The eastern boundary of Sector 17 ended at a fifteen-meter electrified fence, beyond which y the sprawling expanse of Corporate Disposal Site E-12. Unlike the meticulously maintained waste recmation centers within corporate territories, E-12 was where companies dumped their truly hazardous materials—failed experimental technology, obsolete equipment containing restricted components, and industrial byproducts too toxic for standard processing.

  Technically, it was under ProtectoCorp security supervision. In reality, the guards rarely ventured beyond their climate-controlled monitoring stations near the main gate. Why risk exposure to hazardous materials when automated turrets and drone patrols could do the job?

  Lyra knew their patrol patterns by heart.

  She crouched in the shadow of a rust-eaten storage tank, counting seconds between drone sweeps. Her worn backpack contained basic scavenging tools—wire cutters, insuted gloves, an electromagnetic disruptor Tel had taught her to build, and a battered multi-scanner cobbled together from three broken units.

  Seventeen years of life in Sector 17 had taught Lyra to remain perfectly still when necessary, her breathing shallow and controlled. The next patrol drone would pass in approximately forty seconds, leaving her a two-minute window to reach the fence.

  "Last chance to back out," she whispered to herself.

  Tomorrow, she'd enter the Game like every other eighteen-year-old on Terminus. Unlike others, she wasn't going in blind.

  The drone appeared on schedule, its searchlight cutting through the perpetual haze of chemical particutes that hung over the disposal site. Lyra remained motionless as the beam swept past her position, then began counting down from thirty—the amount of time it would take for the drone to reach its farthest patrol point before returning.

  At zero, she moved.

  Years of climbing through junkyards and mechanical ruins had made her quick and silent. She reached the fence in under thirty seconds, immediately dropping to examine the base where she'd previously cut an entry point. The makeshift repair she'd applied during her st visit was still in pce—a section of wire held together with conductive paste that would separate easily but maintain the circuit to prevent security alerts.

  Lyra pulled on her insuted gloves, carefully detached the wired section, and slipped through the narrow opening. Once inside, she reattached the connection and checked her scanner. No security alerts. She was in.

  The harsh floodlights of the disposal site's central processing area cast long shadows across mountains of discarded technology. Most of it was worthless—standard factory rejects and outdated equipment. But Lyra wasn't interested in the obvious piles. She was heading for section E-12-7: Helix Pharmaceuticals' neural technology disposal zone.

  According to information purchased with three weeks' worth of water rations, a shipment of rejected P-ANI neural interfaces had been dumped there yesterday—Privileged-css Advanced Neural Integration units that had failed final quality inspection. For a corporate resident, they'd be disappointing. For someone from the Unaligned sectors pnning to hack the Game, they were priceless.

  Lyra navigated through the technological graveyard with practiced efficiency, pausing at each intersection to check for security drones. The smell of corrosive chemicals and burnt electronics filled the air, but she'd grown up with that scent. In Sector 17, clean air was a luxury few experienced.

  Reaching section E-12-7 took longer than expected. Security seemed heightened compared to her previous excursions—more frequent drone patrols, additional motion sensors at key junctions. Something valuable must have been disposed of recently.

  When she finally arrived, she understood why.

  The Helix disposal area contained not just rejected neural interfaces but what appeared to be an entire pallet of experimental modules, their containers marked with high-security clearance bels and "Project Nexus" designations.

  Lyra's heart rate accelerated. Neural enhancement modules were exactly what she needed for her modifications, but stealing experimental prototypes from Helix carried far greater risk than grabbing standard rejected units. If caught with these, the penalty wouldn't be a simple work-camp assignment. It would be immediate termination.

  She hesitated for precisely three seconds before making her decision.

  The scanner revealed no immediate security measures around the pallet itself, which was suspicious. Lyra circled the area once, then spotted the trap—pressure sensors beneath the pallet that would trigger if components were removed without proper deactivation.

  "Clever," she murmured, "but not clever enough."

  From her pack, she withdrew the electromagnetic disruptor—a compact device capable of temporarily overwhelming local security systems. It had limited range and power, but should be sufficient for this operation. The real limitation was time. Once activated, she'd have approximately ninety seconds before backup systems engaged.

  Lyra took a deep breath, positioned herself for the quickest possible access, and activated the disruptor.

  The faint hum of active security measures fell silent. She moved immediately, carefully lifting the containment lid and assessing the contents. Each module was individually packed in anti-static wrapping with technical specifications dispyed on attached screens. She didn't have time to read them all, but scanned for key specifications.

