Shinji struggled to catch his breath.
The workshop lay drowned in a dim, almost calming darkness, lit only by a handful of makeshift lamps hanging from exposed wires. Their flickering glow cast warped shadows across the walls, where metal plates had been welded together in a rush. Around him, mechanical parts were stacked in chaotic piles—dismantled robot arms, gutted engines, half-melted circuit boards. The air was thick with the scent of hot oil, dust, and rusted metal.
His legs were still shaking.
He leaned back against a cold wall, nearly sliding down to the floor. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if his body hadn't yet remembered how to breathe properly.
"You really don't know how to keep a low profile, do you, kid?"
The voice came from behind him.
Shinji stiffened, heart racing. The man who had dragged him out of the alley stood near a cluttered workbench, hood pulled back. Messy dark hair framed his face, and his eyes—an unnaturally bright blue for a place like this—studied Shinji without hostility.
But there was exhaustion in them.
"Why did you help me?" Shinji asked, guarded.
The man shrugged.
"I don't like injustice."
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
"That's it?" Shinji pressed.
"Armed people deciding the fate of a kid who showed up out of nowhere in an alley?"
He paused.
"Yeah. That's more than enough."
Shinji didn't reply. A lingering warmth still pulsed in his abdomen—uncomfortable, unstable. Not pain. More like energy that didn't know where to go.
"Where are we?" he finally asked.
The man gestured vaguely around them.
"The Low Circuits."
"The… what?"
"The lower layers of Nethra. Where rules don't really apply. And neither do morals."
The word echoed in Shinji's mind.
Nethra.
"Is that a city?"
The man let out a dry chuckle.
"We call it a planetary megacity."
Shinji blinked.
"A whole planet… turned into a city?"
"Not turned. Organized."
He activated an old wall console. A shaky hologram appeared—an image of a planet wrapped in massive concentric layers, connected by countless vertical shafts.
"Nethra is built in levels. The higher you live, the richer you are. The lower you go…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Shinji didn't need him to.
"So we're at the bottom?"
"Not the absolute bottom," the man said.
"But low enough that nobody bothers checking what happens here."
The hologram flickered out. Shinji felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Inside his head, a familiar voice whispered:
"Your body is still overloaded. You absorbed too much Astralium without control."
"Fantastic," Shinji muttered.
The man glanced at him.
"You talking to yourself?"
"It's… complicated."
Shinji tried to straighten up. A dull ache surged through his muscles, forcing him to brace himself against the wall.
"Easy," the man said.
"Astralium gives you power, not control. And it punishes mistakes."
"Great design," Shinji muttered.
A faint smile tugged at the man's lips.
"You'd never used Astralium before today."
It wasn't a question.
"No. I didn't even know it existed."
"That explains a lot."
Silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just heavy with thought.
Shinji studied the workshop again, then looked back at the man.
"Why do you live here?"
The man hesitated.
"I wouldn't call this living."
"Then why stay?"
He took a moment before answering.
"Because Nethra grinds down anyone who falls this low."
His gaze hardened.
"And someone has to remember they existed."
Shinji lowered his eyes.
"I just told the truth…"
"Here," the man said calmly,
"truth doesn't mean much. Sometimes, it costs more than lies."
Shinji clenched his fists.
"So what now?"
"Now," the man said, sitting down on an old crate,
"you learn where you ended up."
"Nethra runs on a simple rule: usefulness. If you don't produce value, you don't have any."
"And people like me?"
"Outliers."
Shini's voice echoed again in Shinji's mind.
"Your presence disrupts local probability patterns."
"What does that even mean?" Shinji asked.
The man looked up at the metal ceiling.
"This world doesn't like things it can't calculate."
A pause.
Then Shinji asked the question that had been weighing on him since the chase.
"Are you going to turn me in?"
The man met his gaze without hesitation.
"If I were, I wouldn't have pulled you out of that alley."
"Then why help me?"
He stood up slowly.
"Because the moment I decide who deserves help, I become just like them."
Something tightened in Shinji's chest.
"My name's Shinji."
The man nodded.
"I'll remember it."
He grabbed a worn jacket and tossed it over.
"Put this on. You stand out."
Shinji caught it.
"And you?"
The man paused.
"That doesn't matter."
Then, after a beat:
"Not yet."
Shinji understood.
He slipped the jacket on. It was too big, frayed at the edges, but warm. It smelled like metal, dust… and long nights spent running through back alleys.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Shinji didn't feel completely alone.
Not safe.
But seen.
And maybe… understood.
They started walking.
The underground city stretched endlessly ahead, like a living organism. Narrow alleys twisted and overlapped, some so tight Shinji had to turn sideways to pass. Above them, suspended trains roared past, shaking the walls with their weight.
"All of this is underground?" Shinji asked.
"Under the visible surface," the man corrected.
"Nethra only shows what it wants to."
Shinji watched the people pass by. Some had obvious cybernetic implants. Others hid mechanical limbs beneath oversized clothes. No one paid him any attention.
"Do they know I'm not from this world?"
"No."
The man shrugged.
"And they wouldn't care."
That answer hurt more than Shinji expected.
"Here," the man continued,
"no one asks where you're from. Only how much you can take."
They passed a wall etched with symbols carved straight into the metal—some fresh, others barely visible.
"What are those?"
"Marks.
People who left. Or people who stopped existing."
A chill ran down Shinji's spine.
Inside his mind, Shini whispered:
"Nethra recycles everything. Even people."
That's comforting, Shinji thought dryly.
They stopped near a staircase leading even deeper. Heat rose from below, mixed with an orange glow.
"Down there," the man said,
"are those who lost everything.
Up above are those terrified of losing anything."
"And you?"
He stayed silent for a moment.
"I walk between."
Shinji nodded. He didn't fully understand—but he didn't reject it either.
They sat on the edge of a narrow platform. Below them, the city moved on, uncaring.
"Why tell me all this?" Shinji asked.
"Because you ask the right questions.
And because you haven't made your choice yet."
Shinji looked at his hands. They'd stopped shaking.
"If I stay here…"
he hesitated,
"will I become like them?"
The man stared out over the city.
"No."