Part One

Tarnished Echo

Chapter One

Running the Drift

The sun crept over the jagged horizon of the Driftlands, its pale light struggling through a haze of metallic dust and burnt chemical residue. Unlike the pristine towers of Helix City that gleamed in the distance, this was where the metropolis's refuse came to die. Mountains of scrap metal reached toward the polluted sky, their jagged edges telling stories of corporate excess and planned obsolescence. The air itself tasted of rust and ozone, thick with the metallic tang that marked this place as the city's dumping ground.

Riley had grown up watching this landscape change as new waves of garbage reshaped the terrain. The gas station was one of the few constants—a fortress of salvaged stability in a world that never stopped moving. Her father had chosen it well, reinforcing the walls with scavenged metal, installing the solar arrays that still powered her workshop. It wasn't much, but out here, having anything permanent was a luxury few could afford.

Inside the derelict building, Riley squinted through her goggles at a tangle of exposed wires. The workbench in front of her was a chaos of tools, salvaged circuit boards, and old, half-used rolls of insulating tape. Her fingers, stained with grease and dotted with nicks, carefully maneuvered a soldering iron into place. Her father had taught her to notice the subtle signs of electrical damage - the faint discoloration around connectors, the almost imperceptible warping of insulation. "Details matter," his voice echoed in her memory, stern but patient. "Miss one loose connection, and the whole system fails."

"Come on, Chirp," she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. "You're supposed to make my life easier, not fall apart every other week."

The small, spherical drone lay inert on the table, its patchwork shell of mismatched panels reflecting the dim light of the workbench lamp. She'd built most of Chirp's systems herself, upgrading the basic factory-standard scanning unit with salvaged tech until it became something uniquely hers. A long furrow in the metal ran along one side—a reminder of its last encounter with a collapsing scrap pile. Riley sighed, her focus narrowing as the tip of the soldering iron met metal. A faint sizzle, the smell of melted solder, and then—

Chirp whirred to life with a cascade of cheerful beeps and a faint upward tilt, as if it were stretching after a long nap. Riley leaned back with a triumphant grin, setting the soldering iron aside. Through her goggles' interface, she could see Chirp's systems coming online one by one: navigation, environmental scanning, the crude but effective wireless link that let the drone share data directly with her goggle displays.

"There we go," she said, wiping her hands on her already-dirty pants. "Good as new. Or as new as you're ever gonna get."

Chirp hovered experimentally, its small flashlight blinking a few times before stabilizing. It let out a series of quick, high-pitched chirps, almost like a song. Riley rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. The personality simulation wasn't complex—just enough base programming to make it seem reactive—but sometimes she swore it had actual feelings.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're grateful. Just try not to fry yourself again—I'm running out of spare parts."

The drone responded with a low whistle, dipping slightly in what Riley liked to think of as mock contrition. She reached out to tap its shell lightly, her grease-stained fingers leaving a faint smudge. "Don't give me that look," she said, smirking. "You're not exactly top of the line. I think I've patched you together so many times I don’t think there’s anything original left."

Outside, the Driftlands shifted with the morning wind, a low creak and groan of metal on metal. Riley glanced toward the cracked window, the light catching on the cluttered collage of magazine clippings and photos taped to the wall beside it. Gleaming skyscrapers and neon-lit streets stared back at her from the faded images—Helix City, the shining dream just beyond her reach.

For a moment, her smile faltered. She reached for the goggles pushed up on her forehead and settled them over her eyes, the HUD flickering to life with its familiar purple glow. The interface was outdated—patched together from salvaged parts like everything else she owned—but she'd modified it enough to serve her needs. Environmental readings scrolled past her vision: temperature, wind speed, the faint traces of radiation that permeated the air and micro-metallic dust that could cause serious respiratory problems if she wasn't careful.

"Alright, Chirp," she said, standing and stretching the stiffness from her shoulders. "Let's see what kind of trouble today's got for us."

Riley pushed back from her workbench, stretching until her back popped. The hum of Chirp's thrusters filled the small space as the drone hovered nearby, emitting a faint series of cheerful beeps that almost sounded like a tune. She shook her head, brushing grease-stained fingers against her pants.

