The Data Scraps

The vibro-saw screamed, a high-pitched whine that tore through the humid air and vibrated up Norm’s forearms, rattling his teeth. Sweat, gritty and warm, tracked down his temples, stinging his eyes. He blinked, pushing past the discomfort, focusing on the synthetic bark of the bio-timber. This was the fifth one, or maybe the sixth. The sun, a brutal, unyielding orb in the summer sky, cooked the back of his neck through the thin material of his work shirt. Each breath tasted metallic, a mix of his own exertion and the faint, processed scent of the engineered forest. The tree shuddered, a low groan audible even over the saw, before it toppled with a sickening crack, hitting the chemically-treated ground with a dull thud that sent a minor tremor through Norm’s boots. His muscles ached, a deep, persistent throb in his shoulders and lower back, a familiar companion since this summer job had started.

Sara, a few metres away, was wrestling with her own saw, its motor sputtering like a dying cyber-hound. She swore, a terse, guttural sound that carried on the stagnant air. Her face was flushed, her dark hair plastered to her forehead. She slammed the side of the saw with the heel of her hand. It coughed, then caught, whining back to life. 'Piece of junk,' she muttered, but Norm heard it. He wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand, leaving a smear of grime. This was their life: extracting resources for OmniCorp, the same corporation that owned the synthetic air they breathed in the city, the synthetic food they ate, and probably the synthetic thoughts in their heads. The irony wasn't lost on either of them, but hunger was a more immediate master.

He dragged the severed section of 'timber' towards the automated collection rig, a squat, insectoid machine that hummed impatiently. It clacked open its maw, ingested the trunk, and whirred, processing it into pulp. The rig’s internal diagnostics light flashed a sullen orange. Overheating. Great. Just what they needed on the hottest day of the year. Norm leaned against the rig’s cool, metallic side, feeling the vibrations seep into his tired bones. 'Rig’s cooked,' he called out to Sara, his voice hoarse. She looked over, lowering her saw. Her expression was grim. 'Again?'

They had two choices: wait for the repair drone, which could take hours, or try to push deeper into the forest, towards the edge of their designated quadrant. The latter was technically against regulations, but less boring. And hotter. The air seemed to ripple above the bio-timber canopy, a heat haze blurring the edges of the artificial foliage. 'Maybe we push further,' Sara said, as if reading his mind, a slight tremor in her voice that hinted at something more than just boredom. 'There’s that old access path… the one the drone maps always scrub out.' Norm hesitated. Alex, his older brother, a junior lawyer for the corporate legal services, had always warned him about 'scrubbed' areas. 'They scrub them for a reason,' Alex had said, his voice low and serious. 'For their reasons, not ours.'

But the heat was oppressive, and the thought of standing still for hours felt worse than risking a minor infraction. 'Fine,' Norm grunted, hoisting his saw onto his shoulder. 'But you lead.' Sara gave a thin, humourless smile and gestured further inland. They skirted the overheated rig, moving past the perfectly uniform rows of bio-timber. The ground here was different, less manicured, more natural. Real dirt, not processed substrate. The scent of decaying leaves mingled with something sharper, a faint tang like static electricity after a storm, or burning copper. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was certainly alien to the clean, sterile smells of the 'sustainable' forest.

The path, barely a deer trail, narrowed quickly. Branches, real branches with actual thorns, scraped at their arms through their thin jackets. Norm felt a small prick on his forearm, then another. This wasn't the manicured corporate wilderness. This was something else. The sunlight struggled to penetrate the denser canopy here, creating patches of stark shadow and blinding light. He squinted, his eyes still adjusting from the uniform brightness of the clear-cut zone. Sara was silent, her movements careful, almost predatory. She stopped abruptly. 'You smell that?' she whispered, not turning, her gaze fixed on something beyond the next cluster of gnarled, forgotten trees. It was stronger now, that acrid, metallic tang, coupled with a faint, oily sweetness that made Norm's stomach churn.

Junkyard Discovery

Norm pushed past Sara, peering through a curtain of thick, fibrous vines. His breath caught. It wasn’t a path, not really. It was a scar. A massive gash in the earth, filled not with trees or soil, but with a landscape of twisted metal. A junkyard. Not the neat, categorised recycling depots of the city, but a true, chaotic graveyard of forgotten tech, stretching as far as the eye could see. Mountains of corroded chrome glinted dully under the filtering light. Rust-coloured towers of circuit boards stood precariously, leaning like ancient monuments. A faint, greenish-yellow haze shimmered above the wreckage, lending the entire scene an eerie, surreal quality. The smell here was overwhelming now: burning plastic, wet asphalt, sulphur, and something else, something deeply unsettling and vaguely familiar from Alex’s hushed phone calls about his latest corporate defence case.

