The sirens always sounded different in the slums. Slower. More tired. As if even the machines knew this part of the city had been abandoned long before the government admitted it.
Mike Carter leaned against the cracked window of the transit shuttle, eyes scanning the sprawl of concrete and digital billboards. In the distance, the towers of Upper Avalis shimmered with golden lights and silver bridges. Up there, people wore smart fabrics, tracked their vitals in real time, and whispered about stock markets and security drones. Down here, in the undercity, electricity came in surges-unreliable and bought from black-market engineers.
Another murder near Sector 11, he thought. Or a food riot. Maybe both.
Mike was used to the decay, but something about today felt... heavier. The air buzzed like it knew a secret, and he hated that feeling.
He adjusted his synthetic jacket, its built-in scanner flickering erratically. A recent gift from Eleanor-before she was transferred to the Agency. She always had a way of being two steps ahead. Even when it came to people.
She saw something in me. Something I don't even understand.
The shuttle screeched to a stop near the station. As Mike stepped off, his comms link buzzed sharply.
"Mike Carter?"
He turned slowly. A tall man in a sleek, matte-black coat stood beside a holographic terminal. No name, no rank displayed.
"Yeah?"
The man offered a thin smile. "You've been flagged. Priority candidate. The Agency is calling."
Mike blinked. "I didn't apply."
"Exactly. That's why you were chosen."
A Week Later - Inside the Glass Bastion
The headquarters of the Cult and Paranormal Oversight Agency-CPOA-was buried beneath the city's governmental core. A sprawling maze of metal, plasma screens, and humming security fields. Everyone here knew the stories-about the cult that once brought the world to its knees. The mass disappearances, the sacrifices, the Black Star.
The Agency's job was to make sure that never happened again.
"You passed every aptitude test," Eleanor said, handing him a sealed dossier. She wore the official CPOA uniform now-deep grey with blue trims, sleek, armored. She looked like someone who had seen things.
Mike skimmed the file. His name was on it. So were dozens of redacted lines.
"What's this?"
"Your record. Or at least, what the system knows about you." She paused. "They think your bloodline has... anomalies."
"What kind?"
Eleanor looked at him differently now. Not like a friend. Like someone trying to solve a puzzle.
"We don't know yet. But you're not average, Mike. The cult... they call people like you Shards of the First Flame."
A cold spike ran down his spine.
Later That Night
Mike sat in his temporary quarters, staring at a photo on his tablet. His parents-dead in a fire when he was five. But as he stared longer, he noticed something strange. A marking in the corner. The same symbol they'd shown him today in the training room.
The Black Star.
He looked up at the ceiling, the light from the city bleeding through the reinforced windows.
What the hell am I?