"Don't start celebrating," she muttered at the drone, though her tone carried a trace of fondness. "You've still got to make it through the day in one piece."

The gas station wasn't much to look at, but it was home. A relic of a forgotten era, its faded Quantum Fuels sign leaned precariously against the wind. Inside, the reinforced walls and salvaged solar panels provided enough power and protection to keep her comfortable—by Driftlands standards, anyway. The interior was cluttered with tools, scrap parts, and signs of ongoing projects, giving it a lived-in chaos that spoke to Riley's restless energy. Each piece of equipment had been carefully chosen and maintained, lessons from her father about preservation etched into every repair she made.

Her eyes flicked to the wall beside the window, where her makeshift collage hung. Magazine clippings and faded photos depicted Helix City's gleaming skyscrapers and neon streets, alongside impossibly lush terraformed colonies from distant planets. The contrast with her world of rust and grime was sharp, almost cruel. Every time she looked at those images, she remembered her father's warnings about the city's false promises. But she couldn't help wondering if he'd been wrong—if maybe there was something better waiting beyond the endless piles of scrap.

Chirp whirred softly, drawing her attention back to the workbench. The drone scanned the surface, a faint light pulsing over the scattered tools until her goggles flashed with an overlay. One of the markers blinked insistently over her pocket knife, half-buried under scraps. Riley smirked as she grabbed it.

"Thanks, Chirp," she said, slipping the knife into her belt. "I'd hate to need this and realize it's still on the bench." Her hand lingered on the worn handle—another inheritance from her father, along with his lessons about always being prepared.

Chirp let out a series of rapid whistles, the tone smug enough to make Riley snort. "Alright, alright. You're officially smarter than me today. Let's see if it lasts."

She grabbed her messenger bag, giving it a quick inspection. It wasn't much to look at—patched and reinforced with old cloth and polymer strips—but it was sturdy. Inside were the essentials: water flask, med kit, a compact set of tools, and a few personal odds and ends she couldn't go without. Each item had been carefully chosen based on hard-learned lessons about survival in the Driftlands. Satisfied, she slung it over her shoulder and adjusted her goggles.

The trek to Rust Haven was as unforgiving as ever, a winding trail of shifting debris and jagged scrap that seemed determined to test even the most experienced scavenger. Her goggles painted the landscape in data—pressure readings from unstable piles, temperature variations that might indicate hidden electrical hazards, the occasional flicker of movement that could mean raiders or just desperate scavengers. The faint hum of Chirp's propulsion was her only company, the drone scanning ahead and sending subtle markers to her goggles. Riley sidestepped a patch of sharp metal shards flagged in red, her boots crunching against the gravel.

Rust Haven emerged slowly, a sprawling patchwork settlement built in and around the rusted husk of an old factory. Rising out of the Driftlands like a jagged monument to desperation and ingenuity, the settlement was a chaotic blend of reinforced walls, cobbled-together shacks, and scavenged tech that buzzed faintly with overworked generators. Solar panels jutted from rooftops like makeshift shields, soaking up every scrap of sunlight to keep the place running.

Riley adjusted her goggles as she approached the gates, nodding to the guards. Their weapons—some homemade, others too valuable for the likes of Rust Haven—leaned within easy reach. She knew better than to trust them; loyalty here extended only as far as the next payout. Her HUD pinged softly as it scanned their gear, highlighting modifications and potential threats. One guard's rifle had been heavily customized, probably with scavenged military tech. Another wore a crude exoskeleton under his clothes, the power signature barely registering on her sensors.

Inside, the settlement was alive with activity. Vendors shouted from crude stalls made of scrap, hawking everything from half-functional tech to questionable food rations. A child zipped past Riley, clutching a scavenged battery pack as his friends yelled after him. Through her goggles' interface, she could see the battery was B-grade—probably worth more than the kid realized. Somewhere nearby, an argument broke out—two scavengers loudly debating the value of a rusted water filtration system.

