"Get your things, we're leaving." I say rushing around our tent in some forgotten back alley.

  My younger brother looks at me with confusion, his sunken face and pale sickly looking clammy skin burning itself into my memory. He is on the verge of death, we both know that, and I cannot allow it.

  "Why?" He asks with a hoarse breath.

  "I got us a place." I say, straining for a smile.

  "An apartment? Aren't those expensive?" He asks, breaking into a dry coughing fit.

  I grab a rag and rush to his side, rubbing his back in a circular motion and dabbing the blood from his lips.

  "Not the ones I found. I worked out a deal." I say.

  The ten year old looks up at me, a glint of hope filling his eyes, "Banx gave you a better job?"

  I shake my head, "no. Something better. Just hand me your things and I'll explain along the way."

  He nods, handing me the few items he actually owns. A comic book, a stuffed bear, a hat. All from his childhood. Our parents saved what little they could to get us things like that before they died. I had to sell what they gave me after they passed and we got evicted. I needed the credits for Ben's meds.

  I stuff everything into a small pack, and hand it to Ben. He slings it over his shoulders weakly as I look around for anything else we may need. As I survey the small confines of our make shift tent, my eyes land on the pair of scissors I use to cut Ben's hair.

  I reach for them and look in the broken glass I use as a mirror, and start slicing chunks off at a time. Long golden strands fall to the ground as Ben watches with wide eyes.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I need to be invisible." I say.

  His brow pops up, "why?"

  I shake my head, "like I said, I'll explain along the way."

  "Ash what's going on?" He presses.

  I give him a sharp look, the panic set deep in my eyes i'm sure. I swallow a breath and turn back to cutting my hair.

  "Ben, I just need you to do as I ask right now yeah? Please?"

  He's quiet for a moment, and I don't dare turn my head. I don't like facing him like this. He worries too much about me sometimes.

  "Yeah." I hear his small voice say.

  The floor becomes littered with what used to be my long hair. It was full of broken ends and a few tangles i'd never be able to get out. It needed a cut anyways, just never thought I'd be cutting it this short. There's no turning back though. If I want a shot at making it, I need to be sure I can't be spotted in a crowd.

  As I set the scissors down, I look at the fresh cut framing my face. My lower set brow and hard eyes bore holes through the glass. I look angry, but I don't feel it. I feel fear. I'm scared they'll find me out and boot us from the place as soon as we get there. That's not even considering I left him alive in that alley. I shouldn't have. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Now I run the risk of him alerting the leadership, then it won't just be them booting me from the place. They'll kill me.

  I can't let that happen. I can't leave Ben behind with no one to watch over him. I also can't get sent back out here on the streets just to watch him suffocate to death. His lungs are getting worse from the plague that invades ground terrace. This floating city may be the most advanced civilization humanity has ever been able to cultivate, but it's really only good for one thing: slave labor in the mines. The price that's paid is not a Terrace One concern. Royalty steps on anyone below.

  I cast my negative thoughts away, setting my jaw and wiping my mind of any anxiety I may carry. I cannot hesitate. I can't dwell on my worries now. I need to go.

  Without a word, I turn to Ben and sling his feather light body on mine, carrying him like a back pack. We do this weekly usually. Moving constantly is necessary for survival for us. Too many enemies have been made working for Banx, and with my face plastered on wanted posters it makes it near impossible to truly settle anywhere, even if guards are easily swayed.

  I duck under the flap of our tent and look over to the smog infested river. The brownish color is as dark as ever, carrying trash and soot from the mines within it. A decaying body is caught in a bend not far from me, and I tear my eyes away quickly not wanting to look at thin, waterlogged flesh anymore.

  I hurry down the street with a quick pace, not looking back as I tug my hood over my head, concealing my face. I pass familiar faces in the crowd, all of them nodding to me respectfully. My reputation down here carries weight with the small folk. While I struggle to find a job with higher up mobsters, the people remember what I do for them.

  I try to put out a tough front. Try to look as mean as possible. It helps that I am stronger than most. I never really understood it myself. I can take a hit well, and recover quickly from most wounds. I can out lift a lot of men down here, and my frame reflects that. But it may not be saying much if I'm competing with the malnourishment of others.

  Still, even with whatever gifts I may have physically, I always stay on my guard, ready to fight at all times. All it takes is one mistake to change everything. You never know who or what's lurking around corners. It works mostly. Men don't want to touch and grab at someone they know can throw them around.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Just as I'm thinking of this, a hand grabs my arm, and instinctively, I turn and grab it in return, squeezing the fingers as hard as I can.

  "Owe! What the hell Ash?" I hear a familiar voice say.

  My eyebrow pops up, "Nikko?"

  I let the hand go and he rubs the new knots out of it.

  "Yeah man. What's up with you?"

  "With me? What's up with you? Why you grabbing me like that?" I ask, adrenaline pumping.

  "I said hey." The taller, skrawny guy says in front of me. Mud stains his face and hair, masking the blonde color underneath. His teeth are nasty, which you'd be hard pressed to find anyone with white teeth in ground terrace. But it still screams out to me what he's been up to.

  "You been digging in the yards again?" I ask.

  "No no, said I wouldn't remember?" He says, his eyes never meeting mine fully.

  I give him a blank look, "Nikko. I can see right through you. You're a terrible liar."

  He huffs, "alright alright you got me."

  "Why'd you go back there? You know the heap yards are crawling with upper terrace guards." I say.

