Hey guys I would appreciate it if you could give reviews cause it helps me understand if there are any problems to the story like pacing,dragging on etc and also thanks for reading my book
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The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a burnt orange hue over the jagged skyline of the slums. Towers of rusted metal and makeshift homes jutted out like broken teeth, the glow of flickering neon signs and the distant buzz of malfunctioning power lines giving the place a haunting, synthetic aura. Amidst the refuse and discarded tech, a boy lay unconscious.
Orion's body was bruised, scratched, and smeared with dried blood, half-buried beneath metal scraps and shattered synthetic panels. His breath was shallow, chest rising and falling with effort. The sound of the junkyard was distant to him—just static to his ears.
A relatively middle-aged man, his arms scarred and calloused from years of labor, scoured the heaps of garbage with a few others. His faded coat fluttered in the breeze as his flashlight caught the slight movement of Orion's hand. He stopped abruptly.
"Wait... there's someone here!" he barked, kneeling down. Carefully, he removed the debris and checked for a pulse. Orion stirred faintly under his touch.
The man's brow furrowed. "Poor kid... someone dumped you here, huh?" he muttered. "No way a child ends up here by accident."
He hoisted Orion into his arms, the boy surprisingly heavy for his size, and called to the others. "I'm taking him to Zac. He'll know what to do."
As they walked through the crumbling maze of metal and polymer, the neon haze bathed the slums in shifting color. The world here was brutal, unrelenting—but it was also alive. People moved between cracks in the world, clinging to survival.
Orion stirred just as they approached a reinforced gate that opened into a central hub—an elevated platform lined with worn tents and crude structures which looked like an apartment complex, guarded by scrap-made fences. The man set him down gently as a figure emerged from one of the larger intact building that had been converted into a home.
The man was in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and wiry, his face framed by messy hair and tired eyes that had seen too much for his age. He stood with casual authority, dressed in patched synth-leather and reinforced boots. Zac.
The man who found Orion gave a nod. "Found him in the junkyard. Looks like someone dumped him. Still breathing."
Zac crouched in front of Orion, locking eyes with the boy who was slowly regaining his senses. There was silence for a moment, broken only by the background hum of generators and the echo of distant machinery.
Zac finally spoke, his tone blunt but not unkind."You were dumped like trash. Left to rot, just like everything else out there." Orion blinked at him, quiet, his expression unreadable.
"You're part of the slums now," Zac continued. "That means you work. You pull your weight, you eat. Simple."
He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for a boy nearby. A teenager stepped forward, lanky with grease-slicked dark hair and smudges on his face. He was roughly Orion's height, but clearly older—perhaps fourteen or fifteen.
"Mark," Zac said. "Show the kid around. Teach him what he needs to know."
Mark nodded and turned to Orion, his tone neutral but not unfriendly. "Come on. I'll show you your place."
Orion didn't speak. He had barely said anything since waking up, his mind still racing, trying to piece together everything. He followed Mark, moving like a machine set on autopilot.
They walked through the underbelly of the slums—a claustrophobic warren of narrow corridors lit by weak, flickering lights. Pipes hissed and leaked. Trash crunched underfoot. The air stank of oil, sweat, and decay.
Mark led him into a massive, crumbling apartment block that looked like it had been scavenged from a dozen different buildings. Inside, the hallway was choked with makeshift furniture, discarded electronics, and the sounds of people arguing behind thin sheet-metal doors. Their footsteps echoed on the cracked, stained floor.
"This is where we live," Mark said. "Slum apartments. Filthy, broken down. Trash everywhere. You'll get used to it."
They stopped at a room crowded with people. Eight to ten boys and girls huddled in a space meant for maybe three. Dirty mattresses lined the walls, personal belongings crammed into corners. There was no privacy. No comfort.
Orion's nose wrinkled at the smell. It was worse than the pits back on Caladan. But he said nothing. Better than dying in the junk.
Mark motioned to a spot on the floor. "That's yours. Now listen, I'll explain the work."
He sat down and pulled out a crusted metal flask, sipping from it.
"This planet and system has been slowly Decaying due to lack of minerals, The system's running dry of raw resources. Everything here runs on reprocessing. Junk like what you were found in? That's gold for the factories. We clean, process, salvage,rework. They give us food, maybe a place to sleep. That's our pay."
He looked at Orion seriously. "We're the lowest. Everything beneath the 'real' folks up there. But our work keeps the system running. That's why they call it the Land of Opportunity. There's always work. If you're lucky, maybe—just maybe—you climb outta here someday. But most don't. Most die in the dirt."
Orion finally spoke, his voice quiet but strong. "And what happens if you stop working?"
"They cut you off. Food, water, maybe even kick you out."
