LOGINThe northern gate loomed like a wounded giant when Lena arrived—massive stone pillars casting long shadows across a scene on the verge of tearing itself apart.Shouts collided in the cold morning air. Torches blazed where there should have been lanterns. The smell of sweat and fear clung to everything.Hundreds—no, nearly a thousand—people crowded the road outside the gate. Families with carts stacked with blankets. Children clinging to parents’ sleeves. Elderly men leaning on cracked canes. Their faces were gaunt, hollowed by hunger and loss. They had marched for days, maybe weeks.Banners made of tattered cloth fluttered weakly above the crowd. Not political banners—signs of desperation.“HELP US.” “WE LOST OUR HOME.” “NO WATER, NO FOOD.”At the front of the line, Civic Guard officers formed a barricade—not with weapons drawn, but with shields locked together in a line meant to contain panic.Lena pushed her way through the growing tension, Vincent and Damien at her side.“Report,
The storm did not arrive all at once. It crept slowly—quiet like mold, patient like rust—slipping into the cracks of Garden Metro while the city pretended to debate futures it didn’t fully understand.A week. They had one week before the vote that would decide whether Lena Quinn remained Speaker.A week was an eternity for anger. A week was a heartbeat for disaster.By dawn of the second day, the city’s fractures became visible.The market square, which usually smelled of bread and smoke, now smelled of ink and damp paper. Merchants pasted Stability Bloc posters on their stalls between customers. Children tugged them down and tore them into confetti only for new ones to appear an hour later.At the tram junction, two men nearly came to blows—one shouting that Lena had saved them from invisible chains, the other insisting she’d doomed them all by destroying “the only damn thing that knew what was coming.”Meanwhile, at the river docks, fishermen argued over the rumors spreading like
The first posters went up overnight.They appeared on brick walls and lamp posts, pasted in corners where rain couldn’t reach, layered over old slogans from the war years. Lena saw one on her way to the council hall the next morning, the glue still damp, the ink sharp and dark.A stylized tower. A circle around it. Beneath, three words in bold, block letters:BRING BACK ORDERDamien ripped it down before she could touch it. “They’re everywhere,” he muttered, crumpling it in his fist. “Markets, tram stops, dock warehouses. Reiss has been busy.”“Or someone working for him,” Lena said, but the distinction felt thin. The message was the same.As they walked, she saw more. Variants. Some with slogans beneath the main line.NO MORE GAMBLING WITH OUR FUTURE WE CAN’T EAT PRINCIPLES QUINN BROKE THE MACHINE – WHO FIXES IT?A few had her face roughly sketched beneath the text. In some, the eyes were scratched out.Vincent met them at the council entrance, a folded leaflet in his hand.“New
The sun rose unevenly over Garden Metro—soft in some districts, harsh in others, as if the city itself couldn’t decide what kind of day it was supposed to be. The blackout had ended, but its shadow remained. Power lines buzzed with an unfamiliar hesitation, gutters dripped with condensation from overloaded pipes, and the morning air carried a strange metallic bite that made the city feel brittle.Lena Quinn stood on the balcony outside the council chamber, hands braced on the cold stone, watching citizens gather below. Overnight, word had spread faster than she expected. Someone—perhaps several someones—had leaked the truth about the Horizon shutdown. Or enough of it, anyway.“…Speaker Quinn dismantled a system that could have saved us!”“…Cassidy Vale built that machine to enslave the city!”“…Jonas Vale says the world is collapsing—why did she silence the only warning we had?”“…We followed her blindly! Now what?”“…If another famine comes, this will be on her hands.”“…She did the
They locked Jonas Vale in a room with no windows.It wasn’t a dungeon. Garden Metro didn’t have dungeons anymore. It was one of the old storage chambers beneath the council hall—stone walls, a bolted door, a single lamp hanging naked from the ceiling. Lena chose it herself. She didn’t want him in a cell that felt like the past. She didn’t want him anywhere that might feel like home.For twelve hours after the shutdown, they left him alone.They had a city to steady.The power came back in pulses across Garden Metro. Lights flickered to life like blinking eyes. People flooded the streets, cheering, weeping, hugging strangers. The blackout had lasted only one night, but it had felt like the end of the world. When the lamps finally glowed steady again, the city grabbed at the illusion that everything was normal.Only the council knew what had been buried under their feet.Lena didn’t sleep. She moved between districts, speaking to ward leaders, calming the frightened, assuring the angry.
The city looked like a dying constellation. Only scattered lanterns and burning barrels lit the streets, flickering against walls where citizens gathered in anxious knots. Garden Metro had survived wars, coups, and tyrants—but nothing unnerved people like a city without power.Lena moved through the crowd with Vincent and Damien at her side. People reached for her sleeves, pleading, shouting, begging, but she kept moving. She couldn’t stop—not when every passing minute gave Jonas Vale more control.The Horizon Network wasn’t just a threat. It was a countdown.The old lock compound sat on the far edge of the river district, half-ruined, half-rebuilt over the years. Once, Cassidy had used it to smuggle weapons and prisoners. Later, Elara had turned it into a refuge. Now, it held the final link between Garden Metro and the Horizon Network’s automated spine.Damien forced open the rusted gates. Lena led the way in.The interior was cold and silent, the air thick with old machine oil an







