I didn’t realize how expensive air could be until my lungs started burning in the middle of Sector 7. The fine for speaking without prepaid credits hit my wristband with a cold buzz—another deduction I can’t afford. Every breath is logged, every word taxed. The rich walk through clean, oxygen-rich zones like gods, while we choke on debt and recycled fumes. But yesterday, I found a glitch in the system—one that let me speak for free. And someone just sent me a message: 'They’re watching.'