The air in the clinic was heavy and oppressive. Ethan stood by the window, his gaze piercing through the tattered window frame, looking out at the labyrinthine streets of the undercity. Several hours had passed since Tara and Lila went out to search for Milo, but they still hadn’t returned. Inside the clinic, Rebecca was busy sorting through spilled medicine bottles and medical instruments, while Otis sat in a corner, anxiously rubbing his rope-burned wrists.

  Ethan turned and glanced at Nick, who was silently inspecting his weapons nearby. The former Colonial soldier was usually taciturn, but Ethan recalled that Nick had mentioned living here for a time.

  “Nick,” Ethan approached him, keeping his voice low, “you’ve been here before, right? How much do you know about this place?”

  Nick looked up, a flicker of complex emotion crossing his eyes. He paused his work, cautiously scanning the room to ensure Otis and Rebecca were occupied, before giving a slight nod.

  “Yeah, I lived here for quite a while before joining the Colonial forces.” Nick’s voice was low, tinged with an almost imperceptible weariness. “To be honest, this place is far more complicated than it seems.”

  Ethan leaned against the wall, gesturing for him to continue.

  Nick took a deep breath, as if organizing his thoughts. “Cyber Eye—the third largest planet in the interstellar system. Most people know it for its rock music. Above ground, it’s the capital of rock, with dazzling lights and endless music. But in reality, it’s more of a testing hub—various Federation Corporation qualification exams attract intense scrutiny from Federation Corporations.” He paused briefly. “Still, this place isn’t entirely under direct Federation Corporation control. Only the Sky Dome Tower Tower and the testing sectors are in their hands.”

  “What about the undercity? How did it come to be?” Ethan pressed.

  Nick shook his head. “I’m not sure how it first started, but it’s formed a strange complementary relationship with the world above. Cyber Eye hosts countless tourists daily, but many goods and information can’t be accessed up there. The undercity fills that gap.” His gaze grew distant. “The undercity has its own rules. Though it’s a separate world, it can accomplish things the surface can’t.”

  “Like a parallel social system?” Ethan mused.

  “Exactly,” Nick nodded. “And in some ways, the undercity operates more efficiently than the surface. No bureaucratic red tape, just the basic rules—stay alive, trade, and don’t cause trouble for others.”

  Ethan glanced around, his eyes landing on the clinic’s rudimentary equipment. “How do people here survive?”

  “Adapt, innovate, cooperate,” Nick answered curtly. “When resources are scarce, people learn to share. When official oversight is absent, spontaneous order emerges.” He pointed at the clinic’s walls. “Like this place. It looks rundown, but it’s probably saved more lives than those shiny hospitals up top.”

  “What about Roon?” Ethan glanced toward the door. “How do you know him? What’s his role here?”

  Nick’s lips curled into a rare, faint smile. “Roon’s an interesting guy. The undercity’s full of gangs, and to put it bluntly, he’s part of one. But he’s different.” He shook his head. “He calls himself a ‘sheriff,’ strutting around in that garish outfit, keeping order and gathering intel. He’s a decent guy.”

  “You wouldn’t think a slacker like him would know so much,” Nick continued, “but guys like him spend their days gossiping in the undercity. They know what’s happening in every corner, who’s made what deal, and where the new opportunities are.”

  “Some undercity gangs get co-opted by the surface, but Roon’s not one of them,” he added. “This area we’re in is called ‘Five-Gourd District.’ Yeah, the name’s weird. It’s relatively safe, even without surface surveillance. Maybe because there aren’t those prying eyes from above, the spontaneous forces here are enough to maintain order.”

  Ethan nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like the undercity has its own ecosystem.”

  “Exactly,” Nick agreed. “Though I’ve heard there are people up top who want to establish their own influence down here. So far, they haven’t succeeded. Victor doesn’t want to invest too much effort here.”

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  “Why not?” Ethan asked curiously. “Controlling an information hub like this should be valuable to Federation Corporations.”

  Nick shrugged. “Cost versus benefit. The undercity’s like a maze—fully controlling it would require massive manpower and resources. And,” he lowered his voice, “in a way, the undercity’s existence benefits the Federation Corporations. It’s a pressure valve. The grassroots media and propaganda that form here have become one of the Federation Corporations’ real weapons. I’d bet eighty percent of people across the stars see joining a Federation Corporation as their ultimate dream—the so-called ‘Sky Dome Tower Dream’ comes from this.”

  Ethan nodded, processing the information. “I’ve heard those stories at the Federation Corporations. What about Otis? What’s his role here?”

