"The moment they take one of ours, the world tilts.
You either fall with it, or you grab hold of something sharp."
-
Mara, Tunnel Broadcast
Sector 7 (The Alley Where Zhen Fell)
Zhen's blood still steamed on the cracked stone.
Selis knelt beside him, one hand pressed uselessly against the wound that had already stopped bleeding. His eyes were still open, glassy, reflecting a broken piece of neon light from a sign flickering overhead. She had seen death before, more than she wanted to count, but this was different.
This was him.
"Close them," Mara said softly, crouching down. Her hands shook, though she tried to hide it. "He doesn't get left open like that."
Selis didn't move at first. Couldn't. Then, with fingers that felt foreign, she slid his eyelids shut.
The alley was silent, except for Eli's breathing, ragged, like he was holding back rage that wanted to claw its way out of him. His knife was still in his hand, blade smeared. He hadn't been fast enough. None of them had.
"Who saw?" Selis asked finally, her voice flat.
"Half the street," Mara answered. Her jaw tightened. "They dragged him out of the crowd, Selis. They made it theater. People saw everything."
Selis's chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe. That was the point, wasn't it? Not just to kill him, but to show it.
Eli slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a dark smear of Zhen's blood on the stone. "Vorn did this. That bastard wanted a message. Well, he got one."
Selis finally stood. Her palms were stained red. She didn't wipe them clean. She let the blood dry on her skin.
"Get his body," she said. Her voice no longer cracked. It was hard, heavy. "He doesn't rot in an alley."
Capitol Core (Ashar's Quarters)
The feed came in delayed, patched through back channels even the Council hadn't sealed yet. Ashar watched as the grainy image flickered on his screen: Zhen on his knees, guards holding him, the strike of the blade, the collapse.
Ashar didn't blink. Didn't look away.
When the screen went black, he found his hands gripping the table so tightly the edges cut into his skin.
He whispered, though no one else was in the room: "Zhen…"
He had known it would come to this. Maybe not this exact face, not this exact street. But someone. They were always going to take someone who mattered. And still, knowing didn't dull the ache.
Ashar stood slowly and crossed to the small shelf where he kept a single sheet of paper, the one he had been writing on before. The word circled in the center: Witness.
He underlined it twice. Then he sat back down and began to write again. His hand shook once. Only once.
Sector 7 (Zhen's Burial)
They carried his body through the tunnels at night, wrapped in fabric torn from the ration tent. People followed, more and more of them as word spread. Faces lit by torchlight, silent, no chanting, no shouting — just the shuffle of feet, the weight of grief.
Selis walked in front, her hands still stained with his blood. She hadn't spoken since the alley.
At the clearing, they laid him down in the earth. No priest. No speeches. Just Mara's voice, breaking in places, as she said:
"He wasn't a symbol. He was our friend. They don't get to own this story. Not tonight."
She lowered her head, pressing her forehead to the fabric before the dirt covered him. Eli stayed back, fists clenched, jaw locked.
When it was done, Selis finally looked up. Her voice was sharp, carrying through the night air.
"They wanted us to be afraid. They wanted us quiet. But hear me now: we will not be quiet."
The torches flared in the wind, as if agreeing.
Council Chamber (The Fracture)
The Council sat in near-darkness. The feeds had already carried the image of Zhen's death into every sector. The Grid had amplified it — whispers turned into floods, floods into riots.
"They've lost faith," Councilor Tyen said, his voice trembling with fury. "They see martyrs where we see criminals. And now Ashar's rhetoric"
"Don't blame this on Ashar," Rhyen interrupted sharply. Her eyes were red, though whether from exhaustion or grief no one could tell. "This was Vorn. This was deliberate. He staged it. He knew exactly what strings to pull."
"Then we cut his strings," Tyen snapped.
Chancellor Virel sat in silence for a long time, staring at the table. Finally, he spoke: "It's too late. You don't silence martyrs. You multiply them."
The chamber erupted in argument, voices overlapping — fear, anger, denial. But underneath all of it was something new, something unspoken but felt by every one of them.
The Council was splintering.
Vorn's Quarters The Theater of Terror
Vorn sat in a high-backed chair, sipping dark wine. The footage replayed on his private screen, the moment of Zhen's collapse slowed frame by frame.
He leaned back, exhaling smoke from a long, black cigarette.
"This," he said softly to no one in particular, "is how you carve fear into bone. Not speeches. Not decrees. Blood."
A shadow moved in the corner — one of his lieutenants, armored, silent.
"Do they hate me now?" Vorn asked.
"Yes," the lieutenant said.
Vornsmiled, showing teeth. "Good. Hate is stronger than love. Hate lasts."
Sector 7: The First Sparks
The next night, a fire burned in the streets. A council transport, overturned, torched, its metal skin glowing. People gathered, chanting Zhen's name. Not loud at first, but it grew.
Selis stood at the edge, Mara beside her, Eli pacing like a caged animal.
"This isn't just mourning anymore," Mara whispered.
"No," Selis said. Her eyes reflected the flames. "This is the beginning."
And for the first time since Zhen's death, she almost smiled.
Capitol Core, Ashar's Letter
Ashar's words were brief, but they spread like wildfire
"They killed one of yours.
They will kill more.
But know this:
you are not alone.
Every shadow is a witness.
Every silence is a weapon.
Rise. Not for me. Not for symbols.
For yourselves."
The Grid couldn't stop it. The message was already carved into walls, whispered in tunnels, painted on drone husks.
Zhen's death had become more than tragedy. It had become ignition.
And Vorn, in his arrogance, had lit the match himself.