Chapter 2: Another Man's Treasure

I head down to my usual spot, the Grey Doctor—a shabby little pub off the dreary street. The air is thick with dust and smoke as usual, the pub cloaked in a perpetual haze. I stroll through the door, and the smell of nicotine and cheap booze hits me first. The wooden steps, littered with discarded gum and dirt, remind me of the kind of city I live in. The bar is filled with city scum chatting and laughing. Some of them are missing patches of hair, some are missing teeth, but they all still have life in them.

The wooden tables and bar are made of faded, scratched wood, and there are very few people actually using the tables. Being somewhat of a regular here, I get a few eyes as I come in. One man with a faded gray beard and obvious brown stains from smoking calls out to me. He holds up his beer, his worn face tipsy from day drinking—it is Saturday, after all. The man smiles, showing his yellow teeth.

"Aye, Jacky boy, you back from the shit pits? Find anything good today?"

I smile. "Yeah, Brock, I'll fill you in after I eat, ya old drunk."

Assuming he isn't passed out drunk by that time. Brock laughs a bit at that and goes back to drinking his beer. I head to my spot in the corner. Not many people come here to order food, but they know me here. A man swaggers over to me, carrying a dishtowel in his hand, trying to look busy as he re-cleans the same cup. The man smiles and greets me.

"Aye, Jack, same as usual? Why don't you try something new for once, man? We got other shit."

I hold up a shoddy-looking menu. "Really? You could've fooled me. I doubt Buckey can cook half the stuff on this menu."

The man in front of me is Finn. We go way back—I met him during a job I worked a few years ago. He has long black hair that falls down his back, eyes yellow like a snake's, and a red-and-black bald eagle tattoo on his arm from days long past. This matches his newer tattoo—a black fox tail with trees that wisp erratically up his neck. Finn wears a red-and-black checkered kimono over a black undershirt. A red-and-white headband complements the red hair tie pulling his long hair into a ponytail.

Despite his rugged appearance, he's toned under his clothes. For someone our age, my face is a lot softer than most, but Finn looks significantly older. His face tells the story of a man who has spent most of his life on the street—scarred and hardened—yet he still manages to offer me a friendly smile.

Finn laughs. "Buckey can barely even cook the rack of ribs you always seem to order. Guess that proves your point."

He leans up against the table, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Rin has been around here recently. Been hoping to chat you up again."

My gut twists a bit. "The hell does she want?"

Finn snorts. "You know what she wants, man. Hoping to get you back in the game again."

Rin was someone I used to work with. I did some less-than-legal things when I was younger—stuff I was locked up for. We used to do heists as a group. Finn here is one of the people I did jobs with. He's still in the game. Rin was the third member of our little crew. I got out of the game, as they say. After being locked up for a few years, I realized that life was no good. I've been making an honest living in waste management ever since, and I've never regretted leaving that world behind. Rin, on the other hand, has never been able to accept that.

I wouldn't call us friends anymore, unlike Finn and me, but we are still acquainted. Rin always felt like I betrayed the group when I left. We weren't exactly a gang—just the three of us, with the occasional floater. But to Rin, it was special, the only family she'd ever had. According to Finn, she's never truly gotten over our little group and constantly talks about how I wasted my potential. Honestly, I do miss those days sometimes, but I'm not a kid anymore. I want a future, and that doesn't involve being in and out of prison.

I wave a hand dismissively. "No thanks. I've said it before, and I'll say it again—I'm done eating prison food for good."

Finn smiles. "You'd much rather have the same old ribs for dinner every day?"

I snort. "Damn right."

I decide to change the subject before he can launch into his award-winning speech about how Rin and I should make up. Feeling my cargo pants, I find the chip I snagged from work. "Speaking of jobs, I nabbed this from work." I hold up the black computer chip for Finn to get a good look. "Little prize I found. Would you mind checking it out for me? See if it has anything on it?"

