Slumdog Hero

The sand still clung to their clothes from their tumble through the tear, grit grinding between Fii's teeth as she pushed herself upright. Her skull felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to it, the familiar pain from using her powers amplified into something that made her eyes water. Blood had dried in crusty flakes under her nose.

Whatever she'd done to that tear with the cylinder, it had cost her. The Wastes stretched endlessly in every direction, no different from where they'd started except for the angle of the sun. Great. All that pain and they'd just traded one patch of hostile desert for another.

Luke groaned beside her, sand cascading from his undersuit as he sat up. Without his armor's bulk, the desert had already started cooking him—sweat stains spread across the fabric, salt rings marking where moisture had evaporated.

Serena lay a few meters away, one hand pressed against her shoulder where the Netherling's blade had caught her. Dark stains soaked through the makeshift bandage she'd fashioned from torn fabric. She'd gone pale under her tan, lips pressed tight against pain.

"Everyone alive?" Luke asked, voice rough with thirst.

"Define alive," Serena muttered, struggling to sit. "I feel like I got hit by a transport crawler."

Fii pressed her palm against the sand, then immediately pulled back as pain lanced through her head. The gravity felt wrong here too—not as twisted as the pass, but still off. Like trying to read a book with half the words missing.

No more. She'd promised herself after the reality went haywire—no more power use until they figured out what the hell was happening to her.

"We need to find shelter," she said, scanning the horizon. "And water. Fast."

The landscape offered nothing—just endless dunes punctuated by jagged rock formations that looked like broken teeth. Heat already shimmered off the sand, distorting distances.

Then she spotted movement.

Fii froze, every survival instinct screaming. The dunes around them shifted, but not from wind. Something moved beneath the surface, creating small mounds that circled their position.

"Company," she warned, voice low.

Luke dropped into a combat stance despite his exhaustion. "Where?"

"Everywhere," Fii whispered. "Under the sand."

The mounds surged forward, sand cascading away as mechanical constructs burst into view. Half a dozen combat drones, crude but functional, surrounded them in seconds. Each stood waist-high with articulated legs ending in oversized treads, pipe guns mounted on swiveling turrets.

"Don't move," a voice called from the direction of distant rocks. "Nice and still, or my scrappers will ventilate you where you stand."

Figures rose from concealment—eight people in sand-colored gear, weapons trained on the trio. Their leader stepped forward, a woman wrapped in desert cloths, goggles hiding her eyes.

"Identify yourselves," she demanded. "And your business in Collector territory."

Luke raised his hands slowly. "We're travelers. Lost. Looking for a way back to civilization."

The woman barked a laugh. "Travelers? Carrying Tricon tech and appearing out of thin air?" She gestured toward something glinting in the sand—the data cylinder, fallen when Fii had collapsed. "You came through a tear, didn't you?"

Fii's stomach dropped. How much had they seen?

"The girl looks Kurigali," the woman continued, studying Fii. "You with the tribes?"

Fii hesitated, then traced the spiral pattern Mambo Naya had taught her, palm flat against her chest. "Ura-lo ta-hali. Lo-sa ta-kera vok-ri."

The woman's posture shifted. She lowered her goggles, revealing eyes lined with faded Kurigali tattoos. "You know the old tongue."

"Some," Fii admitted. "I was training with Mambo Naya before..." She gestured at the endless desert.

The woman studied them another long moment, then made a sharp gesture. The combat drones powered down, weapons lowering.

"I am Soren," she announced. "Leader of the Collectors. And you three are either the most well-equipped refugees I've ever seen, or the worst spies." She shouldered her rifle. "Either way, you look about one day from heat death. Come on. We've got water."

The Collectors led them toward rock formations that grew more impressive as they approached. What had seemed like random stone spires revealed themselves as artfully camouflaged structures—natural rock enhanced and hollowed out to create a hidden sanctuary.

"You built all this?" Serena asked, genuine awe cutting through her pain.

"Found it," Soren corrected. "Improved it. The Wastes are full of remnants from before the Fall. You just need to know where to look."

