Compared to the six waste outlets surrounding it, Tone was elevated in cleanliness, security, and wealth. Arguments against the city’s superiority were supported by rampant corruption and degeneracy, but it still fared better than the outside. In a predictable way, of course, entry was regulated.

There were fees one had to pay if they wanted to leave junk yards and walk paved streets.

Maintaining the filtered air that circulated throughout the city was a burdensome and expensive task. Those who tasted the cleaner air had to pay for the privilege.

Typically limited to the wealthy, there was the option to pay a handsome fee to become an official resident of Tone. Alternatively, most people chose to pay by the hour to stay within city walls. Of course, Jabari couldn’t afford the exorbitant fee to come and go as a proper citizen. He didn’t have funds to waste by the hour, either. For a kid with few resources, his options were slim.

“Where did it come from?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Just a few,” Jabari remarked, but his voice wasn’t the only one with questions.

To ensure that ordinary wastelanders stayed out of Tone, access points were monitored constantly. The lowest level of security included three layer scanning, Chem Corp guards, and automated turrets to prevent unauthorized entry. Sneaking in through traditional access points would have been a death sentence without a Tone City ID or a Visitor Card. Nonetheless, there existed groups that had been dedicated to increasing the number of bodies let in from the deadly conditions of the outside. A gang known as Harvest was most notable. Their members were low-level workers across the city, but their numbers were large enough to grant privileges to certain individuals.

“You’ll have three days to use the card. Go over your time and you’ll owe us more than a favor. Assuming you have anything healthy enough to give,” the guide explained to Jabari and a dozen other people who had sought help to enter Tone unnoticed.

Organs were the cost of breaking an agreement with Harvest. That, of course, was the origin of their name.

Voices in the disheveled group began talking amongst themselves, at odds with the reality of their choices. Many assumed their guide was joking, making light of the rumors that surrounded Harvest. Few understood just who they were talking to, or how serious his warning was. Everyone, including Jabari, was under the assumption that their guide, Novin, was a common hand among the organization they had all sought out. His face and arms were made from recycled metals with mismatched pieces, but enough silver to suggest an intentional design. Patches, where flesh was absent, were abundant. So much of his skin had been ripped from his inorganic bones and left to await replacement. He could have passed as a decommissioned bot had his legs been metal and the remnants of flesh still clinging to his body been tossed away. Especially around the eyes and all ten of his digits, the interworkings of his mechanical body parts were difficult to ignore. Cheap as they might have been, they were intricate with mechanisms Jabari could only pretend to understand. Adding to his appearance, clothes that amounted to a sleeveless hooded jacket and ripped jeans didn’t help.

In that era of cybernetics, most people had replaced limbs, if not entirely new bodies, but everyone knew the wealthy could afford to hide their upgrades. Wastelanders, impoverish and unfortunate folks, often wore their enhancements out in the open because synthetic skin was costly.

It was only natural that nobody understood the significance of their guide. Novin preferred it that way. He went to great lengths to hide his identity, refusing any special treatment he might have deserved. For people like him, Harvest was meant to better lives, not to earn recognition.

“An eye, your stomach, maybe a tongue. Depends on the market and the day,” the metal man explained.

His casual tone failed to alleviate anyone’s discomfort. However, the lot had met him in a sewage pipe, so perhaps the stench of piss shit and garbage made the bunch uncomfortable. A few individuals remained unfazed by the deal, 3 days of access to the city for a favor to harvest in the future, probably because they had encountered similar arrangements. Jabari, however, had reservations.

“When does our time start?” The boy asked, to which Novin answered, “Five minutes ago.”

Immediately, half the group walked further into the sewage pipe to enter the city. The other half promptly returned the distributed IDs, opting not to jeopardize their lives. Jabari was the only not to move. Even Novin had begun to leave until the boy said, “Hang on.”

“What is it, kid?”

“Where do I find Roulette Lounge?”

Novin smirked, remarking, “First time in the city?”

“I’ve seen pictures,” Jabari answered nervously, but hid it as best he could.

“Pictures ain’t worth much in a town like this. Streets move. Lucky for you, Roulette Lounge is a place that stays where it’s always been.”

The hooded man, standing so still in that dark sludge covered pipe, had the ghostly figure of a reaper masquerading as a human. Yet, he examined Jabari closely and discovered the boy to be a far more intriguing person. It was clear to Novin that the person before him lacked wealth. Given that Jabari had to navigate sewage and make a deal with Harvest, it was highly improbable that he had the means to pay for premium modifications or a Transfer procedure. The more Novin inspected the boy, from his dingy blue shorts up to his natural head of hair, he knew Jabari was all organic. But how could that have been? He wondered behind his eyes.

“Avoid guards. The ID will keep bots and cameras from noticing you, but anyone with an eye will see your face doesn’t match,” Novin added.

Jabari slipped the card into one of his pockets before pointing out, “Thanks, but that doesn’t help me find the Lounge.”

Novin had already turned to leave, but before he was out of reach, he said, “Follow the music, kid. You won’t miss it.”

Jabari, left to enter the city on his own, took a breath of foul air before trudging forward into the darkness of the sewage pipe. The walk was painfully ominous, with only roaches and the sound of dripping waste offering sound aside from the boy’s own footsteps. He might have turned back had he not heard something else soon after.

Vehicles, foot traffic, alarms. Jabari was sure the city streets were above him. The only action left was to scale upwards and avoid being noticed. However, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference if anyone saw him because they could definitely smell where he had been.

Shirtless, grimy, and reeking of waste, Jabari wouldn’t fool anyone into believing he belonged in the city.