Chapter Three
Where Fates Cross
The dawn was breaking like dull dishwater above Riley, the Driftlands' sharp, jagged silhouette fading into shadow as the faint glow of Helix City beckoned far on the horizon. It was colder than usual, the wind biting at her exposed cheeks despite the hood she'd pulled low over her face. The barren expanse around her was eerily quiet—too quiet. Without Chirp's hum or cheerful whistles to break the silence, the emptiness felt oppressive.
She had kept moving all night, her legs burning with each step. Twice she'd stumbled, catching herself on razor-sharp scrap that left her palms stinging. But stopping wasn't an option—not with the gangs out there, hunting. Her boots crunched against the uneven ground, the sound too loud in her ears. The gravel shifted treacherously under her weight, and she fought to keep her balance. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her messenger bag, though whether from exhaustion or fear, she couldn't tell anymore. Every step felt heavier than the last, not just because of her screaming muscles, but because of the weight in her chest.
The gas station's flames still danced behind her eyes, seared into her memory as sharply as the acrid smell of smoke that had clung to her clothes. It wasn't just her home that had burned; it was her father's workbench, the collage of magazine clippings and photos of Helix City, and the few precious mementos she'd salvaged after he died. All gone.
A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back. The Driftlands didn't give space for grief. They barely gave space for survival.
Riley glanced toward the sky, searching for the stars she knew were there but couldn't see. The haze of pollutants that lingered over the Driftlands turned the night sky into a dull, oppressive dome. Her gaze dropped to the faint shimmer of neon far ahead—the skyline of Helix City. It was impossibly distant, a place so alien and bright it felt like it belonged to another world.
Her father's voice surfaced in her mind, unbidden. "The city's not a paradise, Riley. It's a trap. The people there think they're free, but they're more chained than we'll ever be out here."
Her jaw tightened. She didn't have the luxury to care about his warnings right now. The city might've been corrupt, dangerous, and crawling with gangs and CorpSec enforcers, but it was also the only place left for her to go. Whatever waited for her there couldn't be worse than what she was leaving behind.
Still, she couldn't shake the hollowness that gnawed at her. For all its faults, the gas station had been hers—a tiny piece of stability in a chaotic world. Now, even that was gone. She missed the cluttered workbench, the constant hum of the solar panels, and the sound of Chirp's thrusters bouncing off the walls. The drone had been a tool, sure, but she'd talked to it like it was alive because it made the silence bearable.
Her hand brushed against the pocket in her bag where she'd stowed Chirp's lifeless shell. She didn't have his charging dock—she'd barely escaped with him at all. He wouldn't be coming back online anytime soon. Still, just having him there was something.
"You'd be nagging me to get going right about now," she muttered under her breath. Her voice cracked in the emptiness.
Riley pulled her jacket tighter and pushed forward, her legs aching with the effort of climbing a ridge. The ground here was less forgiving, sharp metal shards poking through the sand like teeth. Her goggles pinged softly, marking a potential hazard just ahead—a tangle of exposed wiring jutting out of a collapsed pylon. She stepped carefully around it, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint hum of activity. She stopped at the top of the ridge, gripping a rusted beam for support as another wave of dizziness hit. Her vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges, and she forced herself to take slow breaths until the world steadied. When she finally looked down, her breath caught in her throat.
The old highway stretched out below her, a faded relic of an age long past. Its cracked asphalt was barely visible beneath layers of rusting vehicles and tangled scrap, but the path it carved through the Driftlands was unmistakable. At the far end, towering floodlights illuminated a sprawling structure that cut across the road like a fortress.
The crossing.
It wasn't her first time seeing it, but its sheer size always caught her off guard. The checkpoint spanned the entire width of the highway, a jagged wall of steel and reinforced barriers broken only by vehicle lanes and pedestrian gates. Guard towers loomed overhead, bristling with automated turrets and scanning equipment that glinted in the artificial light.
Even from this distance, Riley could see the long lines of people and vehicles waiting to pass through. The checkpoint pulsed with activity—guards in black-and-gray CorpSec armor patrolled the area, drones buzzed through the air, and voices shouted orders or bargains in overlapping chaos.
