1 year, 2 months 17 days, 14 hours, 36 minutes and couple of seconds later...
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The city woke before the sun, if the sun still mattered.
Towers of scrap and concrete clawed upward. Their tops dissolved into a ceiling of mist that never lifted. It wasn't fog so much as residue.
Somewhere above it all, a sky existed but no one here had seen it in years.
In the alleys, morning meant another day of doom. People uncurled from doorways, from under bridges, from stacked shipping crates welded into homes.
Feet splashed through shallow water that smelled of rust and rot.
Vendors ignited stoves made from oil drums, coaxing flame from fuel scavenged the night before.
Hunger decided the day's rhythm long before clocks did.
Screens flickered on broken walls, looping ads for clean clothes, fresh food, places no one could reach.
A child watched one while chewing on a strip of synthetic grain, eyes reflecting promises that felt like jokes.
Her mother tugged her along, coughing, the sound flew away sharp and wet. Illness traveled faster than hope in this city.
Above the street, walkways sagged under the weight of bodies and cables. Laundry lines crossed like battle plans.
At the corner of a plaza, a generator shutdown, plunging a block into darkness and the darkness barely changed anything.
People kept walking and bearing the ton of sacks like dead corpses. They always did.
....
The restaurant clung to the underside of a transit rail. Its windows fogged from grease and steam.
Light strips buzzed overhead, casting a jaundiced glow across scarred tables.
They sat facing each other in a corner booth.
The younger-looking one swung his legs slightly beneath the table.
Black hair framed his face in uneven strands, eyes wide and alert, taking in everything.
The stains on the wall, the way the waitress avoided their table, hum of a jammer hidden near the counter, everything felt normal.
He wore a plain black shirt and pants, spotless in a place like this. Which somehow made him stand out more.
Across from him on the opposite sat a man with brown hair combed back just enough to suggest effort. A red waistcoat stretched tight over his chest.
His expression rested in a permanent state of mild confusion, as if the world kept moving one step faster than he preferred. He gripped his glass with both hands with pale knuckles.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then the younger one leaned forward, voice soft but enough to gain the spotlight.
"Funny place to talk about headlines, don't you think?"
The man in red blinked. "You said it was safe."
"Safe is relative."
A pause then a smile—innocent, almost sweet as a little charming boy.
"So. The Atlantis." The man spoke.
The name seemed to dim the lights. Nearby, a fork clattered to the floor.
The man waited for a while.
"They are saying a lot of things."
"Yes, I heard too. They are saying Salas didn't fall naturally. Mid Strato researchers don't usually murder themselves."
"That hasn't been proven. They don't even know who pushed the story."
The younger one traced a finger along the rim of his cup.
"Names always surface eventually."
The man hesitated, then offered his own.
"Blyke. Blyke Rhodes."
The smile widened, just a fraction.
"Good. Then you can call me Cagaro.... Cagaro Kunero."
Steam hissed from a crack in the wall as bowls were set down between them. Neither touched the food so early.
Blyke slouched deeper into the booth, rolling his shoulders like the conversation itself was a mild inconvenience.
"So, guess we should talk about why we are stuck together."
Cagaro's eyes lit up immediately.
"You mean the mission? To be honest, I didn't expect a partner so fast. Especially not someone already inside The Atlantis."
Blyke snorted.
"Partnership is a strong word. Temporary liability sounds closer."
"That is not very professional. You have been with them a while, right?"
"Three years. Give or take a few disasters. I'm a four-star. Not exactly shining material."
Cagaro blinked. Once then again.
"Four-star? You must be a high ranking officer."
Blyke finally looked up, eyebrows knitting together.
"Why are you saying it like that?"
"That is…. impressive. I thought you could be, maybe, a two? Or a one, if you were lucky."
Blyke stared at him. Then laughed drily.
"You are new-new, huh?"
Cagaro straightened. "Wait... I am five-star?"
The words hung between them. Blyke groaned and pressed his forehead to the table.
"Of course you are."
"That is bad?" Cagaro asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Kid, chill. The stars don't work how you think they do."
He leaned back, crossing his arms.
"Five's the bottom. Fresh meats and lowest. The more stars you lose, the more they expect from you. Zero star is the top rank."
Cagaro's smile faltered, curiosity growing into something quieter.
"So four-star means lowest."
"Yes. Means I still screw up enough to be useful. Means I get sent to babysit."
Cagaro hesitated. "Babysit…. me?"
"Temporary mentor. Your file crash landed on my desk this morning. Didn't even finish my drink before they decided we are partners."
Cagaro looked down at his hands, then back up, eyes bright again.
"That means they trust you."
"They trust that I won't let you die. There is a big difference."
"I see. We are investigating as members of The Atlantis.…"
Blyke exhaled through his nose.
"Welcome to the Hell."
Blyke poked at his plate, then finally pulled it closer, the spoon scraping porcelain.
"You have seen the feeds. Atlantis is getting torn apart. Protests in Lower, formal inquiries in Mid. All because one researcher hits the ground too hard."
Cagaro watched him. "Salas wasn't just one researcher."
"No. Big name it was and impactful. Which makes it funnier."
Blyke took a bite of fried rice, chewing slowly.
"Tell me. Why do you think Atlantis would kill someone like that?"
"Maybe Salas was going to leak something or switch allegiance. Or… he found something mysterious about Upper Strato."
Blyke swallowed, unimpressed. "No."
"No?"
"No drama. Hence no grand betrayal. Atlantis killed him because his research worked."
That landed heavier than expected. Cagaro's spoon stopped midair.
"Worked… how?"
"Too well. Salas figured out how to move people in restricted area without permission and do illegal bioweapon projects."
Cagaro stared. "That breaks everything."
"Exactly. So they broke him first."
For a moment, only the sound of chewing filled the booth. The food was oily, spiced just enough to distract the body while the mind unraveled.
Cagaro forced himself to eat, though his appetite had vanished.
He cleared his throat. "I will take the bill."
"Sure, I appreciate it."
"You are not going to argue?"
"Nah. If a deadly one-star mission was offered to me, I let fate do its thing. I was furniture until I stopped being useful. Then suddenly I was the one who walked away. Haha."
Cagaro paused, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"We are talking about this in public. What if someone hears us?"
Blyke smiled around a mouthful of rice.
"They won't."
"That confident?"
"Prepared as always."
Blyke corrected. He tapped the underside of the table with his boot.
Somewhere nearby, a low hum shifted pitch.
"White-noise field. Scrambles keywords and blurs intent. Anyone listening hears gossip and bad opinions."
Cagaro exhaled, impressed despite himself.
"You are really lazy?"
"Come on. Who cares as long as I am doing my part."
He wiped his mouth and leaned back.
"Listen. Before this goes any further, you need to understand the board we are standing on."
Cagaro nodded.
"Strato, the Structure of society. It has three layers."
Blyke lifted one finger. "Lower. If you need example just look around yourself. Endless factories, waste zones, slums mashed into megacities. Survival economy in words."
Mid. Research towers and corporate arcologies are there. Only for high standard people. That is where Salas lived."
Then the third. Blyke didn't lift it. He just let his hand rest on the table.
"Upper. It is basically restricted, hazardous and mythologized areas."
Cagaro swallowed. "And what about these Organizations?"
Blyke met his gaze.
"They decides who's allowed to believe Upper even exists."