The Apocalypse Currency Is Time

Chapter 3: The Scavenger's Deal

Julieta pulled back, her eyes glinting like polished obsidian in the dim alley light. She didn't look bothered by his panic; she looked amused, as if she were watching a clumsy child try to perform a sleight-of-hand trick.

"You think you’re in control of that thing, don't you?" she asked, her voice calm and infuriatingly steady. "You think it’s just a clock on your arm. It’s not. It’s an appetite."

Henrique backed away, his boots skidding on a layer of pulverized glass. "I don’t want an appetite. I want out. I want this thing off my skin."

"Nobody gets it off," Julieta replied, crossing her arms. "The only way to stop the pulse is to feed it before it starts eating you from the inside out. You’re lucky you met me. I know how to manage the flow."

"Manage the flow?" Henrique laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. "You mean like you're managing me? What’s the catch, Julieta? What do you want?"

"A partnership," she said, leaning against a rusted dumpster. "I have the knowledge. You have the... hardware. I can show you how to navigate the grid, how to find 'donors' who won't be missed by the Syndicate, and in exchange, you give me a cut. Say, ten percent of every haul?"

"Ten percent of a death sentence?" Henrique shook his head. "No way. I’m not doing this."

"Think fast, Henrique," she warned, glancing toward the mouth of the alley. "The air is getting thin. Can't you feel it? The city knows you’re here. It’s already sending scouts."

"Scouts?"

"The local muscle," she said. "They smell that raw time on you. You're a beacon in a dark room. They’re coming to take their share, and they won't be as polite as I am."

"Then I'll run," Henrique said, turning to bolt.

"You won't get ten meters," she sighed.

Before he could take a step, a heavy metallic clang echoed through the alley. Three figures stepped out from the shadows at the opposite end, blocking his exit. They wore heavy, industrial-grade welder's goggles and vests lined with flickering, stolen capacitors. They were the vultures of the slums.

"Well, well," the leader growled, his voice muffled by a makeshift mask. "Look at the fresh meat. Smells like a full reservoir."

"Back off," Henrique shouted, his hand trembling as he reached for his covered wrist.

"Or what?" the leader stepped closer, his heavy, metallic boots crunching on the debris. "We’ve got sensors, kid. We know exactly what you’ve got in that cuff. That’s premium, uncut, high-yield time. Hand it over, and we might leave you with enough to last until sunrise."

"I told you, it’s not for trade," Henrique said, his voice cracking.

Julieta stepped beside him, her tone remarkably casual. "He’s not interested, boys. Why don't you find someone else to pester?"

The leader scoffed, a mechanical hiss escaping his mask. "And you? You’re that traitor, Julieta, right? The one who thinks she’s too smart for the Syndicate? Two birds, one stone."

"Henrique," Julieta whispered, not taking her eyes off the men. "They’re going to try to siphon you forcibly. If they get their hooks in, they won't just take the excess—they’ll drain you dry until you’re just another husk in the dust. You have to fight back."

"I don't know how!" Henrique hissed.

"Don't think about the numbers," she urged, her voice low and instructional. "Think about the tension. Feel the air around them. Reach out with your mind and pull the slack toward you. Treat it like a weapon."

The leader lunged, holding a serrated, glowing rod—a crude drain-spike. "Give it here!"

Henrique panicked, shielding his face with his left arm. The cuff flared, not with a hum this time, but with a high-pitched, agonizing whine.

27:15:40.

"It hurts!" Henrique screamed.

"Push it!" Julieta commanded. "Focus on that rod! Break the link!"

Henrique channeled every ounce of his terror and rage. He felt the cuff respond, a surge of freezing cold rushing down his arm and out into the space between him and the attacker. He didn't just want to defend himself; he wanted the threat gone. He imagined the time, the life, the energy being torn out of the man, shredded, and pulled into the glowing, neon-red void on his wrist.

The effect was instantaneous. A ripple in the air, like a shockwave of heat, pulsed outward. The leader froze mid-lunge. The glowing rod in his hand flickered, turned dull, and then cracked.

"What... what did you do?" the man wheezed.

His voice was a dry, hollow rattle. He began to shrink, not in size, but in substance. His thick, industrial vest suddenly hung loosely on his frame as his shoulders slumped. His skin turned a sickly, translucent gray, then cracked and crumbled like ancient, sun-baked clay.

The two other thugs stopped in their tracks, their bravado vanishing.

"Run!" one of them shrieked, stumbling backward.

"Not today," Julieta muttered. She moved with predatory grace, stepping in front of Henrique and slamming a small, handheld device into the dirt. A localized pulse of energy surged from the gadget, creating a momentary barrier that pinned the remaining two men to the brick wall.

"Henrique, finish it," she said, looking at him with an expression of cold, analytical fascination. "They’ve seen your face. There’s no letting them walk away."

Henrique stared at the men pinned against the wall. They were clawing at the invisible barrier, their eyes wide with sheer, primal terror.

"Please," one of them begged, his voice trembling. "I have a family. I just need a day. Just one day!"

Henrique looked at his wrist. 28:40:15. The numbers were climbing, fueled by the vacuum he had created. He felt the power humming under his skin, a seductive, terrifying nectar. He knew if he stopped now, the cycle would continue, but if he pushed, he would be a killer.

"Do it," Julieta urged, her voice a whisper in his ear. "If you don't, they’ll come back with a hundred more of their kind. You’re at war, Henrique. You just didn't realize it until now."

Henrique closed his eyes. He didn't want to see them turn into dust. He didn't want to hear the rattling sound of their lives being snuffed out. But he didn't want to be the one lying in the dirt, forgotten and dry.

He thrust his hand forward, letting the cuff do the work.

The air in the alleyway seemed to liquefy. The two men screamed, a sound that quickly devolved into a dry hiss as their bodies disintegrated. Within seconds, there was nothing left on the wall but two piles of gray, fine, uniform dust that settled slowly onto the grimy pavement.

Silence returned to the alley. The only sound was the rhythmic, soft pulse of his cuff.

28:45:00.

Henrique fell to his knees, his hands pressed to his face. "I killed them. I really did it."

Julieta stood over him, her silhouette framed by the smog-choked moonlight struggling to pierce the clouds. She reached down, her touch firm on his shoulder.

"You saved yourself," she corrected, her voice devoid of pity. "And you gained enough time to get us both to the upper sectors."

Henrique looked up at her, his eyes hollow. "Is this it? Is this my life now? Just trading years for minutes until I’m the only one left?"

"It’s the only life there is," she said, offering him a hand. "You can be the butcher, or you can be the meat. Now, stand up. We have to move. The Syndicate’s sensors are going to be ringing like bells after that little performance, and I’d prefer not to be here when the heavy hitters arrive."

Henrique took her hand, the contact sparking a strange, cold shiver up his arm. As he stood, he looked down at the piles of dust. He felt a fleeting moment of remorse, but it was quickly drowned out by the steady, insistent ticking of his own life, now longer, stronger, and more dangerous than it had ever been.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice sounding older, harder.

Julieta turned toward the deeper, darker labyrinth of the city. "We’re going to find out who really owns that cuff, Henrique. And then, we’re going to decide if we want to work for them—or burn them to the ground."

Henrique took a deep breath, the foul air filling his lungs, and followed her into the shadows. He didn't look back at the dust. He knew, with a terrifying clarity, that he would be seeing much more of it before his time finally ran out.