The Unwelcome Interface
Kael crouched behind a collapsed wall, his breath shallow. The alley stank of rust and diesel. He counted seconds between patrol clanks, timing his dash. Hunger clawed at his stomach. Today he would eat, even if it meant prying copper from a dead drone.
The drone lay on its side, a hulking thing of twisted metal and cracked glass. One leg had snapped off, leaking black hydraulic fluid. Kael had watched it for an hour, waiting for the red eye to die. When the light went dark, he moved, knife in hand, boots silent on the rubble.
He pried at a panel with the knife, fingers numb from cold. The metal gave with a low groan, exposing a nest of wires and a green circuit board. Kael pocketed the board, then reached for a thick copper coil. The moment his skin touched the coil, a jolt shot up his arm—not electricity, but something colder, like a voice without sound.
Text scrolled across his vision, white and sharp. He blinked, but the words stayed, floating like frost. His heart hammered. He had heard rumors of interfaces—scavengers who gained powers from dead machines—but thought them gutter tales. Now the system spoke in silent letters: Candidate detected. Kael Voss. Scavenger. Level 1.
A new text appeared: Consume available metal to unlock first skill: Rustbite. Kael stared at the drone, then at his own trembling hand. He had nothing to lose. He pressed his palm against the drone's rusted shell and thought, eat. The metal turned soft under his skin, crumbling into fine dust that vanished into his pores, and warmth chased away the hunger.
The interface chimed again: Skill unlocked: Rustbite—convert non-living metal into temporary armor. Kael flexed his fingers, and a thin layer of rust-colored scales crawled over his knuckles, then faded. A grin cracked his chapped lips. For the first time, he had a weapon that didn't dull on rusted steel. But the elation died as a new notification flickered: Warning: Harvest surge detected in sector 7. Seek cover or fight.
Kael's breath caught. A Harvest surge meant a swarm of reanimated machines was coming, drawn by the energy he had just released. He glanced down the alley, where shadows began to shift with the glint of red eyes. The drone he had scavenged twitched once, its broken leg scraping against the ground. The interface remained silent, but Kael knew he had seconds to choose: run or stand his ground.
He turned to run, but the alley's far end lit up with a dozen tiny red lights, each one a camera lens or a sensor. A low hum filled the air, rising to a whine. The patrol bot he had been timing earlier rounded a corner, its metal claws clicking against the pavement. Kael pressed his back against the wall, the rust scales returning to his skin unbidden. The system displayed a new line—Quest generated: Survive the night—and then everything went dark.
The First Bite of Rust
Kael ducked into a narrow service corridor, the interface still spitting amber glyphs at the edge of his sight. The drone's dead chassis lay twenty paces back, leaking black oil onto cracked concrete. His stomach cramped, but the interface refused to let him collapse. [CALORIC INTAKE: 210/4000] blinked above a pulsing green arrow pointed at a loose bolt on the floor.
He crouched, snatched the bolt, and bit down. Metal shrieked against his teeth, then softened like hard candy. A warm rush flooded his limbs as the interface chimed. [CONSUMED: STEEL BOLT, 12 CALORIES. STRENGTH +1.] The hunger didn't vanish, but the world stopped swimming.
He stood, flexing fingers that felt too strong for his skinny arms. A new prompt materialized. [CANDIDATE PROTOCOL: LOCATE PRIMARY SOURCE.] A wireframe map overlaid the corridor, marking a red dot three blocks west. Beneath it, a label: RIVAL SIGNAL detected. But before he could move, a dry clatter echoed from the far end of the corridor.
Kael pressed his back against a rusted pipe and held his breath. A figure emerged from the shadows—a boy no older than him, but wiry and alert, with a jury-rigged metal brace around one forearm. The boy's own eyes flickered with the same amber light. "You're new," the boy said, voice flat. "And you just ate steel. That makes you either lucky or dead."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Who are you?" The boy didn't answer, just tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear. After a heartbeat, he spoke again. "Call me Sable. Don't ask twice." Sable stepped closer, but kept his hands open. "We need to get off the street. The Order's sweep is five minutes out."
"The Rusted Order?" Kael asked. Sable nodded once. "They harvest Candidates like us. Take the interface right out of your skull." He turned and gestured down the corridor. "There's a butcher's cellar three blocks south. It's shielded. We can talk there—if you can keep up."
Kael hesitated, but the distant whine of drone rotors decided for him. He followed Sable into a stairwell that descended into darkness. The interface adjusted, painting edges in faint gold. As they ran, Sable tossed a small copper wire over his shoulder. "Chew this. It boosts your perception for ten minutes."
Kael caught the wire and bit down without thinking. The taste was sour and electric. His vision snapped into sharper focus, and he saw the heat signatures of three patrolling drones above the street. [PERCEPTION +2. TIME REMAINING: 09:59.] He forced himself onward, matching Sable's silent pace.
They reached a rusted iron door at the bottom of the steps. Sable pressed a gloved hand to a panel, and the lock clicked open. Inside, the air reeked of old meat and machine oil. A single bare bulb swung overhead. Sable sealed the door and turned, his amber eyes narrowing. "Now. Tell me what your interface called you. If it's not one of the seven names, we're both already dead."
The Hunter in the Dark
Kael sprinted through the collapsed tram tunnel, rust and oil coating his tongue. The interface on his forearm burned with dim copper light, casting just enough glow to see the twisted rails ahead. Behind him, metal scraped against concrete, closer than before.
He ducked into a service alcove, pressing his back against a sheet of corrugated steel. The interface flickered: [CALORIC CONVERSION 14% — AGILITY +1]. The warmth spread through his legs, then faded. The drone's fuel cell had been sour, but it was his first real meal in three days.
A voice cut through the dark. "I can hear you breathing, scavenger." A girl stepped from behind a toppled ticket kiosk, a chain in one hand, a rusted hatchet at her hip. Kael's fingers tightened on the chunk of drone casing still in his pocket.
"You're burning through your first conversion too fast," she said. "The Order can smell that glow from half a district away." She tossed a small tin to his feet. "Gear paste—eat." Kael didn't move, but his stomach clenched at the smell of processed metal.
The girl smiled without warmth. "Unless you want to meet the Rusted Order's harvest crew—they've already triangulated your interface ping." Kael's heart slammed; he had heard stories of the Order stripping candidates while they still screamed. He snatched the tin and shoved it into his jacket. "Lead."
She spun and ran, chain dragging a trail of sparks behind her. Kael followed, legs burning as the interface fed him the last of the converted energy. They burst out of the tunnel into a rain-slicked alley, past dead delivery drones stacked like kindling. The girl veered left, toward the old foundry district, and Kael cursed under his breath.
A high-pitched whine rose above the rain. Three flyers banked around the tunnel mouth, camera lenses glinting red. "They locked onto your last ping," the girl called back. "Move!" She slid under a rusted roll door, and Kael followed, his interface pulsing once before going dark.
"They cut your signal," the girl whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. "The Order tagged you—full trace." She peeled back a section of chainlink fence, revealing a narrow gap between two tilted buildings. "My name is Sella. Follow if you want to live." Kael nodded and slipped through, as behind them the flyers' whine sharpened and something heavy began to move through the wreckage, each step shivering the broken asphalt.
Sella pulled him deeper into the gap, her chain hissing over concrete. The heavy footsteps stopped just outside, and Kael held his breath. For a long moment, only the rain and the distant buzz of flyers filled the dark. Then a voice, low and grinding like a seized gear, spoke from the street: "I smell a fresh candidate." Kael's interface, dark and dead, gave no warning—but his own pulse did.