ENTRY 5

Ten Years Ago – Sector 12, Grey Zone

It was raining again. Not the kind of rain that nourished, but the kind that felt like regret, thin, acidic, and cold.

Tunde sat huddled under a frayed blanket, watching his mother crouch in front of the stove, coaxing a flickering flame from a rusted burner. Her fingers moved carefully, deliberately, like every matchstick had a prayer attached to it.

He was eight. Hungry. But not just for food.

“Mama?” he asked. “Is it soup day… or just steam?”

She glanced back at him, her eyes ringed with fatigue but still holding that gentle fire. “Soup,” she said softly. “A new recipe. Ash and honey.”

He gave her a look, somewhere between amusement and confusion.

“It’s an old Ruins special,” she said, dropping a sliver of moldy root into boiling water. “A pinch of ash to remind us of where we are. A hint of honey to remind us not to stay here forever.”

“But we don’t have honey.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

Later, they sat shoulder to shoulder beneath the leaking roof, slurping the warm gray liquid like it was stew from a royal banquet.

Her breathing was heavier than usual that night — not loud, just… strained. She hid it well, the tightness in her chest, the way she occasionally turned away to cough into her scarf.

Tunde noticed. He always noticed.

“Are you sick, Mama?” he asked, eyes wide.

She shook her head. “No. Just tired lungs. The rain doesn’t help. I’ve lived through worse.”

But that night, while he slept, she coughed harder — thin, dry gasps muffled into the corner of a torn pillow. Her hand clutched her side for a moment, and then slowly relaxed.

The pain would pass. It always did.

She told herself that.

She had to.

Present Day – Refinery Outskirts

Tunde dropped the bag in front of Kappa. Inside: pure, raw Adrium from Quarry Vault C — the real stuff. Glowing. Dangerous.

Kappa raised a brow, flipped a shard in his hand. “This’ll do.”

No beatings this time. No suspicion.

They thought they’d broken him.

Tunde just nodded, turned, and left.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t look back. His face was unreadable. His steps steady.

Inside his chest, a storm brewed.

His mother’s cough had blood in it now.

Sector Border – Near Block 49

The streets narrowed. Cracked walls on either side. Shadows leaned over lamp posts like watchers.

Tunde walked in silence. The air felt different here — still, but aware.

He passed a dented vendor stall. An old man watched him go, then turned away. A scavenger child whispered something and ducked behind a cart.

That was when they stepped out.

Two Citadel enforcers. Matte-black armor. Silent. Smooth. They didn’t hum. They didn’t threaten. They simply… arrived.

Tunde stopped.

One raised a scanner.

ID Confirmed. RU-Q3A-1120. Theta Protocol: Passive Retrieval.

Tunde raised his hands. “No trouble,” he murmured.

They said nothing. One reached forward, clipped magnetic cuffs to his wrists. The other gave a slight nod.

He was being claimed, not arrested. Collected. Tagged like a file too interesting to delete.

As they guided him toward the transport, he glanced up, not at the sky, but at the Citadel light glowing beyond the haze.

He thought of his mother.

Her thin breaths. The way she whispered his name like a goodbye she didn’t want to say out loud.

He thought of the song she sang over ash soup, the one that used to make the darkness feel smaller.

He didn’t know what was waiting inside those walls. But he knew what he was walking away from.

And he knew he had no choice.

Quarry 3A, Early Evening

Dust spun through the dry air as the last bell rang over Quarry 3A. Abigail stood near the cracked basin wall, arms folded, eyes scanning the thinning crowd. Workers were leaving in pairs or silence, weighed down by fatigue and heat.

Still no Tunde.

Samuel walked up beside her, dragging a bag over one shoulder. His shirt clung to him with sweat and quarry grime.

"He should’ve been back," Abigail said, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Samuel replied, glancing down the path. "Too late for it to be nothing."

Just then, a younger miner sprinted over, panting and wide-eyed.

"You heard?" he said quickly. "Citadel enforcers grabbed someone near Block 49. Quiet arrest. No announcement. Just cuffs, black suits, straight to the sky-road."

Abigail’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"

The boy shook his head. "Didn’t see his face. But he had that Ruins walk — like he knew pain too well."

Abigail and Samuel exchanged a look. No words needed.

Then Abigail turned and walked fast toward the safehouse.

That Night

The inside of the safehouse was cramped and stale. Cracked solar lamps buzzed overhead. A dusty city map was still spread out on the floor.

Abigail dropped her gear and ran a hand through her hair. Samuel stepped in after her, closing the door tight.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," she muttered.

"You think they followed him after the drop?" Samuel asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe they were watching the vault and saw him trip the alert on purpose."

"Or…" Samuel paused. "Maybe the Brass Fangs gave him up."

Abigail turned sharply. "No. Not after they bled him dry. He was their supply line now. They wouldn’t cut that off."

Samuel shrugged. "Unless they smelled heat coming and decided to offer him up as a peace gift."

Abigail sat down hard on the metal bench, fingers tapping against her knee.

"He didn’t even have time to signal. No message. No fallback plan."

Samuel pulled up a drone-feed still on a cracked tablet. It showed a blurry figure in cuffs, flanked by two armored enforcers.

It was Tunde.

"He looked calm," Samuel said. "Or maybe just in shock."

"They didn’t shoot him," Abigail replied. "Which means they want something."

She stood again, pacing.

"I need eyes inside. We need to find out where they took him. If he’s in containment, we might still have a window. If he’s in Citadel Control… he might be gone."

Inside the Citadel Transport

Tunde sat in silence, hands bound in smooth, magnetic cuffs. The transport glowed with soft blue light. Every surface was clean, cold, and quiet.

Across from him sat an officer, calm, not hostile, just watching. She had dark gloves, a plain uniform, and a faint glow in her left eye, like a scanner behind her iris.

"You walk through a trip field, hold up raw Adrium like it’s a trophy, and then casually stroll through the ruins like no one’s watching," she said. "That’s not desperation. That’s a message."

Tunde didn’t reply.

The hum of the transport engine filled the silence.

"You don’t have clearance, but someone up the chain has noticed you," the officer continued. "And let me guess, this all started because someone you love is dying."

Tunde finally looked up.

Her voice softened, just a little.

"The Citadel fixes things, Tunde. Sometimes. But nothing’s free."

Tunde leaned back. "I’m not here to sing for your parades."

"Not yet," she said. "But the walls don’t just keep people out. They keep people in."

Outside the window, the Citadel lights shimmered like a promise and a prison.