Year: 3048.
A dim red glow pulses from broken neon signs, casting jagged shadows along the rusted walls of Dera Final's lower slums. The air is thick with the scent of ozone, burning metal, and the stench of too many bodies crammed into too little space. In the deepest levels of the ship—a place forgotten by the rest of civilization—one man stirs in a cramped, filthy room.
He is the last human.
A deep, mechanical rumble shakes the walls as the morning garbage collectors make their rounds. The sound is deafening, reverberating through the thin metal panels that barely pass as walls. Angus groans and pulls a threadbare blanket over his head.
"I just fell asleep…" he mutters, rubbing his eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on him like a thousand hands. His voice is hoarse, dry from disuse, like his words are trying to claw their way out. His muscles ache, stiff and unyielding from another night spent on the frayed remnants of a mattress that's seen better days. The dim, flickering light above does little to cut through the shadows of the room—if it could even be called a room. It's more of a steel coffin, really. The walls are cold, unforgiving, and the air smells like rust and forgotten years. In the corner, a sink leaks steadily, its sound a constant drip of decay, the grime that clings to it an ugly reminder of time's slow erasure. A photo of a woman, faded and cracked at the edges, stares back at him from the wall—his mother, maybe, or someone who once mattered.
Then—Bang! Bang!
A violent pounding on the door sends a jolt of adrenaline through his system.
"I know you're in there, Angus!" a voice snarls from the other side. "Get the fuck out here, you human scum! I only let you stay here because you were paying double!"
Angus bolts upright, his heart hammering in his chest. Shit. Rent day.
He glances at the digital calendar on his wall. The flickering numbers confirm what he already knows: he's a month overdue. Again.
The landlord outside isn't the type to let debts slide, especially because he's been doing Angus a "favor," keeping his human identity a secret.
"No time to think." Angus moves in a blur, his hands pulling the black trench coat on with a frantic urgency. He shoves his boots onto his feet with barely a second's thought, the leather creaking in protest. His fingers fumble as they jam a few crumpled credits into his pockets, but he doesn't hesitate. One last glance at the wall—the picture of his mother. His heart twinges, and for a split second, he's tempted to leave it behind, but he can't. He reaches for the frame, the glass already cracked. With a quick, harsh motion, he shatters what's left of it and slips the worn-out photo into his coat pocket, as if hiding away a piece of who he was.
He's not wasting another moment.
He moves to the back window, the frame protesting as he forces it open. His fingers grip the edge just as he hears the door lock click—a sharp, cold sound that cuts through the tension like a blade. "Shit," he curses under his breath. The bastard's overridden the code.
"Too slow."
The door slams open. A stocky reptilian man with copper-colored scales stands in the doorway, a plasma pistol already drawn. His yellow slit-pupil eyes narrow.
"You jackass! I'm going to blow your head off!"
The pistol hums as it charges. Angus doesn't wait. He twists his body, pushing off the window frame just as the first shot tears through the air. His trench coat flares behind him, the fabric hissing as the energy round grazes its edge.
He lands hard on the grated walkway below, rolling to absorb the impact before sprinting into the maze of the city's center.
The Lower Yen Region is alive with movement. Towering buildings press in on either side, their surfaces covered in ancient kanji etched into metal, glowing with soft yellow light. Traditional shoji panels have been upgraded with neon circuits, blending old-world aesthetics with cybernetic innovation.
Massive holo-banners hover in the air, displaying advertisements in flickering projections:
"ELEVATE YOURSELF – UNLOCK THE TRUE YOU!"
"ENHANCE YOUR BEING – GET CYBERNETICS NOW!"
The streets are thick with bodies—merchants shouting over each other, Yōsei couriers zipping between buildings with their large spiritual wings, and Oni samurai standing guard outside the front gate. The crowd is diverse: cybernetic-enhanced lizardfolk, elf merchant traders, and biomechanical constructs, all moving in the synchronized chaos of the yen region's underbelly.
Angus pulls up his hood, hiding his silver hair. Even among the alien masses, he stands out. An unaltered human is a relic, a dying species in a world that has long since moved past its need for flesh and bone. The air feels suffocating. His breath is shallow as he moves through the streets, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, trying to stay unnoticed—just another ghost in the city.
Then, a scream cuts through the noise.
Shrill. Desperate.
Angus doesn't think—his body moves before his mind can catch up. His instincts are sharper than any rational thought.
He weaves through the crowd, heart thudding against his ribs, as he follows the sound to a narrow alleyway shrouded in flickering shadows.
A young girl, no older than sixteen, her crimson skin shimmering in the dim alley light, is pinned against the wall. Her single horn, glistening with a cold sheen, marks her as an Oni, but she is far from the fearsome warriors the world expects. Her clothes are torn, barely clinging to her trembling frame, and her eyes are wide with terror.
Three reptilian thugs loom over her, their green scales reflecting the dim light from above. One has a thick, stubby tail, another's is medium-length, and the last is long and thin. They move like predators, their tongues flicking in and out as they size her up.
"Stop struggling, little Oni," the long-tailed one sneers, his voice sharp like broken glass. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not."
