'FOUND III'

  A hiss belted from behind me, indicating the sealing of the gate. I lower my weapon, within a den your business is weapon enough. In the outskirts, it could be a dens life or death.

  Dens, oh dens. It's all about rules when it comes to these places, it's all about the idea of control and order. You give it to them, or they might just lash out, or something worse. They live on the inside, where everything is easier to understand, where dignity can work mostly as intended.

  A mixed bag across the board honestly. Though outskirt dens can have a unique disgust to their décor, this one is on the better end of things out here. They're never particularly unique, always efficient, they always lack something.

  I haven't lived in one longer than a month, so I couldn't guess what.

  Most dens are haphazardly constructed within whatever hole in the floor is available, may it be a sort of spire basement, a bunker, or an abandoned cart station. This place taking the latter option of course, and managing to handle itself reasonably- for a den.

  The flooring was shoddily put together by some combination of nails, welding, and hope. Material layered on top of each other, the walls were too put together not too dissimilarly. Despite this, the colour, the distance of each material, and the state of it all was painfully asymmetrical.

  The roof was dotted with red lights, which periodically flickered, and did so out of sync. It was clear the roof was in desperate need of repair, with it containing long, sharp canyons of rusted material. The low hum of generators obscured any noise of straining metal.

  There were strange bulbous objects across the entire roofing, though they were quite obscured by the lack of light which managed to reach any of them.

  A slow drip of residue came from a particularly deep laceration.

  The runt turned back toward me, he had a much brighter look in his eyes, at least that's some consolation- not really, but I'll do anything to justify my bad decisions.

  "Thanks for helping me!" He gladly said, forcefully shaking my free hand,

  I lazily nodded at him, then he proceeded to run along across some bridge to the left, constructed out of pieces of material I wouldn't trust.

  I went down the central platform, which stretches a familiar and uncomfortable long distance, the widest of the three platforms- which is smaller than most cart stations, usually they have upward of 12, the cost of being in the outskirts I guess.

  Obstructing movement halfway down the station is an armoured booth, the SC exchange, more bunker than booth. Most of the exchanges, particularly in smaller dens, always take up a large portion for storage.

  The SC was seemingly not present, but I know better than anyone that SC's are lazy buggers.

  I stride forward to the booth itself. A trick of the trade is to tap on the metal desk, and make sure you do it out of rhythm to encourage them to be faster- otherwise you may put them in the groove of not taking your scrap, and time is not luxury.

  A woman dashed out of the doorway which obscured the storage area, her most striking feature was the fact that one of her eyes was replaced by a somewhat functioning, though form fitting, mechanical eye- that and a good portion of skull surrounding that eye was also replaced.

  She was clearly exhausted, which makes sense, she's probably the only one who knows what she's actually doing in this place- which is usual for any SC, in most dens, though in the outskirts it's especially true. Her eye was awkwardly jotting around, before finally focusing on me.

  I guess I'm not one to talk about the effect of mechanical parts on human aesthetic.

  "Heya', how's my best scrapper doin'?" She artificially mustered,

  "You told me that I was the only scrapper in 4 years." I reply,

  "Yup, so whatcha' got for me-" She reiterated,

  Both of our attentions were captured in the sudden rapture of conflict occurring on the left side of the den, where the kid I had just spared a horrific death was chasing 3 other podlings. With a handgun?

  I patted the holster on my right side only to find it empty. So that's why he shook my hand, well, at least the safety is on.

  "He took my handgun. I'll just get it back later." I dismissively state,

  "Who in the hell let that rat back in here?" She discontentedly asked,

  "I did." I answer,

  She turns her attention back toward me, as I do her. SC's are merchants at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if she finds out I'm lying, it only matters that she thinks my business is worth more than recognising it.

  "Now, why the fuck did ya' do that?" She rudely questioned,

  "Simple exchange, he gives me info, I let him back in here." I reply,

  She looked at me with a clear scepticism, her actual eye looking confused yet bored, which was enough for me to elaborate on this 'exchange'.

