Night in the Capital carried a beauty so precise that it almost felt artificial even when one already knew it was.
The sky above was not real. Everyone understood that. The atmosphere, the drifting clouds, the moon, the stars—every single thing overhead existed because soone had designed it to exist. Yet that knowledge did little to lessen its impact when viewed directly through the wide glass window of Tyler’s room.
The artificial moon hung high above the distant skyline, bright and pale, casting a soft silver glow over the endless structures built within the folded interior of the floating Capital. Around it, stars had been arranged in patterns too deliberate to belong to nature. So clusters resembled symbols, while others ford shapes so exact that they could only have been placed there intentionally. One cluster in particular stood out more than the rest—an entire arrangent of stars shaped into the side profile of a crowned face, unmistakably designed to resemble the First Citizen, the ruler whose image the Capital never stopped projecting in subtle and unsubtle ways.
It was not rely decoration. It was worship built into the sky itself.
Tyler stood near the window, silent, watching the distant city stretch across impossible angles beneath that manufactured night. Even now, roads built sideways along vertical districts shone with moving lights, and transport lanes glided across surfaces where gravity obeyed rules entirely separate from ordinary understanding. Buildings continued upward, sideways, and inward, each district existing as though reality itself had been divided and forced to obey architecture.
The five selected participants had each been assigned private rooms inside a secured residential section attached to the do complex. Though luxurious compared to anything found in Sector 11, the arrangent ca with strict restrictions. None of them were allowed to leave the building. Security was active at every floor, surveillance systems covered every corridor, and fighting between participants was forbidden under direct Capital regulation.
It was obvious they were not guests.
They were valuables being stored until needed.
A soft knock ca at the door.
Tyler stepped back from the window just as a servant entered carrying a silver tray. The servant lowered his head respectfully, entered without speaking, and placed the al carefully on the table near the bed. Warm food stead gently beneath polished covers, arranged with absurd neatness as though appearance mattered more than hunger.
The servant remained only long enough to push the tray fully into place before presenting it properly.
Tyler accepted it without comnt.
The mont the servant left, he moved imdiately.
He removed the fork, turned the tray over, and inserted the fork into a nearly invisible seam behind the lower fra. With a light twist, the concealed compartnt opened.
A folded servant uniform slipped free and dropped onto the table.
Tyler stared at it briefly, then allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Useful," he muttered.
Far above, in the surveillance control room, two guards sat before a curved wall of holographic screens displaying every monitored section of the participant residence.
One guard leaned slightly forward, frowning at Tyler’s room.
"A servant went in there and hasn’t co out yet."
The second guard barely looked interested.
"He’s taking too long. Should we check?"
The other snorted and leaned back lazily in his chair.
"No need. Probably so girl in there changed clothes and he got distracted staring."
The first guard laughed.
Before either of them looked closer, the door on Tyler’s screen opened.
A servant stepped out calmly, carrying an empty tray.
The guards lost interest imdiately.
No alarm triggered.
No suspicion followed.
Because the servant walking through the corridor now was no servant at all.
It was Tyler.
The disguise fit well enough. The uniform covered his fra cleanly, and the lowered posture expected from Capital servants helped conceal his face. He moved through the corridors with practiced calm, neither too fast nor too slow, following the route he had already morized earlier while being escorted inside.
He reached the lower service corridor and entered the kitchen.
The place was still active despite the late hour. Large cooking systems operated quietly, steam rising from heated tal surfaces while several staff mbers moved between counters preparing food for upper districts and secured guests.
Tyler crossed toward the rear exit without drawing attention until a voice suddenly stopped him.
"Wait."
He froze.
A large chef sat near the side wall on a cushioned chanical seat fitted with wheels beneath it. The man’s body was so wide that the seat had clearly been modified to support him. Sweat covered his forehead despite the cool kitchen air.
Tyler slowly turned.
The chef did not even bother looking directly at him.
"If you’re heading out," the man said while chewing sothing, "take that trash with you."
A heavy black trash bag sat beside him.
Tyler picked it up imdiately without complaint.
