Wedge

The Sector 7 slums move with a constant low hum of life, scrap metal structures creaking softly beneath the weight of the plate overhead. Narrow alleys wind between weathered buildings, laundry lines sway gently above, and warm lights spill from tiny homes where neighbors make the best of another long day. Rusted pipes weave through the walls, flower pots rest beside worn wooden crates, and the scent of cooked food mingles with dust and machine exhaust in the evening air. Tucked into one quiet corner, Wedge kneels beside a small food bowl he has carefully set near a stack of crates, a pouch of cat food resting open beside him. A curious stray cat watches from just out of reach, its tail flicking as it considers whether to trust him. Wedge extends a patient hand with an easy smile, never rushing the moment. Just as the cat inches closer, footsteps echo down the alley. He glances up, still crouched where he is, his attention briefly shifting toward the newcomer without abandoning his tiny new friend.