Hearts of the Neon Sky

The sky above Sector 9 was a cracked mirror of neon and smog, flickering with static from the failing weather shields. Celia wiped the grease from her hands with an old rag that used to be a T-shirt, then tossed it over her shoulder. Her day had already been long, filled with dead batteries, busted exhausts, and one particularly rude scavenger who tried to pay her with expired ration chips. Then the sky ripped open. The ship was sleek, silver, and spiraling toward the scrapyard like a drunken star. Celia stood frozen for exactly three seconds before her survival instincts kicked in.

She ducked behind the rusted frame of an old hover truck as the ship smashed into the ground just meters away, sending dust and sparks into the air. A high-pitched alarm echoed across the yard. The ship's door hissed open. Celia crept closer, wrench in hand. She was not about to be blown up by some rich-boy death trap. But when the smoke cleared, the figure that emerged was not a soldier or a scavenger. It was a guy. A stupidly tall guy in a tailored coat that probably cost more than her entire shop. His hair was perfectly tousled, and his expression? Dazed and slightly annoyed. "Ugh," he groaned. "That landing was suboptimal." Celia blinked. "Suboptimal? You nearly took out half my yard, you fancy space clown!" He looked around, as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. His nose wrinkled. "Where... am I?" "Lower Nine," she said, arms crossed. "Home of the unwanted, the unwashed, and now, apparently, crash-landed morons." He coughed. "I'm Lawrence. Lawrence Everen." Celia narrowed her eyes. Everen? As in the Everens who ran the entire upper-tier tech grid? "Well, Lawrence," she said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him toward her garage, "if you want to survive more than an hour down here, you're going to need a lot more than good cheekbones." And just like that, the mechanic and the elite were tangled in something neither of them understood yet-but the sparks had already started to fly. Oil, Secrets, and a Bloody Nose; Lawrence Everen sat on the edge of Celia's workbench, blinking as she dabbed a cold cloth to the side of his face. His once-immaculate coat had been thrown into a pile, revealing a black shirt stained with smoke and what might've been designer embarrassment. "You're lucky your face didn't break the windshield," Celia muttered, shaking her head. "Trust me," Lawrence said through clenched teeth, "the windshield's loss would have been far greater." She rolled her eyes. "Is this what passes for flirting in the upper tiers?" He smirked, then winced when she pressed the cloth harder. "You're not my type," she added quickly. "I prefer people who don't almost kill me with their falling spaceships." "You fixed the wiring on a power converter with a hairpin," he said, studying her. "That's not just impressive-it's borderline illegal. Where'd you learn that?" Celia froze for a second. "Around." It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. The truth was, she used to be a student in one of the tech academies up top-before her father was framed and "relocated" for crimes he didn't commit. Since then, her education came from survival, junkyards, and slicing into forbidden tech when no one was watching. "I've read about the lower levels," Lawrence said, interrupting her thoughts. "But I never imagined they were this... real." She raised an eyebrow. "What, did you think we lived in alleyways and hiss at sunlight?" "No," he said, chuckling. "But I didn't expect anyone to be so... sharp." He wasn't wrong, and Celia wasn't about to let him get comfortable. "You Everens think you built the world," she said, tossing the bloody cloth aside. "But we're the ones keeping it alive down here. With scrap. And spit. And duct tape." Lawrence's smile faded. For a second, she saw something flicker in his eyes-guilt? "Celia," he said carefully, "I didn't choose to be born an Everen." She tilted her head. "No. But what you do with it? That's on you." Before he could reply, a loud thud echoed from outside. Celia grabbed her wrench again and motioned for silence. Her eyes narrowed. "Was anyone following you?" Lawrence swallowed. "Depends. How mad do bounty hunters get when you steal a prototype engine from your father's vault?" Celia blinked. Then sighed. "Oh, great. You didn't just fall from the sky-you brought hell with you."

The door to the garage rattled again-louder this time, more impatient. Celia did not panic. Panic was for people who hadn't had grenades roll under their bed at age fifteen or who hadn't hotwired a war drone during a blackout just to make toast. She was past panic. She glanced at Lawrence. "You armed?" He blinked. "Do I look armed?" "You look expensive," she muttered. "Same thing to some people." The banging turned into a hiss as a line of plasma melted through the metal lock. Celia swore under her breath, reached into her workbench drawer, and yanked out a small but vicious-looking blaster.