Riley's stomach twisted. This wasn't Rust Haven, where a bribe and a quick smile could grease the wheels. CorpSec didn't play by Driftland rules. They didn't play by any rules but their own.
Her gaze drifted to the camps scattered around the checkpoint's perimeter. Makeshift shelters cobbled together from tarps and scrap metal dotted the edges of the highway. Fires burned in old barrels, surrounded by scavengers, drifters, and others who looked just as desperate as she felt. Some leaned against broken-down vehicles, watching the checkpoint with hollow eyes. Others haggled over goods, their voices sharp with frustration.
She started down the ridge, her steps careful but brisk. The glow of Helix City was closer now, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a promise. It felt like a threat.
Riley descended the ridge cautiously, her legs shaking so badly she had to pause every few steps. The muscles in her calves seized with cramps, punishment for the all-night trek. Sweat had dried cold against her skin despite the chill, and when she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, it came away gritty with dirt and ash. The craggy ground beneath her boots was slick with dew, each step a gamble between staying upright and tumbling down the slope. She'd already fallen twice—the bruise on her hip throbbed with every movement, and dried blood crackled on her scraped knees. But she couldn't stop. Not now. Not when Helix City's neon glow seemed close enough to touch.
The crossing itself was a monstrosity that sprawled across the old highway, effectively cutting off the Driftlands from the pristine edges of Helix City. Massive pylons supported tiered walkways and observation platforms, each one bristling with surveillance equipment. Drones flitted above like mechanized vultures, their blinking lights scanning the long lines of travelers and vehicles inching toward the security gates. Even at this hour, the area was teeming with life—a stark contrast to the desolation of the Driftlands.
Riley's breath caught as she reached a small outcrop that gave her a clearer view of the scene. A handful of fires burned in the predawn gloom, casting flickering shadows over the desperate faces of those waiting for their chance to cross. Scavengers hawked their wares to the waiting crowd, selling everything from counterfeit travel papers to stale ration packs.
Riley tightened her grip on the strap of her messenger bag, the weight of the package pressing uncomfortably against her side. She adjusted her goggles, activating an overlay that began scanning the scene below. The data that filtered in didn't tell her anything she didn't already know—this place was a fortress. There were no gaps in the fencing, no blind spots in the surveillance. The checkpoint was designed to keep people like her out.
Chirp would've been scanning all this for her by now, highlighting paths or weak points she might have missed. Her chest tightened at the thought, and she shook it off. No use dwelling on that now. She was on her own.
Her eyes lingered on the pedestrian checkpoint—three lanes marked by neon-lit signs. Each one was manned by heavily armored CorpSec officers, their faceless helmets reflecting the glow of the lights. Most of the guards stood rigid, their stances exuding boredom and menace in equal measure, but some moved through the lines, scanning identification chips with portable devices. One officer barked at a man near the front of the line, shoving him back toward the Driftlands with a curt gesture. The man didn't argue, slinking away as two more guards loomed closer.
Riley swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She'd dealt with Driftland gangers, sure, but CorpSec? That was a different game entirely. These weren't people you could charm or bluff. And they didn't need a reason to make you disappear.
She glanced down at her bag again, her mind racing. The package was supposed to be her ticket to something better, but right now, it felt like a millstone around her neck. She still didn't know what was inside—Rourke hadn't told her, and she hadn't dared to open it—but whatever it was, it was valuable enough to put her life on the line. Valuable enough to get her noticed.
Riley crouched low, her muscles aching from the descent, and tried to steel herself. She didn't have a plan, not really. Just a vague hope that she could slip through unnoticed, that the CorpSec scanners wouldn't pick up the package or her lack of identification. It was a stupid plan. It was the only plan.
The faint buzz of a drone overhead snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced up, her goggles catching the faint blue glow of its scanning array as it passed over the crowd below. It lingered on a cluster of scavengers near the edge of the line before moving on, and Riley felt her heart lurch. If it spotted her, if it flagged her for further inspection...
"Get it together," she muttered under her breath, pulling her jacket tighter around her like a shield. "You're just another face in the crowd."
