Jo watched Marcus's shuttle descend in front of a backdrop of destruction. She was relieved to see the shuttle but in a state of disbelief at the scene. Behind the shuttle, growing plombs of smoke and a barren skyline of devastation. The TransitTrack had shaken most of them to the ground as sections closer to Symmetrists Gate completely collapsed.
The craft's stabilizers strained, its surface pinged and dented and covered in dust. It touched down hard, emergency landing gear absorbing some of the abrupt impact.
Marcus emerged, face drawn. "Bad news," he announced, moving directly to Jo. "Aircraft suspended from Veridian Center. They're shooting down anything that approaches without premium clearance." He lowered his voice. "Shuttle's damaged from the shockwave. I can risk one more run, and maybe get five people total. But honestly..." He glanced at the settling dust cloud. "We might not make it with the damage to the shuttle going through that cloud."
Before Jo could respond, Chung stepped forward, orange Quantum Collective uniform almost glowing in the strange half-light. "Why are we even discussing this? The Quantum district has protocols for exactly this scenario. My residence tower has emergency supplies, backup systems—"
"The Truth Gate had protocols too," Akira interrupted, her Symmetrist training evident in her measured tone. "Look how that turned out."
Jo felt the weight of the moment. "Everyone deserves a choice," she said clearly. "Marcus can take four more with him. But understand the risks – the shuttle was damaged in the cloud, and Veridian Center has activated air defenses. Anyone wanting to go can have my seat, but I don’t recommend it."
Silence as runners looked at each other, the damaged shuttle with evidence of dents and dings, and covered in dust.
"This is ridiculous," Chung huffed. "We're wasting time. We could’ve been safe and sound in the Quantum Collective, it's time to go—"
"The Quantum Collective mesh is probably as dead as the TransitTrack," Jonathan observed.
"Our systems are more resilient than your primitive—" Chung began.
"Enough," Jo interrupted Chung’s quarreling. "We need a real plan." She looked at Chung. "The Quantum district is closest. Once we get in, those going with Chung, go with my best wishes. The rest of us will form small teams to gather supplies and return to Symmetrist to return their runners and bring whatever help if we can. The Neural Substrate's maintenance tunnels still have emergency power – with my security pass, we should be able to use them to move between districts."
"Underground?" Akira asked. "I’ll take my chances with Chung."
"Understood. Sometimes you have to go backward to move forward," Jo said. She turned to Siren and Orion, the other two Symmetrist runners. "Your families..."
"I have to try," Orion said. Siren nodded in agreement.
Akira paused, "Even with the Truth Gate gone?"
"It’s up to you, we head to Quantum Collective in five minutes and cross together" Jo stated flatly. "Those wanting to help the Symmetrist district look for supplies. We rendezvous in two hours at the maintenance junction beneath Central Market." She pulled Marcus aside to understand more about Veridian airspace concerns.
"Don’t worry, follow me. Our conscious mesh stabilizes everything," Chung declared. Several runners had already gravitated toward his certainty and offer for sanctuary in the residence halls. "Anyone with sense should come with me. My family's tower has premium access, emergency resources—"
Chung's confidence drew a larger following than Jo expected. She expected the remaining Quantum runner but was surprised by Akira following him. But not as surprised by AutoGen’s Helios Sunriser deciding to help Symmetrist. The group split into two nearly even groups, Chung led the way with five runners, while Jo, Marcus, and the remaining five runners hung back to discuss the next steps.
"We're really not taking the shuttle?" Marcus asked Jo on the side.
Jo replied, “You can if you want, Marcus. I can’t ask you to follow me.”
“Nope, I’m good for now,” he replied as he imagined having stayed and being safe in Veridian. ‘But who could have imagined that devastating collapse,’ he thought as his mind continued to drift as they walked.
As they crossed into the district, Jo showed credentials. There was only one guard posted, almost looking lost. “Come in, but don’t expect to leave,” the guard said approving her insignia. With the TransitTrack down and lines going almost a mile to get into Veridian Center, we are locked down and experiencing significant power failures. You sure?” And then he only shrugged as they walked passed and into the district.
Chung led Akira, Anya, Zenith, Kairos, and Atlas North toward the residence towers.
