Detbitinis Autobusos Terminalas 1.39 -

Kaelen sat on a bench made of recycled polymer, watching the "ghost buses"—autonomous, translucent pods—glide into their docking bays. Terminal 1.39 was the lowest level of the central hub, a place where the air tasted like ozone and burnt rubber, and the passengers were mostly those trying to disappear.

"The 404 doesn't go anywhere," the man laughed. "That’s why they call it the Void."

The overhead display flickered.

As the bus accelerated into the lightless tunnel, the terminal faded into a blur of neon streaks. Kaelen looked at the holographic driver. She stopped knitting, looked at him with pixelated eyes, and whispered, "Destination: Nowhere. Enjoy the ride."

The neon hum of the wasn't just noise; it was the heartbeat of a city that had forgotten how to sleep. DETBITINIS AUTOBUSOS TERMINALAS 1.39

Kaelen clutched a small, vibrating data-cube in his pocket. It was the only thing he’d managed to pull from the mainframe before the sirens started. He wasn't supposed to be here. In the upper tiers, the buses were gold-plated and ran on sunlight. Down here at 1.39, they ran on desperation and old code.

"That's a heavy load for such a small pocket, kid," the Scrapper rasped, his voice a mechanical grind. Kaelen didn't look up. "Just waiting for the 404." Kaelen sat on a bench made of recycled

A shadow fell over him. It wasn't a peacekeeper—they didn't come this deep—but a "Scrapper," a man whose cybernetic eyes glowed a dull, hungry red.