[Blackstone Territory · Internal Inquiry Room, Lawkeeper Division]
The lighting in the inquiry room was whiter than in the office areas.
Not for visibility—
but to leave nowhere to hide.
Atos sat on the far side of the metal table. He had not removed his military-police coat. The shoulder line was sharp, his posture straight, both hands resting naturally on the tabletop.
He had not been ordered to disarm.
That alone was a signal.
Two people sat across from him.
One was an internal oversight officer of the Blackstone Lawkeeper Division—gray-haired, gaunt, with a stack of record slates spread before him.
The other wore no uniform. Only a small, circular badge pinned to his chest, its material indistinct.
Not Blackstone-issued.
Atos' gaze lingered on the badge for less than a second before moving on.
"Begin recording," the oversight officer said, his tone procedural.
A low hum sounded as the recording crystal in the corner lit up.
"Subject: Blackstone Lawkeeper Atos Lien."
"Cause of inquiry: Boundary patrol irregularity."
Atos nodded.
"Please describe the actual conditions during the third patrol window today."
"No anomalies," he replied without hesitation.
The oversight officer didn't look up, merely turned a slate.
"That is consistent with your report."
"However, during the same interval, boundary stability experienced a brief decline lasting thirty seconds."
He paused.
"The system opened a reporting window."
Atos did not deny it.
"Yes."
The man with the circular badge finally spoke.
"But you chose to close it."
Not an accusation.
A confirmation.
"I chose to delay," Atos corrected.
The room fell silent for a moment.
The oversight officer raised his head, glanced at Atos, then said nothing.
The corner of the badge-holder's mouth twitched—almost imperceptibly.
"According to protocol," the badge-holder said,
"when the system identifies a high-risk variable, a regional lawkeeper's discretionary authority is limited to—"
"—preventing immediate escalation," Atos finished.
This time, the oversight officer looked up fully.
"You're very familiar with procedure."
"Because I use it every day," Atos replied.
"To deal with matters that never make it into reports."
The badge-holder studied him, as if evaluating a numerical threshold.
"What did you encounter at the boundary?"
Atos paused—for half a second.
Long enough for the system to register a change in heart rate.
"An unregistered armed unit," he said.
"Highly disciplined. Objective unclear."
"You did not attempt interception."
"I assessed that interception would cause greater instability."
"You also did not mark them."
"I assessed that marking would accelerate loss of control."
The badge-holder leaned back in his chair.
"You're speaking on their behalf."
"I'm speaking on behalf of Blackstone," Atos said, lifting his gaze.
"Any conflict at the boundary ultimately lands on us."
The oversight officer's stylus stopped mid-note.
He cleared his throat.
"Based on current data," he said,
"you have not violated any explicit regulation."
The badge-holder did not relax.
"But you made a choice, Lawkeeper."
"You allowed the unknown to move beyond the predictable zone."
Atos did not argue.
"Yes."
"Do you understand what that means?"
Atos looked up.
This time, he did not answer with policy.
"It means that if things truly spiral out of control," he said,
"I'll still be standing long enough to hold the line for Blackstone."
The room fell silent again.
The badge-holder stood and adjusted his sleeves.
"This inquiry will be classified as routine follow-up verification."
The oversight officer nodded and deactivated the recording crystal.
The lights dimmed slightly.
Before leaving, the badge-holder stopped and looked back at Atos.
"Lawkeeper."
"You exercised discretionary authority today."
His tone was neutral.
"Next time, the system may not warn you."
The door closed.
Atos remained seated in the inquiry room.
He didn't rise immediately.
He simply looked down at his wrist guard, where the red glyph had long since faded.
He knew it hadn't been a warning.
It was—
a recorded action.
And Blackstone's night still required someone to stand at the street corners,
pretending everything was normal.
[Blackstone Territory · Lawkeeper Division Underground Passage]
The door closed behind him.
The sound-dampening array activated, cutting off the inquiry room completely.
The man with the circular badge walked through the narrow underground corridor, his pace unhurried, as though matching a rhythm he had long memorized.
The walls were not stone.
They were old alloy, deliberately overlaid with simulated rock texture.
This passage did not exist in any current architectural registry.
He stopped before an unmarked wall and raised his hand.
The circular badge pressed against the surface.
No light. No sound.
The wall withdrew on its own, opening a narrow gap.
Inside was a space barely large enough to stand in.
No desk. No chairs. No ritual markings.
Only a low-resolution projection interface embedded in the wall, displaying a single line:
[Local Node: Blackstone Territory]
[Supervision Level: Passive]
[Observation State: Active]
The man stood still.
"Report," he said.
There was no verbal response.
The display refreshed.
Not text—
but a sequence of folded historical fragments:
Boundary clashes.
Unrecorded suppressions.
People taken by "accidents."
All belonging to Blackstone.
All belonging to things that should not be traced—
yet could not be erased.
"Discretionary authority exercised once," he added calmly.
"Subject: Regional Lawkeeper."
The display paused briefly.
Then a new marker appeared.
[Discretionary Action: Within Tolerance Range]
[Deviation Index: +0.07]
[Correction Intervention: No]
The man's brow moved—just slightly.
"Flag Atos Lien," he said.
"Classification: Load-Bearing Node."
This time, the system did not respond immediately.
The delay lasted a full second.
For an interface of this tier,
that was time that should not exist.
[Node Flagged]
[Note: Not Administrator]
[Note: Not Interferer]
[Note: Possesses Load Capacity]
The man stared at the text for a long moment.
Then he reached out and shut down the interface.
As he walked back through the corridor, his steps were slower than before.
Because he understood one thing very clearly:
When this world truly began to fail,
it wouldn't be because of invaders.
It would be because local order—
for the first time—
chose to bear the weight itself.
He murmured softly, not to the system, and not to anyone.
"The Federation fell the same way."
His figure disappeared into the depths of the underground passage.
And above ground,
Blackstone Territory remained lit by night lamps—
as if nothing had happened.