3:00 AM. The wind in District 9 felt like a dull saw blade, repeatedly grinding against the nerves of pedestrians. Rain mixed with oil sludge slapped against faces, stinging like acid.
Vance tightened the coat around the bundle in his arms, moving swiftly through the shadows of Sector G. The little girl, whom he'd mentally named "Trouble," was still asleep. Her body temperature was dangerously low from the hibernation, like holding a block of thawing meat.
As he sprinted through the waterlogged alleyways, Vance scanned the path ahead with sharp eyes behind his sunglasses. He dodged reflective pools of acid rain with practiced ease, calculating the logistics in his head.
Load increased by 35kg. Movement speed decreased by 20%. Calorie burn increased by 15%.
And for this burden, he had to pay an extra placement fee. This was undoubtedly the worst investment of the year.
Ten minutes later, he stopped in front of a rusted iron gate. A crooked neon sign flickered madly due to a bad connection: "Grace Orphanage - Computing Power Changes Destiny."
This was what passed for an orphanage in District 9. In reality, it was a Battery Farm. Orphans were raised here until they were twelve, when their neural ports matured, and then shipped off to factories to go AFK for the rest of their lives. But at least they survived until twelve without being chopped up for parts.
Vance didn't knock. He hated people, especially scenes filled with hypocritical gratitude.
He pulled up a portable terminal he'd looted from Doc John and transferred 3,000 Credits—the old man's life savings—onto an anonymous chip. He tucked the chip into the girl's swaddling clothes and gently placed her in the heated drop-off box at the gate.
"Listen, brat." Vance looked at the sleeping girl, his expression complicated. "This money is enough for you to be a VIP in this dump. You won't have to eat that synthetic paste that tastes like vomit. When you grow up... read more books, solve fewer math problems."
He paused, then added, "And don't trust anyone. Including me."
He pressed the doorbell, then turned and vanished into the dark alley like a thief who had lost his nerve. Only when he heard the iron gate creak open and saw the warm light spill out did the tension in his shoulders finally relax.
In that instant, the faint, milky scent that had lingered around him all night vanished. It was replaced by the overwhelming, suffocating stench of District 9: engine oil, rust, and the sour odor of Greed.
Vance stood in the shadows, taking a deep breath, and pulled his hood low over his eyes.
"Alright, burden cleared." His voice returned to its cold, hard state. "Now, let's see what kind of mess that fat bastard left me."
Thirty minutes later, Vance appeared in Sector B-2.
This was the hub for hackers and info-brokers. In a 24-hour net-café called "Blue Screen," the air was thick with cheap tobacco and the smell of anxious sweat. People lay like corpses in immersion pods, the data cables at the back of their necks pulsing with blue light.
Vance found a private booth in the corner. He scanned the room to ensure no eyes were on him, then used his scalpel to pry open the back of the terminal chair. He severed the camera line and pulled out the heavy encrypted drive.
This thing was now a ticking time bomb.
Vance inserted the drive and stared at the screen. No firewall intercepted him—he had already unlocked the military-grade logic lock back at the clinic.
Data streams flooded the monitor. Vance read them rapidly, the reflection of the code dancing in his eyes.
It wasn't a bank account. It wasn't weapons blueprints. It was a ledger. A black book recording power theft from the District 9 energy nodes.
The records showed that the seven major energy nodes of District 9—including the Food Factory, Water Cycle Center, and the Underground Arena—had been underreporting their power output to the Central System by a staggering 40% for the last three years.
"These lunatics..." Vance tapped his finger on the desk. "They embezzled 40% of the computing power. No wonder District 9 is falling apart. These parasites hollowed it out."
But he soon found a hidden system log attached to the end of the ledger. It was a line of code in bright, blood-red text.
[WARNING: District 9 energy output efficiency remains below threshold. System designated as Necrotic Tissue.][Directive: FORMAT CLEANSE.][Countdown: 29 Days, 23 Hours, 14 Minutes.]
Vance's breath hitched.
Format. In a world where everyone had a neural interface, that word meant a silent massacre. The Central Brain would send a high-voltage pulse through the network, frying the brains of every resident in District 9 instantly, clearing the slate for the next batch of batteries.
"Less than a month. Everyone dies," Vance muttered, watching the seconds tick down on the screen.
He scrolled down. At the bottom layer of the file, he found an encrypted list. It showed where that 40% of stolen power went—it was being funneled to seven specific coordinates to maintain seven "Bio-Keys."
Those seven coordinates corresponded to the seven de facto rulers of District 9: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Sloth.
"The Seven Deadly Sins." Vance realized why the fat noble tried to run.
They were stealing power to build their own "Noah's Ark" to the Upper World. Those seven keys were the only way to open the elevator to District 1.
"To survive, I need those keys."
Vance's gaze went colder than ever before. Before this, he just wanted money to survive. Now, the game had changed. It was a race against extinction.
Vance didn't close the interface. Instead, he opened a hidden terminal window. His fingers flew, typing a string of ancient code. It wasn't a query; it was a broadcast signal.
He was sending an entry application to the monster that stood above all rules in the Underground—The Balance.
"Send complete."
The moment he hit enter, Vance froze.
A sharp, pungent smell of Sulfur drilled into his nostrils. Not the smell of the net-café. This was the warning from his Scent of Deceit. Sulfur meant malicious tracking.
Someone was lying. Or rather, the network was lying. The firewall on the screen showed everything was green, but to Vance's nose, those green safety codes reeked of poison.
Someone had locked onto the drive's physical signature.
"Careless."
Vance didn't hesitate. He yanked the drive out without ejecting. The second the drive left the port, every screen in the café went black. A synthesized, emotionless voice blared over the PA:
"NOTICE. Sector B-2. Class-1 Contraband Carrier detected. Pursuant to District 9 Security Act, lethal force authorized. Repeat. This is not a drill."
The café exploded into chaos. Addicts ripped from their virtual highs screamed in agony.
Vance scanned the exits. His eyes confirmed what his nose told him—the front door was swarming with silhouettes, and the smell of Rust (killing intent) was thickest there.
"Front door is death. Back door is ambushed."
Vance glanced up at the ventilation duct. His mental map unfolded. This duct led deep underground to Sector D-0—the most chaotic, violent place in the District: The Underground Arena.
"If I have to fight a war, I might as well pick the loudest battlefield."
He stood on the chair, the scalpel working fast. He removed the screws and slipped into the vent like a cat.
Seconds after his boots vanished into the duct, the booth door was kicked in. Soldiers in black tactical exoskeletons and gas masks stormed in, wielding EMP rifles designed to burn out nerves.
"Target gone. Thermal shows entry into ventilation," the leader said coldly. He unclipped a metal canister from his belt. "It's a dead end. Release the 'Hounds'."
Several mechanical spiders, the size of human hands, scuttled out. Their red eyes flashed, moving with blinding speed and the teeth-grinding sound of metal on metal, chasing Vance into the dark.
Crawling through the filth, Vance knew he was being hunted. He didn't panic.
Instead, he grinned.
"Come on then." He mentally ticked down the countdown. "Since you dragged me into this death game, don't blame me for flipping the table."
He crawled faster toward the exit that smelled of blood and cheers.
"I'll find you, one by one. And I'll take the keys from your corpses."