Sara let out a low whistle, a sound of awe mixed with apprehension. 'Well, look at this,' she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of what might have been city traffic, or maybe the junkyard itself. They started down, carefully picking their way over rusted panels and jagged shards of what looked like shattered data screens. Each step crunched, a grating scrape of breaking glass and grinding metal. Norm stumbled, catching himself on a twisted piece of rebar that dug painfully into his palm. He hissed, pulling his hand back, a thin line of blood welling on his skin. This place was dangerous. He knew that much.

The heat intensified as they descended, trapped between the metallic giants. The air was thick, heavy, like breathing through a dirty filter. He felt a weird pressure in his ears. The silence here was unnatural, broken only by the creak of settling metal and the occasional, almost imperceptible clink of something shifting deep within the piles. Norm ran his hand over the smooth, still-intact shell of what looked like an ancient delivery drone, its paint faded to a chalky grey. A tiny bird, dark and scruffy, flitted out from a hole in a broken panel, startling him. He jumped back, a stupid, involuntary yelp escaping his throat. Sara snorted, a small, wry smirk playing on her lips, but her eyes, too, were constantly scanning, taking everything in.

Deep within a hollow formed by two colossal stacks of salvaged chassis, Norm saw a flicker. A faint, almost imperceptible pulse of light, like a dying firefly trapped in a jar. He squinted, trying to make sense of it. It was coming from a partially buried object, something sleek and angular, half-obscured by a cascade of rusted network cables. 'Over there,' he pointed, his voice low, a little breathless. Sara followed his gaze, her expression hardening. They moved carefully, their boots sinking slightly into the soft, oily dirt that clung to the floor of this metallic valley. The pulsing light grew stronger as they approached, a sickly green. It was an OmniCorp drone. A scout model, by the looks of it, but far more robust than the standard surveillance units.

The drone was damaged, its optical sensors cracked, one of its flight fins mangled. But the primary power indicator, that green pulse, was still active. Norm knelt, brushing away the dirt and rusted debris. He saw it then: a data port, standard OmniCorp issue, but heavily corroded. It was an older model, perhaps five years old, long since replaced by more advanced, less traceable units. This one had been dumped, not recycled. Why? OmniCorp was meticulous about recycling, especially their own tech. Unless… 'Why would they dump this?' Sara whispered, her voice reflecting Norm’s unspoken question. 'It’s still got power. Still got… data, probably.'

Norm pulled a compact data-reader from his utility belt. It was a cheap, consumer-grade model, mostly used for scanning public terminals or checking his credit balance, but it had a basic data extraction function. He fumbled with the corroded port, his fingers slipping on the slick metal. The heat was making everything difficult. He bit his lip, concentrating, forcing the reader’s connector into place. It clicked, a faint, metallic sound swallowed by the vastness of the junkyard. The reader whirred, its small screen flickering to life. Static. Then, a progress bar, agonizingly slow. Sara knelt beside him, her elbow brushing his, her presence a small comfort in this desolate place. He could feel her breath on his neck, shallow and quick.

The progress bar stalled at 17%. Then, 21%. A jumble of corrupted files appeared on the screen, a chaotic cascade of alphanumeric strings. Most were unreadable, fragmented beyond repair. But then, a few lines resolved, briefly. Project Chimera. Disposal Zone Epsilon. Data Overwrite Protocol… failed. Norm’s heart gave a sudden, hard thud against his ribs. He knew those words. Or rather, Alex did. His brother had mentioned 'Project Chimera' only last week, a hushed, late-night phone call about a particularly thorny corporate defence case he was assisting on. Something about environmental litigation. Something about a 'lost' experimental data package. Alex had sounded… stressed. More stressed than usual. Norm had dismissed it as corporate jargon then, but seeing it here, in this wasteland…

Sara gasped. 'Chimera? Isn’t that… isn't that what your brother's company is defending OmniCorp against?' Her voice was tight, thin. Norm nodded, his throat suddenly dry. The heat, the smell, the surreal landscape of the junkyard… it all sharpened into a single, terrifying point. This wasn’t just a junkyard. This was a cover-up. A dump for the evidence OmniCorp didn't want anyone to find. And they had just found a piece of it. A critical, damning piece. The data-reader beeped, the screen flickering again, displaying another fragment: Unauthorized waste dispersal. Toxic runoff indicators: elevated. Containment breach: confirmed.

