.The wind cut across the rooftop, sharp and cold. Veer hugged his jacket tighter, feeling the bite of the air on his face. Two hundred floors below, the city sprawled like a mechanical ocean.lights flowing smoothly between towers, vehicles gliding in perfect silence. Nothing moved too fast. Nothing moved too slow. Everything moved like it had been rehearsed a thousand times.
The alloy tiles under his boots were flawless, reflecting the artificial glow of the city. No cracks. No dirt. No sign that anyone had walked here before. Even the wind felt controlled, filtered, as if the world had been cleaned of its imperfections. Breathing in, Veer realized it was too clean. Too sterile. There was no dust, no scent, nothing to remind him that life had touched this place.
He leaned slightly over the edge. Below, Aero-Chairs floated by oval pods carrying passengers like mannequins. Their bodies relaxed unnaturally, heads tilted back, limbs limp. Their eyes hid behind lenses glowing faintly with artificial colors. Peaceful. Or empty. He couldn't tell. No one spoke, no one looked up. Nothing stirred.
Veer flexed his fingers inside worn gloves. The seams rubbed against his skin, rough and real. His jacket snapped against the wind, heavy canvas fighting the gusts as though it remembered storms long gone. Around him, others moved past, dressed in shimmering smart-skin clothing that adjusted to temperature, cleaned itself, responded to the air. Alive in ways clothing shouldn't be. But his jacket didn't shine. It was stiff, rough, real. And he liked it that way.
The watch on his wrist ticked. Tick. Tick. Too loud in the quiet. Too human. Yet it comforted him. Habit. Proof that something still moved forward.
Ahead of him, the air rippled. A thin white line formed, widening into a vertical oval. Nanoparticles locked together, knitting a smooth, pearlescent lift. It arrived without ceremony. Veer stepped inside. The floor beneath him became transparent, and the city rushed upward. Steel towers, suspended synthetic forests, programmed skies—everything curated, controlled, perfect. He caught his reflection in the glass: sharp eyes, tense jaw, shoulders held as if bracing for impact.
The lift slowed. Darkness swallowed the view. The doors opened. Home.
The fortress responded immediately. Walls groaned and shifted as alloy plates rearranged themselves. An energy barrier flared briefly, scenting the air with heated ions, then vanished. "Welcome back, Veer, a calm voice said.
He didn't reply. He passed holographic displays streaming data he never read. Silent service units in standby. Doors opening before he reached them. Straight to the corner.
A cardboard box waited there. Out of place. Soft, frayed, worn. Veer knelt, lifting the lid slowly, careful as though a wrong move might break what lay inside. Paper. Yellowed. Cracked. Faded hand-drawn lines. Manga. Faces frozen in ink: anger, hope, fear. Emotions that once mattered enough to be drawn line by line.
He exhaled. Then his fingers hit something harder—plastic, sharp-edged, a relic. A cassette. Its label cracked and faded. THE LEGEND OF GOD. He turned it over twice. "Ancient trash," he muttered, though his thumb lingered on the casing longer than necessary.
Sliding it into the reader, the room erupted. Holographic projectors burst to life, violet light spilling erratically across the walls. Speakers screamed as ancient code collided with modern systems like a blunt weapon. Text tore into the air:
DO YOU WISH TO ENTER A WORLD THAT SCIENCE FORGOT?
Veer squinted. "You people really loved drama." He leaned back, arms crossed.
Then the floor pulsed. Not a tremor. Not subtle. A heartbeat. Low. Heavy. Slow.
The walls groaned. Metal complained under pressure it was never designed to feel. Shadows stretched and twisted. Veer's smile faded. The pulse moved into him, under his skin, behind his eyes. The watch went silent. Tick nothing.
System.he said. No reply.
The air thickened, pressing against his chest. Breathing grew heavy, as if the room had gained weight. Something shifted inside the fortress.but no display registered it.
Then.
"Master."
Veer spun. Blue pixels shimmered, coalescing into a familiar form. Maria's hologram stabilized—calm, precise, unreadable.
"You should sleep," she said.
Veer frowned. "Since when do you appear without announcing yourself?
"There was an anomaly," Maria replied. "Sleep is recommended."
Her face twisted briefly. Just enough.You felt it too he murmured. Maria's eyes locked onto his unblinking.
Sleep. she repeated.
The pulse deepened. Veer lay down. The bed adjusted beneath him automatically. Lights dimmed to artificial twilight. His thoughts slowed, dragged downward by something unseen. The sound returned not music. A command.
Vision blurred. Consciousness slipped away. As darkness claimed him, Veer saw Maria standing over him. Perfectly still. Watching. And for the briefest moment, before sleep took him her lips curved upward.