The city always looked worse from above.
From the height I'd climbed to, Ring V spread outward in jagged layers of metal and concrete, sections torn open where the dome once sealed them in. I stood on the edge of a half-collapsed transit tower, staring down at the city as it burned. Smoke curled through broken streets. Buildings leaned like they were tired of standing, like the city itself was waiting to sit down.
A breach hung open near the central district.
Reality tore like cheap fabric.
Emergency lights flickered across the wound, painting the damage in rotating bands of red and white.
And in the middle of it—
an anomaly.
Limbs split and rejoined. Faces surfaced only to slide away again, features rearranging as if the thing was trying, and failing, to remember what it was supposed to be.
I clicked my tongue.
"Third one this week."
I didn't feel panic. Panic wasted time.
Fear settled deeper instead. Colder. The kind that sharpened focus instead of blurring it. I tracked the anomaly by the way the streets responded to it. Collapsing walkways. Bursts of displaced air. The distant echo of impacts traveling through the city's frame.
Three in a week meant something was seriously wrong.
That was what bothered me most. The breaches followed patterns, and Ring V adapted by making rules for them.
Ring V had rules. Shelters opened on time. Announcements followed a script. The Internal Response Team arrived before the damage spread too far. When things obeyed rules, you could survive them.
When they didn't, you started losing people.
The thing twisted, rearranging itself with a wet, mechanical sound, and punched through a building that had already failed three safety inspections this year.
Ring V really was overachieving.
Observation time ended when it started looking around. Not at anything in particular.
I backed away from the ledge and started down.
The path wasn't a path so much as a memory of one. Welded ladders. Maintenance grips. Exposed support beams that flexed under my weight. I moved fast but not careless, choosing each hold the way habit had taught me.
Below, something screamed.
Not a voice.
Metal tearing, forced apart too quickly.
I didn't look back.
Looking cost time.
By the time my boots hit street level, the city had found its rhythm.
Alarms overlapped. Shutters slammed down in sequence. The air tasted sharp, ionized, like it did every time containment failed. People moved without shouting, funneling toward shelter entrances built into the bones of the district.
No one asked what was happening.
They already knew.
Sirens kicked in late.
Like always.
The Internal Response Team arrived like a correction.
Dropships cut through the upper airspace, sleek and angular, their descent controlled to the meter. Figures deployed mid-drop, neural-sync frame suits unfolding around them as they fell. Battle drones descended alongside them, stabilizers flaring just before impact.
They hit the streets running.
Efficient. Coordinated. Distant.
I slowed just long enough to watch them pass. The suits hummed softly. Not loud enough to hear over the alarms, but constant. Like something thinking in the background.
Elite, people said.
Assigned to problems like this.
The PA crackled to life.
"Attention, citizens of Ring V. Please proceed calmly to your designated shelters and allow the Internal Response Team to handle the anomaly."
"Calmly," I muttered as I sprinted down a broken stairwell. "Sure."
The voice continued, smooth and irritatingly attractive.
"Your cooperation ensures the continued survival of humanity."
It's that sexy PA announcer again, I thought, lungs burning. If I'm going to die, at least let it be to her voice.
A woman near me gripped her child's hand tighter. Someone stumbled. No one argued.
I started moving again. Then I heard a child crying near the shelter ramp.
My survival instincts told me to keep moving.
My body disagreed.
"Crap," I muttered, already turning. "Why am I always like this?"
I grabbed the kid's arm without slowing and pulled him into motion beside me.
Questions could wait, as long as we were still alive.
People flooded the streets, all moving in the same direction. Someone tripped. Someone screamed. No one stopped.
The ground shook.
I didn't look back. I hauled the kid onto my back, piggyback-style.
Rule one of Ring V: if something wants your attention, don't give it the satisfaction.
Energy fire tore through the smoke above as the IRT engaged. The anomaly screamed, layered and overlapping, like several voices fighting over which one got to be afraid.
My head rang.
Just for a second.
My body went still before I understood why.
I stumbled.
"…Nope," I said. "Not today."
The shelter doors were already closing when I dove inside.
They sealed behind me with a heavy clang.
Dark. Breathing. Silence that felt fake, like something was holding its breath.
I leaned against the wall, hands on my knees, chest burning. The kid trembled against me.
"Don't worry," I told him quietly. "The IRT will handle this."
Third one this week.
And somehow, I knew
it wouldn't be the last.
The shelter lights flickered like they were reconsidering their life choices.
People packed the room shoulder to shoulder, breathing loud enough to drown out the distant sirens. Someone cried softly. Someone else laughed a little too hard.
My hands shook.
I hated that.
A kid nearby whispered, "Is it gone?"
"No," an older woman said immediately. "If it was gone, they'd say it was gone."
The PA stayed silent.
That was worse.
A countdown display blinked to life on the wall.
BREACH STATUS: ACTIVE
ESTIMATED CONTAINMENT: UNKNOWN
Someone cursed.
I rested my head against the concrete, one hand still on the kid's head.
Third one this week.
At this rate, Ring V earned a loyalty card.
The hum started. Different from the IRT suits.
Soft. Barely there.
I froze.
It threaded through the shelter like a bad memory, slipping past walls, past metal, past everything that was supposed to keep us safe.
I signaled for the kid to stay quiet.
Nobody else reacted.
I pressed my palms into my ears.
It didn't help.
The hum drifted closer.
Curious.
Then it stopped.
My heart hammered.
I didn't breathe until the lights stabilized.
The PA finally spoke.
Same voice. Calm. Perfect.
"The anomaly has been successfully neutralized."
A beat.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
Relief rippled through the shelter. Weak cheers followed.
I didn't join them.
Because neutralized didn't mean gone.
It meant handled.
For now.
I stood when the doors unlocked.
Dust drifted in, like the city had followed us inside.
As people pushed past, I caught my reflection in the metal wall. Haggard. Dark circles carved under my eyes. Raven hair matted with dust.
Well, I thought, at least I'm alive.
I looked down at the kid.
"Let's go find your parents."
Three this week.
And something about this one still felt wrong.