Alexei positioned himself carefully, calculating sight lines and approach angles. His head still throbbed from the previous night's visions, but he forced himself to focus. The patrol would pass within twenty meters of his position if the pattern held.
They appeared exactly when expected – four soldiers with mismatched armor but uniform discipline. Alexei allowed them to spot him, raising his hands slowly to show he carried no weapons. He'd deliberately smudged dirt across his face to hide the dried blood.
"On your knees, stranger," the patrol leader ordered, rifle aimed at his chest. A woman with a scarred face and hard eyes.
Alexei complied without protest, keeping his movements deliberate. Not too fast, not too slow.
"Identity and purpose," she demanded.
"Alexei," he offered simply. "Evacuation pod crashed east of here. I'm looking for shelter."
Pain lanced through his skull as another fractured vision tried to surface – showing this same conversation playing out differently. He suppressed it forcefully, unwilling to risk a nosebleed or disorientation now.
"Evacuation from where?" The question came sharp, suspicious.
Alexei weighed truth against lies, remembering fragments of his visions. "Babel Tower," he admitted. Better to be questioned than killed outright.
The patrol exchanged loaded glances. Without further explanation, they bound his hands and placed a hood over his head. As they marched him toward their settlement, Alexei focused on memorizing the route through other senses – counting steps, noting changes in terrain, tracking the sun's warmth through the hood's fabric.
The interrogation room was underground, carved from what might once have been a subway maintenance tunnel. They removed the hood but kept his hands bound. The patrol leader sat across from him, joined by an older man whose red armband bore additional markings of authority.
"You claim to be from Babel Tower," the man stated, voice raspy. "That makes you either NCD or liar. Neither fares well here."
"I was NCD," Alexei confirmed, keeping his expression neutral. "Narrative Architect. I escaped during system failure."
"Why should we believe that?" the patrol leader asked, hand resting on her sidearm.
"Because I'm not claiming to be anything else. A spy would have a better story."
The older man leaned forward. "If you're truly NCD, you're our enemy. The Crimson Truth exists to fight the lies you helped create."
Alexei felt a pressure building behind his eyes – another vision trying to surface. He clenched his jaw, forcing it back down. Not now. He couldn't afford to show weakness.
"Then we share an enemy," he managed. "I discovered the truth behind the perpetual war. That's why I escaped."
"What truth?" the man pressed.
"That the conflict is choreographed. The Ironblood and Crimson Republic coordinate through back channels. Territory exchanges hands according to predetermined schedules."
The patrol leader's expression darkened – not disbelief but confirmation of suspected betrayal. The older man remained more measured, studying Alexei with renewed interest.
"This isn't news to you," Alexei observed.
"Suspicion and confirmation are different," the man replied carefully. "If you're telling the truth, why come to us?"
Alexei considered his response carefully. The visions had shown fragments of potential answers, but using them had consequences he couldn't afford right now. Instead, he relied on calculation and observation.
"My allies were compromised," he said simply. "And I have skills that could benefit your community."
"What skills?" the patrol leader asked skeptically.
"I notice your water filtration system is failing," Alexei stated, recalling details he'd glimpsed during their approach to the settlement. "I can construct replacements using local materials."
The older man and patrol leader exchanged glances.
"Keep him secured," the man finally ordered. "We'll verify his claims. If he's lying, he dies."
As they left, Alexei exhaled slowly. The pressure behind his eyes subsided, but the relief was temporary. These visions – whatever they were – seemed to be getting stronger, more frequent. And fighting them was becoming increasingly painful.
He needed to understand what was happening to him. But first, he needed to survive. One step at a time.