  "Interface enhancement... consciousness pattern manipution... Library System access override... perfect."

  She selected three modules that matched her requirements, pced them in a shielded pouch, and was preparing to close the container when she noticed something at the bottom—a small crystal data storage unit beled "P.C. Neural Architecture: Final Configuration."

  The letters P.C. triggered something in her memory. Tel had mentioned them once, during a rare moment of openness about Lyra's past. "You came with documentation," she had said. "Most of it encrypted, but the headers mentioned 'P.C.' repeatedly."

  Without hesitation, Lyra added the crystal to her collection and resealed the container. Seventy seconds had epsed. She had twenty more to clear the area before security reactivated.

  She was halfway back to the fence when the first arm sounded.

  "Backup systems engaged early," she muttered, increasing her pace to a controlled run. "Someone's been upgrading their security."

  The wail of the arm was followed by announcements over the site-wide communication system: "Security breach in section E-12-7. All units respond. Activate containment protocol."

  In the distance, Lyra heard the distinctive whine of security drones altering their patrol patterns to converge on her location. She ducked behind a mountain of discarded cooling units, checking her scanner for the nearest patrol. Three drones approaching from different directions, closing fast.

  She needed a diversion.

  From her pack, Lyra removed her st resort—a small device Tel had explicitly warned her never to use except in life-threatening situations. It was a localized EMP generator, powerful enough to disable any electronic systems within a twenty-meter radius. Using it would also fry her scanner and disruptor, leaving her effectively blind to security movements.

  The approaching drone sounds grew louder. No choice.

  She pced the device on a pile of discarded communication equipment about fifty meters from her pnned escape route, set the timer for thirty seconds, and began moving toward the fence. The EMP would draw all security to that location, giving her a brief window to escape through the chaos.

  Twenty-eight seconds ter, a sharp crack split the air, followed by the distinctive sound of multiple electronic systems failing simultaneously. The drone patrols immediately altered course toward the disturbance, their programming prioritizing unusual energy signatures over potential human intruders.

  Lyra reached the fence, quickly disconnected her repair section, and slipped through. As she reattached the connection from the outside, she heard the heavy whump-whump of a security hovercraft approaching—human guards, not drones. Time to disappear.

  She melted into the industrial ruins surrounding the disposal site, using pre-pnned routes that would be challenging for the bulky corporate hovercraft to navigate. After fifteen minutes of careful movement through increasingly narrow passages, the sounds of pursuit faded completely.

  Lyra waited another full hour in a concealed observation point, watching for signs of expanded search patterns, before finally making her way back toward Sector 17.

  "You cut it too close," Mira said, her weathered face creased with disapproval as she applied antiseptic to a cut on Lyra's forearm—a souvenir from her hasty retreat through the ruins. "Game entry is in less than twelve hours."

  "Had to be tonight," Lyra replied, wincing slightly at the sting. "Security will be increased after they discover what's missing. Wouldn't get another chance."

  They sat in what had once been Tel's workshop—a converted shipping container reinforced with scavenged materials, its interior walls covered in technical diagrams, circuit boards, and carefully organized tool racks. After Tel's death, the community had unanimously agreed that Lyra should inherit the space. It was here that she had spent every avaible moment of the past year preparing for her entry into the Game.

  "Did you get what you needed?" Mira asked, applying a thin yer of synthetic skin over the cut.

  In response, Lyra carefully unpacked the modules from their shielded pouch, ying them on the workbench. "These should give me capabilities far beyond standard Unaligned neural interfaces."

  "What's a P-ANI module doing in the disposal site?" Mira asked, recognizing the Privileged-css technology immediately. "These cost more than most families in Sector 17 make in a year."

  "Failed quality control, probably," Lyra said, already examining the modules under a magnification scope. "Minor manufacturing defects that make them unsuitable for corporate clients, but perfectly functional for my purposes. Especially after some modifications."

  Mira frowned. "And the crystal?"

  Lyra pced the small data storage unit in a reader she'd constructed specifically for corporate-level encryption. "I'm hoping it contains technical specifications that will help with the integration. It was in a secure container marked with P.C. designation."

  "P.C.?" Mira's eyes widened slightly. "Like the documentation Tel mentioned?"

  "Exactly." Lyra activated the reader, watching as encryption warnings fshed across its small screen. "If we're lucky, this might contain information about where I really came from."

  The reader hummed for several minutes, its processors straining against sophisticated security measures. Finally, a message appeared: "Partial access granted. Neural architecture diagrams accessible. Personal identification data remains encrypted."

