Prologue: A Peculiar Find

A cold breeze swept through the scrapyard, carrying with it a humid scent from the coast and old metal. It was late afternoon on the Bygone, when the sun painted its sky orange yellows.

Zephyr Lee, a man who looked no older than his thirties, sat amidst it all within the comfort of his two-person pod truck. It was reminiscent of the ancient Volkswagen Beetle in its design—a sleeker neo-retro production with a sizable, enclosed bed instead of a trunk.

He adjusted his leather jacket and warmed his hands by the heater.

The scrapyard was a plane of compacted dirt, sand, and crushed rock that stretched on for a mile in every direction. Shipping containers dotted it like buildings, some stacked, some still sealed from their journeys, but each filled with discarded materials and outdated technology.

Typically there would be a fair amount of activity, but it was Friday, and Zephyr imagined most would rather spend their weekend doing anything else rather than being out here.

Unfortunately for him, though, he couldn't afford to be lounging around with a good book. As the sole owner and operator of the small recycling business 'Third Chances', he needed to gather the necessary items to keep his business—and himself—alive.

Speaking of, he needed to get to work.

He stepped out, wincing as his legs groaned from numb circulation.

"I'm getting too old for this."

Well, he wasn't actually old epigenetically, but that didn't stop him from feeling that way.

Once he'd recovered enough, his expedition began in earnest.

Most of the containers had nothing that really caught Zephyr's attention. The closest one had a pile of old 'smart' televisions from the 2050s, speakers discontinued since the turn of the twenty-second century, and a collection of decade-old cellphones and tablets.

Lovely.

It was a lot of material, and some of it would prove useful for his projects, but it wasn't exactly what he was looking for this time around.

"Bah, don't be picky, Zeph. You can use this. Otherwise, you're gonna end up in a dumpster."

Some of the most promising things were hauled to his truck after his self-motivation. Then, it was back to the search.

It wasn't long until the sun had sunk closer toward the horizon and light started to dim.

He'd have to hurry and finish. It was pain scavenging in the dark without a floodlight. He knew from experience—

*crash*

Zephyr's ears perked at the muted noise. Had someone gotten hurt?

Cautiously, he investigated in its direction until he stumbled upon a container tucked away in the corner. It was peculiar, haphazardly surrounded by several crates, and its door was slightly ajar.

"That better be because someone forgot to close it…"

It was both courtesy and law on the Bygone to keep containers sealed. It protected contents from being exposed and prevented anything from making its way into the environment. If the authorities were to see this, it would probably lead to fines, especially if something spilled out.

He would rather Minerva not need to deal with that. The last thing she needed was more paperwork to deal with.

With a gentle tug, Zephyr opened the container the rest of the way. He turned on his flashlight and peeked in. Immediately, the smell of dust and mildew crinkled his nose.

"Damn, something tells me this wasn't cycled."

The space was filled with makeshift furniture, boxes of clothes, and even some appliances. It was like someone had tried remaking an apartment.

Zephyr's flashlight beam paused over a worn teddy bear atop a cardboard box; its fur was faded, and its eyes were missing.

He investigated further; the sound of his footsteps echoed off the metal. Wires ran along the ceiling that connected to some lights and a large battery near the back.

He rubbed his chin, unsettled.

Squatting wasn't unheard of on the Bygone, but doing so in the middle of a scrapyard was unusual. There were plenty of buildings in the industrial district that could provide better shelter, and that was ignoring the fact that there were a few organizations that offered free housing.

Zephyr's light continued to sweep around the area. He felt a little bad about invading someone's personal space like this, but at the same time, this wasn't safe. If he didn't do something to at least let Minerva know, the poor kid—or at least that's who he assumed lived here given the personal effects—might end up buried the next time they reorganized.

Those kinds of accidents weren't uncommon in less stringent scrapyards, and he would rather not see it happen here. There were never any public photos from those for a reason.

He shuddered.

Before he could think too deeply, the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against metal came from behind him, then sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Zephyr quickly turned around and looked outside to see a small figure with their back turned. They were dragging an old electric bike toward the entrance.

That was probably the squatter.

Zephyr mused about how to approach them—didn't want to spook them off.

However, before he could say anything, the squatter froze as they locked eyes.

His silver met her amber-gold.

She gulped.