Rankers

Nathan stood in what looked like the lobby of a fancy office tower, waiting in line.

A long counter stretched across the space, staffed by clerks with their interfaces open in front of them. Blue light reflected faintly off polished surfaces as they worked. Above the counter, screens flickered with live feeds of battles, dungeons, open plains, arenas. Tickers scrolled alongside them, listing start times, zone numbers, engagement postings.

At first glance, the screens looked like airport arrival and departure boards. Rows of listings. Constant updates.

They weren’t.

Smaller overlays hovered at the edges of the larger feeds, layering running commentary and announcements over the footage. The voices delivering them were calm, almost pleasant, their bright tones at odds with what they described. They reminded Nathan, uncomfortably, of Theo. Words like excellent showing and notable attrition, spoken over images of people fighting, bleeding, dying.

A large sign was mounted high on the far wall.

ZONE 3 RANKER ENGAGEMENT TOWER

“Mal,” a man said from behind her.

“Harker,” Mal said without turning.

“We're really going for it?” he asked.

“Floor forty,” Frank breathed.

“We’ve cleared everything below it,” Harker said. “Not all first tries, but here we are.”

“We had five then and it still wasn't enough,” Frank said quietly.

Mal’s hand tightened once at her side. “And we don’t anymore.”

“We could at least try to recruit a mage,” Frank said.

“The three of us are enough,” Mal replied.

“Doesn’t mean we’re ready for that match yet,” Frank added.

“We are.”

“Competitive floor,” Harker whispered.

“We’re ranked fifty-eight,” Mal said. “Almost to fifty.”

“We don’t get to fifty if we die,” Harker said.

"It's the fastest way to move up in the rankings," Mal said. "You know that."

“Yeah. And there’s always the option of just waiting until—” Harker stopped himself. “No.”

Frank’s voice snapped low. “We don’t climb by waiting for people to drop.”

“I know,” Harker muttered. “Forget it. I'm just sick of all this shit.”

“We all are,” Frank said.

"Yeah."

The line inched forward.

Mal didn’t answer.

Harker continued, steadier now. “Fifty gets us on the board. Closer to the top ten.”

“And ten gets privileges,” Frank said. “No more shifts on the tube.”

“Full-time rankers,” Harker said. “How fun.”

A screen above the counter flickered.

Population Stability: Within Acceptable Variance
Zone Consolidation (1–7): Pending
Oversight Review: Active

Someone in the line next to them whispered. "Why don't they ever mention Zone Eight?"

Frank’s voice was low. “Every zone’s got a top fifty. If they merge…”

He didn’t finish.

Mal didn’t turn. “You think they’ll honor current ranks?”

“Of course they won’t,” Harker huffed. “Another show for them to put on. You know how those attendants get.”

“They get excited the more gruesome it is,” Frank said. “If we’re higher ranked, maybe they won’t throw us straight into something worse.”

“Training environments six and twenty-three are now open. Six and twenty-three,” a woman’s voice announced over the intercom.

Two groups were already on their feet.

Soft interface pings rippled through the lobby. People moved in low clusters, conversations kept to murmurs, eyes flicking toward the screens as they crossed toward the elevator bank. Doors slid open in precise intervals.

A car operator stood beside each elevator, checking clearances. Once a group stepped inside and the doors sealed, the operator pressed a secondary control panel mounted beside the doors.

Mal’s gaze shifted back to the lobby.

It was crowded despite the orderly lines. Most of the people waiting were rankers, clustered in familiar configurations. Full parties stood close. Individuals kept a little distance. Interfaces were open everywhere, overlays flickering as last-minute assessments scrolled past. Low voices traded timing, routes, damage thresholds.

A small crowd had gathered beneath one of the larger screens.

"Quiet! It's starting!"

RANKED ARENA ENGAGEMENT
ZONE 3 VS ZONE 6

ZONE 3 PARTIES: Spire Fall (Ranked 10), Ranked 21, Ranked 43
ZONE 6 PARTIES: Pale Dominion (Ranked 4), Ranked 26, Ranked 32

VICTORY CONDITION: OPPOSING ZONE DEFEATED AFTER TWO PARTY ELIMINATIONS
ZONE DEFEAT THRESHOLD: IF TWO PARTIES ARE ELIMINATED, A FULLY INTACT REMAINING PARTY WILL BE EXEMPT
ZONE LOSS PENALTY: 10 RANDOM ACTIVE INTERFACE USERS (ZONE-WIDE) SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE CULL

“Ten,” someone muttered.

