The transition from the Academy's sterile silence to the Under-Sector was not gradual; it was a violent sensory assault.
Ken and Maya plummeted through the darkness of the "Black Valve," the air pressure building until it popped Ken's ears. They didn't hit the bottom; they hit a magnetic-buoyancy net, a shimmering web of purple force-fields strung between two decaying skyscrapers. The impact knocked the wind out of Ken, flipping him over, but the net absorbed the kinetic energy, bouncing him safely onto a rusted catwalk.
Maya landed beside him with a practiced roll, instantly on her feet, her pistol drawn and scanning the shadows.
"Welcome to the belly of the beast, Prince," she said, her voice fighting to be heard over the roar of the city below. "Watch your step. The rust here is real, and the tetanus shots are expensive."
Ken pulled himself up, clutching the toolkit. He looked out over the railing.
The Under-Sector was a vertical canyon of desperation and ingenuity. It was built from the scrap dropped by the floating islands above—massive sheets of corrugated iron, hull plating from crashed starships, and miles of neon tubing that had been re-purposed to light the eternal gloom. The air smelled of sulfur, frying oil, and the copper tang of unshielded electricity. Thousands of people moved through narrow walkways suspended over the abyss, their clothes ragged, their limbs often replaced by bulky, scavenged prosthetics.
"Keep the hood up," Maya commanded, grabbing the back of his tunic and yanking the fabric over his head. "If the Vulture Gangs see a Vaelstron face down here, they won't ransom you. They'll chop you up and sell you for parts by the ounce."
They moved into the crowd. Ken kept his head down, but his eyes darted left and right, absorbing the chaotic ecosystem. He saw a vendor selling mana-batteries recharged by hand-cranks. He saw children playing with a deactivated drone skull. He saw a man with a mechanical lung wheezing in a doorway, watching them with milky, suspicious eyes.
"We need transport," Ken muttered, stepping over a puddle of glowing blue coolant. "The Baron's stronghold is in the Deep-Stack, right? That's five miles down."
"We don't take transport," Maya said, shouldering past a group of thugs in leather trench coats. "Scanners on the mag-levs are linked to the Grid. We walk. It's the only way to stay off the Empress's radar."
They navigated a maze of steam tunnels and swaying bridges. Ken struggled to keep up with Maya's frantic pace. The Aegis Heart in the toolkit felt heavier with every step, its hum vibrating against his ribs.
Suddenly, Maya stopped dead. She threw her arm out, pinning Ken against a graffiti-covered wall.
"Don't breathe," she whispered.
A massive shadow passed over them. A Syndicate Enforcer Droid—a hulking, arachnid machine made of rusted iron and red sensors—crawled along the wall above them. It chittered, its searchlights sweeping the alleyway. It wasn't looking for criminals; it was looking for power signatures.
Ken held his breath, pressing the toolkit tight to his chest to muffle the Heart. The droid paused directly above them, a drop of hot oil falling from its chassis and sizzling on the pavement inches from Ken's boot. After an agonizing ten seconds, it skittered away into the smog.
"Your father's security?" Ken asked, exhaling.
"No," Maya said, her face grim. "That's a rogue unit. The Baron is getting paranoid. He's cranked the perimeter defense to 'Lethal.' We need to hurry before he locks the main blast doors."
They broke into a run, sliding down a series of precarious ladders until they reached the "Deep-Stack." Here, the neon lights were sparse, and the buildings were reinforced bunkers.
They stopped before a massive blast door made of repurposed battleship armor. The metal was painted with a crude, red vulture—the sigil of the Grasberg Syndicate. Two guards stood watch. They were more machine than man, their arms replaced by heavy rotary cannons, their faces hidden behind targeting visors.
"Halt," one of the guards rasped, his voice synthesized and distorted. He leveled his weapon at Ken. "Unauthorized biologicals detected. State your business or be liquidated."
Maya stepped into the light, pulling down her hood. "Tell the Baron his daughter is home. And she brought the package."
The guard's optical lens whirred as it focused on her face. "Maya. The Baron gave orders. No entry during the negotiations."