  "You have raiders nearby, and they're not looking to trade scrap like me." I calmly explain,

  "Raiders? Out 'ere? You got confirmation for that info, scrapper?" She asked,

  "Saw them myself, and your defences are not going to cut it." I scathingly reply,

  She then looked past me to the elderly idiot who I had pushed past at the gate, she would nod at him- which woke him up to the prospect of combat, I guess, as he grabbed a rifle stood at the side in a cabinet next to the large gate.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The elderly man then left without a word.

  "Helpin' a podling seems like a waste of time for a scrapper. We haven't had a group of raiders pass since, damn, since we started this den." She stated,

  "What can I say, I'm just more generous than most scrappers." I sardonically say,

  "More generous you say 'eh?" She greedily replied,

  "That doesn't mean a discount for you SC, I have oxygen to breathe." I quickly affirm,

  With that I began placing the pieces of scrap on the desk from my mag-pack, of which there was nothing ground breaking. The scrap out here just isn't worth it, the only thing even worth mentioning was a strangely well maintained empty magazine for a weapon I'm not familiar with.

  The SC took particular interest in this magazine, hastily putting on gloves and picking it up, which attracted my ire. Though she seemed genuinely amazed at the state of it, as was I when I found it, but it's easy to brush things off when you're not meant to keep them for long.

  "Where in the hell did you find this?" She asked,

  "Where I found the rest of the scrap, don't worry, it confused the hell out of me too." I plainly reply,

  The magazine looked as if it could carry quite the calibre, though I doubt there was any operational weapon which would use it- let alone an individual who's able to afford ammunition for it.

  "What typa' raider-" She began,

  Then a gun shot rang throughout the den, followed by a collection of podling screams- which confirmed to both of us that he managed to switch the safety off, and she then looked at me in a absolutely tired frustration once more.

  "Get your bloody gun back before I do." She threatened, handing the magazine back.

  "Don't worry, I'll handle it." I said,

  This runt just finds way to waste my time, and my resources, at the same fucking time.

  I pivot to the left, and quickly stride over to the extremely shoddily constructed bridge. I stare at it for a few moments, weighing my options, though my decision was made by another one of my precious bullets wasted.

  I move as fast as I could care with a mag-pack across the bridge to the left platform. Quickly making my way down past the multitude of barracks, a medical centre, and what I could only assume is a trash room into the end room of the platform.

  My movement had managed to create a large enough disturbance to cause a panicked quiet to come over the entire room. The door swung open, and had managed to almost fly off it's hinges in my haste- luckily it didn't, I'm not paying for that.

  In this room there's an array of pods, which you can guess what they create, and in the middle of the room were four podlings. One of which was the runt, holding my gun, and the other three were a huddled collection of fear, anger, and cluelessness.

  I scanned the room for a moment to assess the possible damage.

  One of the pods were damaged, with a clear bullet hole plastered on its metal exterior, luckily it seemed to not have caused any real damage to the pod. Those things are durable for a reason, don't want the rust-buckets to have too easy of a time cracking them open.

  I make a show of walking up toward the runt, who looked up at me as if I were about to kill him- to be honest, I was thinking about it. Though there are other forms of retribution, I'm sure.

  "What do you think you're doing, runt?" I gruffly ask,

  "Getting... Revenge?" He nervously replied,

  Does he think scrappers are cold-hearted killers? Or is he just extremely honest, either way I'm not particularly keen on podling on podling violence.

  "You think that's impressive?" I bluntly ask,

  "They're the ones who got me kicked out. They told me to take a nutrient block." He quickly explained,

  I have little patience for the petty squabbling of podlings, especially since I have to deal with the petty dealing of an SC. It's just not worth the brainpower.

  "If you're going to use bullets, use it on something worth the bullet." I rudely advise,

  "So should I use a knife instead?" He stupidly asked

  That almost managed to make me chuckle, this runt has some humour at least, even in the face of a scrapper- I can respect it enough to allow a bit of leeway.

