Slums and the Loot -Re

The routine spectacle of Drunk people and the Pervasive stench of the slums that would make anyone who want to puke their guts out had long ceased to faze Steven. A Decade spent in this dystopian place had numbed him to the revolting aspects of daily life.

His journey into this bleak existence had begun abruptly with the the tragic Starfall that had claimed the lives of his parents and many more. 

After all Starfall was the event which shook the whole empire, various planets from small to big were hit by the attack, and trillion's of people died. 

Waking up in the aftermath, he found himself in one of the medical tents supporting soldiers. With no recollection of his identity or the whereabouts of his past. One of the Soldier form the Galactic Space Army of the Empire, engaged in the aftermath of the alien incursion, Discovered him in the ruined park within one of the destroyed districts.

A compassionate soldier, amidst the chaos of the aftermath. Picked him up and took him out of the front lines. Struggling with amnesia, he experienced a revelation of who he was from the dream on the first night after the incident. Yet, beyond this fragment of self-hood, his true identity remained as enigma. Memories of his parent's faces lingered but the essence of who he was and whether someone was out there looking for him remained elusive.

The incident had also wiped out planetary databases, leaving a void in distinguishing true natives from other species that had made this battered world their home. Number of species claimed to be the natives of the planet.

However verification hinged on the data from the Empire's main home planet, which is an elusive prospect shrouded in complexity and secrecy.

The only way to truly confirm who he is to enlist in the army. Only within the confines of the military bases or planets designated for military use could the necessary DNA and other tests be conducted to discern his origins. 

The army had saved his life by curing his Mana poisoning, extending a lifeline when a Soldier had brought him to the camp of the army, where they could treat it. As for the other hospitals they would not been able to save his life in time.

Yet, beyond the critical intervention, their capacity to assist him further was limited. 

On this planet where orphaned children were ubiquitous, particularly in the desolate slums, the grim reality of their existence persisted. 

Only the truly lucky children could get a chance to go to a orphanage and get new families. As for the others the harsh circumstances dictated a harsher truth even in death, their plight and suffering often went unnoticed. As societal indifference prevailed in the face of such widespread suffering. The lack of resources, which were already stretched and constrained, left Steven and other like him to navigate the unforgiving terrain of the slums, where the struggle for the life overshadowed any other meaningful intervention.

Surviving in the slums is tough, especially for a 16-year-old like Steven. When he first arrived, finding food was a struggle, and he came close to starving. His Hunger drove him to desperate measures, even trying to eat cockroaches, rats, and other native creatures that live in the slums just to stay alive. His lifeline came however in the form of a factory on the east side of the slums.

Realising that work at the factory was one of the few options for someone his age to earn some food, however, all he got was a pack of NutriMass, a liquid that tasted like the rotten meat of a rat and smelled the same, containing all the nutrients one would need to sustain their hunger nothing more nothing less.

 Life in the slums is perilous, especially for kids like Steven who can vanish if they end up in the wrong place. Each day poses a challenge as the pay for labor is meagre, making survival an uphill battle. He faced numerous struggles in the slums, one of them being the construction of the hut he now calls home. Using items he stumbled upon in the surroundings, he fought to build and survive in a makeshift shelter.

As he navigated the labyrinthine streets of the slums, a diverse array of people moved about, each representing a different species. Rags served as the common attire, a universal mark of the meagre existence shaded by the slum dwellers. 

Neon signboards adorned the makeshift stalls, offering an assortment of goods in exchange for NutriMass.

Vendors hawked various items. From metal pieces and salvaged equipment to discarded tool discarded by the more affluent (Rich). The atmosphere buzzed with activity, the marketplace a testament to the resourcefulness of those struggling to survive. Amidst the hustle, steam billowed from pipes protruding from different structures, an industrial symphony. That set the environment apart from the humble hut he lived in. 

