Mangaratiba city, December 25, 2206.
The water in the plastic basin was grey. It had likely been used to wash clothes earlier in the week, then perhaps to rinse vegetables—if anyone could afford vegetables—and now, it was Leon's turn to wash his face.
He splashed the tepid, cloudy liquid onto his skin, scrubbing away the grime of a day spent digging through the technological graveyards of the coast. He grabbed a rag that was more hole than fabric and dried himself, then looked into the cracked shard of mirror he had taped to the wall of his rented cubicle.
The face staring back was unremarkable. Just another scavenger. His skin, naturally fair, had been cooked by the relentless tropical sun until it held a permanent, bronzed shine. His dark hair was a mess of curls, stiff and textured from the constant assault of the salty, moist wind blowing off the ocean. His eyes, a light brown tone that kind of went well with the rest of his characteristics, giving him at least some semblance of warmth in a face that was usually too tired to show it.
He had lived in Mangaratiba since he was sixteen, alone in this box that smelled of mildew and heated plastic. The rent was low, at least, but calling it a flat was exaggeration.
He survived on the margins, buying, recuperating, and selling things that the rest of the world had decided were garbage.
Sometimes, when the pickings on the mainland were too slim, he risked the crossing to Jaguanum Island or even the forbidden perimeter of Ilha Grande to try his luck.
Today was December 25th.
History books said that many years ago, this day was celebrated. People exchanged gifts, ate feasts, and gathered with families.
They called it Christmas. Now, it was just Tuesday.
It was also his nineteenth birthday.
Leon stared at his reflection for a moment longer, then turned away. It didn't matter. He had no family to celebrate with, no parents to remember him. He was just a ghost haunting the edges of a dying civilization.
He stepped out of his cubicle into the narrow, crowded hallway of the tenement.
"Leon, my boy!"
A frail hand reached out from a doorway. It was Dona Olivia, an eighty-something-year-old woman confined to a rusted wheelchair.
The government had stopped processing credit support for the elderly a decade ago; they were just expected to fade away quietly.
"Good evening, Dona Olivia," Leon smiled, the expression genuine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sealed packet of synthetic painkillers he had found in a crashed delivery drone the day before.
"Found this. For your knees."
Her eyes watered. She had no credits to pay him, and he didn't ask for any.
Further down the hall, Mister Antonio was struggling to lift a heavy crate of tools onto the back of his ancient, electric-powered cart. He had a family of five to feed—three kids and his wife, Miss Ana.
"Let me get that, Tio," Leon said, stepping in. He hefted the crate with the ease of someone who moved scrap metal for a living, sliding it perfectly into place.
"You're a lifesaver, kid," Antonio grunted, wiping sweat from his brow.
From the window, Miss Ana leaned out, handing Leon a small bundle wrapped in oil paper. "Take it, Leon. Fresh batch. Don't ask where the flour came from."
Leon took the snack. It was heavy, doughy, and the flour was almost certainly mixed with sawdust or processed insect protein, but it was warm.
He walked back to his room, eating the questionable snack in the dark. He checked his account balance on his wrist-pad: 15 credits. Not even enough to pay the next month of rent.
He had worked all day yesterday. He had given away his best find to an old lady. He had made absolutely no profit.
As he lay on his thin mattress, listening to the wind rattle the corrugated walls, he realized something about himself. He spent his life looking for value in broken things—in trash, in scrap, in ruins.
But in the end, looking at those biscuits in his hands, it seemed he still valued people the most.
And that was probably why he was always going to be poor.
Present Day - Ilha Grande
"Trade Post Alpha," Briana whispered, staring at the holographic display like it was a religious icon.
Leon stepped closer. The glass front of the machine was spotless. Inside, rotating on suspended magnetic fields, were items that belonged in the museums of the old world—or the private pantries of the ultra-rich.
Leon tried to approach its surface with the cable, but it refused it like if there was a force field pushing it back.
"Strange, maybe this is too much for us to try breaking into its defenses now, let's check it out at least…" said Layla, seemingly disappointed.
There were cans of soda—brightly colored aluminum cylinders promising sugar and carbonation. There were vacuum-sealed packages of real stew. There were energy drinks.
And there was water. Crystal clear, bottled water.
Leon pressed his hand against the glass. A price list scrolled down the holographic interface.
[ Pure Aqua (390ml) - 100 Credits ]
[ High-Protein Meal (Beef Flavor) - 500 Credits ]
[ Carbonated Cola (250ml) - 350 Credits ]
"One hundred credits for water?" Briana gasped. "That's... that's outrageous. In the city, a hundred credits is much more than a month's rent in the slums."
"Inflation is a bitch during the apocalypse," Leon muttered. He tapped the account balance icon in the corner of the screen.
[ PLAYER BALANCE: 0 Credits ]
"My old world credits..." Leon sighed, shoulders slumping. "I had... well, I didn't have much, but I had something. It didn't transfer."
"The System does not seem to recognize currency from fallen governments," Layla stated in his head, her tone matter-of-fact. "It has its own economy. We are currently destitute."
Leon kicked the dirt. "Great. So we found a supermarket in hell, and we're too broke to shop."
"We cannot buy," Layla noted, "but look at the bottom slot. The interface indicates a bi-directional exchange protocol."
Leon looked down. Below the dispensing tray, there was a drawer labeled [ VALUE APPRAISAL / SELL ].
"We can sell things?" Leon asked.
Leon hesitated. He reached into his pack and his hand brushed the cool, pulsing skin of the Adrenaline-bulb.
"You want me to sell the fruit?" Leon whispered.
"No!" Briana interjected, seeing what he was holding. "Leon, that thing... you said it makes you strong. It stops the fear. What if a Beast comes? What if we need it?"
