Entry 2

Evening. Near Quarry 3A.

The sky had gone deep purple, like bruised fruit. The sun had almost disappeared behind the clouds, but the heat lingered. Abigail sat on a slab of broken concrete, arms folded tightly. Her leg tapped the ground, restless. She kept looking at the path leading back from the trade quarter.

Samuel stood nearby, pacing. Third time around the same circle. “You don’t think he just went to get water or something? Or maybe he branched off to check that boy who sells radio parts.” “He’s been gone for over four hours, Sam.”

“Okay… maybe he found a better buyer. You know how he gets when he thinks he’s being clever.”

“Stop talking like this is normal. You saw his face after that drone left. He already made up his mind. Tunde didn’t disappear. He made a move.”

Samuel paused. He sighed, dragging his palm across his sweaty forehead. “He’s probably trying to do something crazy again. That boy, he carries too much dream in his head.”

Abigail stood now, brushing dirt from her pants. “He should have told us. Even a word. I don’t care how crazy the idea was—he’s our friend.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” “But I know he’s not just walking around Old Kara looking for snacks.”

Samuel tried to laugh, but it came out tight.

 “This is how it starts, you know. One big idea, one lucky break, and before you know it, your guy is gone. Not dead... just gone. Like the rest.”

Abigail looked at the sky. The Citadel was still shining in the clouds, perfect and far. It never looked closer. Not even when you stood at the wall.

“I don’t want him to disappear, Sam.”

Samuel swallowed, “Then we better find him before he crosses the point of no return.”

They stood there in silence for a while, waiting, watching.

But Tunde didn’t come back.

……..

The gang led Tunde into the station. A big figure stepped out of the darkness, his silhouette wide and armored, backlit by flickering neon signs. Before Tunde could squint to make out who it was, a sharp kick landed behind his knees, buckling him. He hit the floor hard, the cold concrete biting into his skin.

“So, you work at the quarry, huh?” the voice was rough, low, almost amused.

Tunde didn't answer. He kept his head down, eyes darting to the side where his credit pouch had fallen, already being snatched up by one of the Brass Fangs.

The figure stepped forward. Tunde saw him now a thick-chested man with gold implants running along his skull like tribal markings. Two metal fangs jutted from his jaw.Kappa.

“This is a decent haul,” Kappa said, tossing the credit pouch up and down before passing it to the shortest of the thugs. “Too decent for a mud-grubber like you.”

“I earned that,” Tunde muttered.

Kappa's foot slammed into his ribs. A white-hot bolt of pain shot through him.

“You earned the right to live. That’s all,” Kappa growled. “The adrium you took? It belongs to us now. Consider it tribute.”

One of the other Fangs stepped forward, flipping a small black device, Tunde's quarry tag.

Kappa leaned down. “You're going to go back to that pit tomorrow. And the day after. And every damn day until I say stop. You bring us more adrium. Pure stuff only. No junk. Or else…”

He drew a small knife from his belt and pressed it lightly to Tunde’s throat, enough to make him freeze. “Next time, I won’t just take your credits. I’ll take a finger. Then a hand. Then maybe Mama’s oxygen tank. You get me?”

Tunde didn’t speak. His silence was enough.

“Good,” Kappa stood and nodded to the others. “Dump him outside.”

Two sets of hands grabbed him, dragging him through the rusted side door. The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him again was the glint of his stolen credits vanishing into Kappa’s coat.

Tunde limped back to Quarry 3A, the buzz of faulty solar lights above casting long shadows on the cracked path. His ribs ached with every step, the pain pulsing in time with his frustration.

He had gone to them. Thought he could handle a clean trade, give them the credits and get a ticket to the citadel. But instead, he got humiliation, bruises, and a threat hanging over his head like a drone blade.

The barracks were quiet, except for the low hum of recycled air systems. Abigail was awake, sitting near the edge of their shared corner space, arms crossed, eyes sharp in the dimness. Samuel was beside her, half-asleep, but perked up when the door hissed open.

“Tunde!” Abigail stood. “What happened?”

He waved a hand. “Nothing. Just took longer to offload.”

“Where’s the adrium?” she asked.

“Gone.”

She stepped forward, brow furrowed. “Gone? You said it was a clean pull. That was the whole reason you went back out.”

“It was,” he muttered. “It’s just... not mine anymore.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean not yours?”

Samuel sat up fully now, sensing the tension.

Tunde sighed, sitting down slowly, hand clutching his ribs. “I tried something. Thought I could skip long process and get ahead quicker.”

Abigail’s face hardened. “Who?”

“The Brass Fangs.”

A beat of silence.

“You what?” she barked. “You chose to go to the Fangs?”

“I thought I could handle it!” he snapped. “They are the only ones for can get into the citadel without a fortune. I needed a boost, something real to get my mum out of that air-choked hut.”

“And they jumped you?”

He shook his head. “No. They smiled, shook my hand... and then took everything. Said I was lucky to walk away breathing. Now they want more. Told me I owe them.”

Abigail looked like she wanted to scream. Instead, she paced. “You brought the Fangs into our orbit, Tunde. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Samuel whispered, “They’ll keep bleeding us.”

“They won’t stop at you,” she added. “They’ll look at anyone you speak to. Anyone close.”

Tunde lowered his head. “I know. I screwed up.”

She stopped pacing. “No, they screwed up.”

Tunde looked up.

Abigail’s jaw was set. “We’ll get out of this. 

Tunde left his friends much later after Abigail had laid out her master plan, feeling a bit better, He trusted Abigail. Abigail. She had been his friend for years, thick-skinned, sharp-tongued, fearless. But lately, something unspoken hovered between them, like static in the air after a lightning strike.

As he stepped into the cooler corridor outside the barracks, her voice still echoed in his head, steady and full of fire. “We’ll get out of this.” Not you. We.

She always said it like that. Like they were in this together, no matter how deep the ruins got. And somehow, that meant more to him than he cared to admit.

Back inside, Abigail sat down again, fingers tapping against her knee. Her mind was already three moves ahead, sketching out the kind of plan that could put the Fangs off balance without sparking a full-on war. Tunde didn’t know the details yet only that it involved misdirection and something she called “the decoy shard.”

“You’re not doing this alone,” she had said firmly. “If they want to play games, fine. But we choose the rules.”

Tunde had nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way her brow creased when she thought hard, or the softness in her voice when she said his name like it still meant something. Now, standing just outside, hand still pressed to his aching ribs, he wondered what exactly he was fighting for anymore; the Citadel ticket, the credits, the cure for his mum… or something else he hadn’t had the guts to name.

Something, someone, who kept choosing him, even after everything. 

His mum's coughs welcomed him as he pushed the door to their hut open. Even in the dark he could see her hurriedly try to wipe her face for any blood stains she might have missed previously. He was actually hoping that she didn't see him slip in as he was too tired to engage her and much rather they both get some sleep mostly him and his ribs still ached every time he bent lower than his waist.