  Nick glanced at the old doctor fiddling with medicine bottles and lowered his voice. “I don’t know much, but based on what I’ve seen in places like this, he’s far more important than he seems. Medical resources are scarce on CyberEye, and most people can’t afford the Federation Corporations’ pricey hospitals. Otis’s setup may be basic, but his skills are solid, and—” he paused, “he doesn’t ask questions or care about your identity. In a place like this, that makes him a lifeline.”

  “So his grandson, Milo—”

  Nick gave a slight shrug. “They say he’s a sharp kid with a knack for tinkering. I heard about him when I was here—word is he can fix simple gear and help undercity folks with small problems.” He chuckled softly. “But I’ve also heard he’s a bit of a troublemaker, always getting on Otis’s nerves. Kids raised in this environment tend to have a wild streak.”

  Ethan turned to a corner of the clinic, where some child-modified gadgets lay scattered—a glowing toy robot, an auto-spraying device, and a few scribbled blueprints. He nodded thoughtfully. “Looks like a creative kid.”

  “Yeah,” Nick agreed.

  “What do you think of the certification?” Ethan asked, noticing a subtle shift in Nick’s expression when the topic came up.

  Nick fell silent for a moment, his gaze sharpening. “Sorry, Ethan, I might not be ready to answer that.” His voice was low. “I’ve been lost on that path for a long time. I thought it was my life’s direction. Joining Rebirth Company was a choice I made after a lot of thought, until…” His voice trailed off.

  Ethan looked at him earnestly. “Sounds like it means a lot to you.”

  Nick avoided his gaze, his fingers absently tracing the grip of his weapon. “Everyone has their own past, Ethan.”

  Ethan nodded in understanding, not pressing further. He knew that in this team, everyone had their own unspoken history, and respecting those boundaries was the foundation of trust.

  As the two fell into a brief silence, the clinic door suddenly swung open. Tara stormed in, seething, followed by an exhausted-looking Roon.

  “Damn it!” Tara slammed her steel blade onto the table with a loud clang. “That kid’s faster than a rabbit! I circled the market over and over, and still couldn’t find him!”

  Otis stood up, worry etched on his face. “You still haven’t found Milo?”

  “Relax, old bones,” Roon sauntered in from the doorway, his garish multicolored jacket glaring under the clinic’s dim lights, his trinkets jangling with his exaggerated movements. “The kid’s probably just hiding out. Bet he’s tinkering with those little inventions of his again, like that time he turned an old ventilation pipe into a sound tube, yelling ‘hello’ at everyone passing by. That noise went on for three days, like a stuck record—” He burst into laughter, flashing his metal-studded teeth. “Hey, know why mechanics never date? ‘Cause they’re always turning screws, not heartstrings!”

  Tara whipped around, glaring at Roon. “Can you shut up? What’s so funny about this?” Her fists clenched, eyes blazing with fury. “I didn’t ask you to come here and tell bad jokes!”

  Roon raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Whoa, easy there, Little Chili Pepper. Anger’s bad for your combat reflexes, you know? There’s an old undercity saying: ‘The angry lose their wits, the calm win the fight.’” He flashed a toothy smile. “But I gotta say, the way you grip that blade? Total pro. You’re a battle-hardened badass!”

  “Shut up!” Tara snapped, her hand already on the weapon at her waist. “One more word, and I’ll pin you to the wall with those trinkets of yours!”

  “Ha!” Roon took an exaggerated step back. “That temper’s fiercer than the acid vats in the scrap district! Exactly the kind of grit Five-Gourd District needs! In this dark, damp undercity, most folks have had their edges smoothed out, but you—” He gave Tara a thumbs-up. “You’re the kind of material that survives this hellhole!”

  Tara lunged forward, but Ethan quickly stepped between them. “Enough, Tara. We’re here to save someone, not start a fight.” He turned to Roon. “Thanks for your help, but we need some quiet now to figure out our next move.”

  Roon shrugged, his trinkets clinking with the motion. “Suit yourselves. But if that kid’s hiding, no one’s finding him except those little mechanics.”

  “Little mechanics?” Rebecca interjected suddenly. “Milo’s friends?”

  Roon nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “That bunch of kids has a secret base in the undercity, always messing around with weird gadgets. Only Milo knows exactly where it is.”

  “So we just wait?” Ethan frowned.

  Otis sighed, sinking back into his chair. “I’m afraid so. Milo always comes back. He just needs to cool off.” He rubbed his temples. “That boy’s been like this since he was little—runs off when he’s mad and comes home when he’s calm.”

  Time ticked by, and the tension in the clinic grew thicker. Tara paced restlessly, occasionally shooting venomous glares at Roon; Rebecca kept sorting medicines, trying to stay busy; Nick stood by the window, vigilantly watching the outside; and Ethan sank into thought, pondering how to complete the mission in the shortest time possible.