Finn raises an eyebrow. "You got it from a trash pile, right? Why would it have anything important on it?"

I place the chip in his hand. "Call it a hunch. Could be worth checking out."

Finn sighs. "I know all about those hunches—could be a bad sign." He tosses the dishtowel over his shoulder. "Ribs will be out shortly, your highness. My shift ends in 20, so eat fast. Then we'll take a look at this little bad omen."

I snort and relax in my chair. Finn places a soda I like, called Galaxy, on the table and skulks off. I catch him yelling at Buckey in the kitchen to hurry up and laugh to myself. I don't usually drink much alcohol—a shot or two with friends is fine—but I prefer soda when I'm alone.

As I sip my purple fizzy drink, I think back to our group. Finn eventually brings over my ribs during my reverie, which I devour in minutes. Finn was always our tech guy, the one I trusted with anything computer-related. That's one reason I decided to come here tonight. Finn will know if the chip is worth anything. I was the leader of our crew—finding jobs, handling the talking, and coming up with plans. Finn handled technology, and Rin was our sneaky cat burglar. She was also a hell of a pickpocket and a fast thinker on her feet.

Just as I was reminiscing, Finn came over, his work clothes stuffed in a bag. "Ready to go?"

I couldn't help but smile. "That was a quick 20 minutes."

As we walk out of the bar, he shoots back, "Told Buckey to clean the rest up since he was sloppy on the ribs."

I point out, "Bet you also let him sneak a few leftovers into his lunchbox in return, though."

"Hey, I didn't see anything. If he snuck out a few ribs, I wouldn't know," Finn smirks as he opens the door to his old car.

I hop into the passenger seat, grunting a bit as my back protests against the cramped space. Finn pulls out his battered old laptop from under the seat, the thing held together by tape and sheer stubbornness, and flips it open. The screen flickers to life, casting a pale glow over the car's worn interior. I hand him the chip, and he carefully slots it into a reader he pulls from his bag.

"Alright, let's see what kind of treasure you found in the trash," Finn says, his fingers flying over the keyboard like he's auditioning for a symphony.

I glance out the window, the neon lights of the city casting strange shapes on the cracked pavement. The Grey Doctor fades into the distance as Finn's car pulls into a darkened alley—a spot he uses when he needs to work without curious eyes watching.

The laptop beeps, and Finn squints at the screen. "Huh. That's odd."

"What?" I lean over, trying to read the screen in his cramped car.

"It's encrypted. And not your run-of-the-mill encryption either—this is high-level stuff. Military-grade, maybe even corporate espionage. What the hell was this thing doing in a trash pile?"

A chill runs down my spine. "You're saying someone threw away something this valuable? Doesn't make sense. Can you crack it?"

Finn grins, his snake-like yellow eyes gleaming with mischief. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? Give me five minutes, and I'll have this chip cracked."

He pulls out a small external battery to keep his laptop powered and starts typing furiously.

As I watch him work, I can't shake the feeling that this chip is trouble. My instincts—the ones that got me out of tight spots back in the day—are screaming at me. "Finn," I say, my voice low, "if this thing's as important as it seems, we might be stepping into something big. You sure we shouldn't just chuck it back where it came from?"

Finn snorts. "You've been out of the game a while, but I know you're just as curious as I am."

He knew me too well. I can't just turn a blind eye to this thing now. I have to at least know what it is.

Minutes pass, the sound of Finn's rapid keystrokes filling the car. The laptop flashes as the screen changes to something recognizable, and Finn's grin widens. "Got it! Looks like this chip holds coordinates."

"Coordinates?"

He turns the screen toward me, showing a map. His smile is like that of a child who just aced a test. "There was only one file, and it's latitude and longitude coordinates." Finn points to a spot on the map. "Right here, outside of the city—the Wryule Highlands."

I frown. "That place is a wasteland. There's nothing out there."

Finn's eyes sparkle with excitement. "I know, right? Doesn't that make you even more curious?"