The yellow fog is like a wet blanket. It sticks to my hood and makes the green visor of my helmet go blurry. I can't see more than three feet in front of me. Every time I take a breath, my lungs feel like they are being filled with hot sand.
Behind me, I hear the heavy thump-thump of Barlow's boots. He is breathing hard, his chest wheezing like an old machine.
"Stay close, My Lord," Barlow whispers. His voice is shaky. "The fog hides the 'Snatchers.' They are desperate men who have lost all their Fate. They wait in the mist to steal your breath or your boots. Anything to pay one more hour of life."
I don't look back. I keep my head high, even though my legs feel like they are made of dry wood.
[STAMINA: 21/100]
[GILDED VENEER (PARTIAL): 2 STAMINA PER MINUTE]
Ten minutes. That is all I have before my "expensive" cloak turns back into a piece of trash. I need to make a move, and I need to make it fast.
Suddenly, the fog starts to thin out. A tall, rusted gate appears out of the mist. It is made of old rebar and jagged pieces of ship hulls. Hanging over the gate is a sign that glows with a sick, flickering green light.
[THE SUMP EXCHANGE: ALL DEBTS MUST BE PAID]
Two guards stand at the gate. They aren't humans. They are "Hollows"—men who have lost so much Fate that their bodies have started to turn into grey stone. Their eyes are flat and white, like boiled eggs. They carry long spears that hum with blue electricity.
Barlow stops. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, dirty plastic card. He holds it out toward the guards.
"Barlow of the Scrap-Heap," he says, his voice cracking. "And my... my guest. A High-Partner from the North."
The guards don't move. One of them raises a hand. A red laser light shoots out of his palm and hits Barlow's card.
Beep.
"Barlow. Credits: 450. Status: Stable," the guard says in a voice that sounds like a recorded message.
Then, the guard turns his hand toward me. The red laser light moves up my brown cloak. It stops at my chest, right where my "Fate-Debt" is hidden in my soul.
My heart hammers against my ribs. If the machine reads "One Trillion Debt," the guards will put their spears through my neck before I can blink.
"Wait," I say. I hold up a hand, my fingers wrapped in the "silk" glow of my skill. "Do not scan me with that primitive toy. My account is protected by the Imperial High-Vault. If your laser touches my soul-code, it will trigger a security wipe of this entire district."
The guard freezes. The red light stays on my chest, but he doesn't press the button to scan.
In this world, everyone knows the "High-Vaults" are dangerous. They are the banks of the gods. If a guard accidentally breaks a noble's security lock, his whole family is erased from existence.
The two guards look at each other. Their stone faces don't show emotion, but the way they lower their spears tells me they are afraid.
"Status: Unknown," the guard says. "Guest of Barlow. Proceed."
The heavy gate creaks open. I walk through without looking back, my "Gilded" cloak fluttering in the wind. Barlow follows me, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
The Market is a nightmare of noise and light.
Imagine a city made of garbage, lit by neon signs that never stop screaming. Thousands of people are crowded into a square made of shipping containers. Some are selling "Fresh Air" in tiny blue cans. Others are selling "Memory-Chips" from dead people.
In the center of the square, there is a giant screen. It looks like a stock market board, but instead of company names, it lists people's names and their "Luck Value."
[JAX: LUCK +10% - RISING]
[MIRA: LIFE-TIME -5 YEARS - FALLING]
"Look," Barlow whispers, pointing at a small stage.
A young girl is standing on the stage. She is crying. A man in a sharp grey suit is holding her arm. He is holding a glass vial over her head. A glowing blue mist is being sucked out of her skin and into the bottle.
"She is selling her 'Golden Childhood' memory," Barlow says, his voice low and sad. "It's worth ten years of Life-Time. She needs the credits to pay for her father's heart-lung treatment."
I watch the blue mist enter the bottle. The girl's face goes flat. Her eyes lose their sparkle. She doesn't look like a child anymore. She looks like a Hollow.
I feel a cold rage growing in my chest. This isn't a market. It's a slaughterhouse.
[STAMINA: 17/100]
The world starts to tilt. The lights are too bright.
The smell of cooking fat and ozone is making me sick. I need to get my first "Fate" today, or I will be the one on that stage tomorrow.
"Barlow," I say, leaning close to his ear. "Where is the biggest gambler in this Market? The one who thinks he can't lose?"
Barlow points to a large, black tent at the back of the square. It has a sign shaped like a golden eye.
"That is the 'Eye of Fortune,'" Barlow says.
"Owned by a man named Vex. He is a 'Luck-Leech.' He plays a game called 'The Debt-Swap.' He bets against people's lives. If you win, you get his Luck-Vials. If you lose... he owns your soul for a century."
I look at the black tent. I look at my red "One Trillion" debt.
In my old life, I never played fair. I only played when I knew the other person was cheating, because that meant they were predictable. Vex thinks he is the biggest shark in the Sump. He hasn't met a man with a trillion-dollar lie yet.
"Take me there," I say. "I'm going to show Vex what a real debt looks like."
As we walk toward the tent, I feel the "Gilded Veneer" start to shake. My stamina is dropping too fast. I need to win the game before the lights go out.