In contrast to his improvised hut, these structures boasted amenities like electricity and water some establishments even offered meat of specially bred rodents, a luxury beyond his current budget constraints.

While walking toward the east side of the slums, he noticed a few drunk men snorting in a dim alley. A grin crept across his grimy face, a scavenger who had struck proverbial gold. The unspoken law of Finder's Keeper's prevailed, whatever you find or took from someone out cold was fair game. There was no contesting this rule, possessions were yours if you could defend them, and anyone wanting their stuff back had to be ready to fight for it.

Approaching cautiously, he checked if the drunk men were stirring. "Hello there old man, are you wake or planning on waking up soon??" he asked, gently nudging the old man's feet. With no responses , he went ahead liberating anything, useful he could find Among the discoveries, he found two tubes of NutriMass and a used condom.. The latter deemed unnecessary for the current him. 

Undeterred, he moved on tho the next unconscious men, repenting the routine to check for signs for waking. With no response, he seized the opportunity to loot, revealing a stroke of luck, a switch knife, which was crudely made. A gleeful exclamation escaped him, "Yes, I got lucky!!" the significance of having a means to protect himself was extremely important.

In the unforgiving environment of the slums, self-defence was paramount, and he understood the value of acquiring a weapon. The constant threat of betrayal in a community where survival of the fittest ruled, he had honed his instincts. Always on the lookout for a way to defend himself and attack when needed. He had become adept at reading people. Employing a facade of emotions and maintaining a poker face yo navigate the intricate web of trust and deception that defined the life of the slum dwellers. 

The harsh reality of the slums, he had grasped the importance of effectively wielding a knife for his survival. Although he had never killed someone with it, he had used it to scare off the others. 

He know if the need arises, hesitation could be fatal. 

Although crude he had developed his skills in the art of self-defence.

When he was 9, he had found a old man, who had taught him how to fight. He had asked for his advice and in the end he got it however it was in exchange of precious NutriMass that he had stored for tough times, that could have really helped him in the tough times later on. 

Although he had discovered that not everyone in the slums was ruthless. Some individuals extending a helping hand to the other around, providing them occasional support. The man who had taught him how to fight had been one of them although he had asked for something in return however the price was too cheap in front of what he had learned from him.

Steven would be internally grateful to that old man, after all he is the reason Steven had made it out of many fights and even won some of them. 

'May his sole rest In peace' Steven prayed in his heart. 

After robbing the two men, Steven looked around seeing if someone had noticed him or not and then he nimbly stood up and made his way out of the alley. And then he started to walk into a different direction in order to not let anyone follow him.

After that he made his way towards his intened destination. Approximately 10 min later, he stood before a 3 story shabby building that looked gloomy and had thick smock coming out of it. This was the factory that he worked at. It was a S.A factory which is for creating a Synthetic Alcohol, sold for really cheap prices among the different areas of the slums and the districts around the slums.

Steven stood in the line in front of the gate of the factory, where old and young people alike in rags stood in-order to get some NutriMass for their labor.

As the line moved forward he soon found himself in front of the area the registration was happening.

"Name and age" a man who had a transparent glass tablet in hand asked, "Steven, 16" Steven replied, not a hint of emotion in his eyes. 

"Look at the dot on the wall" The man commanded, and Steven followed his command, looking at the dot, which was a small camera used to keep record of the people that were working in the factory. 

A red laser scanned his face and a green light flashed on the transparent tablet held by the guy responsible for the registration..

A door slid opened in front of Steven and he calmly walked though ready for the 5 hour shift at the factory for 1 tube for NutriMass.

****

After putting in a five-hour shift at the factory, Steven walked away with one tube of NutriMass to fill his stomach, he ate some of it filling his stomach some what and thought about storing the other half for tough times, however he had looted 2 tubes form the drunk man earlier in the day so he kept on nibbling onto the tube, sucking onto it with small bytes. He didn't like that taste but he didn't want to get a backlash after eating too much after a long time.

