SECTOR 18—
Sunshine poured freely between tall apartment blocks, bouncing off glass windows and painted walls, filling the streets with a soft golden glow. The sector was dense and busy, but orderly—rows of buildings stacked close together, their balconies lined with plants, laundry, and small solar panels humming quietly.
Below, the streets were already alive. Shop shutters rolled open one by one, vendors arranged crates of fruit and supplies, and the scent of fresh bread mixed with brewing coffee in the air. Children in uniforms walked in clusters, laughing loudly, backpacks slung over their shoulders, while office workers moved with purpose, phones in hand, jackets draped over their arms.
Traffic flowed steadily, not rushed, not stalled. Buses stopped at familiar corners, engines humming patiently as commuters boarded. Conversations overlapped—mundane, ordinary, comforting. Sector 18 was considered a good place to live: safe, active, well-connected. Nothing here ever really went wrong.
High above it all, sunlight filtered through thin curtains into a modest apartment, illuminating a cluttered room and a sleeping figure beneath rumpled sheets.
Kael groaned as the alarm clock shrieked again. He was late. Again. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the small clock on the wall—8:12 a.m. His office shift started at 8:00. With a frustrated sigh, he threw on his jacket and dashed out of the door.
"Mom! I'll be late today," he shouted over his shoulder.
His mother, still in her morning robe, waved from the kitchen. "Be careful, Kael! And don't forget to say hello to Edward if you see him!
Kael hustled down the street, nearly tripping over a loose tile when a familiar car horn blared behind him. He glanced up to see a sleek black sedan sliding to a stop at the curb. The driver's side window rolled down, revealing Edward's grinning face.
"Late again, genius?" Edward called, one eyebrow raised.
Kael jogged over, sliding the door open. "You have no idea… and don't lecture me about traffic—I barely survived my staircase!"
Edward laughed, the engine humming. "Relax, I've got you. Hop in before Norton turns the office into a funeral for your career."
Kael slid into the passenger seat, still adjusting his jacket.
"You're late again," Edward said, starting the engine. "If you keep this up, your boss is going to personally throw you out one day."
Kael smirked. "Norton already does that with his words. Saves him the effort."
Edward laughed and pulled the car into traffic. For a few moments, they drove in silence, the city slowly waking up around them. Shops were opening, people hurried along sidewalks, and yet there was an odd tension in the air—sirens echoing faintly in the distance.
Edward glanced at Kael. "You hear those?"
"Yeah," Kael replied. "They've been getting more frequent."
Edward shrugged. "Probably another drill. Or some idiot spreading panic again."
Kael leaned back in his seat, watching buildings slide past the window. "You don't think something's actually happening?"
Edward scoffed. "Let me guess—Damis?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. "I'm not saying everything they say is true," he said carefully. "But there are reports. Patterns. Disappearances that don't add up."
"Reports made by people who need something to blame," Edward said. "Fear spreads faster than facts. That's all this is."
Kael frowned slightly. "Still… some of it lines up too well to ignore."
Edward shook his head. "You work intelligence. You know how rumors grow. Today it's 'Damis,' tomorrow it's aliens or ghosts. If something like that really existed, the government wouldn't stay quiet."
Kael looked away, his reflection faint in the window glass. "Or maybe they would."
Edward glanced at him but didn't push further. "You think too much," he said. "That's your problem."
The car slowed as the NRDO building came into view—tall, gray, and imposing. Edward pulled up to the entrance and stopped.
Kael reached for the door. "Thanks for the ride."
Edward smirked. "Try not to get eaten by imaginary monsters today."
Kael paused, then smiled faintly. "I'll do my best."
As he stepped out of the car and the doors of NRDO slid open, Edward drove off—completely certain the world was normal.
Kael shook his head, already dreading the looming glare of his boss as he approached the building.
The security scanner chirped sharply as Kael rushed through the glass doors of the NRDO headquarters. The sound echoed louder than it should have, drawing more attention than he wanted.
"Eight twelve."
Kael froze.
Norton stood near the entrance, tablet in hand, eyes fixed on the screen, not even bothering to look up.
"Eight twelve a.m.," Norton repeated flatly. "Your shift started at eight."
Kael exhaled. "Good morning to you too, sir."
Norton finally looked up. His expression didn't change. It never did. Cold, sharp, permanently unimpressed.
"You don't get mornings here," he said. "You get deadlines."
Kael opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Instead, he stepped past Norton toward the main operations floor.
"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking," Norton said.
Kael stopped.
Norton walked past him, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. "Do you know why you're still employed, Kael?"
Kael turned. "Because I'm good at my job."
"Wrong," Norton said instantly. "You're still employed because you're replaceable *but inconvenient to replace*."