Orion and Siren waved as they went East to search for supplies and anything that they might be able to collect. Marcus took Helios and Jax West to an area Chung offered might find security rations.
Jo watched the groups head out. “Two hours,” she called after them before turning to Jonathan. "Ready?" Jo asked softly.
Jonathan squared his shoulders. "Lead the way."
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Falling Stars
The Quantum Collective's streets were always a symphony of consciousness, every surface alive with collective thought. Now each dead display and frozen pod felt like a severed connection, the silence deafening to minds trained for constant connection.
Chung led his group through familiar streets that felt increasingly alien. The Quantum Collective's shared consciousness had always painted their quarter in layers of unified experience - living spaces flowing with collective will, responsive structures breathing with community rhythms, synchronized vessels moving in perfect harmony. Now, the streets were eerily quiet, the usual digital symphony replaced by stalled vessels frozen in a discord of silence.
Chung's fingers meandered through familiar gestures, muscle memory searching for signs of consciousness that should have been instant. Nothing. 'Mesh sync initiating,' he announced, his voice carrying forced confidence that fooled no one. Still Nothing. The silence that engulfed him felt like a missing limb.
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"Looks like the Natural was right," Atlas muttered. Chung pretended not to hear.
They passed a row of transport pods frozen mid-route, their passengers having abandoned them for the streets. Above, the district's environmental dome flickered erratically, its usual pristine barrier had shifting gray zones unable to restore the view above the dome to those below. Without the consciousness mesh maintaining optimal conditions, weather simulations were beginning to cycle in randomly - real wind, and occasionally narrow bands of rain from the cleansing system, easily avoided.
"The residence towers are just ahead," Chung assured them, his voice straining. "Premium access means independent power systems, dedicated environmental controls—"
They passed a massive display panel, its quantum projection system failing. The screen's surface showed the final fragments of an image - a smiling family enjoying an afternoon with a perfect blue sky above.
"Atmospheric adjustments in progress," announced a pleasant automated voice. "Please maintain synchronized for optimal comfort." The message repeated, fading as they walked past.
"Your tower's that way?" Akira asked, pointing toward two towers rising ahead. Nearly all of the windows appear dark.
"Yes, just past the..." Chung's voice trailed off. The community gathering space ahead had always been a marvel of collective consciousness - its surfaces morphing to community needs, its very architecture responding to the shared thoughts of those within. Now it stood rigid, its flowing lines calcified into strange angles, like a wave frozen mid-crash.
Zenith stumbled, his augments trying to compensate for the loss of mesh-assisted navigation. "Something's wrong with the grav-field generators too," he reported.
Kairos steadied him. "Not just the generators. The whole district's network is degrading.
They passed a premium shopping district where haptic displays lay dormant, their quantum interfaces unable to read preferences from the dead mesh. Above them, another large section of the environmental dome failed.
"Almost there," Chung assured them, but his voice had lost all certainty. Around them, the Quantum Collective's technological perfection unraveled. Every darkened window, every failed system, every glitch in their augmented reality felt like another star falling from their carefully constructed heaven.
A group of residents passed, hurrying towards Veridian Center. Their premium badges gleamed in the strange unnatural light filtering through the dome. One of them caught Chung's eye. "Mesh through Section 7," the man reported tersely. "They're saying Symmetrist's collapse is still spreading. Better hurry, Veridian is allowing premium tier… for now."
The citizen exodus carried desperate dignity - designer bags hastily packed with survival essentials, children clutching basic water bottles instead of toys, curated digital lives reduced to physical necessities.
Chung quickened his pace, knowing his residence was also shut off from the mesh the others followed, a couple watching the residents head in the opposite direction. With each step, Jo's words echoed in Chung’s mind: "Sometimes you have to go backward to move forward." He'd dismissed them, but now they took on new weight.
The residence tower's main entrance always welcomed Chung with a personalized greeting. Now its doors were manual, the mechanical click of the emergency release echoed through the lobby. The space felt naked, stripped of the layers that made it home. Inside, the usually automated concierge station with a full-color projected assistant was empty.
