The descent to Earth felt different this time.

Nathaniel Hayes had left Phoenix Station before—deploying to Titan, moving through sterile forward operating bases—but this was his first time experiencing the civilian world of the URT. Beneath him stretched New Washington, a shimmering colossus of light and motion.

As the shuttle approached, Hayes could see the careful design of the city. The Elite District sprawled at the center, its pristine towers stretching toward the sky, surrounded by orderly green spaces and perfectly engineered roads. Farther out, the Outer Rings spread in chaotic contrast, their dense, industrial architecture barely visible beneath a haze of smog.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Lieutenant Foster said from the seat beside him. “The Core. The beating heart of the URT. Everyone should see it at least once.”

Hayes didn’t reply. His eyes lingered on the glowing insignia hovering above the city: the stars and stripes encircled by planetary rings, spinning endlessly against a backdrop of propaganda slogans.

“Unity is Strength.”“Loyalty is Eternal.”“Humanity United.”

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The Citadel of Unity loomed ahead.

A shuttle port, pristine and efficient, welcomed Hayes and Foster into the capital. Inside, polished marble floors gleamed under a vaulted ceiling of glass, through which the sprawling cityscape was visible. URT soldiers in ceremonial dress marched in formation past holographic banners that declared loyalty to Earth.

Foster led Hayes into a secure transport pod, which whisked them toward the heart of the Citadel. Hayes barely heard Foster’s commentary as they passed through the structure’s levels—research labs, military command centers, and government offices. The sheer scale of the place was overwhelming.

Their destination was a part of the Citadel known as the Hall of Heroes.

Hayes entered a vast chamber filled with towering statues, holographic displays, and glowing plaques. The Hall was a shrine to the URT’s history, celebrating soldiers, scientists, and leaders who had shaped its rise.

The centerpiece of the Hall was a massive hologram—a glowing map of the galaxy, with Earth at its center. Radiating lines connected the Core to its colonies, while red zones pulsed along the map’s outer edges, symbolizing the rebellion.

“Every step we’ve taken,” General Voss said as she entered, her sharp voice echoing through the chamber. “Every war, every sacrifice—it’s all led to this. Unity.”

She gestured to the hologram. “And where there’s unity, there’s strength.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Hayes’ gaze shifted to one of the statues—a towering bronze figure of himself. It stood in a dramatic pose, rifle raised, as if charging into battle. Beneath it, an inscription read:

“Sergeant Nathaniel Hayes: The Iron Will of Freedom. Defender of the Helpless. Guardian of the Flag.”

The sight twisted his stomach.

“You don’t like it?” Voss asked, noticing his expression.

“It’s not… me,” Hayes muttered.

“It’s not meant to be,” Voss replied. “It’s who you are to the URT. A symbol. A reminder of what humanity can achieve when it stands together.”

Hayes stepped closer, his reflection shimmering in the polished surface of the statue. The pose, the expression—they felt manufactured, hollow.

“And what happens to the parts of the story that don’t fit?” he asked quietly.

Voss’s gaze hardened. “Symbols don’t leave room for doubt, Sergeant. People don’t want complexity. They want strength. And that’s what you give them.”

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Later, Hayes found himself wandering the edges of the Elite District.

The city outside the Citadel was bustling, its streets lined with holographic billboards and soaring walkways. Civilians moved with purpose, many stopping to salute as Hayes passed, their faces lighting up with awe.

But as he moved farther from the center, the veneer of perfection began to crack.

The polished streets gave way to industrial grime. The orderly hum of traffic became a cacophony of machinery and shouting voices. The Outer Rings, with their sprawling factories and crowded tenements, pulsed with an energy that felt far removed from the sleek Core.

Hayes paused at a small plaza, where a rusting statue of an old URT hero stood. Its plaque was illegible beneath layers of graffiti, and its outstretched arm pointed toward a haze of factories in the distance.

“You look lost,” a voice said from the shadows.

Hayes turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving to his sidearm. But it was Reese, leaning casually against the statue’s base.

“Relax, soldier,” she said, smirking. “You’re not the only ghost wandering around here.”

“What are you doing here?” Hayes asked, his voice low.

“Making sure you see the whole picture,” Reese replied, gesturing to the crowded streets. “This is the URT they don’t show you in the Hall of Heroes. The one that keeps the Core running.”

Hayes followed her gaze. Workers shuffled through the streets, their faces pale and drawn. An android enforcer hovered nearby, scanning ID badges as it barked mechanical orders.

“They call this unity,” Reese continued. “But it’s just control. Everything shiny in the Core comes from the people out here—and they don’t get a choice.”

Hayes shook his head. “And the OUC? What makes them so different?”

“They’re fighting for the chance to choose,” Reese said. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the cracks, Hayes. You’re a symbol to these people, but not for the reasons Voss thinks.”

She stepped closer, her voice lowering. “You still have a choice, Hayes. Don’t let them take that from you.”

She handed him another data chip. “When you’re ready to see the rest of the truth, plug it in.”

Before he could respond, she melted into the shadows, leaving Hayes alone with the rusting statue and the weight of his thoughts.

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That night, back in his quarters, Hayes stared at the data chip on his desk.

The memory of the Outer Rings clung to him—the faces of the workers, the grinding machinery, the hovering enforcers.

With a deep breath, he inserted the chip into his terminal.

The files it revealed made his blood run cold.