The medium-tailed one smirks, a sickening grin splitting his face. "The royals want you. They'll pay good credits for a runaway like you."
The short-tailed one fidgets uncomfortably. "We— we shouldn't be doing this… She's just a kid."
The long-tailed one whips around, fury flashing in his eyes. "You don't get to question me. Shut your mouth and help me bring her in."
Just as they close in, a figure steps from the shadows—Angus. His voice is low, tinged with something darker, and it freezes the thugs in place.
"Let her go."
The lizards snap their heads toward him, sizing him up. Silence fills the alley until the long-tailed one laughs, a sound that carries no humor. "Well, well. The last human in the galaxy. What's the meatbag gonna do? Think you can stop us?"
Angus's eyes narrow, his voice steady despite the tension. "I don't think you belong here."
Without another word, he moves. In a blur of motion, he feints a punch, misdirecting their attention. Then, in a single fluid movement, he ducks low and grabs the girl, pulling her into his arms. He bolts down the alley, the lizards scrambling behind, roaring in rage as they chase him into the dark.
The alley ends at a wall. Angus taps a button on his boot, activating the magnetic stabilizers. The soles of his boots lock onto the vertical surface. He pushes off the ground and runs straight up the wall, gravity bending under his momentum. His heart races, the pulse of the chase driving him forward as the city whips past him in neon streaks.
Reaching the rooftop, he doesn't stop—his legs move on instinct, leaping from building to building. The wind rips at his coat, his breath sharp in his throat as he pushes himself faster, harder.
When they're far enough away, Angus drops into another alley and gently sets the girl down beside a pile of old crates. She trembles, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, wide-eyed and barely breathing.
Angus notices the deep scars along her arms and back. They're faint, but unmistakable—crisscrossing lines that could only have come from whips or worse. They tell a story of pain, a history written in flesh.
"Hey," he says softly, kneeling in front of her. "Are you alright?"
She swallows hard and nods shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Th-thank you, sir. I… I didn't know what I was going to do."
His brow furrows as he watches her. "What happened?"
Her voice trembles at first, like she's testing the air, but it falters again as her eyes dart nervously toward the alley entrance, like she's expecting someone to step out of the shadows at any moment. She lowers her voice to barely above a whisper, as if the world itself might overhear her.
"I was just sitting there… starving. I hadn't eaten in days. Then, out of nowhere, this group of—lizard-men—they just came at me. Like I was nothing. Started pushing me around."
Her hands curl into fists as she trembles, her face contorting as she recalls their mocking words, the memories jagged and sharp.
"What's a pretty thing like you doing alone in a place like this?"
"You look like you could use a little help. Why don't we fix that for you?"
She swallows hard, her breath hitching as if the words still hang in the air, too real to escape. Her hands press against her knees, as if grounding herself against the weight of it.
"I told them to leave me alone," she says, the words cracking, an edge of desperation creeping in. "But they just pinned me to the wall. One of them—he covered my mouth so I couldn't scream. The other—he licked my face, told me I looked delicious."
Her hands tremble, nails digging into her palms, but she holds herself still, the weight of the memory too much to carry. Her gaze drops to the ground, ashamed to meet Angus's eyes.
She chokes back a sob, and Angus's jaw tightens.
"I'm just glad you're safe now," he mutters, the anger still coiling in his chest, though his voice remains steady, like he's trying to hold something back. The words feel heavier than they should, but he doesn't let it show.
The girl looks up at him, her gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. There's a softness in her eyes, like she's studying him—trying to understand the man who's just pulled her out of the worst moment in her life. Her voice comes out quiet, hesitant, but the curiosity underneath it is undeniable.
"Are you really... human?"
He nods slowly, the weight of his identity pressing down on him like it always does. "Yeah, I'm human."
She blinks, almost like she's processing the fact, her eyes widening as if she still can't quite believe it. "I've heard stories. But I didn't think any of it was real. That someone like you even existed…"
"Yeah. People don't exactly talk about it," he replies, his tone almost bitter. He's used to the whispers, the stares—used to being treated like an anomaly, a leftover from a world that doesn't even exist anymore.
He rubs the back of his neck, the anger in his chest still simmering but not showing. "Not something I exactly go around advertising."
The girl pauses, almost as if she's trying to process everything at once, then glances up at him, hesitating before speaking again, almost afraid to ask.
"Can I ask your name?"
His jaw tightens for a second, but then he exhales, like he's releasing a little of the pressure building inside. "Yeah," he says, offering a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It's Angus."
She tilts her head, confused but intrigued. "What does it mean?"
His gaze shifts away, looking off into the shadows of the alley as if the question pulls him into a past he doesn't want to remember. "I've been told my name means 'one strength,'" he says, the words coming out flat, almost as if they don't fit. "But I never felt strong. What does that even mean, anyway? Strength's supposed to be… something obvious. You're either strong or you're not." His voice falters, and for a moment, the weight of everything he's been carrying presses down on him more than usual. The anger, the isolation, the frustration. "I'm still waiting to see what that strength looks like."