The flickering neon sign of "Styx & Wings: Prosthetic Solutions" cast a sickly green glow on the rain-slicked alleyway. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of ozone and soldering fumes. Years after the synthetic plague, known only as the "Lambent Rot," ravaged the small sector of Tartarus, leaving a trail of mangled limbs and shattered lives in its wake, this was where Charon and Hermes eked out a living. Their trade? Illegal prosthesis engineering. Comfort, in this ravaged corner of the underworld, was a luxury they couldn't afford, let alone offer.
Their workshop, a cramped and cluttered space barely bigger than a shipping container, was a testament to their ingenuity and desperation. Spare parts, scavenged from discarded automatons and salvaged medical equipment, littered every surface. The rhythmic hum of power tools mingled with the crackle of static from their jury-rigged power source – a repurposed Hades energy cell, a risky but necessary gamble.
Charon, the larger of the two, hunched over a complex prosthetic arm, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands, calloused and scarred from years of hard labor, moved with a practiced precision that belied the makeshift nature of his tools. His name, ironically echoing the ferryman of Greek mythology, was no coincidence. He bore a striking resemblance to the grim reaper, his gaunt face framed by unruly black hair, his eyes holding the weary wisdom of someone who had seen too much suffering. Unlike his namesake, however, he offered not passage to the afterlife, but a fragile hope of a life continued, albeit a life irrevocably altered by the Lambent Rot.
Across the room, Hermes, smaller and quicker, meticulously calibrated a tiny micro-circuit. His silence was almost as noticeable as his nimble fingers. This was a stark contrast to the swift-footed, chatty messenger god of Greek legend. This Hermes was a shadow of his mythological counterpart, burdened by a profound muteness, a consequence, perhaps, of the plague or some other unseen trauma. His only communication was through a series of intricate hand gestures and the occasional, carefully chosen symbol drawn in the dust on a nearby workbench. This deliberate silence, however, only served to amplify the intensity of his focus, the fierce concentration etched on his pale face.
Facts about Charon, Greek Mythology:
The original Charon, a figure from Greek mythology, was the ferryman of the River Styx. He ferried the souls of the recently deceased across the river to the underworld, Hades. He demanded an obol (a small coin) for his services, a payment symbolizing the final severing of ties with the mortal world. Those who couldn't afford the obol were left to wander the shores of the Styx, forever denied passage. This stark image of a grim taskmaster is far removed from the weary artisan we find in our story, yet the shared name hints at a certain thematic resonance – both navigate the shadowy realms of death and transition, albeit in vastly different contexts. Our Charon, instead of coins, accepts salvaged metal and desperate pleas as payment. His passage is not to the afterlife, but a precarious journey back to a semblance of life in a world ravaged by disease.
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