Shattered Ladder 1-22 (Patreon)

Chapter 22

The shop was a hole-in-the-wall.

Wedged between a noodle stall that stunk of greasy meat—smelled like oversized rat, tasted like oversized regret—and a shuttered storefront covered in layers of fading posters peeling like sunburned skin, it looked like every other busted place he’d seen in the city so far. The holographic sign above the door glowed bright and strong, though, the thing humming gently as it projected a similar sign to the one Don had in his shop — a card being zapped by a jagged lightning bolt.

Only difference, this one was well made and appealing instead of rough and ugly.

Ken glanced over at Don, the redhead carefully avoiding his eyes.

Without another word, they all stepped inside the shop.

The world changed.

The air didn't smell like rot and damp. It didn't smell like the sewers or the heavy, iron-rich scent of dried blood that Ken couldn't scrub from his nose.

It smelled clean.

Sharp. Sterile.

Ozone hung in the air, thick and electric, mixing with the scent of hot metal and something else—something biting and chemical that reminded Ken of Wei's more volatile reagents. The alchemical tang of flux and solder.

The room was small, every inch packed, but it was organized despite it all. It wasn’t packed with  the junk and clutter that had filled Donny’s shop, not with the chaotic piles of stripped copper and plastic shells Ken had seen a few hours before.

No, this was tech.

Real tech.

In the background, something low and steady thrummed hard enough for Ken to feel it in his teeth, louder and louder with every step he took inside. Wires snaked across the floor in neat, disciplined bundles, secured with clips, not tape. Paper schematics—actual paper, crisp and white—floated in the air above a workbench, held up by seemingly nothing at all. 

Whoa… Each and every one of them flickered with complex circuitry diagrams that made Ken’s head spin just looking at them.

So clean. It was the cleanest place Ken had seen since the fire took the apothecary. His eyes trailed across the storefront; all the way to the back until his gaze landed on a thick metal counter, the thing a slab of polished steel.

A man stood behind that counter, not facing them as he was hunched over a complex piece of tech that added its own hum to the sounds of the shop around them. The shopkeeper was a skinny man, his beard a thick scruffy thing large enough to be seen from the back, and wearing a vest that had seen better eras.

One of his arms was normal; flesh and bone, skin stained with grease.

The other...

The other made Ken almost freeze in place, as he took in what looked like a piece of art. Dark, polished metal from the shoulder down stared back at the apprentice, the artificial limb refusing to clank or hiss steam like the junk-limbs Ken had seen outside on the street. Not even the slightest bit of open sparks or leaking oil came from the man’s arm.

No, it moved almost as smoothly and as silently as any normal arm; only a few jerks and mechanical motions gave it away more than the dark metals that made it up.

The fingers — each one long, segmented, and precise as tools — manipulated a microscopic screw with a dexterity that made Ken’s own hands feel like clubs the longer he stared.

The man turned as the door hissed shut behind them, tired eyes staring at all three of them one-by-one. Those eyes were more than tired; they were intelligent, sharp, and currently hardening into a look of pure, cold annoyance as they landed right on Don.

"...you." His voice was a low, flat rumble. A bass note dropped into a quiet room.

"Jiro Sato! My man, my man!" Don’s arms spread out wide and far, his grin painted on as he laughed loud in the sterile room. "How's the best cardcutter in the Dumps doin'? Business boomin'?"

Jiro just stared, eyes unblinking as his human hand came to rest flat on the counter, the metal one hanging silent by his side. "What are you doin' here, boy?"

“Funny story, yeah?” Don shuffled his feet slowly as one hand rose to scratch at his thick sideburns. "Reall funny, actually. Y’know, it’s… eh, heh, remember that time I fixed your rig, yeah? And the time before I did you that other favor? Way back? With the... uh... the drop-pod haul pickup?"

Jiro wiped his human hand on his pants as he stepped out from behind the counter, prosthetic arm whirring louder as he stopped by the side of the steel. Metal fingers tapped against the countertop, careful and slow. "You're supposed to be dead."

“Eh, not true, y’see, I’m right here.” Don let out another awkward laugh. “Rumors, Jiro. Vicious rumors."

Jiro’s eyes somehow got colder. "Your brothers think you're dead."

"They said I was dead. They told you I was dead." Don’s grin got wider to match; the redhead’s sweaty forehead giving him away as his words came faster and more manic as he kept on rambling. "Very different things, yeah? Words… words kinda funny like that. So, about that favor..."

"I'm not givin' you any more money."

"No money! No money! Everybody always thinkin’ money." Don waved his hands frantically. "I'm good! I'm my own man now! Big things happenin'! Massive moves!"

He hooked a thumb toward Ken, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet, growing confusion. "Just need you to help my good-goodfriend here. Just with your specialty, Jiro, just a card. Small job.” He brought his pointer finger and thumb in front of his face. “Tiny favor, y’see, no big?"

Jiro's gaze shifted, sliding off Don like water to land firmly on Ken. Those eyes didn’t get any softer as Ken met them.

He raised a hand up in a wave. “Hi.”

The cardtech didn’t so much as blink as he looked him up and down. Ken knew he wasn’t the best he’d ever looked, his skin stained and crusted over with grime and blood, locs messy and scattered and his feet calloused and bare. There was no need to even waste any time thinking about the stains shifting his tunic from green to a patterned brown; no, that would just make it worse. 