They passed through a narrow crevice that widened into a shaded courtyard. Tarps stretched overhead, diffusing harsh sunlight. People moved through the space with purpose—repairing equipment, sorting salvage, tending hydroponic gardens that somehow thrived in this protected environment.

"Welcome to Haven," Soren said, not without pride. "Not pretty, but it keeps the sand out and the water in."

She led them to a central chamber cut into the rock itself. The temperature dropped noticeably inside—blessed relief from the punishing heat. Worn but functional furniture filled the space, and a water filtration system bubbled quietly in one corner.

"Drink," Soren offered, gesturing to a cistern of clear water. "Then we talk."

They didn't need to be told twice. Fii gulped down water that tasted of minerals and coolness, feeling life seep back into her parched cells. The relief almost overshadowed the throbbing pain in her head.

Once they'd drunk their fill and cleaned some of the grime from their faces, Soren settled onto a chair across from them, legs crossed, expression guarded.

"So," she began. "Three strangers walk into the Wastes. One's half Kurigali with blood dried on her face and power sickness written all over her. One's wearing what's left of Metropolis military tech. And one's..." She squinted at Serena. "Familiar, somehow."

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Serena brightened despite her injury. "You recognize me? I'm Glimmerstrike."

Soren's blank stare crushed her enthusiasm instantly.

"Never heard of you," she said flatly. "But your face—saw it on some corporate feeds once. Entertainment division, right? Paragon?" She waved it away. "Doesn't matter out here."

Serena's face fell. Fii almost felt bad for her. Almost.

"We didn't come here by choice," Luke explained, taking the diplomatic lead. "We were... transported, somehow. Near the Wall. Some kind of spatial displacement."

Soren's expression sharpened. "Transported? Not by vehicle?"

"One second we were in the slums, the next we were here," Fii said. "Like reality hiccupped."

Soren exchanged looks with her companions. "The Shimmer," one of them murmured. She nodded slowly.

"You're not the first," she told them. "Though usually it's objects, not people. Sometimes entire chunks of landscape. The Wastes... they're not stable. Not like they used to be."

"What's the Shimmer?" Luke asked.

Soren stood, leading them to the back wall where a crude map had been etched into stone. Red lines crisscrossed the terrain, some solid, some dotted.

"The Wastes have always been strange," she explained. "But in the last few years, they've gotten stranger. The Shimmer is what we call the areas where reality gets... flexible." She traced one of the dotted lines. "These are the shifting zones. Sometimes they're there, sometimes they're not. Move when you're not looking. And where they overlap—" she tapped a spot where several lines intersected "—is where things get truly weird."

"Like random teleportation," Fii said.

"Among other things. Time slips. Doubles. Things that shouldn't exist." Soren shrugged. "We avoid those areas when we can. Map them when we can't."

"We passed through one yesterday," Luke said. "An abandoned Tricon expedition site. Found evidence of creatures they called 'Netherlings.'"

Soren's expression darkened. "You encountered the basin? And lived?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Those corporate idiots. Poking at things they don't understand, thinking they can control them."

"What exactly are they studying out there?" Fii asked.

"The tears," Soren said simply. "They think there's profit in them. Power. Ways to manipulate reality itself." She spat on the floor. "As if reality isn't dangerous enough already."

A younger Collector approached, whispering something in Soren's ear. She nodded, turning back to them.

"You'll stay the night," she decided. "Rest. Eat. Tomorrow we'll discuss getting you back to civilization—or what passes for it in these parts."

"Thank you," Luke said.

"Don't thank me yet," Soren replied. "Nothing's free in the Wastes. Not even hospitality."

She left them in the care of the younger Collector, a lanky man with skin weathered beyond his years.

"I'm Tev," he introduced himself. "I'll show you where you can clean up. Got some spare clothes too, if you want."

He led them deeper into the rock complex, through corridors lit by salvaged LEDs and glowing bioluminescent fungi. The place was a maze of repurposed spaces—sleeping quarters carved from natural caverns, workshops filled with scavenged technology, storerooms packed with salvage.

"What do you people... collect, exactly?" Serena asked, eyeing a pile of circuit boards.

"Anything useful," Tev replied. "Tech. Knowledge. Materials. The Wastes are full of treasures if you know how to look." He glanced at her injured shoulder. "And how to avoid getting killed in the process."

