Prologue: A Peculiar Find

A cold, humid breeze swept through the scrapyard, carrying with it the light scent of old metal. In the center of it, Zephyr Lee, a 77-year-old man who looked no older than his thirties, sat in his small two-person pod truck. The electric vehicle was reminiscent of the ancient Volkswagen Beetle in its design, although perhaps a bit sleeker due to it being a neo-retro production and a long, sizable, enclosed bed instead of a trunk.

The late afternoon sun painted everything in a soft orange light, and Zephyr did his best to warm his hands with his breath.

Despite the leather jacket he was wearing, he still felt cold on this early winter day.

He looked at his surroundings. It was a huge and mostly flat place; its ground a mix of compacted dirt, sand, and crushed rock that stretched on for more than a mile in every direction. Multiple shipping containers sat in piles all over the place. Some of them were stacked, some were still sealed from their journeys, but each of them was filled to the brim with discarded materials and outdated technology.

Typically there would be a fair amount of activity in the scrapyard, but it was Friday, and most people would rather spend the beginning of their three-day weekend doing something else instead of being out here.

Honestly, Zephyr would’ve preferred to be reading a good book at home too.

Unfortunately for him, though, he had a job to do. As the sole owner and operator of the small recycling business 'Third Chances', it was his responsibility to gather the necessary items to keep his business alive. That meant sifting through container upon container of junk for anything he could use—even if it was a weekend.

Zephyr stepped out of his truck in preparation for his scrap expedition. However, the moment he did so, he winced as his legs tingled painfully. The drive here had made them go a little numb, and they were only now waking up.

"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled to himself, rubbing the soreness in his thighs.

Well, he wasn't actually old, at least not physically, but that didn't stop him from feeling that way.

After taking a moment to stretch his limbs and get his blood flowing, he reached into his backpack, grabbed a small flashlight, and started his hunt.

Most of the containers had a few things of note, but nothing that really caught Zephyr's attention too much. The closest was one which had a pile of old 'smart' televisions from the 2050s, a bunch of speakers that had been discontinued since the turn of the twenty-second century, a dozen or so broken VR headsets, and a collection of decade-old cellphones and tablets.

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

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

He decided to haul some of the most promising things to his truck, but right after that, it was back to the search. If he didn't hurry, it'd get dark, and he wouldn't be able to see anything without the floodlights—

*crash*

Zephyr's ears perked at the sudden muted noise, looking around to see what had happened. That definitely didn't sound like a controlled movement. Had someone gotten hurt?

Cautiously, he made his way in the general direction of it until he stumbled upon a container that stood out a bit. It was tucked away in the corner of a stack, and it was haphazardly surrounded by several crates, like someone had gone out of their way to make sure it wasn't spotted.

However, the most curious thing was that its door was slightly ajar.

"That better be because someone just forgot to close it, because if not…" Zephyr's words trailed off as he approached the container.

It was both courtesy and law on The Bygone to keep scrapyard containers sealed if no one was using them. It helped keep whatever was inside from being exposed to the elements and prevented anything from accidentally making its way into the environment. If one of 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 as the scrapyard's owner and primary operator was more paperwork.

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 wafted over him. He wrinkled his nose as he adjusted to the stale odor.

"Containers are supposed to be cycled weekly, not sit here to rot," Zephyr muttered, trying to get a better look inside.

It wasn't what he had expected to see. The space was filled with makeshift furniture, boxes of clothes, and even some appliances. It was almost like someone had tried remaking an apartment.

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

He stepped inside to investigate further, and the sound of his footsteps echoed through the metal container. He noticed that there appeared to be wires running along the ceiling that connected to some lights and a large battery near the back.

"Someone has definitely been living here." He rubbed his chin, feeling a bit unsettled.

Squatting wasn't unheard of on The Bygone, but doing so in the middle of a scrapyard was a bit 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 what he assumed given the personal effects—who was squatting here might end up buried the next time they reorganized.

He had heard about those kinds of accidents happening before in other less stringent scrapyards, and he would rather not see it happen here. There were never any public photos from those accidents for a reason.

Before he could think too deeply on that, he heard a noise from behind him. It was the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

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

That was probably the squatter.

Zephyr thought about how to approach the situation. He didn't want to scare them off.

However, before he could say anything, the squatter turned around to spot him, freezing up as they locked eyes.

His silver met her amber-gold.

She gulped.