The black skiff cut through the stagnant soup of the Grey Zone like a silent blade of carbon fiber. Below the wings, the neon opulence of the High Rise had long since vanished, replaced by the skeletal remains of industrial titans and the flickering, desperate fires of the scavenger camps. For Leo, the smell of the air was a homecoming he hadn't asked for. It was thick with the scent of burning plastic, stale rain, and the metallic tang of the Silver Lines that still hummed with a residual, toxic energy.
The sapphire light in his eyes pulsed in time with the skiff’s navigation sensors. He could feel the proximity of the burnt sector. It wasn't just a location on a map; it was a wound in the earth that radiated a jagged, Dishonest frequency. The siphoning circuit was active, a low hum that
