Chapter 1—Luck

Airdrop detected in Scrapyard D.

Shadows spotted the sky as the storm of metal parts fell over the grey land. Nails cut like hail through the air, past the fluttering of torn clothing. The casings of rust littering the ground clamored as drops of iron bolts pattered against their hollow husks. Bombardments of steel pellets and chunks of ore dropped like fragments of a meteor, while battalions of screws and nuts marched to the quaking beat of the ground. Their echoes rung like drums of war, calling those near to action. Begin, the thunder of metal hollered; fight, it laughed, mocking them in their scramble for leftovers. Not that anyone around here would care. All they heard was the sound of falling coins.

Lost in the grey sea of Scrapyard D, Marco grabbed an adjacent sheet of alloy and used it as a makeshift umbrella to shield him from the iron hail. He should look for cover. But when he picked up the first sounds of collapsing piles of junk, he halted. The fighting had begun, yet the tremors were distant. Had he gotten further out than he realized? He didn’t know. The mind-numbing day of scavenging had made him completely lose track of his whereabouts.

Towers of scraps blocked his view. He needed to get a grasp on his situation before deciding what to do. Thus, he climbed the tallest hill of scrap in his vicinity. The quakings were still faint and shallow, but so were the foundations of the surrounding hills of debris. A pile of tires freed itself, barreling down towards him. He stepped behind a crate and waited out the avalanche of rubber boulders when the hill erupted like a volcano. Tremors shaved away its outer layer, sending a flood of metal down the slope as if it had turned into liquid.

Marco looked up. He didn’t see the ceiling of the dome, but the grey rain hadn’t ceased yet. He dropped his umbrella regardless, speeding up his climb as he stepped over a set of rolling pipes flecked with rust. Careful not to trip, he grabbed one which fit his hand. He raised his other arm, using his reinforced coat to protect his head. Debris and iron pattered against it, draining its shield points. But he’d be fine for now.

He leapt over a car riding the grey wave beneath it when his eyes caught a glimmer from above. A thin plate reflecting the light cut through the air towards him. He almost didn’t see it coming. A flat ringing joined the chorus of falling metal when he blocked it with his pipe in the nick of time. The plate bounced off, leaving a deep scratch behind on the pipe, together with a dull ache in his muscles.

He wanted to slap himself. It’d been a long day, but that was no excuse to space out, especially now. His hand reached for his belt, but it only found empty vials. Great. Out of potions. Had routine made him careless? He really deserved that slap, but this wasn’t the time.

His grip on the pipe tightened, and he reminded himself to replace it sooner rather than later. He’d reinforced his common clothing for the scrapyard, but that didn’t make him keen about testing their durability against razor-sharp edges; nor flip the coin on whether any edges would pierce through his shields.

Marco dodged what he could, blocking anything else he deemed risky while replacing his utensil with anything he could get his hands on until he reached the peak. He caught his breath at the top, grabbing another umbrella before taking a seat on a tire. It was the perfect spot, providing an excellent view of Scrapyard D as it descended into chaos.

Shouting powered through the roaring land, echoing as if some of the broken hardware was amplifying them. He saw droves of people swarming the place like sharks smelling blood in the waters, leaving the only entrance clogged as they chased after the items dropping from the ceiling.

Most of the discarded materials and items were broken beyond repair. Useless trash thrown in the garbage bin. Yet, he witnessed how people shed blood over those chipped blades and broken guns; broke bones and tore nerves apart in hopes to gain a little favor in the eyes of lady luck.

Because there were exceptions. Because who knew when she would smile for you? It could be never. It could be right now, at this, and only this, very moment. One lucky drop among the trash, and your life might change. Only one. However small the chance, they reached out for it, even if the previous hundreds of times had taught them otherwise.

The thought soured his mood, and he threw it out into the heaps of trash where it belonged. Focus. His surroundings seemed clear, but there was no guarantee. Perception was on the losing side against stealth; his being higher than average didn’t change that.

Physical Shield: 33/50

HP: 100/100 Mana: 0/0

Debuff:

Exhaustion [Lv. 4]

Marco looked at the bars squirming in the corner of his eyes. His exhaustion had risen to another level, and his earlier action had cost him seventeen shield points. Not great, not bad, but he couldn’t refill them until he was back at home, and fixed the damage to his clothing.

No one had attacked him while he stood in the open. His earlier hunch was likely correct. Without realizing it, the day’s scavenging must have led him into the outskirts of Scrapyard D. His luck. Airdrops were random in all aspects. When your chip implant warned you, everyone else had already gotten the same message. Too late for anyone to stack the odds in their favor. That privilege belonged to the whims of lady luck, and for once, Marco wouldn’t complain about that.

Or so he’d thought.

The metal rain had dwindled, leaving behind an additional layer of trash before it dissipated completely. If anyone was around, they’d proven enough of their patience for Marco to concede. He dropped his umbrella and hurried back down to grab some loot. He wouldn't be alone forever. All around him, he found materials and items galore with no one there to compete with him. He sucked them into the sack on his back like a vacuum cleaner on autopilot, his hands snagging up anything appearing worthwhile. Sorting them out could wait until later.