  "Better than nothing," Lyra muttered, transferring the accessible data to her workstation. Complex neural pathway diagrams materialized on the dispy, showing configurations unlike anything she'd seen in standard technical documentation.

  "This is... unusual," she said, zooming in on specific sections. "These neural routing protocols are far more sophisticated than standard interfaces. Almost as if they were designed to bypass conventional security architecture."

  Mira leaned closer. "Is that good or bad for your pns?"

  "Good. Very good." Lyra was already mapping connection points between the diagrams and her own neural interface modifications. "These configurations will integrate perfectly with what I've built. Almost as if..."

  She trailed off, a strange sensation washing over her as she studied the diagrams. Something about them felt familiar, like recognizing your own reflection in slightly distorted gss.

  "As if what?" Mira prompted.

  "As if they were designed with my specific neural patterns in mind," Lyra finished quietly. "Or I was designed with these patterns in mind."

  Mira's expression grew troubled. "Tel always said you were special. That you processed technical information differently than anyone she'd ever met."

  Lyra nodded absently, her focus remaining on the diagrams as she began the delicate process of finalizing her interface modifications. "Whatever these P.C. files contain about my origins, they've just significantly improved my chances of surviving the Game."

  The night deepened as Lyra worked, her movements precise and methodical. The workshop's single window offered a view of Sector 17's jumbled skyline—a chaotic assembge of repurposed shipping containers, partially colpsed industrial structures, and makeshift dwellings built from whatever materials residents could salvage.

  This was home—the only one she could remember, despite the persistent feeling that she'd come from somewhere else originally. Tel had never been clear about exactly where she'd found the infant Lyra, saying only that she'd been "entrusted with something precious."

  As she worked on integrating the new modules into her custom neural interface, Lyra's thoughts turned to the Game she would enter tomorrow. Unlike most Unaligned eighteen-year-olds, who viewed Game entry with pure terror, she had been preparing for this moment for years. Not just preparing to survive, but to understand—to penetrate the system's architecture and uncover its true purpose.

  "This will hurt," she murmured to herself as she carefully aligned the first enhancement module with her interface's primary connection port. The standard neural interfaces issued to Unaligned pyers were basic W-SNL models—Worker-Css Standard Neural Links with minimal functionality and numerous limitation protocols.

  What Lyra had created was something else entirely. Starting with a salvaged W-SNL as the base, she had systematically repced or enhanced every component, creating a hybrid interface that corporate engineers would find both impressive and deeply disturbing. Its capabilities would far exceed what any Unaligned pyer should possess.

  She attached a small mirror to her workstation and positioned the altered interface against her right temple, carefully aligning the primary neural connection points. The familiar cold sensation of the technology bonding with her neural pathways made her wince, but she remained perfectly still until the integration stabilized.

  Next came the newly acquired enhancement modules. Each required careful calibration to ensure it wouldn't trigger the Game's security protocols while still providing its intended capabilities. The first module—designed to enhance data reception and processing—slotted perfectly into her modified interface, exactly matching the connection points shown in the mysterious neural architecture diagrams.

  The second module required more extensive modifications. Originally designed to enhance memory capture for Privileged-css users, Lyra repurposed it to create a private data storage system that would operate independently from the Game's monitoring protocols. This would allow her to preserve information that might otherwise be automatically deleted from standard pyer interfaces.

  The final module was the most crucial and dangerous—a Library System access override that would potentially allow her to bypass css-based knowledge restrictions. If successful, she would be able to access information normally reserved for Architect and Privileged pyers, giving her insights into the Game's true nature that no Unaligned pyer was meant to have.

  As dawn approached, Lyra made her final adjustments, testing each system carefully before proceeding to the next. The integration process was painful—each connection sending sharp electrical impulses through her neural pathways as her brain adapted to the enhanced technology. But pain was a small price for the potential advantages.

  When the st component was integrated and tested, Lyra activated the interface's full system for the first time. Information flooded her perception—diagnostic data, environmental scanning results, and neural pathway configurations all visualized simultaneously in her field of vision.

  She gasped at the intensity of the information flow, momentarily overwhelmed until her brain adjusted to the new input channels. Once stabilized, she began testing specific functions, particurly the Library System access module.

  Projected before her visual field appeared a basic Library interface—the restricted version avaible to Unaligned pyers, containing only fundamental survival information and basic skill development texts. Lyra activated the override module and watched with satisfaction as the interface flickered, then expanded dramatically to reveal dozens of additional categories that should have been inaccessible.