The chef waved one hand dismissively and returned to stirring sothing in a pot.
Tyler left the kitchen through the rear service door.
The mont he stepped outside, the Capital opened before him in full night brilliance.
The false sky stretched endlessly overhead, glowing with carefully arranged moonlight and engineered stars. Roads suspended between districts shone with moving transport beams, while towers rose across surfaces angled so strangely that so entire streets appeared vertical in the distance. Even the buildings attached sideways to far walls reflected moonlight beautifully, their windows glowing like stars trapped inside glass.
For all its stolen energy and hidden cruelty, the Capital knew exactly how to impress those who looked at it.
Tyler dropped the trash bag into a disposal chute and reached into his sleeve.
From inside, he removed a folded piece of paper.
A small address had been written there in rough handwriting.
The note had co from Aruna’s servant—the sa rebel contact who had delivered the Carbonyx earlier.
Tyler had asked for sothing more useful than hidden materials.
He had asked for direction.
Now he followed it.
The nearest tram station floated above the lower service road. He entered using the servant’s transit card, passed through the gate without issue, and boarded a flying tram that moved silently through transparent lanes crossing several districts of the Capital.
No one paid him attention.
Servants were invisible by design.
The tram carried him deeper into one of the larger comrcial sectors until he reached a giant mall whose outer walls stretched several levels high beneath artificial moonlight.
Even at this hour, the place remained crowded.
Shops glowed behind glass displays. People moved constantly between levels. Music drifted through open spaces while floating advertisents projected products in midair.
Tyler ignored all of it.
He followed the note precisely and stepped onto a descending floating platform.
The indicator changed levels until it reached underground floor minus five.
The lower section was almost silent.
A deep parking structure spread outward beneath the mall, lit by long white ceiling strips. There were few vehicles parked there, and most of the large floor space remained empty.
Tyler unfolded the note again.
On the reverse side was a small drawing.
A duck.
Crude, almost childish.
He looked around.
A mont later, he found the sa duck painted as graffiti on a concrete pillar near the far wall.
He walked toward it.
There, half-hidden beside maintenance equipnt, stood a tal door marked OUT OF ORDER.
Tyler opened it anyway.
Inside was a staircase descending deeper.
The air changed imdiately—cooler, quieter, carrying the sll of oil and tal.
At the bottom waited another door.
He knocked.
Nothing happened for three seconds.
Then a small hidden lens near the fra activated.
Thin beams of scanning light passed over his body from head to toe.
The lock released.
The door opened.
Tyler stepped inside.
The room beyond was enormous.
The first thing he noticed was the machinery—chanical parts, unfinished devices, cables, robotic limbs, dismantled engines, tools, weapon fras, and strange machines scattered across worktables and shelves in complete organized chaos.
Then sothing aid directly at his chest.
A long tal nozzle extended from the darkness.
"Who are you? What do you want?" a robotic voice asked.
The weapon belonged to a barrel-shaped machine balanced on a single wheel. Its body rotated slightly, chanical parts clicking with each movent.
Tyler remained calm.
"Let the Embers burn," he said.
The machine emitted several clinks and lowered the nozzle imdiately.
A figure erged from deeper inside the workshop.
An old man approached slowly, studying Tyler through heavy goggles that displayed streams of moving numbers across both lenses. A tallic helt covered part of his skull, and thin circuit lines connected directly into the skin near his temples.
His movents were old.
His eyes were not.
They were sharp.
"You’re the one who gave the refining thod to the rebels," the old man said while looking Tyler up and down.
Tyler nodded once.
"Hello, sir. I’m Tyler."
The old man grunted.
"I know who you are."
He adjusted sothing near his helt, causing tiny sparks to flicker.
"I’m Dr. Dan Zarkov. The Embers contacted already. They said you needed help inside the Capital."
He looked Tyler over once more and then laughed—a loud, unstable laugh that echoed strangely through the machinery around them.
"They also told ," he added, "that you intend to cheat in the Capital Gas."
His grin widened behind the goggles.
"Well then... looks like you ca to exactly the right place."
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