He stopped at a chamber with several partitioned areas, each containing a bedroll and small storage space. "You can rest here. Communal washroom through there." He pointed to a side passage. "Dinner in two hours. Try not to wander—some areas aren't stable for outsiders."

After he left, they claimed spaces and took turns using the washroom—a luxury of actual running water, even if it was barely lukewarm and smelled faintly of minerals.

Cleaned and dressed in borrowed clothes that hung loose on her frame, Fii sat on her bedroll and pulled the data cylinder from her pocket. It still pulsed occasionally with that strange iridescent light.

"Think we should try accessing that thing?" Luke asked, nodding toward the cylinder.

"Maybe." Fii turned it over in her hands. "But after what happened when I used it..."

Her head still pounded from redirecting the tear. Every time she'd touched her power since then, pain had spiked behind her eyes like someone driving nails into her skull.

"We need information," Luke pressed. "About the Netherlings. About these 'tears' Soren mentioned. That cylinder might have answers."

"Worth the risk of another brain-melting episode?" Fii asked dryly.

"Let me try," Serena offered, extending her hand despite favoring her injured shoulder. "My powers are different from yours. Might react differently."

Fii hesitated, then passed her the cylinder. Nothing happened—no vision, no reality distortion. Serena examined it, finding a small port on one end.

"Standard data connection," she said. "If we could find a reader..."

"I might know where to look," Luke said. "Saw some equipment in one of the workshops we passed. Stay here. I'll talk to Tev."

He returned half an hour later with Tev in tow, the Collector carrying a battered but functional data tablet.

"Soren said you can use it," Tev explained, handing the tablet to Luke. "But she wants to know what's on that cylinder too."

"Fair enough," Luke agreed.

They gathered around as he connected the cylinder to the tablet. The screen flickered, then displayed a file directory. Most were corrupted beyond recovery, but a few remained intact—research notes, personnel files, and fragmentary expedition logs.

Luke opened the first readable file—a research summary dated three weeks before the expedition's apparent demise.

"Project Threshold," he read aloud. "Phase 3 findings. Initial specimens demonstrate 43% adaptation to dimensional variances. Neurological development continues to exceed projections, with corresponding increases in phase control. Director Keller believes we're witnessing accelerated evolution triggered by dimensional exposure."

The next paragraph was corrupted, but the text resumed further down:

"—indigenous belief systems predating the Fall offer surprising insights into the nature of the tears. The Kurigali in particular seem to have developed rituals that stabilize local reality fluctuations. We've acquired several artifacts that demonstrate unusual properties when exposed to phase anomalies. Salvatore has ordered expanded collection efforts, with or without tribal cooperation."

Fii's stomach turned. "They were stealing from the Kurigali." Pain pulsed behind her eyes, but she fought the urge to reach for her powers in anger.

"Focus on the science," Luke said, scrolling to another file. "Here—expedition map with anomaly concentrations."

The screen displayed a terrain map similar to Soren's wall etching, but with more detail. Red zones marked active tears, while blue indicated dormant ones. Yellow circles highlighted expedition sites.

"They were systematically studying the tears," Luke observed. "And collecting specimens from each zone."

"What kind of specimens?" Serena asked.

Luke opened another file, this one containing images that made them all recoil. Creatures like the Netherlings, but more varied—some smaller, some larger, all with that same unsettling quality of existing partly outside normal physics. Notes beside each image classified them by "phase potential" and "evolutionary stage."

The final readable file was a personal log from someone named Dr. Mira Chen:

"The Director won't listen to reason. She's convinced the anomalies offer a gateway to untapped resources—to some new energy source that could revolutionize everything. But I've seen the math. The equations that define these tears—they're incomplete. We're missing fundamental variables. The Netherlings might not be alien, or extradimensional. They might be... something else."

Silence fell as they processed the information.

"So," Serena finally said. "Tricon's playing around with forces it barely understands, and we just happen to stumble into the middle of it?"

"That's about the shape of it," Luke agreed. "We're dealing with corporate hubris at its worst. And whatever the Netherlings are, they're only one symptom of a much bigger problem."