Steamfunk Salvation chapter 1 : Salvation

The neon glow of New Memphis flickered through the smog-choked skyline, casting jagged shadows across the chrome-plated towers of the Financial District. Inside the tallest spire, Ezekiel "Zeke" Thunderbolt—cybernetically enhanced accountant-turned-revolutionary—leaned back in his hover-chair, fingers dancing across a holographic ledger. The numbers twisted and warped under his touch, a symphony of fabricated profits and imaginary growth.

"All government budgets are complete insanity," Zeke muttered, his voice a low growl laced with static from his vocal modulator.

Across the desk, his partner-in-crime, Seraphina "Sera" Quickfix, smirked as she adjusted her steam-powered ocular lens. "And yet, here we are, drowning in their mathurbation."

Zeke snorted. "They count their own accountants as revenue. Run a business like that, and profit’s easy. Just keep inventing numbers until the whole damn system floats on hot air."

Sera tapped a brass-plated finger against the table. "And if anything real threatens their fantasy? Gone. Erased. Like those 300,000 villages that could’ve been self-sustaining if the law didn’t strangle ‘em first."

Zeke’s optics flickered. He’d seen the reports—villages with enough skill, enough resources to thrive, locked down by financial control grids masquerading as "innovation funds." Ninety percent of every credit siphoned into bureaucratic black holes, ensuring nothing ever changed.

"Time to flip the script," Zeke said, slamming his fist on the table. Gears whirred in his mechanical arm.

Sera grinned. "You got a plan, Thunderbolt?"

"Better." Zeke activated a hidden holoscreen. A virtual game shimmered into view—a grotesque parody of civilization-building, where players burned the planet for profit, turning coastlines into resorts while the world choked.

"See this?" Zeke pointed at the screen. "This is their real game. Control. Illusion. But we ain’t playing by their rules anymore."

Sera leaned in. "So what’s our move?"

Zeke’s grin was razor-sharp. "We make money real again."

Three Weeks Later

The Financial District trembled as Zeke and Sera’s virus ripped through the networks. Ledgers unraveled. Fake profits dissolved. And for the first time in centuries, the true numbers surfaced—the real labor, the real resources, the real value of people outside the system.

In the streets, the steam-powered radios crackled to life.

"Attention, New Memphis. The chains are off."

Villages once strangled by red tape now thrived. Farmers traded crops directly. Engineers built solar grids without waiting for permits. The people decided what was valuable.

And in the heart of it all, Zeke and Sera stood atop a reclaimed tower, watching the smog clear under a rising sun.

Sera chuckled. "Damn. We actually did it."

Zeke lit a cigar, the smoke curling into the fresh air. "Nah. They did it. We just gave ‘em the keys."

And for the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t a game.

It was free.