Note: If you haven’t read Short Story 4.0: The Arctic Incident —it’s recommended you start there—this story follows directly on.
A pale, skinny youth of around thirteen was picking through the piles of debris, looking for anything that might be useful, either to keep or trade. The pickings were slim, as these piles had already been picked over several times by others. A bottle or two here, a battered bicycle helmet, and some plastic bags there.
This was the world now.
Screw Pile Developments 