That stung.
Norton tapped his tablet and flicked it toward the nearest display. The screen lit up with red alerts.
"Terror chatter. Sector fourteen. Seventeen. Patterns overlapping."
Kael's focus snapped back to the screen. He stepped closer, eyes scanning rapidly.
"This movement's tighter than before," Kael said. "They're coordinating faster. Whoever this is, they've upgraded."
Norton watched him closely. "You noticed that in three seconds. That's why I haven't fired you yet."
Kael smirked. "High praise."
"Don't get comfortable."
They moved deeper into the room, surrounded by glowing monitors and quiet analysts pretending not to listen.
"You're late," Norton continued, "and yet here you are, solving problems faster than people who arrived on time."
Kael shrugged. "Talent's unpredictable."
"Discipline isn't," Norton shot back. "And discipline is what keeps nations standing when talent gets people killed."
Kael glanced at another screen. "If this turns into an attack, we'll need resources shifted immediately."
"We already are," Norton said. "Which brings me to another issue."
Kael hesitated. "Let me guess. My paycheck."
Norton's lips curved slightly — not a smile, more like a fracture. "Delayed."
Kael groaned. "You can't be serious. Month's end."
"I can. And I am."
"That's not discipline, that's punishment."
"Correct," Norton said calmly. "You don't get disciplined for habits you refuse to break."
Kael clenched his jaw. "You're really riding this late thing."
"You're really testing how patient I am."
For a moment, the room felt tighter.
Norton leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You work in intelligence, Kael. Time matters. One delay can cost lives. I don't care if you were inventing something brilliant in your basement or staring at the ceiling."
Kael looked away. "You don't know anything about my basement."
Norton straightened. "I know enough."
Kael stiffened.
"Get back to work," Norton said. "And try not to treat national security like a hobby."
As Kael walked away, Norton added without turning around—
"And Kael?"
Kael stopped.
"You're valuable," Norton said. "That's not the same thing as being trusted."
When the shift finally ended, Kael trudged back home. The streets were calm, deceptively so, and the sun was dipping behind the buildings. He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, listening to the soft hum of the refrigerator.
His mother bustled in, smiling, trying to keep the conversation light. "You look tired. Everything okay at work?"
Kael sighed, forcing a small smile. "Just the usual chaos. And Norton's in a mood again. He's delaying my paycheck."
"You always get yourself into these situations," his mother said fondly. "But I know you'll find a way."
Kael chuckled softly, taking a sip of coffee. "I always do, don't I?"
Later, Kael descended the narrow stairs to his basement. His neighbors, peering through half-open curtains, whispered to each other.
"There goes the mad scientist," one murmured. "To his little lab again."
Kael ignored them, too focused on the strange contraption on the workbench. Wires of red and blue twisted around a cylindrical battery, while a long, perforated swordblade lay across the table. Carefully, he attached a small glass tank to the hilt, filling it with gasoline.
The basement smelled of oil, metal, and something faintly burnt.
Kael stepped down the narrow stairs, flicking on the lights one by one. The bulbs buzzed to life, revealing a space that looked less like a basement and more like a battlefield frozen in time.
Gunpowder stains marked the concrete floor. Sheets of scribbled paper were pinned haphazardly to the walls, equations overlapping weapon schematics, half-torn pages fluttering slightly in the stale air. Coils of copper wire spilled out of open toolboxes. Empty chemical vials lay beside half-filled ones, their labels smudged or completely gone.
A crate of electronics sat in one corner—disassembled circuit boards, cracked screens, exposed processors, all stripped down and repurposed. A gasoline can rested dangerously close to a pile of metal scraps, its cap loose, its smell sharp.
Nothing here was truly organized.
Except one table.
At the center of the basement stood a steel workbench, clean in a way that felt intentional, almost reverent. No dust. No clutter. Just a single object resting across its surface.
The sword.
Its blade was long and narrow, perforated with rows of tiny holes running from base to tip. A glass fuel chamber was embedded into the hilt, carefully sealed, wires threaded through the grip and into a cylindrical battery mounted along the spine. Red and blue cables twisted together like veins.
Kael approached it slowly.
For a moment, the noise of the world above—traffic, voices —faded away. Down here, there was only him, the quiet hum of electricity, and the product of sleepless nights.
"This one…" Kael murmured, running his fingers along the hilt, "this one has to work."
He adjusted the wiring, tightened a valve, and reached for the switch.
A tense silence settled. Then, with a flip of a switch, the blade erupted into brilliant flames, licking the edges of the sword. Kael grinned, adjusting the small spark mechanism.
"This… should do it," he muttered,
Then, over the hum of his lab, sirens wailed outside-sharp, urgent, and unmistakably close...