“Better than twenty.”

“Or a hundred.”

The screen split into six squares to show simultaneous battles.

“Spire Fall,” someone said. “Is this their second ranked match since taking tenth?”

"Yeah."

“Zone Six drew their fourth.”

“They must be a strong party.”

“No shit.”

“Luck of the lottery," someone said.

“They’re going after our ranked forty-three.”

“Why wouldn't they?” Someone snapped.

“Easy pickings for them.”

“You always start with the lowest ranked.”

“There’s only one member left from forty-three!”

“That was fast.”

A murmur rippled through the group.

One of the smaller feeds expanded abruptly, overtaking the screen as the system reprioritized it.

A woman from Zone Six lifted her staff.

Ice formed in the air above the arena. Dozens of spears formed at once and fell in a single coordinated strike.

The Zone Three ranker’s shield did not hold. He was skewered where he stood.

The feed cut away almost immediately, collapsing back into a grid of simultaneous engagements.

A man near the edge of the crowd shouted a name.

He lurched forward, hands clenched, before two others caught him and pulled him back.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“His friend,” another replied.

Text scrolled at the bottom of the screen.

ZONE 3 ◆ PARTY RANKED 43 ◆ ELIMINATED

Someone swore under their breath. Another turned away, rubbing a hand down their face. Two men leaned close, arguing about something Mal couldn't make out.

Interfaces pinged throughout the lobby.

Mal looked at hers.

Her jaw tightened.

PARTY RANK UPDATED: 57

“Terrible way to advance,” Frank spat.

“Spire Fall still has all its members,” someone said.

The crowd murmured, thinner now.

Mal turned away as the lobby noise settled into a low hum.

“That’s going to be us once we hit top fifty,” Harker said quietly.

“No choice,” Frank added. “Ranker matches are all death.”

“That’s why we need to be stronger,” Mal said.

Harker huffed. “Or luckier.”

Behind them, someone muttered, “We’ve still got two parties.”

“And Zone Six has all three.”

“There go two from twenty-one,” someone muttered.

The mood in the lobby shifted immediately.

“We’re going to lose.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Spire Fall going to turn?”

“Shut up,” someone snapped. “Watch. Someone from Three just dropped one from Six.”

“If twenty-one loses another, Spire won’t risk it.”

“They’ll end it themselves. Ten of us die.”

“They get to walk out.”

“They took down another from Six!”

"Come on Three!"

The crowd leaned forward again.

Mal’s line crept forward.

The clerk waved them over.

“Still alive?” he asked.

“Still standing.”

He nodded.

Harker and Frank moved in on either side of her, their interfaces already open.

“Another down from twenty-one!”

Mal glanced back at the screen.

So did everyone else.

Spire Fall hesitated.

Their leader turned toward Zone Six’s fourth-ranked party.

He lifted his hand. A signal.

“Don’t—” someone in the crowd began.

Spire Fall pivoted.

The Zone Six parties didn't hesitate.

Together, they turned on Zone Three’s ranked twenty-one party.

“Shit. It’s over.”

“Can’t blame them.”

“I can.”

Twenty-one’s two remaining members tightened formation. A translucent barrier snapped into place in front of them. One launched a desperate blast of crackling light through a narrow slit.

The display reformatted. Four feeds instead of six.

Two attendants appeared in plush chairs at the edge of the frame.

“Zone Six demonstrating efficient target prioritization,” the woman said pleasantly.

The man beside her clicked his tongue. “Zone Three’s performance leaves much to be desired. Only ten culled. Oversight may consider adjustment.”

Mal turned back to the clerk and let the commentary blur into background noise.

“Initiating links,” the clerk said.

He worked quickly, tapping controls on an interface below the countertop. When he finished, he looked back up at her.

“What are you requesting?”

“A training environment,” Mal said. Then, without hesitation, “And Black Dungeon floor forty competitive clearance.”

The clerk paused.

Mal waited.

“You’re sure,” he said.

She nodded once.

The clerk looked down again.

“Clearance verified,” he said at last. “Eligibility confirmed.”

The confirmation appeared on Mal’s interface.

BLACK DUNGEON FLOOR 40
PARTY REGISTRATION CONFIRMED
COMPETITIVE QUEUE: ACTIVE

Harker’s and Frank’s interfaces pinged a heartbeat later.

