Chapter 7: Beneath the Surface

The transport pod descended deeper than Ryo expected, the walls of the subterranean shaft rushing past in a blur of worn metal and flickering lights. Aya sat cross-legged on the opposite seat, tapping commands into a small interface embedded in her sleeve. Elena leaned against the pod’s curved window, one leg bouncing restlessly as she scanned the darkness below.

Ryo glanced at Aya. "You sure this lead is solid?"

Aya didn't look up from her screen. "It's the only one we have. The sub-core beneath LUX used to monitor the original signal distribution. If there’s anything left—data fragments, schematics—we’ll find it there."

Elena’s voice was dry. "So, let me get this straight: the city we thought was perfect is sitting on top of a secret surveillance hub, and nobody ever noticed?"

Aya gave a humorless chuckle. "Nobody wanted to notice. That’s how the system works—silence becomes routine, and the cracks stay hidden until it’s too late."

The pod shuddered as it reached the bottom of the shaft. With a low hiss, the doors slid open, revealing a narrow corridor bathed in dim blue light. The smell of cold steel and stale air greeted them like an unwelcome guest.

Ryo pulled his jacket tighter around him. "Let’s move. We won’t have long before they realize we’re down here."

The corridor stretched out like a labyrinth of forgotten tunnels, with cables running along the walls, their insulation cracked and peeling from decades of disuse. In places, old monitoring stations lay dormant, their screens covered in dust and fingerprints—memories of hands that once monitored every emotion flowing through the network.

Ryo led the way, checking his scanner for hidden access points. As they moved deeper, the lights flickered intermittently, casting shifting shadows across the walls.

Aya stopped suddenly, her sharp gaze fixed on an old control panel embedded in the wall. "Here. This is where the sub-core should be housed."

She pried open the panel and plugged in a data probe, her fingers flying across the glowing interface. Lines of corrupted code streamed across the display, broken by static bursts.

Elena stood behind them, arms folded. "And what exactly are we looking for? A self-destruct button? Or maybe a manual that says 'How to Build Utopia with Lies'?"

Aya smirked without looking up. "I’m hoping for something more useful—like access logs or communication channels between the anchors."

Ryo frowned. "If this sub-core has been offline for so long, why would any data still be intact?"

Aya glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Because systems like these are never truly offline. They just go dormant, waiting to wake up."

After several tense moments, the interface beeped, and Aya pulled up a set of fragmented files. She narrowed her eyes as strings of data appeared—half-corrupted logs, interspersed with encrypted messages.

"Found something," Aya whispered, her voice tight. "Looks like a series of messages from Thorne—recent ones."

Elena arched an eyebrow. "Recent? You mean the good councilman has been playing with the old tech this whole time?"

Aya nodded slowly. "He’s been sending encrypted updates through hidden relays, keeping parts of the network alive without anyone noticing."

Ryo leaned in, scanning the logs. His stomach twisted as he recognized familiar terms buried in the data: reactivation sequences, behavioral overrides, emotional resets.

"This isn’t just maintenance," Ryo muttered. "He’s preparing to reboot the entire network."

Elena’s voice was cold. "So much for hoping he’d retire quietly."

Aya kept scrolling through the logs, her expression growing darker with each entry. "There’s more. Some of these files... they’re timestamps. They correspond to key events in the city—elections, protests, council decisions. Every time the network shifted, Thorne made adjustments."

Ryo clenched his fists. "He’s been controlling the entire city from the shadows."

Aya’s fingers froze over the console as she found one final message, encrypted and stamped with today’s date. She decoded it with a few quick taps, and a grim warning flashed on the screen:

"Prepare for synchronization at 0300 hours. Final emotional override initiated."

Elena’s eyes widened. "That’s tonight."

Aya cursed under her breath. "If we don’t stop it, the network will reboot in less than five hours."

Ryo’s mind raced. "We need to get out of here. Now."

Aya yanked the data probe from the console and stuffed it into her jacket. "There’s an emergency lift at the far end of the tunnels. If we’re fast, we can reach the surface before the synchronization sequence begins."

They sprinted down the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the cold metal walls. The lights above flickered erratically, as if sensing their urgency. Somewhere deep in the complex, ancient machinery groaned to life, sending vibrations through the ground beneath their feet.

Elena shot a glance over her shoulder. "I swear, every time we do this, it feels like the walls are closing in."

"That’s because they probably are," Aya muttered, quickening her pace.

As they reached the emergency lift, a low, mechanical hum filled the air. Ryo glanced around, his pulse quickening. "Something’s coming."

Aya slammed her hand against the lift’s control panel. "It’s rebooting. It’ll take a minute to power up."

Elena drew her weapon, her jaw tight. "We don’t have a minute."

Ryo scanned the area, his gaze locking onto a small access hatch along the wall. "I’ll buy us some time. Get the lift running."

Elena grabbed his arm, her eyes blazing. "Don’t be stupid. We can hold them off together."

Ryo shook his head. "If they catch us all here, it’s over. I’ll slow them down. You two make sure the network stays offline."

Aya hesitated for only a second before nodding grimly. "We’ll meet you topside."

Elena’s grip on Ryo’s arm tightened for a moment longer, then she released him with a muttered curse. "You better not die down here."

Ryo gave her a quick, lopsided grin. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

As Aya and Elena disappeared into the lift, Ryo sprinted toward the access hatch, heart hammering in his chest. The vibrations in the floor grew stronger, and he could hear the distant hum of approaching drones—an unrelenting wave of precision-built enforcers.

Ryo yanked the hatch open and slipped inside, pulling the cover shut behind him. He crawled through the narrow maintenance shaft, the Tear in Time still clipped to his belt, glowing faintly with dormant power.

As he moved deeper into the shaft, a thought nagged at the back of his mind—a grim realization that refused to be ignored.

If Thorne succeeded in rebooting the network, it wouldn’t just erase emotions. It would rewrite everything—memories, identities, choices—until the people of LUX were nothing more than obedient shadows of their former selves.

And if Ryo failed to stop it, there might be no coming back.