Months had slipped by, and with them came the bitter breath of winter. The cold had sunk its claws into the Fallen City, seeping through stone and steel, bleeding into bone. No snow had fallen yet, but the icy air was enough to drive even the most iron-willed citizens indoors. The streets, once thick with the grit of everyday struggle, were now eerily still-silent but for the wind that howled through alleyways like a warning.

  Sunlight was a rare thing now. When it did break through the leaden skies, it fell weak and pale, casting the city in long, skeletal shadows. The towering walls loomed darker than ever, turning corners into blackened mazes and stretching gloom into every crevice of the city.

  Winter in the Fallen City wasn't just a season. It was a trial. A slow erosion of the psyche. A constant whisper at the back of the mind that said:

  You don't belong here. Not for long.

  The rationing hadn't helped. As Apstra predicted, the announcement came like a dull blade to the gut, but its effects were only deepening. Markets shrank. Shelves emptied. Options dwindled. But Robert had prepared. Stocked what he could. And in the small mercies of foresight, he survived the transition better than most.

  Still, survival didn't bring clarity. Like other things, the belt remained stubbornly silent.

  Since that strange, painful incident in his bathroom, the device had not activated again. No pulses of light, no strange sensations. Just silence.

  Cold, heavy metal wrapped around his waist like a secret refusing to speak.

  Once a month, he met Michiel in the shadows, behind locked doors and under the guise of routine maintenance or late-night patrols. They ran tests.

  Theories. Hypotheses. But the belt remained an enigma. Something dormant.

  In the isolated quiet of the First Level, Albert’s office was a world apart—lit in amber hues, filled with the quiet chorus of machines in motion. The hum of electricity pulsed through walls and wires like a second heartbeat. Screens flickered with streams of samples data, tests and projections.

  The sound of keys clicking—sharp and precise—cut through the still air.

  Albert sat hunched at his desk, fingers dancing across the keyboard like a man possessed. His expression was unreadable-somewhere between focus and obsession.

  Albert's eyes flicked between a wall of monitors, each screen awash with streams of data-chemical balances, neural feedback loops, stress thresholds, molecular resonance. To most, the calculations would have looked like gibberish. To Albert, it was a language all in itself.

  The glow of the screens carved shadows across his gaunt face as his fingers moved with mechanical precision over the keyboard. The final keystroke was deliberate, almost ceremonial. As it landed, the machinery around him responded with a low, thunderous rumble-a sound like some beast stirring in its cage-before exhaling its rotation to a halt. The hum fell away, leaving the lab thick with tension.

  He rose slowly, the chair groaning beneath him, and turned his gaze toward the far end of the lab.

  The apparatus stood like a monument-sleek, seamless metal embedded into the steel counter, its surface unmarred by time or wear. It was a machine built for purpose, not beauty, and yet it held a strange, unsettling elegance.

  Albert crossed the room with the calm certainty of someone who had walked this path many times before, and pressed a single button.

  The machine responded with a hiss, the hatch sliding open with a muted, mechanical grace. From the shadows within, a soft, bioluminescent glow emerged-blue and pulsing, like something otherworldly.

  Rows of test tubes sat nestled in the cradle of the device, each one filled with a glowing, cerulean liquid that seemed to shimmer with a life of its own. It wasn't just light. They pulsed—synchronized, slow, alive.

  Albert stared down at them.

  And for the briefest moment, his hardened expression fractured. Not with fear. Not even doubt. But with hesitation—a single crack in the cold veneer, as though some distant part of him still remembered what it meant to question his actions.

  His gloved hands moved into action as he shook off the feeling. There wasn’t time to question it anymore, for he was nearly at his goal.

  With methodical precision, he began to draw the glowing liquid from the tubes, transferring it into slender metal syringes. Each motion was exact, practiced. Years of experimentation had trained him to be unshakable, but this—this concoction—carried weight.

  Albert muttered under his breath, his voice a barely audible murmur.

  "I'll use these... only if absolutely necessary."

  The words hung in the air, frail and fading like frost on glass.

  He set the final syringe into a foam-lined case, his fingers pausing for a breath, just long enough to whisper to the silence around him.

  “Only. Only if I must.”

  Albert sealed the case shut and turned away, his coat almost catching the edge of the counter as he walked.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He stepped into the hallway, leaving the lab behind—a space that now hummed faintly again, as though the machine itself was reluctant to sleep.

  The corridor beyond was sterile and still, lit by artificial lights that cast long, sterile shadows across the tiled floor. The faint buzz of the building's life support systems pulsed overhead, cold air threading through the vents in steady gusts.

  But even here, insulated and fortified, Albert felt the chill. Not from the air.

  He made his way to the elevator in silence, clutching the case of syringes like a surgeon carrying a loaded weapon.

  And though his steps were quiet, his thoughts were loud echoes of contingency and sacrifice.

  Once Albert stepped into the R&D lab floor, the environment shifted-like a drop in pressure before a storm. His footsteps, silent yet purposeful, cut through the industrial noise that filled the sprawling subterranean space.

  The lab was a symphony of precision and chaos: the hiss of pressurized gas, the rhythmic clatter of tools, the hum of machines calibrating, and the quick-fire exchange of technical jargon between white-coated scientists. Sparks flew briefly from a welding station in the corner, illuminating a pair of faces etched with fatigue. Metal rang sharply as plates were bolted into place. Nothing here moved without purpose. Efficiency was survival.

  Albert moved among them like a ghost in command—acknowledged in glances, feared in presence. Conversations faltered. Backs straightened. Eyes snapped forward. Each scientist offered a stiff salute before returning hastily to their tasks, as if eager to disappear beneath their responsibilities.