A second notification appeared.

TRAINING ENVIRONMENT 32
START TIME: 0700
DURATION: 90 MINUTES
FAILURE TO ENTER RESULTS IN PENALTY

“Verified,” the clerk said. “Training environment assigned.”

Mal nodded.

Another notification pinged on all three of their interfaces.

WORK SHIFT STATUS HAS BEEN AUTOMATICALLY ADJUSTED
CONTRIBUTION HOURS WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR FOLLOWING SHIFT

“How considerate,” Harker said flatly.

“You’ve taken the last slot,” the clerk continued. “Fifth and final party entry for Floor Forty.”

“Five parties this time.” Harker leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Frank shifted his weight. “And no idea what the actual challenge will be.”

Mal nodded. “Yeah.”

Harker glanced at her. “Could even be a fight to the death.”

“Could be,” Mal said. “Might not.”

Frank rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re sure we’re going to be fine with three?”

“Yes. We’re not most parties,” Mal said. “We’re three A-tier innates.”

She looked from one to the other.

Harker and Frank exchanged a glance.

Neither of them looked convinced.

“The other parties don't want to die either,” Mal said. "No one does."

Harker gave a short, humorless laugh. “They won’t hesitate to kill if their asses are on the line. Or if the objective’s ‘kill.’”

He pointed toward the screen.

ZONE 3 ◆ PARTY RANKED 21 ◆ ELIMINATED

Mal nodded. “Right.”

Her interface pinged again.

PARTY RANK UPDATED: 56

New text tore across the arena screen in red.

ZONE 3 PENALTY INITIATED
TARGET SELECTION IN PROGRESS

The lobby stilled.
Breaths held.

TEN ACTIVE INTERFACE USERS CULLED

The noise returned.

The clerk leaned forward slightly.

“Training environment thirty-two.” His voice dropped low enough for only them to hear. “Environmental variance is closer to upper Black Dungeon conditions.”

Mal met his eyes.

“Thank you.”

He gave a small, tired smile. “Make it count.”

He straightened and raised his voice. “Training begins at seven tomorrow. Black Dungeon run scheduled in two days.”

Mal stepped away from the counter.

“Good luck,” he added, almost under his breath.

“Luck doesn’t rank,” she said.

The clerk snorted softly.

They turned to leave.

Frank exhaled first, long and heavy.

“We’ve got this,” Mal said.

Harker nodded.

“Looking for another member?”

A young man stood a few paces away.

“I can heal. Provide rear support.”

Mal didn’t slow. “We’re not recruiting.”

He nodded once, as if he’d expected that, and shifted his gaze toward another party.

They continued toward the exit.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. "Must have lost his party."

“Healer. Rear support,” Harker said. “Didn’t help his last party.”

“Think he'll register solo?” Frank asked.

“He'd have to be a lunatic,” Harker said. “One-man parties don’t last.”

The screen along the wall shifted. The sound dampened automatically as the display reconfigured.

Rankings replaced the arena feed, scrolling at a steady pace.

ZONE 3 CURRENT STANDINGS
TOP 50 RANKED PARTIES

01 – Crownfall
02 – Iron Archive
03 – White Meridian
04 – Ashen Accord
05 – Last Ember
06 – Stone Vigil
07 – Dawnbreak Covenant
08 – Lantern March
09 – Oathward
10 – Spire Fall

Beside the top three entries, images were displayed next to their party names. High-resolution stills pulled from recorded engagements. Everyone in Zone Three knew their faces.

Below the top ten, the board continued down through eleven to fifty, but those entries carried only rank numbers. No party names. No images.

“Why list fifty when only ten matter?” Harker muttered, shaking his head at the list.

“Right? Only the parties and the interface know the numbers,” Frank said. “Top ten hardly move. The rest of us are fodder.”

“Top fifty unlock cross-zone matches,” Harker added. “That’s where the real climb starts.”

“More chances to die,” Frank said.

“Or to skyrocket if you beat high-tier teams from other Zones.”

“Uh-huh. Or kill off top-ranked parties in your own Zone.”

“Crownfall’s still first.”

“No surprise. They’ve been at the top since the beginning.”

“I’m sick of looking at those three.”

“Only the top three parties can leave the Zone.”

“Crownfall's a bunch of assholes. The worst of the top three. They just kill everyone.”

