I walked with a slow, measured stride.
The iron plates underfoot were slick with oil and blood, my boot soles making a sickening squelch with every step.
A brushed shoulder meant a fight; meeting eyes meant a killing. In this place, those were essentially the local version of a greeting.
As if on cue, a young punk darted out from the side. The moment he collided with my shoulder—
A flash of light cut through the air. Shing.
The laser knife in his hand lunged straight for my gut.
Too slow.
A dry gunshot cracked, the air tearing before the sound could even register.
The kid’s head burst with a light, wet pop.
Blood and the stench of iron sprayed the air. Without missing a beat, hands reached out from the darkness of the alley and dragged the slumped corpse into the shadows.
Squish.
The raw, visceral sound echoed for a heartbeat and then vanished.
No one was surprised. The only looks I received were those of regret—gazes from people who wished they hadn't missed out on the "scraps."
I let out a soft sigh, brushing the smoke away from the muzzle of my gun as I kept moving.
A moment later, a strangely boisterous voice drifted from the end of the alley.
It was a high-pitched laugh I knew well.
I turned my gaze toward a corner of the cluttered market. There, backed by a mountain of rusted machine parts, two men were arguing with a merchant.
One was a giant. He wore a gang-style tech jacket with a Hand Cannon holstered prominently at his chest—purely for show, no doubt. He had the unmistakable aura of a man who preferred to let his fists do the talking.
The other was more than just small... he was a child. He barely reached the big man’s waist. His soft, messy curls of reddish-brown hair caught the flickering light of the overhead fluorescents.
And yet, he was draped in a lab coat. Even in this filthy atmosphere, it remained an astonishing, pristine white. I vaguely recalled him mentioning something about electronic-repellent materials once, but I’d tuned him out at the time.
"D-Doctor. This is bad. Picking a fight in a place like this is..."
The voice was timid. The giant of a man was shrinking back pathetically, glancing nervously at his surroundings.
"What’s this? Getting cold feet?! And you call yourself a guard!?"
A cackling laugh erupted. The voice was high-pitched, like a boy’s before puberty, yet the craggy scent of an old man clung to every syllable.
It was their usual routine.
I approached with a wry smile, pulling a candy stick from my pocket. Before I could even unwrap it, the one in the lab coat spotted me.
"...Yo, Repairman. Thanks for the save the other day."
He grinned, spreading his arms wide.
"Yo, Doctor. Quite a coincidence."
"Truly. To reunite in a trash heap like this."
The words were far too mature for his stature. As he shrugged, his reddish-brown curls swayed.
The "Doctor."
He was a modification doctor who ran a clinic out of Nocturne Veil, a high-class club in the Upper District. He looked like a child, but inside was a wily old fox who had lived through countless incarnations. He’d helped me out with the chip matter recently, though I hadn't heard what he’d been up to since.
And the hulking man hovering anxiously beside him was the shop’s "Bouncer." Though, "pet dog" was probably a better fit.
"Even so, Doctor. It’s rare to see you descend this far down."
"Just doing some sourcing. Most things the people upstairs crave end up rolling around down here eventually."
"Can't argue with that."
The Doctor pointed at the pile of junk on the stall, his lab coat hem fluttering. It was a haphazard heap of prosthetic eyes, artificial vocal cords, and unused neural interfaces—items that smelled of nothing but illegality.
"And what about you? Here on a sightseeing tour?"
"Something like that. Taking a stroll while I look for something."
The Doctor’s lips curled into a smirk at my answer. A strange light flickered deep in his eyes.
It was the face of someone who knew exactly what was going on.
"...Heh. Looking for something, are we? Would that 'something' happen to be related to the matter of a certain chip?"
My finger twitched. The candy stick in my hand swayed slightly.
The Doctor’s grin widened. There was always a hint of mischief in his smile.
"...Heheh. That look tells me I hit the bullseye."
He scratched his messy head and turned, his lab coat snapping behind him. Despite his tiny stature, his back was strangely imposing as he strode confidently into the narrow back alley.
"Doctor, you're running off on your own again...!"
His partner, the Bouncer, followed in a panic. He used his massive frame to shove through the crowd, trailing behind like a frantic puppy.
"Quiet, you. Just shut up and follow. This guy is someone who deserves to see what we found."
I shrugged as I listened to the Doctor’s chatter.