Her eyes drifted to the edge of the highway, where a handful of desperate-looking people loitered just out of reach of the checkpoint. They weren't in line—they weren't even trying. Their hollow-eyed stares and ragged clothes made it clear they had no hope of crossing. They were the ones who had already given up, waiting for scraps or a chance to scavenge from those who didn't make it.
Riley tore her gaze away, focusing on the checkpoint again. She couldn't afford to end up like them. She couldn't afford to stop moving.
Taking a deep breath, she started down the slope toward the crossing, each step heavier than the last. The noise grew louder as she approached—the hum of drones, the barked orders of guards, the low murmur of the crowd. By the time she reached the outskirts of the line, her hands were trembling. She shoved them into her pockets, trying to look casual, like she belonged there. Like she wasn't carrying something that could get her killed.
"One foot in front of the other," she whispered, the words swallowed by the noise. "Just... don't look back."
Riley merged into the slow-moving crowd, pulling her hood lower to hide how she swayed on her feet. The press of bodies was suffocating—people jostled and shifted, each accidental bump sending shocks of pain through her bruised side. Their voices blended into a disorienting murmur of complaints and deals, the sound pulsing in time with the headache building behind her eyes. She locked her knees to keep standing, tasting copper where she'd been biting her cheek to stay alert. The air was thick with sweat, grime, and the faint chemical tang of disinfectant sprayed periodically by overhead drones. She kept her head down, her shoulders hunched, doing her best to blend in.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Ahead, the line snaked toward the checkpoint gates, where floodlights illuminated every inch of the crossing. The harsh white beams cast long shadows, exaggerating the movements of the guards as they stalked between the lanes. Each step forward brought Riley closer to those gates, closer to the CorpSec officers standing like statues with their gleaming helmets and bulky rifles. Her heart hammered in her chest, loud enough that she was sure the guards would hear it.
"Next!" a voice barked, cutting through the noise.
The line lurched forward, and Riley stumbled slightly, catching herself just before she bumped into the person ahead of her. The man turned, glaring at her, but she mumbled an apology and looked away. Her hands tightened into fists inside her pockets, the strap of her messenger bag digging into her shoulder. She wanted to turn around, to bolt back into the Driftlands and hide until this whole nightmare was over. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The Driftlands weren't safe anymore—not after what happened at the gas station. She had to keep moving.
Her goggles flashed with a proximity alert, and she glanced up just in time to see a security drone sweep over the line. It hovered for a moment, its scanning array casting faint green light over the crowd. Riley froze, her breath catching in her throat. The drone's sensors lingered on her for a fraction of a second too long before it moved on, and she exhaled shakily.
The man behind her muttered, "Damn things are everywhere," and she nodded faintly, not trusting herself to speak.
She shuffled forward as the line crept closer to the gates. The checkpoint itself was a maze of scanners, terminals, and inspection stations. Guards stood at each gate, checking ID chips with handheld devices and waving people through—or pulling them aside for further questioning. Riley's eyes darted toward one of the side lanes, where a young woman was arguing with a guard. The woman's voice was sharp, her gestures frantic, but the guard didn't budge. A second later, two more officers appeared, grabbing her roughly by the arms and dragging her away. Her shouts faded into the background noise, but Riley's stomach churned.
Don't draw attention. Don't argue. Just get through.
She reached the first checkpoint, her steps faltering as she approached the guard. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his black helmet reflecting the floodlights. The insignia on his armor marked him as CorpSec, but there was no name, no face—just an impenetrable wall of authority.
"ID," he said, his voice distorted through the modulator embedded in his helmet.
Riley hesitated, her mind racing. She didn't have an ID chip. She reached for her pocket, stalling for time, but the guard's patience was razor-thin.
"Now," he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut.
"I, uh..." Riley stammered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears. The floodlights seemed too bright now, making her squint. She swallowed hard, tasting the grit of twenty hours without water, and forced herself to meet his visor. Her legs trembled so badly she had to shift her weight, trying to appear casual about leaning against the checkpoint barrier. "I don't have one."
The guard stiffened, and she immediately regretted her honesty. He raised a hand, signaling to one of the other officers. "No ID," he called out.