Mark handed him a dented metal bowl filled with something grey and unidentifiable. "Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow we work."
Orion ate in silence and curled up on his corner of the floor. No comfort. No dreams.
The next morning,
The slum buzzed with activity. Orion awoke late, Mark already dressed in dirty work clothes.
"Hurry up," Mark said. "We're heading out."
They stepped outside to a scene of ordered chaos. A massive junk truck had arrived, its massive treads grinding over debris as it parked near the central hub. Zac stood atop the truck's passenger-side frame, one foot balanced on the edge, his body leaning dangerously forward as he gripped a comm radio in one hand and held onto the roof with the other.
His voice boomed through the speakers. "Listen up! You want bonus rations? Work harder today! That's the deal!"
He scanned the crowd. "Get in your work groups. Move it!"
He jumped down, the impact of his boots echoing, and walked toward Mark and Orion. "You. Teach him properly. No dead weight."
Mark gave a quick nod, grabbing Orion's arm and dragging him toward the truck.
They reached the junkyard again, but now Orion saw it through new eyes, it was massive, spanning more than the area of where he lives now easily. Hundreds of people swarmed the heaps—picking, breaking, melting, carrying,reconstructing and making ingots. Massive conveyor belts carried sorted junk into looming storage buildings.
As they ate their simple breakfast—dry flavored nutrient biscuits and water—Mark explained, "They grade our work at the end of the day. You do good, you get enough to eat your fill. Maybe more and sometimes the good stuff."
He led Orion to a towering pile of tech refuse. "We're scavengers. Look for anything working—power cells, coils, mineral-rich parts, metals. We hand it over. Got it?"
Orion nodded, already scanning with focused eyes.
For hours they worked, sweat soaking their clothes. Orion's strength made him valuable—he lifted and carried with ease, learning quickly how to sort and identify valuable scraps. Word spread fast.
But not everyone liked it.
During lunch, a group of older boys swaggered over. They were bigger,crueler. They stole portions of food from the younger ones, barking orders and laughing.
One boy protested. They beat him.
Mark glared but said nothing. One of the gang members spat in his food and when he still looked defiantly he smacked him across the head.
Orion stepped forward, eyes burning, fists clenched.
Mark grabbed his arm. "Don't. If you fight, you don't get to eat. That's how it works, no one cares about your reasons, what matters is your work at the end of the day."
Reluctantly, Orion backed down, his jaw clenched. Later, he split his food with Mark.
The days passed in this rhythm—work, endure, survive. Orion adapted quickly. His speed, strength, and efficiency gained him slightly better rations,but for a young growing primarch it was enough to avoid starvation but never to be satisfied or be full
Then, three weeks in, everything changed.
Orion and Mark were scavenging the west quadrant of the yard when they unearthed something—a working power generator component, mostly intact.
"If we hand this in, we'll get extra food. Maybe something good," Mark said, eyes wide.
They worked together to carefully pull it from the debris, excitement fluttering in their chests. But the gang from before had been watching.
They approached, shouting.
" You can Leave that there! It's ours now!"
Mark stood in front of the part trying to give a hard stare "We found it. It's ours."
One of them stepped forward, swinging a metal bar. "You deaf?"
Mark's voice shook, but he didn't back down.
Orion stepped forward, shoulders squared. "We won't give it to you."
More gang members emerged, weapons raised. Tension thickened.
Suddenly, one of them blindsided Mark with a pipe. He crumpled, groaning.
Orion's rage ignited. He punched the attacker, dropping him instantly, and rushed to Mark's side. Another boy attacked. Orion blocked, pushing him back.
He tried not to hurt them seriously—but they didn't hold back. When one of them hit Mark again, Orion snapped.
He moved like a storm, fists flying, his anger precise and devastating. He knocked them out one by one—minimal damage, but enough to render them unconscious and hurt. Then he turned to the one who hurt Mark most and beat him savagely, blood staining the boy's face.
Minutes passed before the enforcers arrived.
They dragged all the boys back to the slums, where Orion and Mark were brought before Zac.
Zac listened, exhaling a long, tired sigh.
"What you did was stupid," he said. "You could've been thrown out. No food. No protection."
He looked at Orion, then Mark. "But it was self-defense. I get that. So... you're lucky."
He leaned against his desk. "From now on, you're working under me. My direct watch. One step out of line, you're gone."
They nodded, bruised and silent.
"Oh, and tonight? No food. No breakfast either. Consider that your warning."
He waved them off.
As they walked back to their room, the neon lights of the slums flickered like dying stars. The city buzzed on, indifferent. But Orion, for the first time since Caladan, felt something stir within him again.
Not just survival.
Resolve. If this is the card he has been dealt with then he will use then to their limit and thrive, no matter the cost