He pocketed vests with more holes than fabric, and gloves with missing fingers. The electrical chips had broken circuitry, and the chunks of metal included protrusions of half-molten nuts, bolts and screws. Anything with a surrounding grey hue that distinguished it from the trash beyond use found its way into his sack. The day had left it almost empty, but within minutes it was brimming with items.

His backpack was almost full when Marco took hold of a sword. To his surprise, the hilt didn’t come straight off, and when he inspected it, the blade appeared polished. He placed it at the higher end of the common-grade spectrum until he finally noticed the surrounding hue. It was different. Not that common grey that looked like it belonged in this dump, but a distinct, radiating whiteness. His brain lagged behind his chip in realizing this.

Unidentified item detected.

Analyzing structure...

Updating JunkNet's Public Database...

Update complete.

Added one natural-grade weapon.

Enhanced Steel Sword

(Item binds on equip)

Enhancement material:

Enchantment:

Grade: Natural

Durability: ?/100

Effects:

…

Equip the item for further information.

A pillar with a deep, ocean-blue light shot from the sword into the ceiling as if he'd lit a firework. It was an illusion created by the chip in his temple, but that didn't make it any less real. The purpose of the Loot Filter was to gauge all items by their worth, their power, their rarity, and more, in the shortest amount of time, assigning them a color for simplicity. Grey for common-grade, green for rare-grade, and blue for natural-grade items.

Marco stared at the pillar. He couldn't believe it. The richness of the light placed it among the best of its grade. He watched as it dyed the underground world into an ocean, creating a moment of silence, as if someone had pushed the pause button on the remote.

For an instant, the world seemed on hold, and he held the cause of it in his hand. This was the first time he'd witnessed the appearance of a natural-grade item in Junkyard, up close or afar. His hand held the opportunity of a lifetime you could only dream of. It was the beginning of all stories about the people who left this dump. A moment of luck that couldn't be bought, changing your fate. Once he equipped it, the light would disappear, and he'd become the hero of his own...

His body moved before his mind deluded him further. He gathered all of his strength into his arm and chucked the sword into the distance before turning the other way without looking back. That thing was a death sentence, and nothing else.

The pillar of light followed the sword. Their movement restarted the engine of chaos that had come to an unexpected, albeit short, halt. Marco released a breath he didn’t know he’d held and took to his heels. Thank the Goddess, I’m alone, he thought. If he wasn’t, anyone nearby would have already gunned him down before his hand even touched the hilt.

The sword’s existence was now public knowledge; not just in Scrapyard D, but in all of Junkyard. There was no way around that. Another natural-grade item had been added to the total amount. He’d have never imagined he’d be the one to find the next entry. Exhausted or not, that had been careless of him. But if he had anything left of his luck (and his luck be damned), the pillar would garner more attention than himself. Because if there was something Junkyard didn't lack, it was silly rumors.

Some of his loot spilled out from his sack, but he ignored it. Marco ran within the shadows of every pile of trash, making a detour as he headed for the exit. But as he’d feared, dozens of people began passing him by, some of which noticing him and his brimming backpack.

'Blues come in pairs. Each Blue comes in tow with dozens of Greens...' All false rumors. But the few hesitating might believe that. Marco loosened the sack on his back, revealing as much as he could of his common loot to those stopping. They exchanged grim gazes until the sudden movement of the blue pillar distracted them. It changed directions several times as gunshots echoed in the vicinity, together with rattling swords. Soon enough, no one cared about him any longer.

When Marco was half-way towards the exit, the light disappeared for the first time, increasing the uproar. The reappearance of it marked the first casualty of the day, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Either way, it wasn't his problem anymore.

He rested on his knees, gasping for air, and looked around him. It was as if a storm had passed through. Few bothered with the common items anymore, trampling over the leftovers as they headed for the flickering pillar of light. Their loss. Once he was mostly alone, Marco replaced what he’d lost earlier while also taking the time to examine his hauls. He threw out some of them, exchanging them with other common-grade items lying around. When he finished, his sack was as full as before, while the worth of it had doubled. Maybe it was his lucky day.

Another step closer, he thought, smiling, satisfied, until another thought dampened his spirits. Out of how many...? He’d rather not think about that, but his eyes searched for the blue pillar.

The loot on his back was worth months of scavenging for leftovers in a pile of leftovers. An almost futile search for what others might have overlooked during previous airdrops. It would be a long time before he’d make a progress like this again, standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Yet, all he’d done on this day was skip a few dozen steps of the tens of thousands ahead of him. No wonder everyone else chose to instead cling onto the faster method of leaving this rat-infested dump.

The unreliable and risky method, Marco reminded himself, shaking the last vestiges of doubts off his mind. But the notion clung, lingering in his thoughts and leading them astray with false promises. Progress would be faster. Great rewards came with greater risks. The chance was never zero.

All death flags of a gambler that reeked of unwarranted hope. But if he’d taken the sword...

No. Dangerous thoughts had no place here, and he repeated it to himself like a mantra. Patience, Marco. That’s what you’ve decided on. It's all you have left, and it’s all that you need.