A second guard approached, his weapon slung across his chest. "No ID?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "You think this is some kind of charity? You don't walk through these gates without papers."
"I—" Riley started, but the first guard cut her off.
"What's in the bag?" he demanded, gesturing to her messenger bag.
Riley's fingers tightened around the strap. "Just... supplies," she said, her voice shaking. "Water, tools. Nothing special."
"Hand it over."
Her heart sank. If they scanned the package, it was over. She hesitated for half a second too long, and the second guard reached for the bag.
"Wait—" she protested, but he yanked it off her shoulder and dumped its contents onto the inspection table. The package landed with a thud, its polymer wrapping catching the light. The first guard frowned, picking it up and turning it over in his hands.
"What's this?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
"It's... it's for work," Riley said quickly. "A delivery. I'm just a courier."
The guard snorted, tossing the package onto the table. "Courier without papers? That's rich. Open it."
Panic surged through her. "I can't," she blurted. "It's... sealed. I'm not supposed to open it."
The second guard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Not supposed to? You think we care? Open it, or we will."
Riley's mind raced, every instinct screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The guards were too close, their weapons too ready. Her hands shook as she reached for the package, but before she could touch it, the second guard leaned in closer.
"Or," he said, his voice dropping into something that made her skin crawl, "maybe there's another way to work this out. A favor, maybe. Something worth our time."
Riley's breath caught, her stomach twisting into a knot. She didn't have to ask what he meant. The smug tone in his voice, the way he looked her up and down—it was all too clear. Her gaze darted to the crowd behind her, searching for an escape route, but the press of bodies had grown thicker. The second guard shifted closer, his armored shoulder blocking her peripheral vision.
"I—" The word came out as a whisper. Her fingers twitched toward the pocket knife hidden in her boot, but she knew better. Even if she managed to drop one guard, the other would have her before she could turn. And the cameras—always the cameras. Her throat closed up as the guard leaned in closer, his helmet reflecting her own pale face back at her.
Movement flickered in the corner of her eye—someone pushing through the crowd. She tensed, expecting another guard, more trouble. But the footsteps approaching behind her were too casual, too confident.
"Hey!"
The voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp enough to make both guards straighten.
Riley turned, her heart leaping into her throat. A figure stepped forward from the crowd—a dark skinned young man with cybernetic arms gleaming faintly in the floodlights. His smirk was casual, confident, but there was an edge to it, something sharp and dangerous.
"She's with me," the stranger said, his tone light but firm. "What's the problem?"
The guards exchanged looks, their postures stiffening. "Who the hell are you?"
"Just a concerned citizen," the man said, slipping a credit chit from his pocket and holding it up. "I'm sure we can settle this quietly."
The guards hesitated, but the sight of the credits was enough to make them pause. The second one glanced at the chit, then at Riley, then back again. Finally, he grabbed the credits and stepped back with a grunt.
"Get her out of here," he muttered.
The stranger's smirk widened. "Pleasure doing business."
He turned to Riley, his cybernetic arms flexing as he gestured for her to follow. "Come on. Let's not linger."
Riley blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. She didn't recognize him, didn't know why he was helping her—but she wasn't about to argue. She grabbed her bag, shoving the package back inside, and hurried after him as he led her away from the checkpoint.
Riley followed the stranger through the crowded crossing, focusing all her remaining energy on just staying upright. Her steps wavered like a drunk's, fatigue making the ground seem to tilt beneath her feet. The knot in her stomach tightened with every glance over her shoulder, though the motion made her head spin. Each time she checked for pursuing guards, it took longer for her vision to clear. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this close to collapse—even her fingertips tingled with exhaustion, her grip on her bag growing weaker by the second. But the checkpoint receded into the distance, swallowed by the chaotic throng of people and vehicles.
The stranger weaved through the crowd effortlessly, his movements smooth and practiced, like he belonged here. Riley struggled to keep up, her messenger bag bumping against her side with every step. She didn't say anything at first, her thoughts too jumbled to form words. Who was this guy? Why had he stepped in? And more importantly, what did he want in return?
