- Thread Author
- #1
Chapter 7: The Fractured Grid
Solis stood on the edge of the decrepit transmission tower, wind tugging at his coat, rain streaking down the cr**ked metal. Lagos-Delta's skyline stretched in the distance, a jagged silhouette against a bruised sky. He could feel the pulse of the signal beneath his feet, ancient frequencies trembling like the dying heartbeat of a god."The relay’s alive," said Maris, crouched beside the base console. Her fingers danced across the keypad, eyes scanning diagnostics. "But it’s not broadcasting. Something is rerouting the flow."
Solis scanned the horizon. The storm cloaked movement well, but he had trained himself to feel it—the static before violence, the silence before truth. He looked down at Maris, her brow furrowed, her mouth drawn into a grim line.
"Can you trace it?"
"Trying," she said. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled. "Whatever hijacked this system is using quantum skips. It’s way beyond old cartel tech. This is—"
She paused, glancing up at him. "This is Watcher c0d3."
Solis’s heart stuttered. That name again. First whispered in the ruins of New Damascus. Then carved into the sub-circuit of the derelict mech they’d salvaged in Tunis. Now, embedded in the neural c0d3 of Lagos-Delta’s grid.
He turned to VANTAGE, whose interface glowed a soft blue beside him.
"Confirmation?"
"Seventy-two percent probability. Watcher protocol signatures. Fragmented, but intentional."
Maris sat back on her heels. "They’ve been here longer than we thought. Possibly embedding themselves in every major city’s infrastructure. We’re not chasing shadows anymore. We’re walking into their den."
Lightning arced across the sky. In that flash, Solis saw them—three silhouettes on the neighboring tower. Not drones. Not scouts. Too poised. Too patient.
"We’re being watched."
Maris followed his gaze. Her expression tightened. "They’ve already anticipated this move."
"Then we change the game," he said, stepping away from the edge. "VANTAGE, initiate burst relay. Burn the frequency. If they want this hub, they’ll have to rebuild it from cinders."
"Acknowledged. Detonator sync in motion. Countdown: one minute."
Maris stood. "Where do we go after this? We can’t keep running city to city. They’re closing in faster."
Solis looked at her, rain sliding down his face. "We don’t run anymore. We need to draw them out. And there’s only one place loud enough to do that."
She blinked. "You mean Jakarta."
He nodded.
"They buried the last Anchor there years ago," she said. "If they’ve claimed the grid, then they’ve buried it deeper."
"Which is why we dig."
The tower trembled. Below them, the relays began to hum a death song.
"Detonation in ten seconds," VANTAGE intoned.
Maris reached for Solis’s arm. Her grip was firm.
"You’re not doing this alone anymore."
He looked at her hand. Then at her eyes. The storm made everything blur, but her gaze cut through.
"I never wanted to," he whispered.
They jumped from the tower together as the explosion swallowed the grid behind them.
And the city lit up with the wrath of secrets unearthed.
Chapter 8: Descent Into Jakarta
The remnants of the Lagos-Delta relay were still smoldering as the transport skimmed low over the sea. Solis stood at the rear hatch, staring out at the dark horizon. Jakarta loomed ahead—a drowned city rebuilt on bones, lit from beneath by phosphorescent grids and corporate ambition."Approaching grid perimeter," VANTAGE said. "Cloak active. Passive scans detecting heightened surveillance."
Maris joined Solis, her hair still damp from the rain, her eyes scanning the skyline. "They'll expect us."
"Good," Solis replied. "Let them."
As the transport dipped lower, the ruins of Old Jakarta came into view—flooded streets, half-submerged towers, flickering advertisements still clinging to life. But deeper still, below the facade of renewal, the true Jakarta pulsed in silence. The buried city. The hidden Anchor.
They landed in a maintenance hangar beneath the monorail lines. VANTAGE flickered into view beside them, spectral and unreadable.
"This route is compromised," it warned. "Intercept teams en route."
Maris snapped a rifle into her shoulder. "Then we go faster."
They moved through the darkened tunnels, every echo a warning. Around them, the walls pulsed with filtered neon from the surface, casting eerie shadows. Suddenly, the corridor ahead flickered—then shifted.
"Illusion field," Solis muttered. He stepped forward and slashed through the flickering wall with a short-range disruptor. The facade dropped, revealing a sealed vault door glowing faint blue.
"That’s Anchor access," Maris whispered. "But it shouldn’t be here. Not this shallow."
Before they could react, gunfire tore through the silence.
Solis grabbed Maris and pulled her to cover as shouts echoed behind them. Masked operatives with Watcher insignias surged into the corridor. These were not enforcers. These were cleaners. Silent. Precise. Deadly.
Solis tossed a stun sphere, blinding the first wave. Maris flanked left, picking targets with terrifying efficiency. They moved as one—until the vault opened from the inside.
A lone figure stood in the light, clad in archaic cyber-armor, eyes burning white.
"You should not have come," the figure said. "He is not ready."
Solis froze. He recognized the voice. "Elior?"
Maris’s breath caught. "Your brother is dead."
"No," Solis said quietly. "He was taken."
Elior raised his arm. The corridor trembled as gravity buckled. VANTAGE’s hologram screamed static.
"Run!" Solis yelled.
The ceiling buckled. Walls bent. A rift opened beneath their feet. Maris jumped, catching Solis’s hand as they plunged into the void.
They fell into blackness, cold and weightless, as data bled into the air around them.
Below, the true Anchor awaited. Alive. Aware.
And no longer dormant.