  Technical manuals for advanced equipment. Detailed maps of upper floors. Combat strategies for Guardian encounters beyond Floor 20. Theoretical texts on Game architecture and consciousness preservation.

  "It worked," she whispered, scanning through the previously restricted categories. She selected a technical document on neural interface architecture, watching as the full text materialized in her vision. This alone was worth every risk she'd taken tonight.

  A soft knock on the workshop door interrupted her exploration. She quickly deactivated the enhanced visualization, returning the interface to its standard appearance as Mira entered.

  "It's time," Mira said, her expression solemn. "The transport departs in one hour."

  Lyra nodded, gathering her few personal belongings into a small pack. Game regutions permitted only minimal personal items, and even those would be scanned and potentially confiscated if deemed advantageous. Her most important tools were now integrated directly into her neural interface, invisible to standard security scans.

  "The community gathered something for you," Mira said, extending a small package wrapped in faded cloth. "It's not much, but..."

  Lyra unwrapped it to find a water purification amulet—a rare and valuable item in Sector 17, where clean water was the most precious resource. It contained a microscopic filtration system capable of removing toxins from even the most polluted sources.

  "I can't take this," Lyra protested. "The sector needs it more than I will."

  "The sector needs you to succeed more than it needs clean water for a few weeks," Mira countered firmly. "Everyone contributed something toward its purchase. It's the community's investment in your mission."

  Lyra's throat tightened. Despite living as an outsider in many ways, the people of Sector 17 had always treated her as one of their own. They had shared their meager resources, protected her when corporate security conducted raids, and now they were making a final sacrifice to improve her chances in the Game.

  Lyra's throat tightened. Despite living as an outsider in many ways, the people of Sector 17 had always treated her as one of their own. They had shared their meager resources, protected her when corporate security conducted raids, and now they were making a final sacrifice to improve her chances in the Game.

  "I'll come back," she promised, carefully securing the amulet around her neck. "And when I do, I'll bring knowledge that will change everything."

  Old Tomas stepped forward first, his back bent from decades of salvage work. In his gnarled hands, he held a worn ledger bound in synthetic leather—the community's record book, where births, deaths, and significant events were documented in the absence of corporate registration.

  _*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">"We don't do this lightly," he said, his voice gravelly from years of breathing industrial particutes. "But you should know what Sector 17 has done for you over the years before you go."

  He opened the ledger to a marked page and handed it to Lyra. "Read it," he instructed softly. "All of it."

  Lyra looked down at the meticulously maintained records, immediately recognizing Tel's precise handwriting on the earliest entries. The first page was dated seventeen years ago:

  "Baby Lyra welcomed to our community today. Healthy infant girl, bright eyes, strong grip. Tel says she has a special spark about her. Community agreed to adjust food allocation—extra protein for the little one. We'll all make do with a bit less. Worth it to see her thrive."

  Lyra's hand trembled slightly as she turned the page, finding yearly updates on her childhood and the corresponding community efforts.

  "Year 3: Lyra already taking apart and reassembling devices. Remarkable child. Obtained educational materials through Javi's contact at InfoSys. Cost us two months of antibiotic reserves. Ana's daughter caught an infection we couldn't treat. We buried little Mira at midwinter. Many tears, but Ana insisted we continue supporting Lyra's education."

  Lyra looked up sharply, finding Ana in the crowd. The older woman met her gaze steadily, a sad smile on her face despite the sacrifice documented so pinly on the page.

  "Keep reading," Tomas urged.

  "Year 7: Growing girl needs proper nutrition. Her brain develops so quickly—Tel says she's never seen anything like it. Families taking turns giving up meals so Lyra can eat properly. Had to exclude the younger children after Miko's boy showed signs of weakness."

  "Year 10: Lyra's learning equipment damaged in corporate raid. Jax led expedition to salvage repcement parts. He was captured. Five years bor camp. His family will be cared for. Before they took him away, Jax said, 'Make sure the girl keeps learning. She's going to change things for us all someday.'"

  Lyra's eyes burned as she continued through the years, each page documenting sacrifices made by people who had become her family—resources diverted, risks taken, lives altered. Names of neighbors who had given up medicine so she could have parts for her projects. Families who went hungry so she could have protein necessary for brain development. Three people who never returned from scavenging missions undertaken to obtain materials for her education.

  The final entry, dated just two weeks ago, hit her the hardest:

  "Lyra's Game preparations complete. Medical supplements acquired at cost of six months' combined community salvage earnings. All seventeen participating families will be eating thin soup until next quarter. Vote was unanimous. As Elder Simmons said: 'Our girl is going to open doors we've never even seen. Worth every sacrifice.'"