Mal tilted her head. “I can understand why. Their families. They can see their families.”

“If they have family left,” Frank muttered.

"Why else would they want access to other zones?"

"Who knows?" Frank asked.

Harker raised his brows slightly. “How’d those three S-tiers end up together anyway?”

“Well, their interfaces are gold," Frank said. "Pretty hard to miss each other in a sea of blue.”

"Lucky bastards." Harker put his hands on his hips.

Frank glanced at Harker. “You saying you would’ve gone with them if they’d asked?”

Harker scoffed. “No, Frank. How could I not team up with my right-hand man?”

“Damn straight.”

“It was a miracle we all found each other so quickly after the boundary shift,” Harker added.

“Yeah.” Frank looked down.

Mal’s gaze flicked past him, like she was counting ghosts. “Wonder where the rest of them ended up.”

***

They exited the tower lobby and paused at the corner where they always split.

“Tomorrow,” Mal said.

Harker turned toward her. “Shift time.”

Frank huffed. “Our overlords apparently need us to keep this place running.”

Mal’s mouth twitched. “Someone has to.”

Harker let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah. Need those contribution credits.”

“Try not to exhaust yourself at your plush desk job, Mal,” Frank said, winking.

“You know me.”

She waved, and they headed in the opposite direction, blending into the crowd.

Screens hovered in the air.

Attendants chattered endlessly, commenting on ongoing battles.

Most people were on foot.

A few public transit vehicles moved steadily through the streets.

Mal stopped at the corner and waited for the signal.

As she stepped into the crosswalk, she glanced up out of habit.

The sky caught the light wrong. The wrong hue.

A faint, prismatic ripple arced overhead, barely visible unless you knew where to look. It stretched far beyond the city skyscrapers, bending with the curvature of the land, thinning toward the horizon without ever breaking.

The barrier of Zone Three.

It shimmered, seamless and unbroken.

Mal lowered her gaze and turned right at the next block.

The tower district stayed polished for a few blocks. Glass fronts. Smooth pavement. Screens hovering at comfortable eye level, attendants’ commentary drifting faintly through the air.

Then the shine thinned.

Vendors lined the street where office buildings gave way to narrower storefronts. A man guided a suspended crate down with a careful twist of his wrist, easing it into place like it weighed nothing. A woman pressed her palm to a cracked wall and the fracture sealed in a slow ripple. Farther down, someone coaxed a ribbon of flame from their fingertip to light a fire beneath a metal grill.

Innate traits. Abilities.

Public transit rolled past her, silent and smooth. The slight vibration from the underground trains could be felt beneath her feet every few moments. The tube lines Harker and Frank worked on fed into that system, arteries running under the concrete skin of the city.

People moved around her in a steady current.

They were from everywhere.

She could tell in the details of how they were dressed. Their gestures.

Food shifted from fried dough and sweet spice to roasted meat and sharp, fermented tang.

“Hot stew, ten credits!” a vendor called out.

It didn’t matter where they’d come from.

She understood every word.

Still, people clustered. Certain blocks leaned toward particular foods, particular habits, particular ways of standing too close or not close enough.

A sharp cry cut through the noise.

Mal turned before she meant to.

A woman stood near a produce stall, rocking a bundled infant against her shoulder. The baby’s face was red with effort, furious and alive.

Her breath caught.

Then she moved on.

The pavement cracked more often here. Trash gathered near the gutters. Buildings leaned closer together, as if privacy were reserved for people higher on the board.

Overhead, a floating screen replayed Crownfall’s last engagement.

ZONE 3 ALLIED PARTIES ELIMINATED
ZONE 5 PARTIES ELIMINATED
TOTAL DECIMATION

An attendant with slicked-back blue hair leaned forward in his chair, eyes bright. “An absolute display of dominance! Crownfall secures victory after full eradication. Look at that coordination!”

Beside him, the second attendant laughed, bouncing once in his seat. “No hesitation. No mercy. They cleared their own allied assignments and still wiped Zone Five. That’s commitment.”

“I’m stunned they were slotted into Zone Three and not One,” the first said, grinning.

The replay cut to the final strike again.

Acid seemed to melt an unfortunate opponent.

The attendants smiled like they’d just watched a flawless performance.

A slender man sat at a stall with a steaming bowl in front of him. “Those freaks look like they’re gonna orgasm.”

