The View’s faint glow flickers at the edge of my vision, marking a town just across this waterlogged wasteland.

  After drifting through the water, I ended up in this endless muddy terrain. But my view confirms what I need to know. I am getting close to Kernel—the newest and greatest city on this doomed planet. A place of efficiency, progress… people with purpose. And mostly, the site of the MECAT.

  Whether they see me as anything but a vagrant dragging filth through their clean streets is irrelevant. I need a foothold. Some kind that doesn’t sink beneath me. I adjust my hood, glance at the map hovering before me, and start considering my options.

  The View displays routes, flashing warnings in its emotionless and calculated manner—I could get Hope again, but I don't need an Ai right now. I need a way out of here.

  Risk of slippage 73%. Minimum traction detected on forward right terrain.

  I look right—it’s too far. Instead, I take the shallower path ahead. I may have to weave through silt and mud, but I’ll move carefully.

  "Still letting a machine hold your hand, Rain?" Illume mocks. "What a vision of independence."

  The greatest creations of mankind involved its usage.

  So yeah. I am holding its hand. At least I won't trip like you did with your life.

  He laughs, “You think I tripped?” His voice is ghostly. “No, Rain. You fell, and you latched onto me. So I had to make you let go.”

  I pause. This voice, it's like he is actually here, like he actually knows things.

  I bite the inside of my cheek.

  I get it.

  Ghosts like him don’t fade. They linger.

  But even ghosts can’t stop progress.

  The ground turns to sludge, clinging to my boots with each step. The brackish stench burns my throat.

  Suggested route ahead.

  Risk factor 58%. Moderate success predicted.

  “Moderate,” I mutter. Dense brush cuts across the path. But doubling back isn’t an option. I push forward, bracing as thorns snag at my clothes.

  The View is my guide now—a far cry from the glitch-ridden mess it was back in that frozen prison. If it had worked this well back then, maybe things would have been different.

  A soft snap jolts me back to the present. The branch I grabbed for balance shatters, and the ground shifts beneath me.

  Then, I fall.

  My foot smashes into the ground, bending unnaturally. I gasp, my teeth grinding together as I struggle to steady myself. The muck doesn’t relent, pulling at me with the desperation of a starving beast.

  Path sub-optimal. Recalculating…

  You don't say…

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  I grunt and haul myself out, dragging my injured leg through the sludge. It feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world on that one limb.

  My pace is slower, and with each movement, the thought of Mecanet is the only thing keeping me from collapsing.

  Then, at last—the land flattens out. The town is just ahead.

  I just have to make it.

  I stumble.

  Catch myself.

  Breathe.

  Keep going.

  Mecanet. Mecanet. Mecanet.

  Next thing I know, I am already there. The place is small and unassuming, its buildings worn by time, their walls stained by past floods. The View displays my balance:

  10,000 Meccets.

  A familiar bitterness rises in me.

  "Don’t say I never gave you anything," Illume’s voice jeers. "I left you with just enough to see how much mud you’d eat before you squeal."

  You won’t get that honor.

  I push past the thought, limping toward the square. The streets are empty, save for a few locals keeping to themselves. I spot a cloth store tucked between buildings and force myself toward it.

  Inside, I find a woman behind the desk. The moment she notices me, she gapes, “Out!”

  I dragged mud into her shop. Now I feel terrible.

  Not that I should, she was a jerk.

  I make my way through the town. At its edge, there is a bathhouse. The only one by the looks.

  The is an old woman sitting by the door, she slides me a entry card. I make it in, turning the shower on as warm water falls over me.

  It stings.

  Yet it feels rejuvenating.

  It slowly turns scalding hot and then rushes down, turning dark as it peels away the filth. Mud swirls down the drain in spirals, carrying away years of grime, blood, and suffering. My skin, raw from scrubbing, feels unfamiliar.

  I feel like I left the old me behind.

  The one who had only known pain.

  “No.” he whispers, “I don't think so.”

  I punch the wall, muttering under my breath, “Shut up.”

  But regret it instantly.

  It hurt, and the result? Bruised knuckles.

  I limp towards my clothes, only to remember they were filthy.

  But there is a new pair.

  Neatly folded. Clean. Waiting for me.

  Thats weird...

  I didn’t hear anyone come in. Didn’t see anyone. So why are they here?

  My fingers brush the fabric—smooth, untouched, expensive.

  Did the bath lady leave them? Out of pity? Or is this a setup?

  I check the pockets. Empty.

  If it's from her… I should probably thank her.

  “My Rain,” Illume's voice slips through, “don't hold back, let her know how you feel.”

  Am I supposed to take that as a joke?

  Not from Illume.

  I grab the clothes and place them on the stone platform. In front there is a mirror.

  I look at the stranger.

  Black eyes.

  Black hair.

  Pale skin.

  This is me.

  I don't know me.

  I look like a ghost.

  “You are getting there.”

  I unfold the clothes.

  I won't get where you are.

  A durable black pants and a rugged shirt—sturdy enough for the road ahead, dark enough for anonymity. It's almost as if she knew what I like.

  As I slide the fabric over my arms, I pause. The fit is snug, almost like it was made for me. A strange sensation.

  “Does it remind you of anything?”

  It does.

  The day before you landed the ship in the middle of that desert.

  Dust swirled everywhere, we were in a crumbling market, this merchant barely sparing me a glance.

  And you. Tossing a bundle of clothes at me with a frown. “You’re filthy,” you had said. “Wear these before you embarrass yourself further.”

  They had felt like a gift at first. But in the end, they were just another reminder of your control. My uniform in that desolation. Worn threadbare as I trudged through a world that mirrored my hollow existence.

  “That's right.”

  I press into the fabric.

  But, these clothes are mine. Not your choice. Some random old lady's.

  I thank her, but she doesn't notice me. I save it for myself, and step outside, trying my best to ignore the throbbing of my leg. Scanning the road, I finally see it—my way forward.

  A floating caterpillar.

  The sleek, segmented transport at the station, its long metallic body lined with energy nodes. Argov-powered gates pulse beside it, their vibrant currents shimmering in the evening air. When activated, they will launch the train into the sky, sending it wriggling through the atmosphere like an enormous mechanical larva.

  Fancy but not the point.

  This is a direct route to Kernel. No more slogging through filth, no more tangled brush—just a straight shot to my goal.

  I watch as passengers board, I should get there before it's too late.

  And once I reach Kernel, my real challenge begins.

  Prepare for the MECAT.