  Lyra closed the ledger, finding it impossible to meet the eyes of those gathered around her. "I didn't know," she whispered. "All this time, I didn't know."

  "You weren't meant to," said Mira, stepping forward to take the ledger. "Tel insisted you grow up without that burden. She wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possible."

  "But why?" Lyra asked, her voice breaking. "Why give up so much for me? It doesn't make sense. The community would have been better off using those resources for everyone."

  An older man Lyra knew as Ren, who had lost his son in one of the scavenging missions documented in the ledger, spoke up. "When Tel first brought you here, she told us you were special—that you had a gift that needed nurturing. Some of us were skeptical at first."

  "But we watched you grow," continued a woman who had given up her family's antibiotics during an outbreak so Lyra could recover from a respiratory infection. "How you understood technology in ways that amazed even our most experienced scavengers. How you looked at broken things and not just fixed them, but made them better than they were before."

  "When you were seven," Ren added with pride in his voice, "you reprogrammed that security drone to bring medical supplies instead of hunting trespassers. When you were ten, you built a water filtration system from parts the rest of us thought were junk. By twelve, you were slipping past corporate security that professionals couldn't crack."

  Tomas pced a weathered hand on Lyra's shoulder. "Whatever life had in store for you, whatever your origins might be, you became part of us—and you became our hope."

  From the crowd, children stepped forward—ones Lyra had taught to read, others whose injuries she had treated with devices she'd built. Each carried a small token: a gear, a circuit board, a memory crystal, pieces of seemingly worthless tech scrap. One by one, they pced these items in a small fabric pouch.

  "Nothing valuable by corporate standards," expined Davi, a thirteen-year-old boy whose me leg now moved freely thanks to a brace Lyra had designed. "But each of these comes from something you made that helped us. Memories, like you always talk about when you're working on your projects."

  Mira handed the pouch to Lyra. "You can't take this into the Game, but it will be here when you return. A reminder of the family waiting for you."

  "I don't deserve this," Lyra said, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "I should have done more, given back more if I'd known—"

  "You were a child," interrupted an elderly woman who had shared her precious pain medication when Lyra broke her arm at nine. "Our choices, our sacrifices, made with love. Not your burden to carry."

  Tomas nodded in agreement. "And now, as a woman grown, the path you take is yours alone to choose. We've given what we could to prepare you. What you do with that preparation is your decision entirely."

  "The Game entry transport will be here soon," Mira said, checking the community's shared timepiece. "Before you go, we want you to know just one thing that matters more than all the records in that ledger."

  The crowd moved then, forming a circle around Lyra. In Sector 17, physical demonstrations of affection were rare—survival rarely left room for sentiment. Yet now they each reached out, pcing a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them until everyone was connected in an unbroken circle with Lyra at its center.

  "You were loved," Tomas said simply. "Not for what you might someday do or become. Not for your technical skills or unique abilities. But for yourself—the girl who made us ugh with her terrible jokes, who stayed up three nights straight to save Old Reya's cat, who taught our children to read corporate warning signs so they wouldn't get hurt."

  "We don't know what the Game truly is," Mira added. "We don't know what you'll face inside. But we know who you are, and that gives us hope."

  "The corporations see us as expendable," called a voice from the back of the crowd. "But through you, maybe they'll learn we are essential."

  The transport kxon sounded in the distance—ten minutes until arrival at the sector boundary. The circle broke apart as quickly as it had formed, Sector 17 residents returning to their practical reality.

  Mira handed Lyra her pack, now containing the water purification amulet. "The ledger stays here. Your burden inside the Game will be heavy enough."

  Lyra clutched the fabric pouch of memory tokens for a moment before handing it back to Davi for safekeeping. No words seemed adequate for the moment, but she tried anyway.

  "I won't forget," she promised, her voice steady despite her tears. "And I will come back."

  As she walked toward the sector boundary where the transport would collect her and the other Sector 17 eighteen-year-olds, Lyra felt the weight of her community's love transform into something else—a crity of purpose beyond mere survival or discovery. Whatever she had been born to be, she now had a reason to succeed that transcended any technology or skill.

  She would enter the Game not just as Lyra the tech prodigy, but as the embodiment of Sector 17's hope—a hope powerful enough that people had given everything, even their children's welfare, to nurture it.

  The neural interface at her temple hummed with power as she made a silent promise: survive, discover, transform—and return to the family who had sacrificed so much to get her here.