Burnt peanut oil and welding ozone hung heavy in the underground artisan district.
Slanted, cracked pavement made the walk toward Tali's shop difficult. Caleb anchored his left hand to the canvas duffel strap and let his bruised right arm hang stiff against his ribs. Half a step behind him, Kikaru's carbon-fiber brace clicked a sharp, demanding rhythm against the concrete.
A blue notification chimed on the cracked glass of Caleb's visor module.
[PUBLIC SPONSOR BID: G-CORP] [OFFER: 15,000 CREDITS FOR CHEST LOGO PLACEMENT]
Fifteen thousand credits meant filters, fuel, and enough breathing room to stop calculating every meal twice. Caleb lifted his taped thumb to accept.
The blue text vanished.
A heavy red stamp struck across the glass.
[BID DECLINED BY PRIMARY STREAM-RIGHTS HOLDER]
