Jayar reached the place his colleague had indicated. He expected resistance—guards, soldiers, perhaps even surveillance drones. After all, this was the very edge of the Dome's crossing line, a place where every step should have been watched.
But no one was there. No one cared.
The silence unsettled him more than any armed patrol could have. Even the overturned van lying directly across the narrow road drew no attention. It looked as though it had been struck by something massive, the frame twisted and crumpled as if crushed by an invisible hand. Yet there were no tracks, no signs of another vehicle. Only the eerie stillness of an accident without a cause.
Jayar stepped closer, his boots crunching against shards of glass. The van's doors hung open. Inside, there was no cargo, no passengers—only streaks of blood smeared along the metal walls, half-dried and black under the dim lights. The air smelled faintly of iron, heavy and suffocating.
He pushed deeper into the wreck, his chest tightening with every step, until he reached the exact spot marked by his colleague. There, nestled in the debris, was what he had come for: a compact data card, still glowing faintly with her encryption signature. His sister's.
Jayar snatched it up, gripping it tightly in his palm, his heart pounding. Relief surged through him, only to be crushed a second later as his own data feed flared alive with an incoming call.
The name burned across the display:
Joe Banomassa.
When Jayar finally reached the central Gor headquarters, he wasted no time. He pushed through the corridors, past officers and staff who barely glanced his way, and entered the office of Joe Banomassa.
The commander sat behind a broad desk, papers neatly stacked, the hum of data screens casting a cold light across the room. Jayar stood before him, his breath uneven, trying to steady himself.
"Sir," he began, his voice heavy, "my sister is missing. I have to find her. I can't—at least for now—I can't carry out your assignments."
Joe's expression did not change. His face remained calm, almost unreadable, though there was a flicker in his eyes—anger, sharp and restrained.
"I didn't call you here to reprimand you for negligence," Joe said at last, his voice measured, controlled. "Nor for abandoning the orders of your commanding officer. I called you because a formal complaint has been filed against you."
Jayar blinked, stunned. "A complaint? Who…?" His thoughts snapped together, and his stomach sank. "…Felix. He reported me, didn't he? Because I hit him."
Joe's gaze hardened, cold and disapproving.
"First," he said, "his jaw is broken. Not a bruise, not a scratch—a clean break." He paused, letting the weight of the words settle before continuing.
"Second, you are affiliated with a sect."
"Third, you abused your authority for personal purposes."
"Fourth…" Joe leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Call it doping, if you want. I'm talking about the enhancement of your FB. The list is long. Do you want me to continue?"
His tone carried no threat, only the certainty of a man who already had the evidence in hand. He was waiting—expecting Jayar to acknowledge it.
But Jayar's shoulders sagged. His voice, when it came, was quiet, almost resigned.
"No. I think I'll just wait for the trial."
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the office, leaving the silence behind him heavy and unbroken.
...
Kayav approached Jayar from behind, his shoulders slumped and eyes heavy with exhaustion. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
"Listen… maybe, if things continue the way they're going…"
"Why do you care?" Jayar cut him off sharply, spinning around with a flash of anger. "You two against me, one-on-one. What more do you want?"
Kayav shook his head slowly, calm but firm. "All I want is to preserve our friendship."
Jayar turned away, his back rigid. "Go, then. Take your rules and people approved by Felix. I don't need either."
He started walking away, the distance between them widening with every step.
"Wait," Kayav called after him, his voice carrying just enough to reach Jayar's ears. "If you explain to Felix what the chip in His head is really for… he'll withdraw the complaint."
Jayar paused, just enough to let his body show that he had heard, though his expression remained unreadable. Yet, despite the offer, he ignored Kayav's words and continued walking, leaving the space between them charged with unspoken tension.
...
A few days later
Felix moved cautiously across the barren expanse, the desert stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground was cracked and dry, dust rising in small clouds with each careful step. Jagged rocks jutted from the sand, and the wind carried a faint, metallic taste.
Then he saw it—tracks, deep and irregular, unlike anything he had encountered in this region. The imprints were too large, too erratic to belong to the usual desert fauna. His pulse quickened.
He contacted Kayav through the data link, his voice tense. Together, they combed through the database for any matching patterns, any trace of this creature in past reports.
But there was nothing. Not a single record.
Felix's gaze swept the horizon, taking in the endless dunes, the sparse, twisted vegetation, and the oppressive heat shimmering above the sand. In this empty, sun-baked wasteland, they had discovered a predator entirely unknown—a new species of monster.
The desert seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the unseen threat. Felix felt a shiver run down his spine; in places like this, unknown predators were far more dangerous than any familiar enemy. Jayar was on his mind anyway. More precisely, about their trial today.