Cerevra City breathed in unison.
That was the first thing Netoshka noticed once they moved deeper beyond the outer districts. Every streetlight pulsed at the same interval. Every transit bell chimed in synchronized harmony. Even the foot traffic flowed like a regulated bloodstream—measured, precise, obedient.
Too perfect.
Inferius moved with the crowd now, weapons concealed, armor dampened, signatures masked. They didn't rush. They didn't stop. They became part of the system.
Around them, civilians walked with their heads slightly bowed, eyes forward, mouths shut. No conversations lingered longer than a few seconds. No laughter. No anger. Just quiet compliance wrapped in fear.
Projected banners flickered above the streets:
EQUILIBRIUM IS PEACE
DEVIATION IS SUFFERING
ORDER PRESERVES LIFE
Zopi swallowed.
"This place feels… wrong."
"That's because it is," Rue muttered.
"Nobody lives like this unless they're scared of something."
Or someone.
Above them, surveillance drones glided between buildings like silent carrion birds. Their lenses glowed faint red, scanning crowds in rhythmic sweeps. On every corner, black metal pylons hummed softly—signal relays, facial recognition nodes, Wire-adjacent transmitters.
Circe's HUD flickered.
"This city runs on layered oversight," she whispered through comms. "Cameras, drones, patrol units, predictive behavior algorithms. It's not just watching—it's anticipating."
Genrihk's jaw tightened.
"Then the city is alive."
Netoshka didn't respond. Her eyes tracked everything: patrol timings, civilian reactions, the way people flinched when drones passed too close.
They reached a central plaza—wide, open, deliberately exposed. At its center stood a towering obelisk of black alloy, veins of red light crawling through its surface like arteries.
At its base: armed guards.
Not standard soldiers.
Their armor was angular, ceremonial, lacquered in dark crimson and ash-gray. Faces hidden behind featureless visors marked with a vertical red slit.
Surgien recognized them immediately.
"Those aren't city police."
"No," Netoshka said quietly. "
They're his."
Malicer's Wardens.
Elite internal enforcers. Not meant for war—meant for control.
The Wardens didn't harass civilians. They didn't shout. They simply stood there, unmoving, omnipresent. And somehow that was worse.
A man tripped near the obelisk.
Not badly. Just enough to stumble.
One of the Wardens turned its head.
The man froze.
Slowly, mechanically, the Warden approached. No weapon drawn. No aggression. It scanned the man once.
A tone chimed.
The Warden stepped back.
The man scrambled to his feet and fled without looking back, terror written across his face.
Zev growled under his breath.
"They don't even need to hurt people."
"They just remind them they can," Taran replied.
Circe's voice sharpened in their ears.
"I'm picking up a control hub nearby. Mid-level operations node. If we take it offline, we blind this sector—temporarily."
Netoshka nodded.
"That's our opening."
They peeled off from the crowd, slipping into a narrow side street swallowed by shadow. The noise of the city dulled instantly, replaced by the hum of power conduits and the distant echo of machinery.
The building was nondescript—concrete, reinforced glass, no markings. But the cameras were obvious once you knew what to look for.
Two Wardens guarded the entrance.
Netoshka didn't hesitate.
Twila's illusion flickered first—footsteps echoing behind the guards. When they turned, Zopi's suppressed shots took them clean through the visor seams. The bodies hit the ground without a sound.
Inside, the air was cold and sterile.
Rows of monitors displayed live feeds of the city: streets, alleys, apartments, even interiors. Every angle. Every life.
Rue stared at one screen too long.
"That kid," she murmured.
"They're watching him eat."
"They're watching everyone," Surgien said grimly.
Circe moved fast, fingers flying over the terminal.
"I can loop feeds, scramble IDs, but only for a short window. This place will know it's been touched."
"Do it," Netoshka said.
The screens flickered.
For the first time since entering Cerevra, the city blinked.
Alarms did not sound—but something shifted. The hum changed pitch. A low, almost imperceptible pulse rolled through the building.
Genrihk stiffened.
"They know," he said.
Outside, boots hit pavement.
More Wardens.
Netoshka cursed under her breath.
"Too slow. We're compromised."
Circe finished the overwrite and yanked free the data spike.
"Sector blind for ninety seconds—no more."
That was enough.
Netoshka raised her hand.
"Close in."
Reality warped.
The air folded inward as Netoshka's glitch-field surged outward, distorting light, sound, and space itself. The squad blurred, smeared into fractured afterimages—
—and vanished just as the Wardens stormed the room.
They reappeared three blocks away, crouched inside the hollow shell of an abandoned transit entrance.
Silence.
Breathing.
Heartbeat.
Zopi let out a shaky laugh.
"I hate this city."
Netoshka looked back toward the skyline, where red-lit towers loomed like watchful gods.
"This is an equilibrium," she said quietly.
"Control dressed up as peace."
"And we're about to break it," Rue replied.
Netoshka nodded once.
"Stay sharp. We haven't met the real danger yet."
High above them, unseen—
Something watched back.