Jiro clearly thought pretty much the same as he looked back at Don, a frown still firm on his face. "Can't do that either."

“And why not?” Zee’s voice was the usual sharp stab as she finally made herself heard. The blonde girl had been quiet by Ken’s side, leaning back with a bored look as she watched Don try to work his weasely magic on Jiro. 

Now she stepped forward, the soles of her sandals clicking sharp on the clean floor.

Jiro's eyes moved to her, clearly taking in the candy-pink puffer jacket, clean white tank top and the blonde hair that wasn't from a bottle, or at least wasn't from a cheap bottle. Zee stared back at him; chin up, eyes daring him to say something stupid.

For the first time, Jiro’s cold composure cracked, the tech’s eyes going wide as he took a half-step back. "...I..." He cleared his throat, posture shifting as he dipped his head. "...I, pardon me, young miss." The voice was still rough, but the edge was gone. "I can't just... print out a card. Not a registered one. It's bad for business. Undermines my own work, you see?."

"Fine.” Zee sucked her teeth. “What? Fifty gray? That the tax?"

Jiro's composure returned. Money. He understood money. A professional calm settled over his features.

"Of course, young miss. For a simple reprint?” Jiro nodded slowly, back raised and shoulders a bit straighter as he smiled at Zee with teeth. “Bypass the queue? Fifty is... acceptable."

"Outsider-boy," Zee let out a long low sigh, before jerking her head at Ken. "You're up."

The cardtech flinched again, eyes widening for a second as his eyes locked back on the boy in the green tunic.  "Outsider?"

The word hung in the air as the man blinked, his arm whirring loud in the silence. "You're not in the main-sys at all?"

Main-Sys? Ken just shook his head, the motion small. "…no?"

"No," Zee talked right over him, the girl sucking her teeth again. "Whole reason we’re here anyway. Need to get him a new one. Blank slate to full reg."

"Ah." Jiro leaned forward on the counter, metal fingers still drumming on the surface. "You didn't say that, young miss. I thought you were looking for a reprint. A scrub." He looked Ken up and down again, clearly seeing more than a waste of time now.

"To print a new identity... connect him to the system... forge a lineage... since he's not a newborn..." The man let out a low hum. "That's going to be at least five hundred."

"Five?" The blonde girl stepped forward, voice pitching up as her gold eyes went wide. "Five hundred Iron?"

"Five hundred Gray?" Don echoed right after the blonde, mouth hanging open as Ken just stood there, trying to make sense of it.

Five hundred.

The number meant nothing to him, and he didn’t think now was the time to ask. From the look on everyone’s face, five hundred gray seemed more than just a little bit. More than a meal by the sound of it; five hundred anything was almost ever small.

The blood on his tunic felt crusty and thick in the cool air, tight against his skin, and pulling even tighter with each breath. Five hundred… 

The Valley didn’t do currency, nothing outside of trade and barter obviously.

And in the shop, Wei had handled the trades and all the money at the front desk. All Ken had to worry about working with the old man had been just studying, cleaning and everything to do with herbs; mixing, cleaning, cooking.

“Five hundred Iron, little miss.” The world of money was a mystery in this life, and the way Jiro smiled back at him and Zee, he didn’t enjoy being out of the loop this much. "Or ten Bronze, if you prefer, miss. Market rates. High risk, high reward."

Zee shot a look at Jiro that could have melted the metal off his arm. 

Then that same glare turned to fix itself on Don. "...'favor,' huh?"

The redhead shrank into a shrug, the biggest person in the room trying and failing to look small and innocent. "I... inflation?"

Ken looked at the cyborg, the man’s strange almost-seamless arm whirring as it twitched. "Look, I… I don't know how much that is.”

"Way too much, is what it is," Zee almost growled as she folded her arms tight over her chest, her mood clear on her face. "Rip-off prices. Get a real hi-spec slugger for that much."

"...but," Ken kept on as if he didn’t even hear her. "These cards are that important, right? You need one to, like… do things in here?"

"Yeah," Don scuffed his boots on the floor, nodding his head slowly. "Ain’t much you can do without one. Nothin’ official at least, and ain’t no moving through the gates without one."

Ken looked back at Jiro. "…is there anything else? We could… trade for it?"

Jiro hummed a little as the greed faded from his grin, a more thoughtful look spreading across his face instead as he looked Ken and Zee over one more time. The look of a man weighing options.

The metal-armed man leaned forward.

"A trade..." He stroked his scruffy beard with his human hand. "...maybe."

"There are... some people. Some... business associates. They owe me a significant sum. A debt." He looked Ken up and down, eyes lingering again on the old blood on the green tunic, splatters of the same now-brown and dried fluid on his arms too, everything down to Ken’s bare feet.

"They've been... reluctant to pay. Difficult." A metal finger continued its tapping on the counter as the man hummed loud again. "You take care of them for me... collect what's mine... and I'll print the Outsider a card. Set him up proper. Full access. No questions."

Ken blinked again as Zee clapped him on the shoulder. He turned her way to see her looking his way, an eager smirk back in full force. "Well... what's it gonna be, muscle?"

Ken let out a long, weary sigh, the sound barely audible over the hum coming from the walls of the store.

If he wanted to live... if he wanted to be real...

"...do I have a choice?"