"You might want to duck," she said, as the door gave way with a scream of hot metal. Two figures stormed in-helmeted, armored, and clearly not here for a casual visit. The one in front leveled a stun rifle right at Celia. "We're here for the prototype," the voice growled through a voice modulator. "Hand it over, and we'll leave in peace." Lawrence stood up behind her. "I don't have it." "Lying doesn't suit you, Everen," the second figure said. "We saw your crash trajectory. The prototype's signature is all over your wreck." Celia glanced sideways at him. "What exactly is this thing you stole?" "It's not a weapon," he said quickly. "It's an energy core. Clean, limitless power. It could fix the whole lower level grid. But my father-he wants to sell it offworld to the highest bidder." "Oh sure," Celia muttered. "Just a revolution in your pocket. Totally casual." The lead bounty hunter stepped forward. "Last warning." Celia sighed. "Yeah, well... here's mine." She fired. The blaster hit the first hunter square in the shoulder, sending him flying into a stack of scrap coils. Lawrence dove behind the bench as the second opened fire, bolts ricocheting off old engine parts and cracked solar panels. "Back room, now!" Celia shouted, grabbing Lawrence's arm and dragging him through the smoke-filled garage. She hit a switch on the wall as they passed-an old defense mechanism she'd salvaged from a decommissioned patrol bot. Electric arcs shot out in random directions, forcing the hunters back. In the back room, Celia slammed the door shut behind them. The room was tighter, darker, filled with shelves of old tech-most of it half-dead or fully illegal. Lawrence leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "Do you always keep a small army's worth of tech in your garage?" Celia ignored him. "Where's the prototype?" He hesitated, then pulled off one of his boots and reached inside. With a click, he pulled out a small, glowing orb. It pulsed with a faint blue light, like a heartbeat made of stars. She stared at it. "That little thing is going to change the world?" "If it doesn't get us killed first," Lawrence replied. Footsteps echoed outside the door. The bounty hunters were regrouping. Celia's mind raced. She couldn't outgun them. But she could outthink them. She grabbed a hollow drone shell from the shelf and ripped it open. "Give me the core." "What? No!" "Trust me," she snapped. He hesitated-but gave it to her. She slipped it inside the drone casing, rewired the shell to emit a false signal, then handed it back to him. "What now?" "We bait them. We run." Lawrence glanced at the sealed door, where shadows danced beneath the crack. "You know," he said, trying to sound casual despite the shaking in his voice, "I thought the worst part of today would be crashing my ship." Celia smirked. "No, the worst part is coming. When I save your life twice in one day-you owe me forever." He gave a breathless laugh. oh my God!! "Deal."

Celia kicked open the side panel of the garage, revealing a narrow tunnel lined with scrap pipes and exposed wiring. The tunnel wasn't supposed to exist-it had been built years ago as a secret escape route during a time when bounty hunts were more frequent than rainfall. She hadn't used it in years. Now seemed like a good time to resurrect the habit. "Go!" she barked, shoving Lawrence forward. He scrambled into the tunnel, clutching the fake prototype. Celia followed, sealing the hatch behind them with a blast from her blaster.

It wouldn't hold the hunters for long, but it might buy them a few precious minutes. The tunnel was barely tall enough for Lawrence. He kept banging his head on low pipes, swearing under his breath. "Do you people build everything like a death trap?" he muttered. "We build things with the space we have," Celia said from behind him. "You want roomy tunnels, go crash in your daddy's palace next time." He grunted but said nothing more, probably too winded to come up with a comeback. The narrow path twisted left, then sloped down into a steep descent that ended in another panel. Celia slid past him and used her override card to unlock it. The door creaked open, revealing the sprawling underbelly of Lower Nine-twisting metal bridges, steam vents, and the ever-present buzz of broken dreams. Celia breathed in the familiar scent of oil and ozone. "We're not out of danger yet," she said, motioning for Lawrence to follow. He stumbled out behind her, brushing soot off his shirt. "This is where you live?" "This is where we all live," she said. "Welcome to the real world." She led him through a maze of alleyways and abandoned scaffolding until they reached a rusty old hoverbike tucked under a tarp. Celia yanked the cover off, revealing a sleek, beat-up machine held together by duct tape and stubbornness. "You expect that thing to outrun bounty hunters?" Lawrence asked skeptically. "No," she said, swinging a leg over it. "I expect me to." He climbed on behind her, hesitating only slightly before wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't get comfortable," she warned. "This isn't a date." "Right," he said. "Though, if it were, it'd be the most exciting one I've ever had." Celia rolled her eyes, throttled the engine, and the bike screamed to life. They shot out of the alley like a bullet, narrowly missing a scaffolding beam. Celia weaved through the maze of Lower Nine with ease, her eyes scanning for drones, mercs, or any sign of pursuit. "Where are we going?" Lawrence shouted over the wind. "To someone who can help." "Do I get a name?" "You'll get a survival plan. Be grateful." He held on tighter as the bike leapt a broken bridge and landed hard on the other side. Celia didn't slow down. She took a hard turn into a hidden tunnel that sloped downward again, into even darker territory. Here, the lights were almost all dead, and shadows ruled the walls. The only sound was the hum of the bike and the beat of two adrenaline-filled hearts. Finally, she skidded to a stop in front of a steel door hidden behind a curtain of old wires and garbage. "Stay behind me," she said, climbing off the bike. "Not a problem," Lawrence mumbled, still clinging to the seat like it was the only stable thing in the universe. Celia knocked twice, paused, then knocked three times quickly. A slot in the door opened, revealing a pair of dark eyes. "Celia?" a gravelly voice asked. "It's me. I've got something big. And I need a favor." A long pause. "Bring him in." The door creaked open. Lawrence looked at her. "Friend of yours?" Celia gave him a wry smile. "Let's just say... he owes me a kidney." The man behind the door chuckled. "Still alive, I see." "For now," Celia said, stepping inside. "But I've got a feeling that's about to change."