  But near the rear of the lab, untouched by the hush that followed Albert's approach, one man remained absorbed— completely unaware.

  Michiel.

  Oblivious to the presence behind him, he continued his adjustments, muttering to himself about wiring and components.

  Hunched over a cluttered workbench, the young technician was deep in concentration. His fingers danced across circuitry with practiced urgency, lips moving in a barely-audible murmur.

  "..damn stabilizer's still spiking here and there... maybe if I reroute the main voltage line-"

  Before him, under the unforgiving fluorescent light, lay the newest iteration of Albert's belt. Sleek.

  Refined. The bulk of its early design stripped away, replaced by elegant curves of alloy and wire that hinted at an inner complexity far beyond its humble appearance. It gleamed like a blade hidden beneath fabric—minimalist, but potent.

  Albert came to a stop just behind him, hands clasped behind his back, watching.

  Unmoving. Silent.

  The moment stretched, brittle with tension, until Michiel finally sensed the unnatural swiftness of scientists and engineers around him. A chill prickled his skin.

  He turned—and froze.

  His face turned white.

  "Councilor!" he choked, stepping back so suddenly he collided with the workbench behind him. A tray of tools rattled, a wrench clattering to the floor and rolling away with a metallic ring.

  Albert didn't flinch.

  "I... I didn't realize you were-" Michiel began, breath shallow.

  "There's no need for alarm," Albert said, his voice low and level, yet bearing the weight of authority.

  His piercing eyes scanned the belt. "I was merely admiring your progress. It seems you've made significant improvements."

  Michiel blinked, visibly struggling to recover. "Yes, Councilor... I mean—thank you. I've managed to reduce the size and weight substantially. Most of the external components have been embedded internally, without compromising structural integrity."

  Albert inclined his head slightly, a rare gesture of approval, though his expression remained unreadable. "Clean work."

  Michiel straightened under the unexpected praise but hesitated before continuing. "There's just one issue, sir. The-functionality. I've done all I can with the schematics you provided, but without knowing exactly what the belt is designed to do... I can only go so far."

  Albert's gaze lingered on the technician for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, "Its purpose is no longer theoretical. I've seen its reaction firsthand."

  Michiel's brow furrowed. "You've activated it?"

  Albert didn't answer the question directly. He stepped forward, placing two fingers on the belt's polished surface.

  "It's already begun responding to the right stimulus. All that remains….. is testing in the field."

  The technician's mouth opened slightly, but he thought better of pressing further. Whatever power this device held, it wasn't his to understand-only to shape.

  "Is it ready for deployment?" He asked with a heavy tone that weighed Michiel down.

  Michiel nodded, but his voice came quieter now.

  "Yes. As ready as it can be, Councilor."

  Albert gave no further acknowledgment. He simply lifted the belt from the table, studying it once more beneath the sterile light.

  In his hands, it felt heavier than alloy and wire. It felt like a turning point.

  Without another word, he turned and walked away—leaving silence and questions in his wake.

  The moment Albert vanished around the corner, the tension snapped like a drawn wire. Michiel exhaled sharply, the breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaping in a rush.

  "Shit..." he muttered, dragging a trembling hand across his damp brow. His palm came away slick with sweat.

  He leaned heavily on the workbench for a beat, the humming machines around him fading into background noise. Then, with sudden urgency, he straightened and strode toward the lab's exit, his movements tight with restraint.

  "I just need to see where he takes it," Michiel whispered to himself, pushing open the door as quietly as he could. "If he notices it's not the original... I'm finished."

  Out in the corridor, the sterile light glared down with clinical detachment, painting long shadows along the floor. Albert was already a dozen paces ahead, his long coat swaying with each precise stride. The belt-Michiel's modified prototype— was hidden beneath the fabric, its presence well hidden with its slimmer upgrades

  Michiel kept his distance, hugging the wall as he followed in silence, every footstep measured. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder than the hum of the overhead fluorescents. He knew the risks. If Albert turned, if he caught even the faintest glimpse of him…

  But curiosity-and fear-compelled him forward.

  Ahead, Albert reached the elevator. Without hesitation, he pressed the call button, his composure unshaken.

  Ding!

  The doors slid open, then sealed shut again with a hiss-separating the Councilor from the rest of the facility like a vault door closing on a secret.

  Michiel crept closer, his eyes fixed on the elevator panel above.

  The glowing numbers began to tick down, each one a silent chime of dread. The soft ding of every floor echoed like a countdown.

  Two…

  A bead of sweat rolled down Michiel's temple, and he swallowed hard.

  Three...

  He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing.

  Four…

  His pulse quickened.

  "Fourth Level..." Michiel murmured, his brow furrowing as he stared at the dim glow of the elevator panel. His stomach twisted into knots.

  Fourth. Why the Fourth?

  "Shit," Michiel breathed, a cold sweat breaking at the nape of his neck. "What the hell is he doing down there?"

  "I need to get down there," Michiel whispered, urgency pulsing behind his eyes. "I'll tell Robert later. This can't wait."

  He turned back to the panel and jammed the call button with a little more force than necessary, his foot tapping against the tiled floor in nervous rhythm.

  Ding!

  The doors whispered open, and he stepped in quickly, casting one last glance over his shoulder as if expecting someone-or something-to stop him.

  The elevator closed, cocooning him in sterile light and humming silence.

  Three…

  He shifted on his feet, throat dry.

  Four…

  Ding!

  The doors opened, and cold air spilled in like a warning. Michiel stepped forward, the weight of uncertainty pressing hard on his shoulders.