He slurped a spoonful of food, eyes still on the screen.

Mal took the stool beside him.

“Barlo.”

He took a swig from his glass.

It smelled boozy.

“Mal.”

She lifted a hand toward the vendor. “Tea.”

A pot and mug were set in front of her.

She poured.

Steam rose in thin wisps.

Barlo kept his eyes on the feed. “How’s your shift these days?”

“Fine.”

He nodded.

“Competing on Floor Forty in two days.”

He whistled softly. “Trying for the board?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t get gutted.”

“I always try my best.”

He let out a rough laugh.

They talked for ten more minutes about nothing.

Transit delays.
A collapsed vendor stall in the East District market.
The absurd excitement of attendants over a routine clear.

Barlo finished his drink first.

He stood, setting his empty glass down beside her mug.

"She's got my tab," Barlo said to the vendor.

The woman waved a hand at him.

He leaned closer to Mal. “Don’t linger.”

“I won’t.”

He left.

She waited a full minute before lifting the glass he’d set down.

A folded scrap of paper rested beneath it.

She slipped it into her pocket, transferred credits to the vendor, and merged into the crowd.

Two blocks later, on another busy street, she stopped near a stall with an open flame cooktop.

She stood in line.

When it was her turn, she placed an order and stepped slightly aside to wait.

She unfolded it.

Four lines.

A group crossed the Zone 3 barrier.
Number unconfirmed.
Unauthorized.
Investigating now.

She read them once.

Then again.

The crowd shifted around her.

Someone laughed nearby.

Meat and vegetables sizzled as the vendor splashed an aromatic oil over rotating skewers.

She folded the scrap into quarters and lowered one corner toward the fire.

The paper blackened and curled. She released it into the flame as the vendor handed her order over.

Mal took her food and stepped back into the current of foot traffic.

She ate her skewer as she walked.

Ten minutes later, the streets widened and the flow of people thickened.

People moved in steady lines toward a block of low, glass-fronted buildings.

No one lingered in the wide plaza.

She joined the current and headed toward a building on the left.

The illuminated letters above the entrance read:

ZONE 3 CIVIC HOUSING & ALLOCATION

Mal entered the building and crossed the polished lobby without slowing. It smelled faintly of industrial cleanser and recycled air.

Lines of people waited before partitioned service counters, intake numbers advancing slowly across the overhead display.

She reached the double doors at the far end. Her interface pinged softly.

EMPLOYEE CLEARANCE GRANTED

The doors unlocked, and she passed through without slowing. She continued to the elevators, joining the other employees waiting there.

No operators stood beside these. No secondary panels. Just brushed metal doors and a simple row of call buttons.

Fourth floor.

The doors opened directly into the Residential Variance Department.

Workstations stretched across the open floor in ordered rows.

No clutter.
No personal effects.
Just bodies and screens.

A few heads turned.

“Morning, Mal.”

She lifted a hand in acknowledgment as she passed.

Low conversation drifted between stations.

“You moving up?”

“Two spots.”

“Worth the double shift?”

“Credits buy gear.”

“If we live long enough to use it.”

“They don’t need us doing this,” someone muttered. “The attendants could run everything in this city.”

“Then what? Sit in our rooms and wait to die?”

“Some people do.”

A chair rolled across the floor.

“We could be training—”

“Enough,” the supervisor said without looking up. “Same conversation every shift. Back to work.”

Mal slid into her station.

She logged into the interface.

HOUSING VARIANCE DETECTED: 32 INSTANCES
VERIFY CURRENT OCCUPANTS

She opened the first file.

Approve.
Reassign.
Escalate.
Close.

The next file populated automatically.

Approve.
Close.

She pulled up a search field on her display and typed without looking.

CRESSIDA BLAIR

No results found.

She cleared the field and typed another name.

BRENTON GETTY

No results found.

She closed the search query.

The next file replaced the screen.

Approve.
Reassign.
Close.

Across the aisle, a voice lowered.

“Mal?”

Mal glanced at the young woman. “Yes?”

"Is your party almost at fifty now?"

Mal nodded.

The woman's eyes lit up. "Amazing. Means you might be leaving us soon."

"Dangerous," a man from a few workstations said. "Better off just keeping a low profile."

"The hell you talking about?" a different woman chimed in.

Mal looked back at her interface.

"Yeah, everything is dangerous, no matter what you choose," the first woman continued.