The air smelled of sweat, oil, and faintly of something cooking—likely some sort of meat over a small fire, and Riley didn’t want to think about where the meat came from. Chirp let out a low beep, pulling Riley's attention back to the path ahead. Her HUD highlighted potential pickpockets in the crowd, marking their subtle movements with warning indicators. She weaved through the press of bodies, careful to keep a hand on her bag. The last thing she needed was someone deciding her courier pack looked valuable.

Rourke's office was at the far edge of the settlement, tucked into what had once been the factory's administrative wing. The exterior was a mess of reinforced steel and corrugated panels, but the heavy door still bore the faint outline of the old company's logo, long since faded. Riley pushed it open, stepping into the stale, smoky warmth of the space beyond.

The smell of cigarettes hit her immediately, thick and acrid, curling in the air like an uninvited guest. A quick glance at her environmental readout confirmed what her nose already knew—real tobacco, not the synthetic stuff most people used. Rourke sat behind his desk—a real wooden one, though its surface was scarred and battered from years of hard use. The man himself was hunched over a small tin of loose tobacco, his calloused fingers deftly rolling a cigarette with practiced ease. He glanced up as Riley entered, his sharp eyes narrowing beneath thick gray brows.

"You're late," Rourke said, his gravelly voice carrying a faint edge.

"You'll live," Riley shot back, leaning casually against the door frame even as her goggles analyzed the room's layout, marking potential exits and the faint power signatures of hidden security measures. "Didn't realize you were keeping track."

Rourke lit the cigarette, taking a slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. Through her HUD, Riley could see the heat signature of the ember, the subtle variations in the smoke that confirmed it was genuine tobacco. The value of that small tin on his desk could probably feed a family in Rust Haven for a month.

"Time's money, kid. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

"And I thought you'd have switched to synth by now," Riley said, waving a hand in front of her face as if to clear the smoke. Not for the first time she wished she had some olfactory filters. "Where do you even get the real stuff? Don't tell me you're growing it out here."

Rourke's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk. "Trade secret."

Riley shook her head and stepped closer, dropping into the chair opposite his desk. It creaked under her weight, one leg slightly uneven. Chirp hovered nearby, letting out a curious chirp as its sensors scanned the cluttered room. The drone's readouts painted a detailed picture in her HUD—power lines running through the walls, the faint electromagnetic signature of security systems, even the subtle vibrations from the generators that kept Rust Haven running.

"Still dragging that tin can around, huh?" Rourke asked, nodding toward the drone.

Riley folded her arms. "Chirp's worth more than half the junk you peddle out of this place. At least he works." The drone's systems were far more sophisticated than most people realized, thanks to countless hours of modifications and upgrades. Not that she'd ever tell Rourke that.

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"Yeah, and he'll outlast you at this rate," Rourke muttered, tapping ash into a makeshift tray. He leaned back, pulling a small package from the desk drawer and sliding it across to her.

The parcel was tightly wrapped in polymer and sealed with industrial tape. Riley picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Her goggles' scan revealed little—whatever was inside had been carefully shielded against basic scanning technology. It was light, its edges perfectly square. "What's the job?"

"Outpost on the edge of Fang territory," Rourke said, taking another drag. "They're paying extra for fast delivery, and you're the fastest I've got."

Riley arched a brow, tucking the package into her bag. "And the most reliable, right?"

Rourke barked a laugh, though there was little humor in it. "Don't push your luck. Just get it there, and don't ask questions. They're not paying for your curiosity."

Riley waved a hand, already heading out the office door, “Yeah, yeah,” she flipped a finger in a universally rude gesture as she headed back out into the wastes.

Riley moved quickly, her boots crunching over the uneven terrain of the Driftlands. The faint hum of Chirp's propulsion filled the silence as the drone hovered a few feet ahead, its sensors sweeping for hazards. Her goggles pinged occasionally, marking unstable scrap piles and hidden gaps in the terrain. She adjusted her path without slowing, her movements fluid and practiced. Her father's training ran deep—always watching, always ready for the ground to shift beneath her feet.

