'PERSPECTIVE: 137-115'

  'CODEWORD: FOUND'

  It's not everyday you go out of your way to keep an outskirts den standing, but now and then it's good to do a little good. Even though it may mean nothing in the end, you know? When you're a scrapper it only takes a moment, and that causes everything before to be your last chance.

  Luckily, dens out this far are cheap on water and oxygen, which makes my life a bit easier. Besides there's less competition in general. Otherwise, this wouldn't be worth it and I probably wouldn't be here anyway. Does that make me greedy?

  No, it makes me logical.

  It's bleak but, try to survive while you're 'helping' someone, even if it means not helping them. Even so, dens out here don't survive too long for a reason, it's because they aren't logical. Setting up so far out from the centre just means acid rain.

  Acid rain, especially on the outskirts, means your den is going to collapse in on itself. No spires to protect you out there, not to mention the heaps are scarce. The only plus side is that it's not too claustrophobic, though you get used to tight spaces in scrapping.

  Though the outskirts aren't the worst of it, the acid rain certainly doesn't make it premiere real estate. I suppose you could be in the tunnels, and I hear the spires aren't too liveable either- well this entire fucking planet is unliveable, and I don't even have someone to blame.

  That's the worse part.

  I wander down one of the tunnels, it's only slightly more disgusting than usual; there was metallic slime leaking down the walls, metal chips littered the floor- making each step sound like crunching glass, even in the dark. The shadows couldn't even hide the harsh rotten brown.

  The acid leaks through the cracks, slowly undermining the structure of the place, the only ones spared are the ones too far down for the rain to reach, but that comes with its own caveats. Wouldn't want to be a tunnel dweller, destined to be a rust-buckets sharpener.

  On top of being humid enough to make me hate the sound of my own air filter, these places carry fumes which kill. Otherwise they can blind your senses in ways you don't want a skinny long tunnel to. Practically asking to be shot.

  The lack of lighting is preferable though, not many people have a multi-vision, let alone one that properly functions. Problem with the inner-sector tunnels- they light you up like it's you're fucking birthday, and the gifts a clear shot to your dome.

  I poke my head out the tunnel, each turn my gun followed my head. This area has no roofing, so sound wasn't one to trust round here. If there's one thing you learn as a scrapper, it's to always keep your gun ahead of yourself.

  Always.

  If you make an exception, it could well mean your death, trust me on that. Though no threat presented itself, for now. But anything could be there, from a raider to a rust-bucket. There's no shortage of monsters ready to spill your blood, or oil, I don't judge.

  The rain annoyingly taps against my helmet, and slid off the material covering it. You're no good a scrapper if you aren't prepared to be caught in acid rain, a good cloak and hood of- well, I don't know what this stuff in made of, I stole it. But it works and that's what matters.

  The rain filtered the usual noise of tapping metal, crackling glass, and distant falling debris as it rips through any support structure it can slide into. I continue unimpeded until I come to the grate bridge which leads across a cart chasm.

  These right here, these are killers. Amazing to deter raiders, as much a scrapper- though I'm no stranger to doing something stupid, for something that isn't worth it.

  It's just a special trait of mine, I guess.

  Out this far most of them are unusable and are really just a nuisance- if not a sort of moat, though near the centre they make travel, trade, and tariffs so much easier. I've never seen a cart operate this far out, just sounds like a recipe for raiders.

  Speaking of raiders, managed to creep past a group of those fuckers. Once I drop off my shit I'm legging out of this sector, that den is probably in for a surprise. If I even bother warning them they might try to hire me to protect them, but I'm not into protecting outskirt dens, or dens in general.

  Each step I took it shook terribly, and seemed to whine the closer I got to the middle. My confidence in this was quickly fading, always throw something useless and heavy before you cross one of these bad boys- a note to remember.

  Could be a slab of concrete, a gun with no ammo, a body- your choice.

  Luckily I crossed without dying, and from there it's an open path leading into a skinny archway, though it was painted in the usual rotting green and brown of metal, it was solid. You know it's solid when it doesn't have holes in it yet.

  From this point you could look backward a see the remaining spires of this place. The clouds which distributed the liquid death were quite nicely parted, leaving good room to witness the two celestial bodies in the black sky.

  By far the largest one was a nice barren red, which is what this entire place should've looked, I guess- maybe they had more style. No they didn't. Otherwise it wouldn't have ended up like this.

  The second was a nice cold blue, well it would be nice if I weren't also freezing my ass of at this rate. I guess I can't complain, I hear space is pretty cold too, though that's a story for a better time isn't it?

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  Though in times like this, you're allowed to point a gun away from your sight, the nearest possible doorway will do. There is no such thing as too careful, but there is certainly such a thing as too distracted, or too comfortable.

  Anyhow, here was a nice lip of roofing over the acid rain, and it's where I usually rested once coming back from trips back to this shit hole. A nice comfy seat on a cold, wet, rotting slab of some mixture of polymer, concrete and metal.

  I twist my gun across my lap to point toward the thin archway ahead, and looked back down the tunnel I had come from, got to make sure no-ones nearby obviously. I reach into my side satchel, pulling out a nice capsule of water.

  I insert it in the centre of my filtration mask, once done it efficiently pumps water down my throat. It's not a pleasant experience, and you have to be prepared for it, or you might just choke on it.

  If it weren't so expensive, it would probably hurt less to drink.

  In the middle of my refreshing drink I hear a distinct tapping of metal from the archway, I almost dropped my capsule as a result. I compose my drinking hand, placing it slowly to my side- instinctively my gun pointed at the archway.

  There was an uncomfortable amount of silence, for an extreme amount of time. I should've worn my multi-vision, I got comfortable- too comfortable. This could really be anything, even from the direction of the den, an unknown is always deadly.

