Chapter 6: Anchors

The room buzzed with faint static, the only sound breaking the silence. A dim light flickered from an array of ancient displays, casting erratic shadows across the faces of Ryo, Elena, and Aya. They had returned to Aya’s hidden refuge beneath the ruined cinema, retreating into the tangled mess of old servers to plan their next move.

Elena tapped her fingers impatiently against a console, the metallic taps echoing in the confined space. "You said this would be easy. One relay down, no problem. Instead, we nearly got vaporized."

Aya leaned back against the wall, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets. "Welcome to the new normal. The Continuum always adapts faster than anyone expects."

Ryo stood in front of the largest screen, eyes fixed on the blinking map Aya had pulled up earlier. He zoomed in on the test zones—scattered like hidden cancers across LUX Metropolis. Each red point pulsed steadily, a countdown marking time until the next stage of reactivation.

"We need to disable the other relays," Ryo muttered, almost to himself. "If we can interrupt the synchronization sequence—"

Aya cut him off with a sharp glance. "It’s not that simple. Each relay isn't just a node. They’re wired to people—key individuals who’ve been marked by the system as critical emotional anchors."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "Anchors? What the hell does that mean?"

Aya hesitated for a moment before answering. "The network identifies people with high emotional influence—leaders, agitators, artists. They amplify the emotional tone of those around them. The network stabilizes by suppressing those anchors first, controlling emotions at the source."

Elena let out a low whistle. "So, they’re not just suppressing emotions... they’re weaponizing certain people’s emotions to manipulate entire communities."

Ryo rubbed the back of his neck. "If the system is using these anchors to hold control over the population, then taking out the relays might not be enough."

Aya tilted her head slightly, her eyes thoughtful. "Exactly. If we deactivate the relays but leave the anchors untouched, the network will recalibrate itself. We need to disrupt both simultaneously."

Ryo stared at the screen, the flashing red dots ticking away like bombs waiting to go off. "How many anchors are tied to the relays?"

Aya’s fingers danced over the console, bringing up a list of names and faces. "Six, at least in the zones we know about. And..." she tapped the screen, zooming in on one entry, "...one of them is in the high council."

Elena crossed her arms, her tone heavy with disbelief. "You’re telling me someone on the city council—one of the leaders who supposedly saved this city—is a linchpin for emotional control?"

Aya nodded grimly. "His name’s Cassiel Thorne. He’s been on the council since the end of the global truce."

Ryo narrowed his eyes. "What’s his connection to the network?"

Aya tapped a few more keys, bringing up a bio on Thorne. "He used to be one of the lead architects of the emotional signal project. When the network was first established, he volunteered to be one of the first emotional anchors."

Elena snorted. "Great. A councilman who willingly let the network rewire his brain. Sounds like the perfect person to trust with our freedom."

Aya leaned against the console, her expression unreadable. "He’s more dangerous than you think. If we take down the relays, he’ll be the one pulling strings to reactivate the system—assuming he’s not already working to do that now."

Ryo frowned. "Then we need to get to him first."

Later that night, the three of them sat inside a cramped utility vehicle parked at the edge of the council district. The streets outside were lined with towering sculptures, their surfaces embedded with shimmering code patterns that pulsed faintly under the city lights. It was a display of wealth and control, meant to dazzle citizens into obedience.

Ryo adjusted the tiny earpiece in his ear, his voice steady but cold. "Aya, you’re sure Thorne doesn’t know we’re coming?"

Aya’s voice crackled softly over the comm. "Not yet. But we won’t have much time once we’re inside. His security system is wired into the old network. If we trip any alarms, the Continuum will know immediately."

Elena sat across from Ryo, loading cartridges into her sidearm with quiet precision. "This better not be a suicide mission."

Ryo gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Since when do we go on any other kind?"

Aya’s voice chimed in again, this time more serious. "Listen—if you find Thorne, don’t waste time trying to negotiate. He’s not the type to switch sides."

Elena smirked. "Good. Talking was never my strong suit."

With a soft hum, the vehicle’s autopilot brought them to a halt outside Thorne’s private residence—a sleek, glass structure suspended above a courtyard filled with bioluminescent trees. Silent drones hovered above, their blue lights flickering like restless fireflies.

Ryo and Elena moved swiftly through the courtyard, slipping past security sensors and automated patrols. When they reached the entrance, Ryo overrode the door lock with a quick flick of his wrist scanner. The glass door slid open with a soft whisper, and they stepped inside.

The interior of Thorne’s residence was cold and immaculate, like a museum display frozen in time. Holographic art installations shimmered along the walls, projecting scenes of long-forgotten conflicts—wars erased by the emotional network, their histories sanitized and rewritten.

They found Cassiel Thorne sitting in a high-backed chair near the window, his pale hands folded neatly in his lap. He was a tall, gaunt man with silver hair combed back from a narrow face, his expression calm and detached. His eyes, however, gleamed with unsettling clarity, as though he saw far more than he let on.

"I wondered how long it would take for someone like you to come knocking," Thorne said softly, his voice smooth and deliberate.

Ryo stepped forward, his stance cautious but firm. "You know why we’re here."

Thorne smiled faintly. "Yes. You’re here to destroy everything we built—everything that saved this city from annihilation."

Elena leveled her sidearm at him, her gaze cold. "Save the speech, councilman. We know what the network really does."

Thorne’s smile didn’t falter. "Do you? Or do you only know the pieces of the truth you were meant to find?"

Ryo clenched his fists. "The network isn’t peace—it’s control."

Thorne’s gaze sharpened. "And without control, do you know what happens? The same chaos that almost destroyed us the first time. Do you really think people are capable of freedom without tearing each other apart?"

Elena’s voice was hard. "We’ll take that risk."

Thorne leaned back, his expression unreadable. "You won’t succeed. The network isn’t just code. It’s part of the people now—woven into their thoughts, their emotions. Even if you shut down the relays, the system will always rebuild itself. Because deep down... people want to be controlled."

Ryo felt a knot tighten in his chest. For a brief moment, doubt flickered at the edge of his mind. What if Thorne was right? What if freedom wasn’t what people truly wanted?

But then he remembered the flickering emotions he’d seen—the stolen moments, the lost ambitions—and his resolve hardened.

"No," Ryo said quietly. "People don’t want control. They just forgot how to live without it."