The Waste Planet-12 was one of the disposal planets in the Farr Quadrant. Its purpose was as unremarkable as its name: a massive dumping ground. With the advent of space travel, human life had transformed dramatically. Advanced technology meant comfortable, stress-free living, while rapid expansion into space had mitigated past worries about resources and ecology. The discovery of countless planets and the refinement of interstellar technology made life faster-paced, more humane—but also accompanied by an inevitable surge in waste. The cost of recycling this trash was high, and uncontrolled dumping posed a severe threat to nearby communities. As a solution, nations started transporting their waste to uninhabitable planets, either ones with no mining value or already stripped bare of resources. These desolate planets, devoid of life or water, became ideal for dumping.
Under a hazy sky, mountains of refuse formed endless peaks, stark and silent. The cold, metal wreckage scattered about radiated a unique chill; only the occasional flash of exposed, unoxidized surfaces hinted at its former glory. Almost no one believed humans could survive here—there was no food, no water, nothing one could rely on. This place had only one thing: garbage.
Yet, was it as devoid of life as it seemed?
Ash glanced at an ancient analog clock hanging on his wall, a device he’d scavenged three years ago from a junk mound ten kilometers away. The vibration mechanism had been damaged, and Ash had spent a week repairing it, replacing the even older pendulum clock he’d previously relied on.
Farr time, 3:42. In thirteen minutes, the outside temperature would reach its ideal daily window, lasting until 6:17 Farr time. The rest of the day was either unbearably hot or bone-chilling cold. Ash calculated it was a good day to scavenge, as garbage ships likely dumped last night. He had food to last; the last hunt had brought in plenty of gnaw-rats, leaving him with a steady meat supply. And though he had emergency rations at home, their taste was so bland, Ash hadn’t touched them in ages.
3:55. At that exact second, Ash burst from his door like a shot. Time was precious. It took nearly thirty minutes to reach the latest dump, which left Ash with about an hour and a half to scavenge. Darting through narrow gaps in the mounds, Ash moved like a swift beast, his body agile and instinctual in its movements. He knew the terrain so well that he could navigate it blindfolded.
The wind whipped against his face as he enjoyed the rush, but his senses remained alert. Living on this planet meant constant vigilance. For while uninhabitable by humans, the waste planet was paradise for mutated creatures whose survival instincts were unmatched. With abundant food—trash—creatures like gnaw-rats multiplied at astonishing rates.
Ash’s home was carved into the side of a mound, accessible through a narrow, four-meter crack in the garbage mountain. Jagged metal edges protruded randomly, giving the path a precarious feel. But Ash’s pace never faltered. Each powerful step carried him far, and his movements seemed more ape-like than human. It was a sight no other human would see, leaving Ash alone to savor his remarkable agility.
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At the peak, Ash halted. With his right hand, he touched a dull metal ring on his left index finger and spoke softly: “Winnie.”
A worn, gray mech appeared before him. Ash muttered under his breath, “If only I could find a brain-wave receiver this time. Voice commands are awful.” He swiftly climbed into the cockpit.
Winnie was a ten-meter-tall humanoid mech, heavy-set with thick arms and even thicker legs, giving it a somewhat bulky appearance. Its rounded head was unadorned, looking almost comical. Despite the scars—claw marks and bite marks marring its surface—it was well-maintained, with a spotless exterior. Ash took great care of it; Winnie had been his lifeline. Without it, Ash doubted he could survive even a small pack of gnaw-rats, who never roamed alone.
Winnie, however, was ancient. Ash's adoptive father, Gao, had found it among the mounds. Originally just a civilian model, it had been modified beyond recognition over the years. Ash had an instinctual knack for piloting, as if born for it. Gao once told him he might make an excellent pilot one day.
There was only one sophisticated component on Winnie: its electronic eyes. When Ash had first brought them to Gao, even Gao couldn’t identify the model, guessing it was a recent design from outside the Waste Planet. Those eyes had saved Ash’s life multiple times. However, Winnie’s outdated systems limited its capabilities.
Ash carefully set Winnie’s speed to eighty percent, a cautious balance between velocity and control. He reached his destination uneventfully, arriving at the familiar expanse of trash, the newest piles noticeably fresher.
“Scan, start!” Winnie’s voice had an aged quality, almost grumbling. As the mech’s holographic scanner engaged, Ash murmured to himself, “C’mon, old friend, let’s find something good today.”
Finally, the scan completed. “Switch to guard mode,” Ash commanded. Bright red marks appeared on Winnie’s display, sparking Ash’s excitement. He might not return empty-handed after all.
Yet, after searching, Ash spat out sand that had drifted into his mouth. “Nothing useful! Unbelievable!” Only one small target remained, the smallest of the lot. With a sigh, Ash plunged in, determined not to miss any chance.
Later, Ash lay back, chewing on a freshly roasted piece of rat meat, examining his sole find. It was a metallic pendant, dark and gleaming, the size of three fingernails. The circular shape had sharp, curved blades on its edges, covered in strange markings that seemed both chaotic and patterned.
“What is this thing?” he muttered. Sliding his thumb across the blade, a small cut appeared without him even feeling it. As a drop of blood welled, Ash noted how sharp it was. “This could be a weapon!”
Then, a bizarre scene unfolded. The blood drop sank into the metal like it was absorbed by a sponge. Ash’s eyes widened. "Metal that absorbs blood?" It was metal; he was certain of it. As the pendant drank in the drop, it began to emit a faint hum. The blades retracted, and the markings pulsed, almost as if alive.
He was frozen in shock when a voice resounded in his head. “Dual proton check complete. Neural match confirmed. Brainwave locked.”
Ash jumped to his feet, gripping his knife, every sense on high alert.
“You’re certain?” the voice echoed, laced with curiosity.