Cal tinkered with an old datapad’s loose paneling as he tried to blend in with the scrappers around him, keeping his head lowered to not draw in any unwanted attention from the patrolling troops. Their resources had grown heavier in the past few cycles, prompting Cal to almost always be on the move, never a moment to relax and hardly any time to sleep.

He’d only narrowly escaped identification the other day, who knows what the next few would bring — he knew from the get go, it wouldn’t be good. Why? Because things were, never, good.