 While walking through the slums, his gaze was drawn to this distant wall which separated the Slums form the other districts. And the long towers that were beyond that.

The people that lived on the other side of the slums were considerably richer in comparison to the people who lived in the slums.

Although they were not as rich as the people that lived closer to the bit towers, they were rich enough that they could start up a family or feed themselves proper if they do some work.

As for the people that lived in the towers.

All they wanted would be given to them in a silver platter, after all everything they wanted they can buy it all. 

He often found himself pondering whether a life free form constant struggle was within his reach. The prospect of reaching a point where desire weren't filled with a fight for his survival . His yearning to explore the world outside of the walls also came to him mind. 

{Author: Lol its like I am writing AOT script there}

To journey to the other side, one needed to go through many obstacles. It wasn't a straightforward path. Crossing the walls demanded either a financial investment to make a sort of identity which was unique for every district or to slip a bribe to the guards without undergoing the id Scans. 

Unfortunately he had nothing and the concept of money remained foreign to him. The slums, where he lived were situated atop the battlefield where the Starfall occurred on the planet. The Safety of allowing people to leave this area was questionable due to potential exposure to different bacteria and diseases. 

The Mines where workers sought alien tech in the aftermath of the Starfall, posed health risks. Many who worked there fell ill and often died, despite the attractive pay. The age restriction of 18+ barred him from joining the expedition and he recognised that he would be a hindrance.

The mines were located in a sealed area, a precaution to prevent the leakage of radiation or harmful Mana. The consequences of such a leak would be catastrophic, potentially resulting in the death or mutation of thousands of people into monstrous entities. The stringent measures reflected the grave risk associated with the remnants of Starfall and extraterrestrial technology scattered across the underground.

When he would be reaching the age of 18, he envisioned a future where he could join the workforce in the mines, earning a decent wage, at the point the likelihood of a sudden mutation or harmful effects from radiation or mana exposure would presumably be reduced or so he thinks.

Startled from his thoughts he noticed something from in his peripheral vision. Swiftly, he turned into an alley, weaving through the maze of small passages behind buildings to avoiding drawing attention from the people on the street.

Navigating the labyrinth of alleys he arrived at the spot where he had glimpsed a man laying on the ground.

The man, obscured by the shadows seemed to be unconscious, likely form excessive drinking. Steven approached cautiously, taking quite steps. As he drew near, he observed the man who was different from the typically rag-clad individuals in the slums. Instead, the man wore black cloths, now damp and stained form the puddle he lay in with a bad in hand which he was holding with both his hands.

In the dimly lit alley, He struggled to get a clear view of the man. Nevertheless, he cautiously approached, ensuring minimal noise. 

Crouching down beside the man, he spoke, "hello?" gently poking the man's cheek, in the darkness, he received an unexpected wet substance on his finger.

Curious, he rubbed his fingers together, trying to discern the nature of the dark and sticky substance. He quietly rubbed the substance on the cloths of the man.

Carefully lifting the man's arms, Steven silently retrieved the bag and placed it on the dry ground. He proceeded to explore the man's pockets. In one of them he found a card featuring a spider emblem, promptly placing it in the bag.

Continuing his search, he opened the man's small coat, only to be met with a chilling sight.

Frozen in place, Steven Observed three burned holes in the man's Stomach.

Examining the burnt holes, he noticed their grisly details see through, crispy seared. Blood still seeping form the parts of the wounds that hadn't been fully burned, soaking the man's cloths, Steven's gazed down at the pool forming around him. The chilling realisation settling in.

The man, laying lifeless in his own pool of blood, the darkness of the alley seemed to deepen upon this realisation. 

Attempting to stand up, Steven stumbled and fell into the pool of blood, his hands and the rags that he had been wearing were now stained with the crimson blood of the man. The feeling of the warm, sticky substance clinging to him intensified the gravity of the situation.