Neon Eden did not panic.
It never did.
When anomalies surfaced—data scars, unauthorized activations, echoes without clear origin—the city responded with calm efficiency. Flags were raised. Logs were reviewed. Human oversight was deployed only when automation failed to reach a satisfying conclusion.
Which was exactly why Aira was dangerous.
Far above the lower sectors, in a tower wrapped in layered light and glass, a room awakened.
Not with alarms.
With permissions.
Circular holo-displays bloomed into existence one by one, projecting streams of data that folded and refolded themselves into readable structures. Symbols representing districts, sectors, and sublayers rotated slowly, their colors shifting in response to unseen calculations.
At the center of it all sat a man whose rank allowed him to exist outside most consequences.
Director Kael Morvain did not rush.
He never rushed.
"Summarize," he said calmly.
A synthetic voice responded at once.
[Anomaly detected in Sector Thirteen sublayer.]
[Source: Decommissioned Enforcement Unit E-17.]
[Status change: Terminated.]
Kael raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Terminated by what?"
A brief pause.
[Unknown.]
[Combat authority transfer logged.]
[Recipient: Unregistered.]
That caught his attention.
Kael leaned forward, fingers interlacing. "Unregistered doesn't mean nonexistent," he said. "It means below notice."
[Correct.]
"And below notice things don't usually kill enforcement units," Kael continued. "Especially not ones that still carry authority protocols."
The displays shifted, zooming in on the affected zone. Data reconstructed itself—energy spikes, fragmented logs, environmental damage patterns.
Kael studied them in silence.
"Someone fought it," he said finally.
[Confirmed.]
"Not with heavy weapons."
[Confirmed.]
"Not with external system support."
Another pause.
[Confirmed.]
A faint smile touched Kael's lips.
"That's interesting."
Aira did not know any of this.
She was busy running.
The forgotten sublayer swallowed her quickly, darkness folding around her like a familiar cloak. The air grew colder as she descended, the city's hum fading into something distant and irregular.
Her body protested with every step. The fall had aggravated her injuries, turning dull aches into sharp reminders. Each breath pulled tight against bruised ribs, and her legs trembled faintly from accumulated strain.
She did not stop.
Stopping meant being caught between layers—too visible to vanish, too weak to fight.
She moved until the lights thinned, until the corridor narrowed into a maintenance artery no longer wide enough for standard enforcement units to navigate comfortably.
Only then did she slow.
Aira pressed her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting, breath shallow, eyes half-lidded. Sweat cooled quickly on her skin, leaving her shivering faintly.
"Distance?" she whispered.
[Pursuit signatures no longer within optimal tracking range.]
"How long until they widen the net?"
[Estimated: 3 to 5 cycles.]
She nodded slowly.
That gave her time.
Not comfort—but time.
She closed her eyes and turned inward, focusing on the quiet weight inside her—the system's presence, no longer sharp or intrusive, but… listening.
"Status," she said.
[Host condition: Compromised but stable.]
[Current level: Increased.]
[Level cap: Ten.]
Still ten.
The ceiling remained unbroken.
She was closer than before—she could feel it—but not there yet.
"How many levels away?" Aira asked.
[Insufficient data.]
[Level acquisition dependent on future authority evaluations.]
"Right," she muttered. "Judgment, not generosity."
She leaned her head back against the wall.
The drone had judged her worthy of two levels. No more. No less. That decision lingered in her mind, uncomfortable in a way she couldn't quite define.
It hadn't felt hostile.
It had felt… fair.
And fairness, in Neon Eden, was rarer than mercy.
"Tell me something," Aira said quietly. "If I had failed… if I'd died—"
[Authority construct would have retained its valuation.]
[No transfer would occur.]
"So worthiness is binary," she said. "Live or die."
[Correct.]
She smiled thinly.
"Then I'll keep living."
She did not remain hidden long.
Neon Eden adapted quickly.
Within hours, surveillance patterns shifted subtly. Maintenance drones rerouted. Energy allocations adjusted. It was quiet, efficient, and deeply unsettling.
Aira noticed it immediately.
The lights ahead of her brightened fractionally. Not enough to be obvious—just enough to remove certain shadows.
Her system noticed it too.
[Environmental monitoring density increasing.]
"They're learning," Aira whispered.
[So are we.]
She pushed herself to her feet and resumed moving, altering her path repeatedly, doubling back through overlapping layers of infrastructure. She did not flee in a straight line.
She confused.
The lower sectors were not kind to confusion.
They were crowded with abandoned machines, half-functioning constructs, and outdated security nodes that no longer reported correctly. Aira slipped through them like a ghost, using the city's own inefficiencies as cover.
Eventually, she reached a place even the city hesitated to catalogue.
The Sink.
It was not a single location, but a convergence of collapsed layers where gravity behaved unpredictably and structural integrity was… optional. Things fell into the Sink and were rarely recovered.
Aira stepped to its edge and looked down.
Darkness swallowed the space below, broken only by faint glimmers of reflected light far beneath.
"Survival odds?" she asked.
[Unclear.]
She nodded.
"Better than certainty."
She slid down the slanted debris slowly, careful not to dislodge anything too large. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it, focusing instead on balance, timing, breath.
Halfway down, something stirred.
Not behind her.
Below.
Her system reacted instantly.
[Active construct detected.]
[Classification: Civilian Drone — Salvage Variant.]
Aira froze.
A salvage drone this deep in the Sink was unusual. These units were low-threat, designed to recover usable materials from disaster zones. Their authority was minimal.
But authority wasn't the only thing that mattered.
"How degraded?" she asked.
[Moderate wear.]
[Core valuation protocols intact.]
Her heart rate ticked upward.
Another judge.
This one would not be as dangerous as the enforcement drone—but that also meant it might not be worth much.
She considered retreating.
But retreating meant climbing.
And climbing meant exposure.
Aira exhaled slowly and continued downward.
The salvage drone emerged fully into view—a squat, multi-limbed construct clinging to the wreckage, its sensors sweeping methodically. It paused when it detected her, optics narrowing.
[Unauthorized biological presence detected.]
It did not attack.
It evaluated.
Aira held still.
She did not raise her hands. Did not charge. Did not flee.
She waited.
The drone advanced cautiously, scanning her injuries, her posture, her energy signature.
[Assessment in progress…]
Her system remained silent.
This judgment was not hers to influence.
Finally, the drone emitted a low tone.
[Threat level: Minimal.]
[Engagement unnecessary.]
It turned away.
Aira released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"No fight," she murmured.
[No judgment.]
She slipped past it carefully, descending further into the Sink until the city's signals thinned to almost nothing.
Only then did she allow herself to rest.
Far above, Director Kael Morvain studied a new report.
"Lost track of it?" he asked mildly.
[Anomaly signal degraded beyond reliable thresholds.]
Kael smiled.
"Good."
The analysts around him glanced up in surprise.
"Good, sir?" one asked carefully.
"Yes," Kael replied. "If it vanished that easily, it wasn't interesting."
He leaned back in his chair, gaze distant.
"And if it didn't—" he continued softly, "then it will surface again."
Aira lay curled in the darkness, breathing slowly, system pulsing quietly beside her.
She had not gained a level.
She had not fought.
She had not been judged worthy.
And that was fine.
Not every encounter needed to push her upward.
Some existed to remind her of the rules.
The city was watching now.
Not closely.
But enough.
She closed her eyes, mind already calculating paths, thresholds, ceilings she had yet to break.
Ten levels.
That was all she had.
For now.
But the city had started looking back.
And when it finally saw her—
She would be ready.