Station 19 Gibson Novels & Stories

“That this was the beginning.” **** Pov: Ember. North Ridge Relay Station – Late Afternoon The station sat half-hidden among the trees, an old military outpost-turned-communication hub with metal towers that blinked like eyes through the mist. Ember pulled up in a government-issued SUV, gravel crunching under tires. She stepped out with purpose, her coat flaring in the wind, hair tied back, and heart pounding against her ribs. She didn’t need her instincts to tell her something was off. The silence was enough.

"It has clean water and old power lines that still work. Come." We walked down the center of the tracks, passed the warriors who were already unpacking the wooden crates of stolen Council rifles. They looked up as I walked past, their amber eyes were glowing softly in the dark tunnel. They did not shout or cheer, but they all stopped working for a second, bowing their heads low in the damp dark. They looked at my blistered right hand like it was a holy relic. The station house was an underground platform built for transit workers a century ago. It was a long concrete room with a low ceiling, lit by a few bare yellow bulbs that were wired straight into an old city generator.

world of Metro City’s past. "Jasper, lead the way," Kora whispered. Jasper Rex stepped forward, his eyes fixed on a holographic projection of the city’s subterranean architecture. "Ghost Station 09 is three kilometers to the north. We’ll use the old pneumatic mail tubes for the first kilometer—they’re too small for the mercenaries, but we can crawl through them."

“I will try, I’ve never portaled underwater before. Dimitri keep hacking away I can’t do another portal once I am underwater.” Gibson chants his spell and we see a portal appear next to him. He steps through and disappears. I anxiously wait to see any sign of Gibson and Ahsoka. She’s been under way too long. Dad finally breaks through but we still don’t see Gibson. How deep is this lake?

"He's plugged into all the Wi-Fi, so we can't tell exactly where he is in the city." "That's... smart." "Not smarter than I am." She muttered and narrowed the search grid until it pointed to a single point in Lower Manhattan. "Tribeca?" Aser suggested. "Lower," Cassie said. "Chinatown. No... beneath it." The target lock beeped right over an intersection that didn't have any buildings. "The Ghost Station," Matthew realized. "That old subway station that’s been closed for decades." "It has active power lines running through it for the modern tracks, and that’s how he broadcast the video."

“No enclosed routes. Drains aren’t safe.” “Agreed,” Gabe said. “We stay exposed.” They passed St Mary’s. Continued along College Street. Cut through the Domain. Wolves appeared intermittently at a distance—no charges, no vocalising. Observation only. At Macquarie Street, the Opera House came fully into view. Floodlights reflected off wet stone. Pumps beneath the structure cycled unevenly. The forecourt was empty. The Queen stood at the top of the steps. Gabe didn’t slow.

******************** HOURS LATER As I drove through the almost empty street, being a Sunday and still early hour of the day most families would be sleeping in and just being lazy except for the bakeries and cafes that were getting ready to open shop for the day. The station was at least 3 miles from the town. We kept it away from the pack because of the powerful weapons and gadgets stored at the station. We also had the prison yard at the station ground where rogues and other creatures were captured and kept including some humans that had attacked us previously. When we arrived Caleb and Damien were already waiting for us, they had taken the initiative to bring out the files of the new resid

Ichiro stayed behind in the dark room, his fingers drumming a hard, uneven rhythm against the cane as he watched the empty shipping yards sit motionless on the screen. A black SUV swung around the corner and braked hard at the edge of the loading bay, tires throwing gravel. Gabe stepped out, yanking his tie loose as he crossed the wet asphalt. He'd expected his own crew to have the block by now. Instead, yellow federal tape stretched across the entrance in a long, unbroken line. Moss stood behind it with a clipboard. A few yards back, Reed crouched in the dirt, photographing shell casings scattered across the concrete.

The morning of the fourth day I go to the water station early and Girard is there. He does not move when I approach. He stands at the near end of the station and waits for me to navigate around him or stop, presenting me with the choice he has been building toward since the day after the execution. He is closer than he has positioned himself before, close enough that getting my cup of water requires moving within his arm's reach. I walk to the far end of the station.

“No idea. But they know about the node. And they know you.” “Great. So what — now I’m just a liability?” “No,” Mara said. “You’re a target. That’s worse.” Rourke grabbed his coat. “We go now.” --- Location: Wexler Station – Sector 3B Time: 11:42 A.M. Wexler Station had been abandoned for years. It used to house a subterranean magrail prototype — sleek, silent trains for the “urban future.” But funding dried up and the tunnels flooded. Now it was a rusting crypt of old tech and rats the size of cats.