The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the rusting mountains of discarded machinery. The air smelled faintly of ozone and burnt plastic, and the occasional creak of shifting metal kept her alert. Her HUD painted the landscape in data: temperature variations that could indicate unstable power sources, motion sensors tracking any movement that might signal trouble, atmospheric readings warning of toxic pockets where industrial chemicals had pooled. Every step required focus—the Driftlands didn't forgive carelessness.

Chirp let out a sharp whistle, flagging a rusted pipeline that jutted from the ground like a jagged tooth. Riley sidestepped it, muttering, "Good eye. Last thing I need is tetanus." The drone's scanning range had improved since she'd upgraded its sensor array last month, salvaging parts from a scrapped security bot. The extra warning time had saved her more than once.

The delivery point came into view after an hour's trek—a squat, bunker-like structure built into the side of a scrap hill. Its walls were reinforced with thick steel plates, pocked with dents from years of rough weather and, likely, the occasional gunfire. A single steel door marked the entrance, its surface scratched and streaked with rust. Through her goggles, Riley could make out the power signatures of security systems—nothing too sophisticated, but enough to make a frontal assault costly.

Riley approached cautiously, her goggles scanning the surrounding scrap heaps for any signs of movement. The HUD highlighted possible sniper positions, escape routes, and structural weaknesses in the surrounding terrain. Satisfied, she knocked on the door, three sharp raps that echoed faintly in the still air. Chirp hovered beside her, silent but ready, its sensors sweeping continuously for threats.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, and a wiry man in grease-stained coveralls appeared. Her goggles immediately flagged several concealed weapons on his person—nothing unusual for the Driftlands, but worth noting. His sharp features split into a grin when he saw her.

"If it isn't our local Echo," he said, leaning casually against the door frame. "What's the callback today?"

Riley rolled her eyes. The nickname had started as a joke—something about how her delivery times were as reliable as an echo—but it had stuck. Now, most of her regular clients used it, and she'd learned to tolerate it. It was better than some of the alternatives in the Driftlands.

"The callback is 'pay up,'" she said, pulling the package from her bag. "Fast delivery, like always." Her fingers moved carefully, remembering her father's warnings about hand offs. Always keep distance, always be ready to move.

The man chuckled, taking the package from her hands and giving it a quick shake. Riley's goggles registered the motion, analyzing the way the contents shifted. Whatever was inside was solid, self-contained. "You're good, Echo. Real good. Wish the rest of the folks out here had your work ethic."

"Yeah, well, my work ethic doesn't include standing around chatting all day," Riley replied, grabbing the credit chit the man held out to her and turning to leave. Her HUD was already mapping the safest route back, factoring in the changing positions of the sun and the shadows that could hide threats. "Don't lose that package. I don't do refunds."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" the man called after her as the door hissed shut behind him.

The return trip began uneventfully, the path winding back through the maze of scrap heaps and collapsed structures. Riley fell into an easy rhythm, her boots crunching against the ground as her thoughts drifted to the distant glow of Helix City. Even out here, the faint outline of its towers was visible on the horizon, a glittering promise of something better.

Chirp let out a sharp, urgent whistle, snapping Riley out of her reverie. Her goggles flashed with a proximity warning—movement detected ahead. She froze, her hand instinctively going to her pocket knife as she crouched behind a rusted panel. The HUD lit up with threat indicators: multiple heat signatures, the telltale electromagnetic interference of powered weapons.

Peering out, she spotted them: Iron Jackals. Four of them, their patchwork armor and cybernetic enhancements gleaming in the sun. Her goggles analyzed their gear automatically, highlighting weapons and augmentations. Wire job arms, reinforced synthetic muscle fibers, optical enhancements that glowed a menacing red. They were too far from their usual stomping grounds, and their presence here—deep in Chrome Fangs territory—set her nerves on edge.

Chirp pinged her goggles again, marking their positions and sending a faint red outline over the terrain. Her HUD mapped potential escape routes, calculating risks and highlighting cover. One of the Jackals turned abruptly, his cybernetic eye sweeping the area. The scanner's electromagnetic signature pulsed in her display—much more sophisticated than the usual gang tech. Something wasn't right.