  There is no such thing as too careful.

  My finger tensed over the trigger, and I was about to pull it; a podling steps out of the shadow. Outside of the den? I guess it wouldn't be uncommon to throw runts out in a place like this. Anything to save feeding a useless mouth, or a thieving one.

  He came out with his hands clasped, and I half expected him to be holding a weapon. Basic practice in conversation, if both are armed, both are equal. Though too my surprise, he wasn't holding anything.

  Oh, that makes sense, he's retarded.

  Though I'm not a podling predator, what do I look like? A reaver? No, I slide my gun away from pointing at him, it wasn't even worth considering him a threat. In a situation like this it's best to treat these guys as something of a rodent, or a bug- probably not worth wasting ammo on.

  I flicked my gun at him, attempting to signal to the little shit to scram, but for some reason he took it as some form of invitation.

  He quickly scuttled through the rain, which if only for a tiny bit managed to burn a fair portion of him- only surface level, he'll live. Though one of his legs were mechanical, which is rare for a podling, wasting a leg on someone so early- that's just, well I don't know what it is.

  He sat down next to me, and he irritatingly began to inch closer and closer- like he was trying to siphon warmth from a distance. Though I was not satisfied with the outcome, it wasn't the end of the world;

  "Don't get too close I'm covered in rain." I instinctively warned,

  Immediately following my statement, I had realised the grave mistake I had just made, because I just proved to this rat that I don't want him to get hurt. Hopefully the static muffling of my voice through the filtration made me intimidating enough for him to think twice.

  What am I saying? He's stupid enough to get kicked out the den, he's stupid enough to try to steal off someone with a firearm.

  A couple minutes passed in silence, except for the multiple times he looked over my lap to the water capsule on the other side of me - besides that it was quite nice. He wouldn't live till tomorrow unless the den lets him back.

  No point giving the dead trinkets. They won't take it with them.

  "Can I have some? Some water." He sheepishly whispered,

  I thought I was hearing something for a second. But then I realised, he can talk? Well, obviously kids can talk, but usually it takes them a while to get it right. Especially a coherent sentence, I swear, it's easier to talk to one of those damn rust-bucket doors.

  "What?" I sternly reply,

  This time I expect for him to shut up, I'm being courteous enough by letting him even witness my water capsule, but give it to him? Not happening.

  "I'm thirsty. Please?" He politely squeaked,

  What the fuck? What is this?

  Am I hallucinating? I guess that's par for the course- but in what sector does a podling, get kicked out of their den, have a mechanical limb, and have manners? Not this fucking sector, that's for certain.

  I turned to him, which was the first time I had acknowledge someone outside of a den without pointing my weapon at them in- well, probably a decade. But I was monumentally confused at this point, and somewhat curious.

  "This some sorta' con runt?" I half-heartedly ask,

  "No?" He meekly replied,

  "Like sitting in acid rain? Why ain't you in the den, little rat?" I sarcastically solicit,

  He didn't answer immediately, looking away from me like he was contemplating his next few words. Does this kid really think I'm going to give him something? For free? Doubt he's selling the leg either, I guess he won't need it soon though.

  "I took some food. And, they kicked me out. But, I needed it." He shyly claimed,

  "Like you need my water? Sure, if you can buy it off me, ye' rat." I rudely respond,

  It was clear he was cold, seems the humidity of the acid died down enough, the night weathers taken charge again. Each exhale shoots out a puff of smoke, and the podling shook incessantly. He was going to die of the cold out here.

  "I don't have anything. Please, I only want a sip, I'll give it back." He annoyingly begged,

  I couldn't help but sigh. Although, through my filtration it probably sounded like frustration, this was what gets you killed out here. Every drip of water, every breath of oxygen, every bullet- it all matters to the highest degree.

  But, so does life, doesn't it? Maybe.

  I swing over my half-empty capsule to him, which he stared at in pure disbelief for a couple of moments, before then greedily taking it from my hand. But I had to make sure of one thing;

  "Drink all of it and I'll kill you, runt." I harshly state,

  "Yes sir!" He enthusiastically replied,

  After which he took three short sips, didn't even drink as much as I expected. Give a podling anything edible and they'll usually guzzle it down before you regret it. Also, 'sir'? Where the fuck are the podlings who act like this? Well here clearly- but where are the rest?

  He politely gave it back to me, before going back to half-freezing to death beside me, which was starting to make me think he was content to die next to me- because I saved him from dying of thirst, which would've got him after he froze to death.

  Strange.

  "Go back the den runt, this ain't a place for podlings." I dispassionately recommend,

  "They won't let me back in. And I'm not a podling." He solemnly responded,

  A podlings just a kid, but most are grown in pods- I think it's something to do with disease, but I ain't no doctor.

  A natural birth practically has a one in one million chance of shooting out something breathing, let alone functioning.

  "Yeah? And I ain't a scrapper, you'll be dead in a couple hours at this rate." I coldly remarked,

  He just looked at me, with those eyes- you know the ones, when they're trying to hide the fact that they don't want to die. Hiding that somehow they're able to stare death in the face and it doesn't bother them.

  It bothers everyone. Eventually you just get used to being bothered.

  "I'll make them an exception then. Come on, before the rain starts again." I promptly command,

  "What? O- Ok!" He replied, clearly startled,

  My firearm led the way as per usual, and the runt followed behind me with great enthusiasm. It's always honestly a better feeling than walking alone, though I had to make sure he wasn't doing anything behind my back, just in case.

  Unfortunately trust isn't something a scrapper can afford.

  There's something telling me that I've just made a terrible mistake, but a scrapper can make a thousand mistakes and survive. I guess it only takes one to die, but what's another roll of the dice on a scrappers life?

  Probably not even worth an aluminium slip.