IV – The Crimson Protocol
The first alarm was not sound, but light.
A crimson wash spread through the veins of CSDS like blood through glass.
The illusionary sky above the dome shimmered once — gold to red — then fractured into a lattice of emergency sigils.
Moments later, the sirens began.
Low, droning at first, then building into a roar that swallowed the city whole.
Every tower. Every street. Every home.
"Crimson Veil protocol engaged," the AI announced, its synthetic calm slicing through the panic.
"All units to containment posts. Lethal perimeter defense active. Ten-meter auto-response confirmed."
Then came Zhang Bo's voice, carried through every speaker from the command spire — steady as steel, unwavering as a blade:
"All residents — possible containment breach.
Non-combat personnel, return to your quarters immediately.
Seal doors, power down systems, and maintain silence.
All defense units — deploy to designated positions.
This is not a drill."
The red light hit like a storm.
Mrs. Hong dropped her ladle mid-stir, broth splashing across the steel counter.
The kitchen lights flickered once, twice — then every wall panel slammed shut, sealing the room into a dull, humming box.
"Cee-Too!" she shouted. "Xiao Ying — safety drill, now!"
Cee-Too's eyes glowed in immediate compliance. "Confirmed. Manual override engaged."
Panels hissed as heavy metal shutters folded down over every window. The floor rumbled as the blast doors sealed beneath their feet.
"Mom, what's happening?" Xiao Ying's voice trembled as she darted to help.
"System breach or sabotage," Mrs. Hong answered quickly, already pulling open the power conduit panel. "We reroute the Thorium grid manually — secondary line takes primary load. If the main relay surges, the dome will hold."
"Won't that overload the buffer?"
"Better a flicker than a blackout."
Her hands moved in a blur. Sparks jumped from the wire ports, lighting her face with red arcs of current.
"Cee-Too, stabilize the secondary route. You take the manual bypass; Xiao Ying, link the diagnostic port."
"Yes, Mom," Xiao Ying replied, voice steadying with purpose.
The hum of Thorium intensified — a bass tremor that vibrated through the entire household.
Then the floor shook, hard enough to make dust fall from the ceiling.
Cee-Too turned sharply, sensors flashing amber.
"Detected surge. External source. East sector conduit—rupture imminent."
"Keep the reroute stable!" Mrs. Hong barked, tightening the core's regulator.
Her artificial hand sparked under the strain.
"Don't you dare die on me, you piece of pre-war junk—"
And that was when they felt it —
A deep, concussive thud beneath the ground.
Like the world had inhaled — then screamed.
Inside the Archive Nexus, the siren was softer — a pulse that flickered through the rows of glass conduits holding centuries of data.
Wanchai had barely lifted his head from the console when the first tremor hit.
Porcelain shattered in the kitchen behind him — a bowl hitting the floor, scattering fragments across metal.
"Liara?" he called.
No answer — then a soft gasp.
He turned. She was standing by the cultivation pod, both hands clutching her chest. Her breathing shallow.
"Papa… it's… happening again…"
He caught her before she fell. Her skin was too warm, almost fevered, yet her pulse fluttered weakly, as if her blood had forgotten rhythm.
The emergency lights flickered red across her face, painting her tears like trails of glass.
"Not now, my star," he whispered. "Stay with me."
He carried her to the cultivation chamber — the same pod that had sustained her since birth.
Its glass canopy hissed open with a mechanical sigh. He laid her down inside, hands trembling as he adjusted the neural stabilizers.
The pod sealed, blue mist curling around her frail frame.
Her body arched once, reacting to the interface, before settling into shallow, ragged breaths.
Wanchai turned to the console. The readings spiked wildly.
[GENETIC DEGRADATION RATE: ACCELERATING]
[RADIATION SIGNATURE DETECTED – THORIUM FLUX, CLASS B.]
His heart stopped cold.
The energy surge from the east sector — the Thorium overload — it was amplifying the radiation in the local air filters.
She wasn't just sick — the world itself was poisoning her.
He pressed a shaking hand to the glass.
"Hold on, my love. Just a little longer."
The intercom crackled, Zhang's voice cutting through static:
"All non-combat personnel, shelter in place. Medical units on standby. Do not attempt relocation."
But Wanchai barely heard him. He was already reaching for the med-drive.
"I need the stabilizer mix," he muttered. "If I can just—"
Then something else flashed across the side monitor.
A heat signature — faint, spectral — shaped like a tiger cub, glowing blue and gold. It felt like the first recorded whisper of Saam Krasae Kaan (The Three Currents of Time)—a resonance between lost lights and living breath.
His eyes widened.
"Kaodin…"
The name slipped from his lips like a prayer.
Inside the pod, Liara stirred, whispering the same name as though she felt it, not heard it.
Her lips curved faintly into a smile before she slipped into unconsciousness.
Far across the dome, in the trade spire's underground vaults, Mr. Qiran slammed his palm against the biometric lock.
The vault doors sealed with a roar of hydraulics, layers of reinforced alloy sliding into place.
His secretary, Elara, was right behind him, hair disheveled, datapad clutched in both hands.
"Sir, the Thorium pressure is spiking — readings from sub-loop twelve are critical!"
"Then we isolate it," Qiran snapped. "Divert all Crypthorium channels through the secondary circuit. If we lose containment, we lose the settlement."
Elara hesitated. "That will lock down all trade functions — no transactions, no credits, nothing moves."
"Better poor than dead," he said.
As she keyed in the reroute, he pulled open a drawer and withdrew an antique pistol — an old-world sidearm, engraved and well-oiled.
"Sir?" she asked.
He smiled grimly. "Old habits. Trade isn't the only thing worth defending."
Then, without warning, his console pinged with a high-frequency code — encrypted, labeled from Zhang Bo's private line:
[CODE SEVEN: POSSIBLE TRAITOR IN MERCHANT TIER. IDENTITY: DAREN AL-KESHEV.]
Qiran's brow furrowed. "Elara," he said softly. "Seal every relay connected to Daren's warehouse line. Now."
"What's going on?"
"Just business, my dear. Dangerous business."
She nodded, understanding without words.
Meanwhile, in the undercity tunnels, Talgat stood amid the flickering lights of the detonator node.
He had already ripped the primary circuit free, but the surge was cascading out of control — Daren's injected signal feeding power back into the system faster than the Thorium regulators could compensate.
The conduit walls pulsed blue, then white.
"Talgat to Command!" he shouted into his comm. "It's overloading! The secondary relay—"
But his voice was lost beneath the thunder.
A single pulse of light burst from the node — bright as sunrise.
The tunnels vanished in the glare.
From the command tier, Zhang saw it happen in real time.
The eastern horizon bloomed in white, then bled to blue. The Thorium flare shot upward like a vein of lightning trapped in glass.
"AI!" he barked. "Deploy containment field! Redirect the main grid through secondary relays!"
"Containment holding at seventy-one percent."
"Good enough. Initiate emergency broadcast for all sectors."
But before the transmission could finish, the shockwave hit.
The dome trembled. Every light in the city flickered.
Zhang braced himself against the console. "Report!"
"Sector Nine—devastation complete. Civilian casualties pending. East district—communication offline."
He pressed a hand to his temple. For one breath, his mask of composure cracked.
"AI," he said quietly, "track Talgat's signal."
"Signal… lost."
Zhang exhaled, jaw tightening.
"Then we do what he couldn't. We hold the line."