Chapter 1: Ghosts Don't Pickpocket
The marketplace was alive with noise—shouting vendors, honking scooters, and the thick aroma of fried dough and burning rubber. A store keeper sat—legs crossed at a desk reading an old newspaper. Two custumers tried to bargain their way into buying some groceries
"You stole my phone, man! I saw you!"
A voice rose above the chaos, loud and angry.
Heads turned. A thickset man in a stained delivery vest stood in the middle of the street, pointing a shaky finger at a skinny teen with wide, confused eyes.
"You're crazy! I didn't touch you!" the accused snapped back.
A small crowd formed fast. Some shook their heads and moved on. Others watched like it was their favorite drama.
"I know it was you! You brushed past me, then bam—phone gone!"
The accused threw his hands up. "Dude, I don't even own a phone that nice. Maybe you dropped it."
A woman muttered, "Probably just trying to blame someone poor."
''yeah,leave the poor guy alone. He's innocent''
''Dont give me that crap! Are u telling me that a ghost snatched it—get real'' The accuser snapped back
The crowd began to turn. Sympathy leaned toward the scrawny guy now. He emptied his pockets
But no one noticed the real thief.
Adam strolled past them like he had all the time in the world, hood up, hands in his jacket. No one looked twice at the bored teen slinking along the edge of the scene, chewing on a stick of gum. Not even the angry delivery guy who was currently yelling at the wrong person.
Adam resisted the urge to smirk.
He felt the stolen phone in his pocket, smooth and expensive. Too new to be missed for long.
'Ghosts don't pickpocket' he thought. 'But I do.'
---
The city stretched out before him like a cracked neon map. Towering skyscrapers loomed over rusted shanties. Holograms flickered above buildings that hadn't seen paint in decades. Drones buzzed through the sky like flies. Somewhere above, a floating cruiser belonging to the Department of Ethereal Control hovered on idle patrol.
Welcome to Cradle City. Half haunted, half tech haven, all broken.
Adam ducked down a side alley, away from the bustle. The narrow corridor reeked of mold and piss, but it was quiet. Familiar. He navigated the maze of backstreets until he found his guy.
Old Man Kree sat in his usual spot, behind a rusted crate that passed for a counter. His stall was hidden under a half-torn tarp, wedged between a noodle stand and a wall of graffiti that pulsed faintly with banned sigils.
"You again," Kree grunted, not looking up.
Adam tossed the phone onto the crate. It clacked against the rusted metal like a challenge. "Brand new. Barely used."
"Stolen?"
"Found it," Adam said with a shrug.
''Yeah,riiiight''
Kree inspected the phone through a magnifying eyepiece, his long nails tapping against the screen.
"Locked. Biometric scan still active. Worth less if I have to crack it myself."
Adam leaned in. "You want it or not?"
Kree sighed, reached under the crate, and tossed a few grimy bills onto the surface. "Hundred and twenty. Final offer."
"That thing's worth four times that and you know it"
"And I'm the only fence dumb enough to buy from a kid who looks like he hasn't bathed in a week. Take it or leave it."
Adam grumbled, but pocketed the cash.
-------
''Oh hey there,Adam. Didn't see you there'' Mrs. Ross said
She was busy serving another customer that she almost didnt notice adam walk in the restaurant
It wasnt anything fancy—just four old booths,a flickering neon sigh on the verge of collapsing,and enough grease to coat the walls. But to Adam,it was comfort
The smell of fried baccon drifted throught the air—hitting Adam like a wave,the moment he walked in.
Spice smoke drifted through the air, mixing with the sharp tang of grilled meat. At the very back, Gary—the cook,was getting busy with orders.
He rushed to the fridge,taking out some ingredients. Chopping carrots. Stirring a pot of soup like his life depended on it.
Mrs. Ross went over to take orders and deliver them to the customers—Her usual routine.
''So,whats it gonna be today,the usual?''She asked,walking up to Adam's table.
Adam ordered his usual—a cheap milkshake that tasted like heaven on a tight budget.
The first sip melted on his tongue—sweet,cold,perfect. He leaned back,eyes fluttering shut,imagining himself on a sunlit beach. No ghosts,no trouble. Just waves...and a few pretty girls in bikinis walking by
''So… how's your week been? Doing anything fun lately?" Mrs. Ross asked,taking a seat next to him
Adam smirked, sipping his shake. "Fun? Besides the usual pickpocketing and low-tier theft? Living the dream."
Mrs. Ross raised an eyebrow. "Honey, how many times do I have to tell you? That 'dream' of yours is gonna land you in a jail cell—or worse."
Adam shrugged, casual. "Maybe. But I've been doing this a while. I'm fast, remember? Running's kinda my thing."
"You keep saying that like the world ain't changing." She leaned in, voice softer now. "Sooner or later, someone faster's gonna come after you."
Adam looked away for a second. Just one. Then smiled again. "Well... I'll cross that rooftop when I get to it."
Mrs. Ross sighed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
________________
Later, he wandered through the lower market with a warm bun in one hand and a soda in the other, people-watching. He passed fortune tellers with cybernetic eyes, street kids selling "authentic ghost charms," and a man arguing with a vending machine that refused to vend.
This was his life. Grimy. Fast. Disposable.
And he liked it that way.
He weaved through the crowd, not heading anywhere in particular, just absorbing the pulse of the city. Everyone here was either on the run, on the hustle, or on the edge of something.
Just like him.
He made his way to the far end of the district, where skyscrapers gave way to abandoned buildings and makeshift scaffolding. Above a noodle shop, hidden by tarp and corrugated metal, sat his hideout.
Home.
He climbed the ladder like second nature, flipping open the loose sheet of metal he used as a door.
Inside was his kingdom of scraps. The threadbare mattress sagged like it held a grudge, covered in a nest of worn blankets that smelled faintly of rust and cheap soap. A cracked tablet hummed quietly, faint blue glow flickering against the tarp walls. The wind outside creaked through loose sheet metal, but up here, above the chaos, it was his.
He plopped down and took a long swig from his soda, letting the sugary rush settle his nerves. Another job done. Another score made.
Adam stretched out on the mattress, pulled his hoodie over his face, and sighed.
''someday,it'll all change''
-----
Out on the rooftops,Adam looked down at pedestrians beneath. Who's the next target?
The wrinkled old man on the crossing the street or the young lady holding the baby? He couldnt decide
Deep in the crowd he spotted a man dressed in a suit—holding a briefcase. He looked anxious,scared and in quite the hurry.
Adam kept an eye on this man. The way this guy was clutching that briefcase felt off. He weaved through the crowd. Sweating,in a haste,like he was late for something
''Bingo''