of Wisteria. The place is full of factories, some of which are still run by human workers, but most of them are automated now. Trucks from the Wastes bring in materials every day, keeping the machines running. The human workers there? They’re kept on stimulants to make sure production never slows down. It’s brutal work, but it’s what keeps the city running.”
She shifts gears, moving to the next district.
Lira: “Then there’s Kernson Heights, where the city’s elite live in style. The district is split into two parts. First, you’ve got Velour Row, the epitome of luxury. Pristine residential towers, private estates, concierge AI services. It’s where the ultra-wealthy flaunt their riches, living insulated from the chaos in the lower districts.”
Lira takes a breath before continuing.
Lira: “And then there’s The Slope, the commercial part of Kernson Heights. High-end restaurants, designer boutiques, luxury cars, it’s all about exclusivity and sophistication here. You’ll find everything money can buy, and nothing that isn’t top-tier. It’s where the richest of the rich spend their time and money.”
She pauses for a moment, her eyes focused.
Lira: “Finally, there’s Monolith. It’s the corporate core of Wisteria. Skyscrapers flirting with clouds, packed with mega-corporations. Neo-Balistique, Stratos Solutions, and other corporate giants run the show here. They’re all about cutting-edge technology, cybernetics, and research. It’s a cold place, driven by wealth and power. Innovation is the name of the game, but the human cost is high.”
Lira leans back, letting that sink in.
Lira: “And last, but definitely not least, is Orchid Mirage. This one’s weird. It’s all about biotechnology, genetic engineering, bio-agriculture, the kind of stuff that makes people nervous. There are two main zones here. First, The Bloomvaults, a bunch of vertical greenhouses where they grow genetically modified crops. It’s all neat and orderly on the surface, but there’s an unsettling air to it. It’s controlled, like they’re trying to perfect nature in ways that probably shouldn’t be messed with.”
She leans in a bit.
Lira: “And then, there’s New Chrysalis. It’s the most secretive zone in Wisteria, controlled by a mega-corp called HelixThera. Rumors swirl about the experiments they’re running there, human manipulation, genetic enhancements, things that you wouldn’t believe unless you saw it. Very few people are allowed in, and even fewer come out the same.”
She finishes, her eyes locking on Cordell.
Lira: “So, that’s Wisteria. Six districts, each one a world of its own. Figure out where you fit in, or where you want to survive, and you might make it out in one piece.”
Cordell was silent. Processing.
“You can crash here tonight,” she said, her tone gentle. “Let me take care of those cuts first.”
She cleaned his wounds with antiseptic gel, then draped a thin blanket over him. He settled onto the upper cot while she took the lower. In the other room, her brother’s steady snoring filled the silence.
Cordell’s gaze fixed on the ceiling, but his thoughts wandered.
Felix’s voice echoed in his mind:
“Ever been to The Heliotrope? Best dive in the city. My treat. Later.”
A faint smile tugged at Cordell’s lips.
Yeah. A drink sounded good.
Soon, he’d find that bar.
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