"...Did you pick up another strange piece of hardware?"
"Picked up? Hmm, I suppose you could say that. I found something—or rather, someone—you might find very interesting."
The Doctor grinned back at me. I had nothing but a bad feeling about this.
The alleyway grew even darker. Overhead, hanging wires sparked with static. Scraps of nanocarbon panels and rusted prosthetic limbs littered the ground, while some unidentifiable liquid flowed through the gutters with a sharp, metallic tang.
The Doctor’s lab coat reflected the dim, grimy lighting, glowing faintly in the gloom. I let out a long breath as I followed his small form. The scent of burnt iron and rancid oil seemed to cling to the back of my throat.
"Here, this way."
The Doctor stopped in front of a vehicle parked behind a mountain of scrap.
It was a white van—an old-model emergency medical vehicle. The paint was peeling, the license plate had been filed away, and a strange emblem had been spray-painted onto the side.
A twisted cross enclosed in a circle.
It was a mark I’d seen several times since I’d entered the Junk Market.
"...That mark is creepy."
"Creepy? Hardly. It’s the latest 'trend,'" the Doctor chuckled. "Down here, there are plenty of people who treat it as gospel. It’s what they call faith."
With a soft laugh, the Doctor unlocked the van. A heavy metallic clunk echoed as the side door slid open.
The moment I stepped inside, the sharp scents of chemicals and disinfectant stung my nostrils. Beneath it lay the heavy, metallic odor of artificial blood.
Old medical equipment and devices resembling strange signalers lined the walls. In the center of the cramped space stood a single transparent pod.
Floating inside was a body—a boy, still young enough to be called a child.
"This is..."
The words caught in my throat. The Doctor grinned and shook his head.
"Now, don't get the wrong idea. This isn't my work. This boy is... different. His structure is human, but the precision is far too high. His blood contains 'coded nanos' running in patterns that shouldn't be possible."
Through the glass, the boy’s skin was pale, almost translucent with a blue tint. On his back, a large cross had been drawn—the same symbol of faith painted on the outside of the van.
At the ends of the various tubes, minute electrical currents glowed. They pulsated in a rhythm that looked disturbingly like a heartbeat.
"...Where did you get him?"
"Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I have my connections."
The Doctor tapped his own chest with a fingertip. Right, his usual "hobby."
He continued, "Well, the 'how' doesn't matter. What matters is what comes next. When I dug into his manufacturing logs, I found something shocking. His code... it’s a perfect match for that chip. Now, do I have your attention?"
"...Olaf Karvel?"
The Doctor shrugged and snorted.
"Strange, isn't it? And then there's the religion associated with that mark on his back. It's been spreading like wildfire around here lately. They preach a doctrine of 'regeneration.' They call themselves the 'Ash Ark.'"
"...Ash Ark, huh."
"Supposedly, they want to 'return humans to their rightful place as God’s parts.' Ridiculous, right? But the part that isn't a joke... is the rumor that someone looking an awful lot like Olaf is among them."
The Doctor’s eyes, visible through the mess of his hair, reflected the light with a crimson glint.
"...Are you sure about that?"
"Who knows? I just collect things for my own ends. Rumors are just a bonus."
He laughed lightly, his expression bordering on intoxicated. Perhaps he saw something in this boy that mirrored his own dream of creating the ultimate body.
I looked down at the boy in the pod. For a moment, it felt as though his limbs swayed—not from the convection of the fluid, but of their own accord. Tiny bubbles rose, and the flow of the liquid in the tubes shifted slightly.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.
"...He moved, didn't he?"
My intuition told me it wasn't just a mechanical reflex.
"Medically speaking, he should be dead, but he still shows reactions like that. I tried to fix him, but it was beyond me. Tell me, Repairman... do you think you could 'repair' him?"
I didn't answer. I just stared at the pod, my hand instinctively reaching toward the glass.
That was when a voice cut through the air.
It was low, slow, and came from just outside the van.
—"You are treading upon the domain of God."
The Bouncer peered out the door.
Standing under the dim streetlights were three robed shadows. On their chests, they bore the same mark I had seen on the van. They were watching us in silence.
The Doctor laughed, sounding genuinely delighted.
"Well, well. Speak of the devil."
I clicked my tongue and reached inside my coat.
It looked like it was going to be another long night.