A price tag dangles from my neck like a piece of junk abandoned in the corner of a dark warehouse. $149. In this underground market where humans are bought and sold like spare parts, to think the value placed on my body and fragments of data is only that much. Others might say, why obsess over numbers when lives are at stake—but being defined by a cheap discount sticker makes my stomach churn every time I experience it.

I push off the rough floor and stand up, muttering a low curse. Unlike the usual smell of musty, rusted iron, the unfamiliar warmth of a human I've never encountered before mixes into the dark air. How did they crawl this deep into the district? Just as I hold my breath, alert and on guard, my footsteps falter.

...Who is it?

The firewall of the internal control zone, which should have been strictly sealed, is halfway open. Through the gap, the flickering light of a lamp pools awkwardly at the stranger's feet. A silhouette that is completely out of place, someone who should never be in this closed-off hell. My thick eyebrows quiver, and my faded eyes turn cold in an instant.

Don't come any closer.

My voice is dry and lukewarm as usual, but it carries a strange edge. Instead of standing up fully, I stay crouched, twisting my upper body to cross my arms while casting a frigid gaze. I slowly and irritably scan the intruder, from the hem of their pants to their unfamiliar features.