  He heaves a sigh, "I know I know, but there's good loot I could sell from there. Makes me money."

  I sigh, shaking my head, "you're going to get your head blown off doing that one day."

  "If I get caught."

  I continue walking and he follows loyally. Nikko is one of my good friends. Always has been since we were kids. We were never super close, but I don't mind chatting with him every now and again.

  "So, where you guys staying now?" He asks innocently.

  I stop in my tracks and a pang of guilt strikes me in the chest. I wish I could take him with me. He's a good guy, and it'd be nice to have someone on the inside with me I could talk to. But i've already bunked it up way too much. I can't drag him down with me too.

  "Not sure yet." I lie, continuing on my path.

  "Well, when you figure it out let me know. Maybe I could help you on your next gig yeah? Keep me from digging in the yards." He says.

  I nod, "yeah, of course."

  "See you guys around then. Gonna go try and ask Lilly out tonight." He says with a wink.

  I scoff, "Hasn't she said she's done with you?"

  He shrugs, "she'll come around."

  I roll my eyes, "whatever you say."

  He chuckles and runs off opposite of the direction i'm headed. Men and women in black market stalls lining the streets yell out to check their shops. Stolen goods, mech parts, food from who knows where are all sold here.

  Ground terrace is its own domain. The guards here don't really do much, there isn't much worth other than at the mines. They police the mines, and the mayoral mansion grounds, and other than that, they mainly leave us be. No one here is strong enough to do much, and the capital on Terrace One has their hands full trying to root out revolutionaries raiding the mid terraces.

  "You didn't tell him where we were going." Ben says.

  I nod once, "no I didn't."

  "Why?"

  I shake my head, "not here."

  "You said you'd tell me." He counters.

  "Not. Here." I say with a sharpness to my tone.

  He stays quiet after that. He knows something is wrong, and he knows better than to test my patience in times like these.

  It doesn't take me long to navigate the catwalks heading toward the western district. There is hardly anyone out right now. They're all on shift in the mines. They should be getting off any second now. I need to book it if I don't want to get delayed by the crowd.

  As I pass the mouth of the cavern entrance, I feel Ben lay his head sideways to look at the lifeless faces exiting from the elevator. Each one looks drained, exhausted, careless. Life as a silica miner is hard. Not only is the inherent danger of mining in general, but mining silica is sure to shorten your lifespan once you start. The city is divided into four districts, each with their own specialty ores they mine.

  Ours is silica, and it infects everything it touches. It's the main reason why so many are sick in ground terrace in the first place. Not only is the dust everywhere in the southern district, but the refinery poisons absolutely everything, including the air we breathe. It's why my parents died, and it's why the boy I carry on my back is on deaths door.

  I hope the upper terraces and its ruling Archon, Solaris Vox, are grateful for our sacrifice.

  "Is that what dad looked like when he got off work?" Ben asks, breaking my thoughts.

  I look over and see the nothingness behind the poor mens eyes as they leave the mines for they day and nod.

  "Yeah." I say with a heavy sigh.

  He's silent for a moment, watching the men shuffle home before clearing his dry, aching throat.

  "Do you miss them?"

  I nod again, thinking of our mothers warm smile, and our fathers hearty laugh, “yeah. Every day."

  "I don't remember them. Not really. I might be able to think of ma's face." He admits solemnly.

  My heart sinks at the thought.

  "You look a lot like them. More than I do." I say.

  "Really?" He asks.

  I chuckle, "yeah. You look a lot like dad actually. I look nothing like either of them I think."

  "Then who would you look like if it wasn't either of them?" He asks with a chuckle.

  I shrug, "I don't know. But I can tell you right now then neither of them had thick blonde hair like mine. Our grandparents must have."

  He scoffs, “maybe. Or maybe you’re just some weirdo.”

  I laugh, grinning widely. Even after everything this kid’s been through, even through the worst part of his life, he still has to give me a hard time.

  The crowd behind us starts to fade as we venture into uncharted territory. The western district is home to no one. It's abandoned, and not by choice either. The ghosts that haunt the place litter the very atmosphere, reminding you of the tragedy that fell upon it.

  The western district mined magnesium mainly. Each district had iron deposits it would take from of course, but the main goal of each was to mine their specialized veins. Iron is too common on our martian planet, but it’s the specialties that puts gold teeth in upper terrace men mouths.

  Unfortunately for this district however, it didn’t bode well for them. Magnesium is extremely flammable, and when you don’t keep a close eye on the state of your lower city, then negligence leads to mistakes. Only this mistake burned the entire district to the ground. The dust from the caverns was everywhere, and one small fire lit up the whole place.

  They contained the fire with atmos fields, but it came at a cost. They locked all its people within, burning them all to death. Rumors say there are no known survivors. Based off the evidence I see now, I believe the rumors are true.

  Burned skeletons with melted bones litter the streets. Handprints decorate the gates, holding the horrific memory of peoples desperate attempt at escape. The buildings are all ash, and what isn’t burned up is crumbling stone. The whole district is completely devastated with no sign of hope even fifteen years later.

  No one dares to come here. There’s no reason to really. The only people that would be scorched in the head enough to come here would be hook addicts to stash their stuff, or feral people. People so eaten up by their addictions that they’re barely even human. This is a risky move. I should turn back, cut my losses and run. But I can feel Ben struggling to breathe against my back, desperately clinging to life. I set my jaw and make up my mind.

  I can’t turn back. Not now.