"Emergency systems should be..." Chung's voice trailed off. The lobby's climate was wrong - too warm. The afternoon heat was transforming the building into a greenhouse. "This way," he managed, leading them to the emergency stairwell. The premium elevators, dependent on the consciousness mesh for optimal routing, displayed only error messages.
“You should stay here,” said Chung to the others as he prepared to climb the seven flights of stairs to his family's apartment.
"Chung!" A voice called from his neighbor on the ninth floor, Mr. Chen. He was descending with his family, their faces showing strain from the climb down. "The backup systems... have mostly failed, started about an hour ago."
Chung felt his chest tighten but maintained his public smile. "I'm sure it's temporary."
He guided the children past Chung. One recognized Akira and complimented her on her jump over the wall. She was about nine and her usually pristine clothing wrung in sweat. Mr. Chen’s wife continued, "We're heading to my sister's in the lower levels. Their old-style environmental systems are basic but still work. Veridian Center is supposed to be open but we’ve heard the lines reached a mile long earlier. Your family and friends are welcome to join us." Her daughter’s face brimming at Akira with a big smile.
Chung said he would return with his family but that the Chen’s should continue. His footsteps echoing in the stairwell as he climbed three at a time rapidly. The air grew thicker, staler with each level and he began to slow after the fourth floor, feeling his injury from the morning more acutely than ever.
He found his mother in the hallway outside their apartment, speaking with other residents. Her usually perfectly styled hair was damp with sweat. "Chung!" His mother’s embrace was heavy, carrying decades of privilege suddenly crushed by the day’s events. "The mesh, we can't... your father's trying to access the old manual controls, but nothing's responding properly."
A few other residents emerged from their apartments. The floor was beginning to evacuate and felt like a sauna. Children sat listlessly against the walls waiting for the adults to get everything together.
Inside their apartment, his father’s frustrated wrestling with manual controls spoke volumes - a lifetime of expertise useless against power failure. The family's organized world was unraveling thread by digital thread. Privacy screens overlooking the city were frozen translucent, their thought-reactive surfaces, now just glass. Through them, Chung could see other towers in similar states of decay.
"The whole district's like this," his father said without looking up. "Elite machinery failing first - too reliant on the TransitTrack web. The basement levels..." He shook his head. "Their simple equipment still functions."
Chung remembered Jonathan's words about the TransitTrack. About how advanced systems could fail more completely than simple ones. He'd dismissed it as Natural ignorance. Now, the failures were more serious than he’d ever experienced. This was not a rolling power outage...
"We can't stay here," his mother had followed Chung inside. "The heat... elderly residents suffering. I have to recalibrate our neighbor's equipment hourly. Our healing chambers are also inactive, and no one responds to crisis signals..."
Chung felt the weight of the runner’s waiting below. He wasn’t prepared to be so uncomfortable. He'd led these people here, promising sanctuary while each step stripped away another layer of his advantage and immunity, revealing a nature within his social hierarchy that he had never confronted. In the end, premium meant nothing to defunct environmental controls and powerless machines.
He thought about suggesting they wait it out in the basement levels. The old environmental systems there still worked - a fact that struck him with sudden, clarity. Everything Jonathan had said about simpler systems being more resilient... he pushed the thought away like before, but it returned stronger.
“The backup protocols will engage soon,” his father muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Chung recognized the tone - the same hollow certainty that led him here. As he stared into an uncertain future, a wave of loneliness washed over him. He yearned for connection, and shared purpose. Now, he longed for a broader community, an effort to rebuild where individuality flourished within the greater whole. Perhaps Jo and Jonathan were on to something after all.
A child's cry echoed from down the hallway. The building felt like a trap, each passing minute making their situation more precarious. His runner training filled his blood as he was unable to register every failing system, every rising temperature alert, every dropped connection. It was the human sound - that crying child, worried voices, labored breathing - that broke his pride.
"The maintenance tunnels," he said finally. "Underground. Where Jo's team is meeting." He turned to his parents. "We pack what we can carry. Gather anyone who wants to follow me through Symmetrists to Veridian with the runner’s security team." With newfound humility, "I was wrong." His mother looked at him with concern.
Through the screens, the dome was failing section by section.