"We do need it," Leon agreed, looking at the crimson fruit. "This is a Rare-tier combat item. It could save our lives."
"Starvation will kill us with 100% certainty," Layla countered, her logic cutting through the sentiment. "A combat drug is situational. Dehydration is immediate. We have the straw, but it's degrading, and we have no food. You cannot fight the Beasts if your body creates no energy."
Leon looked at Briana. She was gaunt. Her lips were chapped. The Burst-Step Greaves took a toll on her calorie reserves every time she used them.
"We're hungry," Leon said firmly. "And we can't eat adrenaline."
He placed the Adrenaline-bulb into the drawer. The machine whirred. A scanner beam swept over the fruit.
[ CALCULATING VALUE... ]
Numbers began to tick up on the screen.
100...
500...
1200...
"Go on," Leon whispered.
[ FINAL APPRAISAL: 2,000 Credits ]
[ NOTE: Value depreciated due to improper storage. Item is currently unrefrigerated and suffering rapid decay. Edibility rating: Low. ]
"Two thousand?" Briana's jaw dropped. "For one fruit? That's... that's insane!"
"It was probably worth more than five thousand if it was fresh," Layla grumbled. "We let it rot in your backpack. Still... 2,000 is sufficient."
Leon hit [ CONFIRM SALE ].
The balance updated. [ 2,000 Credits ].
"Okay," Leon breathed, feeling rich for the first time in his life. "Shopping spree."
He didn't look at the soda. He didn't look at the candy.
"Two High-Protein Meals," Leon ordered, tapping the screen. "Beef flavor. The good stuff."
-1,000 Credits.
Two heavy, warm packages dropped into the dispenser.
"And water," Leon said. "Lots of it."
He tapped the water bottle icon ten times.
-1,000 Credits.
[ BALANCE: 0 Credits ]
Ten bottles of cold, clear water tumbled down.
Leon grabbed the loot. He tossed a meal pack to Briana, then five bottles of water.
She caught them, looking at the food like it was gold.
"Eat," Leon said, tearing open his own package.
The "meat" was a processed block of brown protein, but to Leon, it tasted like the finest steakhouse in the old capital. It was salty, savory, and rich. He ate it in three bites, then downed half a bottle of water in one go.
"Better?" he asked.
"Better," Briana smiled, wiping sauce from her chin. "Much better."
Leon turned back to the machine to close the interface. As soon as the window vanished, the air around them shimmered.
PING!
A new window appeared, hovering between Leon and Briana.
[ SECRET MISSION ACCOMPLISHED: THE PIONEERS ]
The clumsy, overly enthusiastic male voice returned, booming in Leon's ears.
"Oh, look at you two! Big spenders! Capitalism really does survive everything, doesn't it?"
[ CONDITIONS MET: ]
[ 1. Be among the first 10,000 humans to locate a Trade Post. (Rank: #8389 and #8390) ]
[ 2. Unveil at least 3 System Rules. ]
"You guys are moving up in the world!" the voice laughed. "Most people are still crying in the bushes, and you're out here doing commerce! I'm so proud I could almost cry. Almost."
[ REWARD UNLOCKED: EARLY ACCESS - MISSION SYSTEM ]
"Since you're so eager to get things done," the voice continued, "I'm giving you a head start. Beginning now, before day 7. No more wandering around aimlessly! Now you get a 'To-Do' list. Have fun you two! Try not to spend it all in one place... oh wait, you already did! HA!"
Then again, a window appeared with a chaotic urgency:
[ MISSION ALERT: ESCAPE FROM ILHA GRANDE ]
[ BRIEFING: ]
Leon's system voice sounded overjoyed.
"Tick-tock, campers! You've had your snacks, you've spent your money, but the vacation is officially OVER. You have exactly 24 hours to get your butts off this rock before the 'Junkyard Inferno' difficulty setting kicks in. Spoiler alert: It involves a lot more teeth and significantly less breathing!"
[ MAIN OBJECTIVE: ]
"Reach the 'so desired' Extraction Point at Abraão Docks and secure transport to the mainland."
[ DEADLINE: 23:59:59 ]
[ FAILURE PENALTY: ]
"3x acceleration of Beasts' mutation process in this sector. And probably a very painful death…"
[ REWARD: ]
[• 1x Special Gift Box ]
[• 1,000 Credits]
Leon stared at the floating window, the countdown timer already ticking away aggressively in the corner:
[ 23:59:58... 57… ]
"It knows where we're going," Briana whispered, clutching her water bottle. "It knows about the docks."
"It knows more than that," Layla's voice interjected, cool and analytical in Leon's mind. "I managed to catch a glimpse of the raw logic thread for a microsecond before the interface layer encrypted it and slapped that ridiculous text over it."
"And?" Leon asked, shouldering his pack.
"It's fascinating architecture", Layla observed. "The System didn't randomly generate this objective. It scanned your neural patterns—specifically the hippocampus and the prefrontal cortex. It read your current stress factors, your immediate desires, and your calculated trajectory."
She paused, humming with digital curiosity.
"It doesn't create new paths, Leon. It aligns with your current reality. It takes what you were already desperate to do—survive and escape—and wraps it in a 'Quest' structure to force engagement. It gamifies your own desperation so you feel like you're playing, even when you're just running for your life. Another bait to get people out of their comfort zones."
Leon looked at the timer again.[ 23:59:30. ]
"Well," Leon muttered. "If it wants to pay me a thousand credits to do what I was going to do anyway... who am I to argue?"
He turned to Briana, his face set in a grim smile.
"Mission System, huh," he muttered. "Great. Now we have homework."