The Conduit File

Vaelen looked at him, his red cybernetic eyes devoid of sympathy. He dropped a small, metal cred-chip onto the floor next to Silas. "This will cover your medical expenses and your shop rent for a year. You did a good job, Silas. But look at your hands. The filaments are burned out. You aren't a Conduit anymore."

Silas glanced around his cramped workshop, filled with glowing vacuum tubes, tangled wires, and the steady, comforting pulse of ancient servers. The Upper Spires were a myth to people like him—a world of real sunlight and clean air. He sighed, pulling a pair of heavy, bronze-rimmed goggles over his eyes. "Show me the terminal." The Conduit

The heavy iron door of his workshop groaned open, admitting a blast of the metallic air and a tall figure wrapped in a dark, synth-leather duster. Silas didn’t look up. The rhythm of the visitor's boots on the metal grating told him everything he needed to know. It was Commander Vaelen of the Core Guard. Vaelen looked at him, his red cybernetic eyes

"You’re the best we have," Vaelen countered, stepping closer. "And the Core will pay handsomely. Enough credits to get you out of this rust bucket of a sector and into the Upper Spires." You did a good job, Silas