"Not good," she muttered under her breath, fingers tightening on her knife. The blade seemed pathetically inadequate against their enhanced strength and hardware.

The Jackal's gaze landed on her position, and his posture stiffened. His augmented eye's scanning beam narrowed—he'd spotted her heat signature. A shout went up, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots on metal. Riley bolted.

Her feet pounded against the uneven ground as the Jackals gave chase, their voices echoing in the narrow canyons of scrap. Chirp zipped ahead, marking stable paths and flagging hazards in her goggles. Her HUD lit up with warnings: structural instability in the scrap piles, power signatures from the Jackals' weapons charging up, closing distances that grew smaller with each second. Riley vaulted over a rusted beam, skidding down the slope of a collapsed pile and narrowly avoiding a tangle of sharp wires.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, her heart hammering in her chest. Her father's voice echoed in her memory: "When you can't win a fight, win the race." She'd spent years memorizing every shortcut and hidden path in this section of the Driftlands. Time to put that knowledge to use.

She spotted a narrow passage ahead, barely wide enough to squeeze through. Chirp highlighted the opening, flashing green—a confirmed escape route. Riley dove in, twisting her body to avoid the jagged edges. The Jackals hesitated behind her, their bulk and armor making the passage impassable. Their curses echoed off the metal walls.

Riley kept running, not daring to look back. The terrain opened up into a wider expanse, but her goggles flagged a series of unstable platforms ahead. Her HUD outlined structural weaknesses in red, calculating load-bearing capacities and showing probable collapse points. Chirp let out a warning ping, marking a narrow beam that stretched across a gap in the scrap. The metal was corroded, but her goggles' analysis showed it might hold her weight—barely.

"Better be right about this," she muttered, sprinting toward the beam. The Jackals' heavy footsteps echoed behind her, getting closer. She leapt onto the beam, her arms spreading instinctively for balance as it wobbled under her weight. Her goggles highlighted the safest points to step, compensating for the way the metal flexed. She crossed in two quick steps and jumped down the other side, landing hard but stable.

Behind her, one of the Jackals attempted the same crossing but misjudged the landing. His augmented weight was too much—the beam gave way with a shriek of tearing metal. Riley's HUD captured his tumble into the pit below, marking the impact point with a brief flash of heat signature. The remaining Jackals shouted in frustration, their voices growing fainter as Riley put more distance between them.

Finally, she slowed, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Chirp hovered nearby, letting out a faint, questioning trill. The drone's scans showed no immediate pursuit, but its limited range meant they weren't in the clear yet. Riley leaned against a rusted panel, pressing a hand to her knee as she caught her breath. She needed to rest, but this wasn't the place.

"What the hell were Jackals doing this far out?" she muttered, her mind racing. Their gear was too good for standard gang loadout, and that scanning tech... Her goggles hadn't been able to get a full reading, but what they did pick up suggested military origins. "Something's going on."

Chirp whistled softly, and Riley shook her head. "Let's just get home."

The rest of the trek back to the gas station was tense, every shadow a potential threat. Riley kept her goggles' scanning mode active, watching for any sign of pursuit. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows that her HUD analyzed for movement. Her knowledge of the terrain had saved her, but luck had played its part too. She couldn't count on either lasting forever.

Riley trudged the last stretch of her journey back to the gas station, her legs aching from the sprint and her chest still tight from adrenaline. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the scrap-strewn plains. She adjusted her goggles, scanning the horizon out of habit, but the path ahead was clear.

Chirp hovered at her side, emitting a low, rhythmic hum. It was quieter than usual, almost as if it sensed her unease. Riley didn't say much either, her mind replaying the chase with the Jackals and the look in their leader's cybernetic eye when he'd spotted her.

She reached the gas station as the first stars began to peek through the haze of the evening sky. The battered Quantum Fuels sign leaned precariously against the wind, its faded letters barely visible in the dim light. Riley stepped inside, the familiar smell of grease and old metal wrapping around her like a second skin. Dropping her bag onto the workbench, she walked toward the back of the station.