The words hammered into Norm’s mind. Toxic runoff. Containment breach. Alex was defending OmniCorp, yes, but he also had a stubborn streak, a rigid sense of justice that made him rail against corporate malfeasance. If this data was real, if it could prove OmniCorp had knowingly polluted, had lied in court… it would dismantle their case. It would ruin them. And it would make them look for who found this. Norm’s hand trembled, the data-reader feeling impossibly heavy. He started to pull the connector out, his mind a whirlwind of fear and a strange, cold clarity.

That’s when he heard it. A faint, rhythmic thrumming sound. Low, barely perceptible at first, vibrating through the ground more than the air. It wasn’t the familiar hum of the city, nor the distant drone of a public transit vehicle. This was closer. More focused. A patrol drone. OmniCorp’s security units. They were here. Or they were coming. Sara’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, scanning the metallic peaks that surrounded them. 'Did you…' she started, her voice a strained whisper, her gaze fixed on the highest pile of scrap metal to their left. The thrumming grew louder, a steady, mechanical pulse. It was definitely a drone. And it was getting closer, fast.

Panic flared in Norm’s chest, cold and sharp. He ripped the data-reader from the port, the connection breaking with a painful screech. He didn't even check if the data transfer was complete. All he knew was they had to move. Now. 'We need to go!' he gasped, scrambling to his feet, almost tripping over a loose cable. He clutched the data-reader, its small screen still showing the partial, incriminating files, like a lifeline. Or a death sentence. The thrumming was directly overhead now, a whirring, chopping sound that echoed off the metal walls of the junkyard. It was a heavy-duty security drone, not a casual patrol. They had been tracked. Or this place was monitored, and their presence had triggered an alarm.

Sara was already moving, her agility surprising. She darted between two rusting tanks, disappearing into the labyrinthine depths of the junkyard. 'This way!' her voice, though muffled, was urgent. Norm followed, his legs aching, lungs burning. He scrambled over a precarious pile of flattened data screens, his boots slipping on the slick surface. A shower of broken glass rained down around him. He felt a sharp jab as a shard grazed his cheek. He didn't stop. He couldn't. The drone's shadow, enormous and predatory, swept over the junkyard, its searchlight cutting through the haze, illuminating the chaotic landscape in stark, momentary detail. He could hear its low-frequency scanners at work, searching, probing.

He flung himself behind a leaning wall of salvaged server racks, the smell of dust and stagnant air almost suffocating. He pressed himself against the cold metal, trying to make himself as small as possible. The drone hovered directly above their last known position, its powerful thrusters kicking up a cloud of acrid dust. Its optical sensors, two glowing red pinpricks, swept the area, methodical and chilling. Norm held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic drum against the metal wall. He could feel the vibrations of the drone's engines through the ground, through the very air. Sara was somewhere near, he hoped. He couldn't see her. He could only hear his own ragged breathing, the frantic beat of his pulse.

The drone lingered, an unblinking, omniscient eye. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, it began to move, continuing its sweep towards the far side of the junkyard. Norm waited, counting to ten, then twenty, before daring to peek out. The drone was a black speck against the hazy sky now, its thrumming fading slightly. He risked a quick dash, staying low, trying to follow the path Sara had taken. He could see her now, a small figure weaving through the wreckage, just ahead. She glanced back, her eyes meeting his, a shared understanding of the imminent danger. They were out, for now. Out of the immediate sensor range, but not out of the woods. Not by a long shot.

He reached Sara, collapsing beside her behind another pile of scrap that offered a brief respite. She was panting, her chest heaving. 'Got it?' she managed to gasp, her voice tight with exertion. Norm nodded, holding up the data-reader. Its screen, though small, glowed with the partially recovered files. It wasn't everything. He knew that. But it was enough. Enough to show 'Project Chimera' wasn't just a project. It was a crime. OmniCorp, the bastion of corporate responsibility, was a polluter, a liar. And now, they had stumbled into the middle of it. The weight of the device in his hand felt like a lead ingot. This wasn’t just a job anymore. This was a direct threat to their lives, to Alex’s career, to everything.

The sun began its slow descent, painting the rusted landscape in hues of grim orange and purple, making the twisted metal seem to bleed. The long shadows stretched like grasping fingers, reaching for them. They had a piece of truth, a dangerous, volatile truth, and the entity that had buried it was undoubtedly already mobilising to retrieve it, or silence those who had unearthed it. The chip, still warm against his palm, pulsed faintly, a silent, terrible promise of the storm that was now undeniably, irrevocably heading their way, and Norm knew, with a cold, clear certainty, that their lives had just fundamentally, brutally shifted.