What no one here knew—and what Max intended to keep that way—was that the Prime Sovereign badge on his ID wasn't the whole truth. It was the mask. The system allowed certain citizens to conceal their true classification if their authority surpassed even the public scale. Max's actual clearance sat in an unlisted tier—one whispered about in backrooms but never officially acknowledged.
If Prime Sovereigns were the kings of the board, Max's real standing was the hand that could flip the table entirely.
For now, that was his ace in the hole.
The central concourse opened into a sprawling plaza. Above, massive kinetic sculptures hung from suspension lines—cascading shapes of polished chrome that slowly rotated, catching the glow of thousands of hovering billboards. Their movements were perfectly timed with the ambient soundtrack piped through hidden speakers, a low synthbeat that matched the pace of the crowd.
People streamed past in constant motion—district couriers in sleek carbon-fiber armor, augmented musicians broadcasting live performances through AR overlays, corporate envoys flanked by black-suited escorts whose eyes scanned everything with predator focus.
Here, rank was everything. Badges shimmered in midair around wrists, collars, or the side of one's head. Holo-identifiers constantly updated, broadcasting your place in the social lattice to anyone nearby. A cluster of Low Residents gave wide berth to a Sovereign striding down the plaza with a trio of drones in tow. Two High Citizens argued animatedly near a noodle stand, their badges pulsing in matching sapphire frames—equal rank, equal rights to argue.
Max moved through the flow like water, people parting in front of him without thinking. It wasn't fear exactly—it was instinct, the way animals moved aside for a predator without knowing why.
He caught the faint shimmer of another Prime Sovereign tag in the crowd—a tall woman in a platinum-and-violet trench coat, her hair woven with optic threads that pulsed with every step. She glanced his way for the briefest moment, her eyes narrowing in recognition—not of him, but of his badge's weight.
And then she moved on.
Max smiled faintly. In a city like this, you didn't need to speak to send a message.
Max led his girls through the plaza, the endless current of people and light bending subtly around them. Mu Qing and Lan Xue walked close on either side, their eyes darting everywhere—part curiosity, part quiet calculation. Gwen, Rize, and Malaika followed just behind, the three exchanging quiet remarks as they tried to take in the overwhelming spectacle of the city.
They passed beneath a massive holo-gate shaped like a lotus bloom, its petals opening and closing in perfect sync with the soft chime that rang every few seconds. Beyond it lay a broad avenue lined with towering glass-and-steel structures, each shimmering with neon banners in languages both familiar and alien.
Up ahead, a building caught Max's attention—sleek, curved walls of polished obsidian, its entrance framed by twin crystalline pillars that glowed faintly from within. The sign above the door shifted through multiple scripts before settling on one they could read: "Ebon Crest – Fine Dining for the Elevated."
Max smirked and gestured toward it.
"Let's have breakfast here before we roam," he said casually. "I'll show you the sights of this world after."
Mu Qing tilted her head, studying the building. "Breakfast in a place like this? Looks more like somewhere people close billion-credit deals than somewhere you order eggs."
"Exactly," Max replied with a hint of amusement. "Might as well start the day like the locals do—pretentious and expensive."
Lan Xue chuckled under her breath. "If this is breakfast, I'm scared to see what dinner costs."
"That's assuming we even leave here before dinner," Gwen added dryly, though there was a spark of interest in her eyes.
Rize peered at the crystalline pillars. "Feels like even the air here is rich."
Malaika's lips curved into a grin. "Then I guess we're eating like royalty today."
As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The noise of the plaza dulled to a muffled hum, replaced by the low thrum of ambient music and the faint scent of spiced steam. The interior was a seamless fusion of nature and technology—smooth black floors laced with glowing veins, translucent walls showing drifting holographic koi, and ceiling gardens where tiny mechanical hummingbirds tended to flowers that bloomed in impossible colors.
A hostess approached, her uniform a precise balance of elegance and efficiency. She gave Max one glance, saw his badge, and her posture changed instantly—her tone becoming warmer, her smile sharper.
"Prime Sovereign," she said with a polite bow. "We have a private sky booth available. Would you prefer it?"
"Yes," Max answered without hesitation.
The hostess led them toward a lift made entirely of floating glass panels. As they rose, the city unfurled around them through transparent walls—sleek spires, suspended transit rails, and the distant shimmer of the orbital elevator in the sky.
Lan Xue leaned closer to the glass, her eyes wide. "It's like Earth… but cleaner. Balanced. Everything feels… deliberate."
"That's the point," Max said, watching the view with a faint smile. "Here, chaos exists—but only where it's allowed to. Every color, every building, every light—placed exactly where it should be. It's beauty by design, not by accident."
Mu Qing crossed her arms, her tone thoughtful. "A controlled paradise. Which means there's always a cost somewhere else."
"Oh," Max replied quietly, "you'll see that soon enough."
The lift chimed softly as it reached their booth—a floating glass capsule suspended over the city, the table set with utensils that shimmered faintly in the sunlight filtering through polarized glass.
The booth doors parted with a gentle hiss, and the six of them stepped into a space that felt suspended between earth and sky. The curved glass walls gave them a near-panoramic view of the city below—plaza arteries pulsing with foot traffic, glimmering mag-trains sliding along their rails like streaks of liquid metal, and the distant arc of the ocean beyond the outer districts.
The table itself was a work of art: a single piece of black crystal, its surface etched with shifting constellations that moved slowly under their plates. Each chair adjusted subtly as they sat, contouring to each body with an almost intimate precision.
***
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