  "Does this place have a range?" I wearily ask,

  "A range? Yeah, it's on the right near the end." He politely replied,

  "You get one clip, and maybe if you land an actual shot I'll let you keep a casing." I suggest,

  Handgun ammo is not particularly expensive, well in the outskirts it is, but in general it is not. So, if it gets him to not kill a podling, and gives me time to sell shit then I can leave happy.

  The casing are still worth the squeeze in my opinion though, just more scrap to collect. Well, if you can collect them without getting shot.

  I look over the three other podlings, of which none seemed particularly pleased, though I don't care. They all are unharmed, besides all the other injuries podlings seem to manage to magically attain no matter where you put them.

  I lead the runt across the left side back to the centre platform, where I swipe him off to the right side to fulfil his dreams of homicide on some metal panels. Regardless, that's a fair amount of money wasted, though it could give me a good prospect.

  It could be worth it.

  As I make my way back to the booth, I get a better eye at those strange objects on the roof, which from this angle seem more cylindrical. Perhaps some sort of failsafe, or self-destruct, they seem like repurposed mines- beats me.

  I smack my mechanical hand on the booth three times, which quickly attracts the return of the SC. I waste no time piling the scrap I had obtained onto the booth, along with the strangely fresh magazine separate from the rest of it to the side.

  The SC manages to ignore the rest of the scrap, instead she opts to take another good look at the magazine. I better get at least a few copper slips for it, especially if she's this interested.

  "Get ya' gun back?" She oddly asked,

  "I'm letting him have a go in the range with it, the worst he can do is kill himself." I boorishly state,

  "Ain't that nice, using a whole clip on a podling? Thought you needed oxygen." She teasingly said,

  "Handgun ammunition is raining in the centre anyway, besides, it's the only time he'll get to shoot in a place like this." I sharply reply,

  "The centre 'eh? Leaving us to rot so soon? Trying to snipe a podling for scrapping on the way out too?" She rapidly questioned,

  A classic guilt-trip, a common SC strategy, but we both know this would happen,

  "No, I don't have much interest in a scrapling, especially since I don't have an extra mag-pack." I slyly reply,

  "I'll reimburse the ammo, if you give me the mag free." She greedily offered,

  Trap fallen for, but I can still squeeze more out of her,

  "Only for an extra oxygen tank, I know you've got plenty, then I'll throw in the rest of the scrap for just a few copper slips." I counter-offer,

  There was a couple of shots fired from the right side, looks like the runt is trying his best to waste as much ammunition as possible, didn't sound like any of them landed home either. Though I'd have to see with my own eyes in the end.

  "Asshole. Fine, but that podling stays here, regardless of what you think about it." She rudely commented,

  "That's might generous of you, SC, feeling sentimental?" I mockingly ask,

  "What can I say? I'm just more sentimental than most." She sarcastically replied,

  Or more desperate, though this den is falling apart, I can understand attempting to drop off as much material as possible before leaving. Podlings are great long-term investments, if they decide to stay with you, but implanting a bit of indoctrination never hurt anyone.

  This SC is much more agreeable than others, and that's saying something, although I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. I collect the ammunition and the oxygen tank, moving over to the right to cross the other untrustworthy bridge to the right of the den.

  "Hey, scrapper!" She exclaimed,

  I turn back toward her somewhat stunned by an SC daring to call back to someone,

  "Pleasure doing business with you." She joyfully said, saluting two fingers at me,

  I simply dismissed her gesture with my wrist, making my way across the strange bridge, which makes an extremely uncomfortable noise as I cross it.

  SC's are crafty, and they come up with wild ways to get someone to purchase anything. It's almost strange that an SC would make a deal as easily as she did, maybe she's hoping for some sort of collateral, or that I will stick around for longer.

  Wait, the magazine was worth much more than I originally thought, wasn't it? The SC managed to get me to undersell it, and she's hoping that I give her something for the podling as well. That explains the interest.

  Fucking scrap collectors.