Child of Tomorrow.

Tiberius Hill weaved his way among the twisting pipes, wriggling his nine-year-old body through the tight spaces.  It was pitch black, but he could see as well as if it were day, in fact he could see a lot.  He could see the tiny particles of rust on the metal pipes, he could see the individual drops of moisture on the metal ground, and such miniscule detail.  He froze, then slipped like a shadow behind a pipe as a Sweeper's spotlight swept the area, a momentary ray of white light in the smoggy night.  The beam scanned the pipes, then the Sweeper moved on, down the alleyway.  Tiberius continued his way through the pipes, the looming walls of the steel foundry on either side.  He came to the tracks for the supply train for the factory.  On the other side of the rails was clear of pipes; just clear metaled alley, away from the foundry.  Tiberius scurried across the tracks, wary of watchmen on the compound wall.  On the other side of the railway, away from the steel foundry compound, Tiberius straitened and wiped the grease from his oversized, ratty leather jacket.  He continued away, deep into the twisting alleys of the Bronx, where most wouldn't wander.  But Tiberius went where he pleased and none payed any attention to him.  Except the Sector; they'll chase him anywhere.  He went past dark, towering glass and steel towers, to his home; a derelict, abandoned, storage building.  Not far from an old apartment duplex.  Tiberius settled down in the trash-filled nook that was his bed and slept.