Officially it doesn’t exist. Unofficially it’s the only market that matters. The Null Exchange is a shifting maze of stalls, server dens, chop-clinics, and data brokers wedged into a dead transit spine between the Hab-Stacks and The Drown. You can buy a new face, a stolen lift-key to the Spires, wetware that still has someone else’s memories in it, or a ticket out through the Slipway.

No corp flag flies here. Security is whoever paid the most this week. Neon is harsh and close. The rain leaks through cracked roof plating. People from every layer of Drift City pass through: Stack workers selling hours, Drown scrapers selling salvage, Slipway runners selling routes, and the occasional Spire agent who doesn’t want their name on a ledger. If the city has a nervous system, this is where it shorts out.