The ladder to the roof creaked as Riley climbed, but it held steady, just as it always did. The cool night air hit her face as she emerged, and she breathed it in deeply, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. The rooftop was her sanctuary. In the center of the flat metal surface sat a weathered armchair, its upholstery patched in places with scraps of fabric she'd salvaged. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

Riley sank into the chair with a sigh, pulling her goggles up onto her forehead. The Driftlands stretched out around her in every direction, a jagged sea of rust and decay. But beyond it, faint and shimmering, were the lights of Helix City. Even from this distance, the glow was unmistakable—neon colors flickering against the haze, outlining towers that stretched impossibly high. It looked like a dream, too clean and bright to be real.

For a long moment, Riley stared at the city, her mind filled with half-formed thoughts of what it might be like to live there. The magazines on her wall painted it as a paradise of luxury and technology, a place where someone like her could have a future. She knew it wasn't that simple—people talked about the rot beneath the surface, the gangs, the corruption—but still. It had to be better than this.

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Yeah, right," she muttered. "Like that's ever gonna happen."

Chirp let out a soft, questioning beep, hovering near her shoulder. Riley smiled faintly, reaching out to tap its shell. "Don't worry, I'm not giving up yet."

The faint buzz of her communicator broke the quiet. Riley frowned, pulling it from her pocket. A message flashed across the screen: URGENT—JOB REQUEST. PRIORITY PACKAGE.

Her brow furrowed as she tapped the screen, and Rourke's gravelly voice crackled through the speaker. "You there, kid? I've got a job for you. Big one."

Riley sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I just got back, Rourke. Can't it wait?"

"No," he said bluntly. "And you're the only one I trust to handle it."

She rolled her eyes, glancing at the faint glow of Helix City on the horizon. "Lucky me. What's the job?"

"You're taking a package to The Stacks," Rourke said. His voice was steady, but there was a weight to his words that made Riley sit up straighter. "It's Jackal territory, so you'll need to move fast and keep your head down. This one's important."

Riley's stomach tightened. The Stacks. Just hearing the name conjured images of labyrinthine towers made from stacked shipping containers and salvaged metal. It was a place where even the gangs tread carefully, a hive of desperate traders, smugglers, and anyone willing to gamble their life for a deal. She'd been near The Stacks before, but never inside. People who went in didn't always come back out.

"What's in the package?" she asked, more out of reflex than actual curiosity. Rourke's answer was always the same.

"Doesn't matter," he said, predictably. "What matters is getting it there. Discretion is everything. You're running it tonight."

"Tonight?" Riley's voice rose slightly. Her free hand absently stroked Chirp's casing. "Rourke, I've already had a hell of a day. You know what I ran into out there?"

"I don't care if you ran into God himself," Rourke snapped. "You're taking this job. The payout's worth it, and I'm not trusting it to anyone else."

Riley clenched her jaw, considering her options. She didn't like the sound of this—not the timing, not the destination, and definitely not the urgency in Rourke's voice. But the money... She sighed, already knowing she couldn't refuse.

"Fine," she said finally. "Where's the drop point?"

"East gate of The Stacks. You'll know it when you see it," Rourke said. "And kid—don't screw it up."

"Yeah, yeah," Riley muttered, ending the call. She tossed the communicator onto the workbench and let out a long breath.

Chirp hovering to her side and emitting a questioning beep. Riley smirked, shaking her head. "Don't look at me like that. You're coming with."

She grabbed her bag, double-checking its contents, and slung it over her shoulder. Her gaze lingered for a moment on her father's workbench, the half-finished drone still gathering dust in the corner. Memories threatened to bubble up, but she pushed them down. She didn't have time for that.

As she climbed the ladder down from the roof, she took one last look at the shimmering lights of Helix City. They seemed impossibly far away, a dream she might never touch. But there was no use dwelling on that now.

"This better be worth it," Riley muttered as she locked up the station behind her. The cold wind whipped around her as she stepped into the Driftlands once more, her eyes set on the horizon. Chirp hovered at her side, silent and watchful. Somewhere out there, The Stacks waited.

And so did whatever trouble this job would bring.