Chapter 4: The Flickering Edge

The neon haze of Mingo Harbor gave way to the sprawling undercity, a place where the upper crust of towering platforms cast long shadows over its labyrinthine streets. Here, life felt brittle. The walls were patched with scrap metal and held together by generations of desperation. Coza stepped cautiously onto a crumbling walkway, the remnants of rain pooling in its cracks. Below him, the distant hum of machinery served as a constant reminder that the Harbor never truly rested.

He moved with purpose, though his mind was a storm of uncertainty. The device—still warm in his coat pocket—seemed heavier with each step, as though the weight of the unseen forces pursuing it had begun to seep into his bones. The mechanical creatures in the tunnels and the armed strangers from the plaza felt like pieces of a story that had only just begun to unfold.

Ahead, a faint buzz of conversation drifted through the air, accompanied by flickering lights. Coza quickened his pace, finding himself at the mouth of an open market unlike the bustling Verge. This place was subdued, almost secretive, its vendors tucked away in alcoves or behind makeshift stalls. Holographic signs blinked erratically, advertising wares no one in their right mind would ask about.

Coza hesitated. This wasn’t a place where questions were welcomed, but he had no choice. If anyone knew what the sphere was—or how to deal with the mess it had drawn to him—it would be someone here.

He approached a stall crowded with scattered tools and mechanical limbs, their wires spilling out like exposed nerves. The vendor, a wiry man with dark glasses and a face lined by time and hardship, barely glanced up.

“Looking for something specific?” the vendor muttered, his hands busy repairing what appeared to be a mechanical hand.

Coza lowered his voice. “I need information. About... technology.”

The vendor paused, his fingers hovering over the delicate wiring. His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “That’s vague. You’ll need to be more convincing.”

Coza glanced around, ensuring no one else was paying attention. The market had its fair share of drifters and opportunists, but most seemed occupied with their own dealings. Slowly, he reached into his coat and withdrew the sphere just enough for the vendor to see its faint glow.

The man’s demeanor changed instantly. He straightened, his glasses reflecting the device’s light as his expression turned unreadable.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice low but sharp.

“I found it,” Coza replied, evading the truth. “Can you tell me what it is?”

The vendor leaned closer, his movements cautious. “That’s not something you ‘find.’ That’s the kind of thing that finds you. And if you’re carrying it, you’re already in over your head.”

Coza frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

The vendor sighed, his fingers tapping against the counter. “It’s a power source, I think. Old tech, pre-collapse. The kind of thing the corporations would tear this entire district apart to get their hands on. And if someone else knows you’ve got it...” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Before Coza could press further, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the market. Both he and the vendor turned sharply, their eyes scanning the commotion. A figure had toppled one of the stalls, scattering its wares across the ground. Two others followed, their movements methodical as they pushed through the crowd.

Coza’s stomach sank. The strangers from the plaza had found him.

“You need to leave,” the vendor hissed, shoving the sphere back toward Coza. “And don’t come back.”

Coza didn’t argue. He tucked the device away and slipped into the shadows of the market, his steps swift but quiet. The crowd thickened as more people turned to watch the strangers, giving Coza just enough cover to navigate toward a narrow alleyway at the market’s edge.

The sound of pursuit grew louder, the strangers moving with the relentless precision of predators. Coza ducked into the alley, his heart pounding as he searched for an escape route.

The alley opened into a clearing dominated by the rusted remains of a collapsed tower. Once part of the Harbor’s industrial heart, the structure now lay on its side, its steel frame twisted into jagged peaks and shadowy recesses. Coza hesitated only for a moment before climbing into the wreckage, his hands gripping the cold metal as he hauled himself upward.

Inside, the air was stale and thick with dust. Broken machinery and shattered glass littered the ground, and the faint smell of burning wires lingered like an echo of its violent collapse. Coza moved cautiously, his steps careful to avoid the sharp edges of debris. The structure groaned faintly, its stability far from certain.

As he ventured deeper, a faint blue glow illuminated the dark. He stopped, realizing it wasn’t coming from the sphere. Instead, a console—miraculously still active—blinked weakly in the shadows. Coza approached it, the screen flickering as though struggling to stay alive.

The display showed fragmented data, lines of code and diagrams he couldn’t begin to understand. But one word stood out, repeated several times amidst the chaos: Eminence.

Before he could make sense of it, a metallic clatter echoed through the chamber. Coza spun, his breath catching as one of the strangers stepped into view. The figure raised their weapon, the reflective visor on their helmet gleaming like a mirror.

“Hand it over,” they ordered, their voice filtered through a modulator.

Coza’s grip tightened on the sphere. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The stranger took a step closer, their weapon trained on him. “You’re out of options. Drop it.”

From the corner of his eye, Coza spotted a faint opening in the wall—a jagged tear in the metal that led to the outside. It was a slim chance, but it was better than nothing.

“Last warning,” the stranger growled.

Coza didn’t respond. Instead, he hurled a broken piece of machinery toward the console, sending sparks flying. The stranger flinched, just enough for Coza to bolt toward the opening.

The climb was brutal, the jagged edges of the tear slicing into his palms as he scrambled upward. Behind him, the stranger’s shouts grew louder, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire. The bullets ricocheted off the metal, one grazing his arm and leaving a burning sting.

With a final push, Coza pulled himself through the opening and tumbled onto the platform outside. He didn’t stop, running across the wreckage as the night wind howled around him. The Harbor stretched out below, its endless sprawl lit by the flicker of neon and the faint glow of the horizon.

He didn’t look back.

The chase had taken its toll. Coza’s arms ached, his lungs burned, and his mind raced with unanswered questions. But as he stood on the edge of the wreckage, staring down at the Harbor’s depths, he felt something unexpected—a faint, unsteady spark of determination.

The sphere pulsed faintly in his pocket, as if responding to his thoughts. Somewhere out there, in the chaos of the Harbor, answers awaited him. Not safety, not comfort—but answers.

And for the first time, Coza thought he might be ready to face them.