This is where most of Drift City actually lives. Between the dry air of the Spires and the waterline, the Hab-Stacks rise in dense, patched-together layers — old apartment cores, cargo-container add-ons, corporate worker barracks, and illegal vertical slums welded onto the sides. Walkways, cable-bridges, and jury-rigged elevators stitch the blocks together. Rain hits here constantly. Neon is cheap, flickering, and everywhere.

People here work for the Spires, service the docks, or hustle the mid-markets. Debt is the local currency. Chrome is common but rarely new. Families stack three generations in two rooms and call it a win if the pumps still work. The Stacks never go dark and never go quiet. If the city has a heartbeat, it lives in these wet, crowded corridors.