Chatter broke out among the stations.

“You hear who finally cracked one-hundred?”

“So hard to move up. Even with a good party.”

"Are you people seriously going to keep jabbering away?" the supervisor approached.

Mal processed another file.

When her shift ended, she logged out and stood.

Another employee slid into the chair she vacated.

Mal made her way to the tube station.

She boarded the train without looking at anyone.
The train hummed through concrete arteries.
Two stops later, she stepped off.

Her residence building was in the middle of the block. A square, concrete exterior. Ten floors.

She nodded to a woman exiting, catching the door before it shut.

Mal took the stairs to the ninth floor.

She stood in front of the door.

Her interface pinged.

WELCOME HOME

She scoffed.

The door unlocked and she entered. It locked automatically behind her.

A small studio with a kitchenette and wash space barely wider than her shoulders.

She walked toward the window.

The view wasn't great, but the city noise was non-existent.

For a moment she stood at the window.

Quiet.

No screens.
No commentary.
No attendants narrating bloodshed.

She knelt beside the bed, pulled out the box, set it on the table, and opened it.

A tapered sword.

She grasped the hilt and drew it through the air in a slow arc.

Purple flame ignited and wrapped the blade.

The glow lengthened and stopped at two feet.
It retracted and extended in short, controlled pulses before extinguishing.

"Got this."

She set the sword back in the box and pulled up her interface.

OVERALL RANK: B

Innate Trait
Emberbound Armament (A-Rank)
Condensed flame binds to an object in the user’s grasp
Weapon scales with emotional intensity and combat clarity
Flame Extension: 8 feet
Status: Active

She closed the interface.

"Set my normal alarm."

"Alarm is set," said a voice from a small object on her nightstand.

Mal removed her clothes, washed up, and lay down.

She stared at the box on the table until her eyes shut.

***

The next morning, Mal arrived at the tower lobby thirty minutes ahead of time.

She saw Harker first. He wore light combat armor, layered and fitted close, conductive mesh visible at the seams. His iron mallet rested against his thigh, the head dull and scarred from use.

Frank stood beside him in a dark, sleeveless compression shirt and utility trousers, bare forearms relaxed at his sides. He twirled his spiked mace.

“Cutting it close?” Harker asked.

“We have plenty of time.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” He tilted his head at her. “You’re making that face.”

Mal didn’t blink. “This is my face.”

Frank snorted. “We just got here too. Sit?”

They moved toward the seating along the wall. The crowd was thinner at this hour.

Commentary blared from the screens. Multiple matches were already underway.

Harker leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Frank sat one seat over, reviewing his interface.

Mal stayed on her feet.

“We going to talk strategy?” Harker asked.

“What’s there to say?” Mal said. “Be prepared for anything.”

Harker’s brows raised. “That about sums it up.”

He glanced at Frank. “Anything to add?”

Frank kept swiping through his interface.

Harker waited a few seconds.

“Good talk.” He looked back at Mal and smiled. “Guess we’re ready.”

Mal crossed her arms and stared at one of the feeds.

After a while, their interfaces pinged.

SCHEDULED: TRAINING ENVIRONMENT 32
QUEUE NOW FOR DEPARTURE

“Show time,” Harker said.

“Training environments three and thirty-two are now available. Three and thirty-two,” the intercom announced.

They made their way to the elevator queue.

A party stood ahead of them in line.

Five members.

One adjusted a shoulder guard. Another rolled their neck once. A third flexed gloved fingers as if testing grip.

“Environment three,” one of them said.

The operator glanced at his interface.

“Environment three confirmed.”

A soft tone chimed.

“Cleared to enter.”

The doors slid open.

All five stepped inside.

The doors sealed smoothly.

The operator pressed a button on the secondary control beside the frame.

Blue light traced the seams.

Three seconds.

No sound of ascent.
No mechanical movement.

The operator’s gaze shifted to them.

“Environment thirty-two,” Mal said.

He nodded and checked his interface.

Frank shuddered. “I really hate this thing.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve done it,” Harker said.

“Environment thirty-two confirmed,” the operator said.

A tone chimed.

“Cleared to enter.”

The doors opened.

They stepped inside.

“Shit, shit—” Frank started.

The doors closed.

Blue light engulfed them.

Cold water closed around her boots.

Mal glanced at the others.

Frank looked down. “Damnit. Why a swamp?”