"Negotiations?" Maya's eyes narrowed. "With who? We're the only ones with the goods."
"The guest arrived an hour ago," the guard replied. "High-priority clearance."
Maya cursed under her breath. She looked at Ken, then back at the guard. "Open the door, Riggs. Or I'll tell my father you're the one skimming credits from the ammo supply."
The guard hesitated. The heavy cannon lowered slightly. "You play a dangerous game, little bird."
The blast doors groaned, the hydraulic locks disengaging with a deafening hiss. The metal slabs parted slowly, revealing a corridor bathed in oppressive red light.
"Stay close," Maya warned Ken, drawing her pistol. "If there's a guest, the room is going to be volatile. Don't speak unless the Baron addresses you. He hates the sound of 'Upper-City' accents."
They walked into the heart of the Syndicate. The main chamber was a hollowed-out generator room, vast and echoing. At the far end, sitting on a throne made of scavenged engine blocks and velvet, sat Baron Grasberg.
He was a terrifying fusion of flesh and scrap. Half of his face was covered by a brass plate, and his left eye was a glowing red telescopic lens that zoomed in and out with a soft clicking sound. He wore a suit of fine silk that clashed violently with the grease-stained cables running into the back of his skull.
"The prodigal daughter returns," the Baron rasped. He didn't stand. He tapped his metal fingers on the armrest of his throne. "And she brings a stray dog."
Ken stepped forward, refusing to cower. He set the toolkit on the metal table in the center of the room. The sound of the heavy box hitting the steel rang out like a gunshot.
"I'm not a dog, Baron," Ken said, his voice projecting clearly across the room. "And this isn't a chew toy. It's the key to the planetary shield."
The Baron laughed—a dry, mechanical sound that scraped against the ears. "The Vaelstron failure speaks. My daughter told me you were special. She said you possessed the 'Void.' All I see is a boy in a dirty tunic holding a box he doesn't understand."
"I understand it better than you," Ken countered. He kept his hand on the lid of the box. "This is a Tier-5 regulator. If you force it open without my Null-signature to dampen the reaction, the mana feedback will detonate the ammunition in this room. You want the shield codes? You deal with me."
The Baron stopped tapping his fingers. His mechanical eye whirred, focusing on Ken's hand. The threat hung in the air, tangible and sharp.
"Bold," the Baron grunted. "I like bold. But bold gets you killed down here, Prince. You claim you can control the Heart? You claim you are the key?"
"I am," Ken said.
"Interesting," the Baron mused. He gestured to the shadows in the corner of the room. "Because we have a guest who disputes that claim. Someone who knows your 'Nothingness' better than anyone."
A figure stepped out from the darkness.
She wore a sleek, violet body-suit that shimmered with scrolling data-streams—high-end stealth tech that cost more than the entire Under-Sector. Her face was partially obscured by a tactical visor, but as she stepped into the light, the visor retracted, revealing eyes that glowed with a predatory intelligence.
It was Elara Vance.
Ken felt a cold spike of adrenaline. The Academy's "Seer." The girl who watched everything.
"Hello, Ken," Elara whispered, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips. She walked toward the table, her movements fluid and silent. "I told the Baron you would come. I told him you couldn't resist the lure of the Source Code."
"You're working for the Syndicate?" Ken asked, betraying his shock for a fraction of a second.
"I'm a freelancer, Ken," Elara corrected, stopping on the opposite side of the table. She placed her hand on the toolkit, her fingers inches from his. "The Academy is too small for me. The Empress is too... restrictive. I want to see what happens when the world breaks. And you... you are the hammer."
She looked at the Baron. "He's telling the truth about the explosion, Baron. But he's lying about his control. He's scared."
Elara turned back to Ken, her eyes flashing violet. "Open it, Ken. Show us the Void. Or I'll let the Baron peel the codes out of your brain, one layer at a time."
The room went silent. The guards raised their weapons. Maya stepped back, her hand hovering over her gun, unsure of who to aim at.
Ken looked from the Baron to Elara. He was trapped.
"Fine," Ken said softly. "You want to see the Void? Look closely."
He gripped the latch.
End of Chapter 16