The atmosphere in Astra City was clean, purified and completely foreseeable. For Anya this foreseeability was the burdensome weight of everything. It wasn't a restriction like the geodesic dome that topped their realm mirroring the poisonous red sun beyond; it was a mental strain, a persistent subtle drone of streamlined living that required obedience, above anything else.
Anya, known as Archivist 734 positioned herself in front of the Monitor Wall, a pane of blue-hued ferroglass displaying the constant steady glow of the city dome—a synthetic precisely tuned sun fixed eternally at midday. Her attire, composed of grey and white synthetic materials matched the blandness of her title. She held a role of societal importance overseeing the historical and technical records yet she sensed herself as a phantom documenting the existences of those long gone.
Her division was assigned to the Periphery the boundary zone where Astra's flawless radiance collided with the bleak radioactive dusk of the surface realm—the territory of the Umbra. The formal designation of her role was "Containment Integrity Logging." Informally it involved searching for anomalies for evidence that disorder still persisted.
The attention today centered on the portion of the perimeter barrier. Beta-9 was among the Domes parts quickly patched up following the Great Fallout centuries before. While its structure remained solid the energy dampeners—intended to cancel out disruptions from the Surface—were infamously unreliable. It was the unprotected most overlooked junction, in their flawless realm.
Anya traced her fingers along the surface of the Monitor Wall. She had committed to memory the algorithms controlling the Domes endless energy circulation the architectural blueprints of each supporting beam and the precise energy output of an approved water purifier. Still none of this expertise could clarify the sorrow in her heart as she gazed at the star charts, remnants of the vanished world concealed within the off-limits archives—documents she viewed when her sectors records were, under review.
These diagrams were stunning, disorderly and inaccessible. The real stars had been hidden for centuries by space debris and polluted air. The charts—the ancient hand-sketched constellations—told of a realm where light was untamed not controlled.
The clock, over her console counted down to 14:00 the time set for her scheduled system check. Anya eased into her chair the shaped material supporting her posture flawlessly designed for maximum efficiency. She began the sequence: P-INTEGRITY/BETA-9/SCAN-004.
The information appeared on the display—rhythmic patterns of green and blue showing consistent energy readings and calm filtration. Anya's thoughts drifted, following the outline of a lion she had been examining (Leo as it was named) when the data feed hiccupped.
Not a system crash, not a virus. A spike.
The surge was sudden immediate and detected in spectra: unusual heat emission, an abrupt forceful focused kinetic burst and a fleeting intricate psychic oscillation that disrupted the low-frequency detectors. This was the energy pattern of an intrusion cleverly concealed, yet inherently foreign, to Astra systems.
Anya's internal workings, steady, at a flawless 70 beats each minute halted. This was no scout, nor a stray forager. This was an Umbra operative.
"Archivist 734 " a voice emitted from the console, faint and mechanized the tone of the core compliance AI. "Peripheral Anomaly identified. Energy surge detected. Location: Sector Beta-9. Severity rating: Level 3 Containment Breach."
A Level 3 warning required lockdown activation of anti-personnel drones and a complete clearance of the impacted zone. The usual procedure was strict and unforgiving. Anya understood the outcome of a Level 3 alert. The trespasser would be. The boundary fortified with sufficient plasma power to sterilize the nearby kilometers of terrain.
Her fingers darted over the interface zooming through the interference caused by the psychic resonance. She tweaked the contrast filter driving the image beyond data thresholds. Amid the blur of the failing firewall she spotted it: a figure, tall unusually swift bearing an energy pattern she couldn't identify gliding through a vent seam classified as "low priority", in the Dome's maintenance log.
It was the action of a spirit advancing with the disciplined accuracy of a soldier. He bore a weighty pack and proceeded like one familiar, with the precise tilt of each shadow. For a moment she glimpsed his face lit by the fading glow of the breach: defined jawline, eyes appearing completely drained, yet intensely resolute.
Anya stood still. The Compliance AI reiterated its instruction its voice escalating marginally mimicking a sense of urgency. "Archivist 734 confirm Lockdown Protocol Gamma-12. Begin purge sequence in T-minus sixty seconds."
The Dome represented everything. Astra had endured the Great Fallout due, to its core values: structure, effectiveness and strict containment. The Umbra stood as the opposite—a impulsive force that had almost brought total destruction. Her whole life was founded on the belief that Umbra needed to be controlled.
However the eyes she noticed in the gap were not those of a beast or a villain; they belonged to a person struggling to endure someone bearing the burden of a reality.
In that suspended moment she recalled the stunning turmoil of the star-charts, documents that offered more, than just purified controlled light. She recalled the crushing burden of never taking a decision.
Click.
She intentionally modified the sensor limit screening the kinetic and thermal readings and manually replaced the psychic resonance peak. She provided the compliance AI with a report.
Action Log: Archivist 734.
Anomaly: Environmental Distortion.
Severity: Level 1 (Non-Threat).
Origin: Degradation of legacy magnetic dampeners.
Procedure: Routine Maintenance Signal. Lockdown Gamma-12 Terminated. Purge Operation Halted.
The compliance AI acknowledged the alteration, its voice reverting to the hum of safety protocols. "Level 1 Anomaly detected. Marking maintenance drone 53-C for damper adjustment, at 22:00. Compliance upheld. Appreciate your promptness, Archivist 734."
The pressure dissipated from the space rendering Anya physically frail. Her breaths came rapid her heart pounding a beat that would have set off an alert had she been equipped with the usual biometric tracker. She had just betrayed her people. She had broken the sacred law of her community. She had opted for a phantom, a silhouette, a random anomaly instead of the security of the whole metropolis.
Her gaze shifted to the Monitor Wall. The display was clear revealing green and blue waves. Kael, the Umbra operative was currently within the Domes system concealed somewhere, in the chilly ventilation network of Beta-9. He remained alive because she had deceived them.
Her gaze shifted again to the location of the breach: Sector Beta-9, below the cooling fans adjacent, to the deserted sub-archive 734-Alpha, a storage area she frequently utilized to conceal her unauthorized star-chart research.
In an instant she realized the peril of what she had done. It wasn't merely betrayal; it was closeness. The disorder she yearned for had shifted from a desire stored in records to a frightening alive presence only a few hundred meters away, from her workstation.
Anya slid her chair away the sound scraping sharply through the quiet of the archival room. She had to stabilize her biometrics before Theron, her advisor showed up for his shift inspection.
While heading to the sanitary station she noticed a motion on the ground close, to the deserted air vent—the identical vent through which the Umbra agent had entered. A small coarse item rested on the synthetic floor.
It was a hand-sculpted stone, worn sleek by years and wear, black, as the midnight sky. The obsidian talisman she had glimpsed briefly in the footage. It had slipped from his bag.
She stooped down. Retrieved it. It was chilly, unfamiliar and irregularly formed. Unlike anything found in Astra. It seemed like a fragment of the vanished, earth and it throbbed softly with the trace of his intense pressing psychic mark—a mark that conveyed not anger but a frantic resolve.
Anya understood rationally that she ought to record it as proof trigger an emergency wipe and rescue herself.. She was unable to. Her hand clenched the stone, the slight firmness of its edges anchoring her cementing the decision she had recently taken.
She was now bound to the Umbra operative to the peril to the falsehood. She, the Archivist of order had invited disorder into the Gilded Cage. The deceptive sun overhead seemed noticeably dimmer. For the first time in many years Anya experienced an emotion absent, from the Astra efficiency guide: true daunting anticipation.
Treason had begun.