Finally, he slowed, ducking into a narrow alley between two cargo stalls. The noise of the crowd faded slightly, replaced by the hum of generators and the faint clatter of machinery. He turned to face her, leaning casually against the rust-streaked wall. His smirk hadn't left his face.
"Well," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, cybernetic arms catching the dim light. "You look like you've had an interesting morning."
Riley stopped a few feet away, her breath still uneven. "I didn't ask for your help."
"No?" His smirk widened. "Because from where I was standing, you were about two seconds from either decking that guard or having a breakdown. Gotta say, neither one's great for your health around here."
Riley's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. "I could've handled it," she said defensively, clutching the strap of her bag.
He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly self-assured. "Sure you could've."
Riley's eyes narrowed, but exhaustion won out over irritation. The guy was cocky, but he hadn't turned her in. That counted for something. She leaned against the wall, fighting to keep her stance casual.
"Got a name?" he asked, breaking the silence.
Riley's guard snapped back up. "Why?"
His grin softened, though the smugness didn't quite leave his eyes. "Because 'hey you' gets old fast."
She studied him for another moment. "Riley."
"Riley," he echoed, like he was appraising it. A theatrical bow followed, his cybernetic fingers catching the light. "Flint, at your service. And you're welcome, by the way."
"For what?" The words came out sharper than she'd intended. "One checkpoint? Great. Still leaves me with no papers, no ID—"
"Hey," Flint cut in, pushing off the wall. "You made it this far. Trust me, that's not nothing out here."
She gave him a long look but kept quiet. His swagger was annoying, but there was something else there—a warmth that seemed genuine. Or maybe she was just too exhausted to care anymore.
"Why help me?" The question came out barely above a whisper. "What's your angle?"
Flint's smirk flickered back to life, but something softer played behind his eyes. "Let's call it a weakness for hopeless cases." He tilted his head. "And sweetheart, you're about as hopeless as they come."
"I can handle myself," Riley snapped, fatigue giving way to a familiar spark of anger.
"Never said you couldn't." He raised his hands, cybernetic fingers spread wide. "But alone? Out here?" He jerked his chin toward the looming skyline of Helix City. "That's just asking for trouble."
She didn't respond, her gaze dropping to the ground. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn't wrong. The Driftlands were behind her, but Helix City was no safer—not for someone like her. No ID, no creds, no plan. Just a package she didn't understand and a growing sense of unease.
Flint stepped closer, his voice softening. "Look, I'm not asking for anything. You seem like you could use a break, and I figured I'd give you one. Simple as that. So," Flint said, straightening up and gesturing toward the far end of the alley, "you got anywhere to go? Or are you just winging it?"
Riley's silence must've been answer enough, because his grin widened. "Thought so. Look, I've got a place not far from here. It's nothing fancy, but it's safe. You can crash there for a bit, figure out your next move."
She frowned, her instincts nagging at her to stay cautious. But the thought of a safe place—of not having to look over her shoulder every five seconds—was tempting. And Flint, for all his smugness, seemed genuine enough. At least for now.
Riley sighed, shifting her bag. "Fine," she said finally. "But if you're playing me—"
"Relax," Flint cut in, mechanical fingers pressed to his chest. "Scout's honor."
"Right," she muttered, falling into step behind him. "Because you just scream 'trustworthy.'"
"What, this face?" He threw her a grin over his shoulder. "I'm wounded, Riley. Truly wounded."
As they wove through the quieter streets, Riley stumbled slightly on a loose piece of scrap, her legs heavy with exhaustion. Flint slowed immediately, his cybernetic fingers brushing her arm—not enough to grab her, but enough to steady her without making a big deal of it.
"You alright?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.
"I'm fine," Riley muttered, pulling her arm back. The touch wasn't unwelcome, but it caught her off guard. Most people didn't bother asking if she was alright. They just assumed she'd handle herself—or didn't care.
Flint gave a small shrug, his grin still lingering but softer now. "You've been through it, huh? Don't worry. You're safe with me."
She didn't respond, letting the quiet stretch between them as they left the alley. The streets ahead were quieter, less crowded, but the faint glow of Helix City's towering lights loomed ever closer. For now, Riley let herself follow. She didn't trust Flint—not completely—but for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't alone.