The station swallowed him whole.
Heat, sound, and motion hit all at once—an organized chaos humming with life. The platform was wide, layered in steel plates worn smooth by decades of boots. Every surface seemed alive: pipes hissing steam along the walls, cables sparking faintly overhead, the smell of oil and sweat thick in the air.
Workers darted between trains with crates strapped to their backs or balanced on wheeled trolleys. Sparks showered from a corner where welders bent over sheets of metal, repairing a fractured track. Mechanics clung to scaffolding high above, tightening bolts on the overhead rigs that fed power into the trains.
Above it all, the silo's sheer immensity pressed down. It was cathedral and war factory all at once. Rows upon rows of balconies ringed the circular tower, stacked levels climbing upward like shelves of some giant hive.
The cavern ceiling was sealed by heavy steel plating, riveted together so tight it looked like the lid of a pressure cooker. From above came a constant thrum—generators? pumps?—Mikey couldn't tell, but it made the air tremble in his chest.
He turned in place, dizzy, overwhelmed. "This is… this is insane," he muttered.
Luce hopped off the train with practiced ease, tugging her gloves tighter.
"Welcome to home, rookie." She gestured with a half-smile. "Portal Thirty-Two docking ring. Middle level of Silo Core."
Mikey blinked.
"You live here?"
Bobo shouldered past, grinning wide.
"Not just us, kid. Thousands. This is where the Defectors eat, sleep, bleed, rebuild."
He nodded to the people streaming across catwalks above.
"Every squad has a place in the stack. Hit squads at the middle levels, workers and community below, brass up top. It's a whole city under the dirt."
"It's own country," Ryosuke added quietly, eyes scanning the guards posted at the perimeter.
Mikey's stomach fluttered as he followed their steps off the platform and into one of the branching corridors. The walls narrowed again, but this time the metal was painted in streaks of red and white, symbols of the Defectors etched into the bulkheads. The hum of the main silo softened, replaced by the closer sounds of daily life—laughter echoing down a hall, the clang of pots from a mess hall, boots marching in unison somewhere nearby.
Amelia walked ahead, silent as always, but Mikey noticed the way her shoulders eased for the first time since they'd met. She belonged here. They all did.
He swallowed hard, rubbing his ribs.
"So this is it… HQ."
Bobo chuckled, tossing him a look.
"Not even close, kid. You've seen the front door. Wait till you see the heart."
They pushed forward through the buzz of the silo-city, their small group limping and battered, drawing eyes wherever they passed. Faces turned—workers pausing mid-load, soldiers breaking cadence, children tugging at their mothers' sleeves. Some whispered. Others gave respectful nods. Bobo answered each with a quiet dip of the chin, a faint grin that never quite reached his tired eyes.
At last they reached one of the many elevator shafts lining the interior wall. Its doors yawned open, revealing a cage of steel and rivets, barely big enough for the five of them. Inside, the space felt suffocating, the air dense with oil and metal.
Bobo squeezed in first, his broad shoulders brushing both walls. His head nearly scraped the ceiling. Luce slipped in beside him, Ryosuke claimed a shadowed corner, and Amelia leaned back against the other wall with her arms crossed. Mikey pressed against the grated front, hands gripping the bars, his nose practically touching cold iron.
The elevator lurched, cables groaning above. Slowly, it descended.
Mikey's eyes widened as the levels slid past: balcony after balcony, each lined with rows of glowing pods, light seeping out through slatted shutters. Like beehives stacked into infinity.
"What are those lights?" he asked quietly, his voice muffled by the grind of gears.
Luce leaned over, her shoulder brushing his. "Housing pods. Families, workers, anyone who calls this place home."
"Ah…" Mikey murmured, watching the streaks of yellow and white drift by. Tiny shadows moved inside some of the pods—silhouettes of people cooking, laughing, fighting. An entire city built in steel.
The elevator clanged to a stop several levels down. The gate screeched open, spilling them onto a wide plaza bathed in the soft glow of lanterns strung from one end to the other. The air smelled of cooked grain, burning oil, and sweat.
It was alive.
Buildings fashioned from scrap metal and reinforced tin rose in neat rows, welded into something that almost resembled a street grid. Children darted between makeshift alleys, barefoot, chasing a barking mutt. Men hunched over wooden tables, sharpening knives, sparks snapping in the dark. Women shook out laundry from rails bolted onto the walls. Soldiers drilled in formation near the center, their voices rising in unison with every push-up, their palms slapping metal floor plates.
Mikey slowed, turning in place to take it all in. "Woah…" he whispered, a grin tugging at his mouth despite his limp. "It really is… its own city."
He chuckled under his breath, half in awe, half in disbelief.
The others kept moving. The group cut through the square, drawing the attention of a tall woman standing over the squad of soldiers mid-drill. Her hair was cropped short, her frame lean and commanding beneath a heavy military coat and cargo pants.
"Hold!" she barked.
Dozens of bodies froze mid-pushup, muscles trembling but unmoving. She strode away from them with unshakable confidence, boots striking metal with a sharp rhythm, and fixed her eyes on Bobo.
"Robert?"
Bobo's grin broke through instantly.
"Jaz?"
"Finally came home after two months?" she asked, her voice edged with both accusation and relief.
"Thought it was time," Bobo replied, smirking.
Her eyes flicked over him, narrowing when they landed on his shoulder. "Heard about that little stunt you pulled in Jöten. You must be out of your damn mind." A laugh escaped her lips, sharp but genuine.
Bobo scratched the back of his neck with his lone hand, chuckling.
"That was Luce's idea."
Jasmine turned, gaze cutting to Luce.
"Luciana."
"Jasmine," Luce answered flatly, not a trace of warmth in her voice.
The silence hung heavy for a moment before Jasmine stepped closer, her eyes dragging back to Bobo's missing arm.
"God… your arm."
"I'm fine," Bobo said lightly, shrugging. "Just a hunk of metal gone missing."
Jasmine's expression softened as she placed her hand against his chest, her tone dipping suggestively.
"You're hurt. If you don't mind, I can come to your pod tonight. Massage the pain out."
Luce scoffed audibly, arms crossing, her brow furrowing like storm clouds.
Bobo chuckled nervously, raising an eyebrow.
"Like you did before I left two months ago?"
"Yeah," Jasmine said with a bite to her lip. "Just like that."
Bobo's eyes flicked to Luce—her jaw tight, her eyes sharp enough to cut steel. Mikey, watching the whole exchange, bit his lip to smother a laugh.
"I'll pass tonight," Bobo said finally, forcing a laugh. "Need the rest."
Jasmine eased back a step, disappointment flickering across her face.
"Shame," she muttered under her breath. Then, squaring her shoulders, she carried on.
"Well, anyhow—Isaak isn't too happy with your little breakout stunt. Said it could've led to a breach in our concealment."
Luce stepped forward, voice even, flat as steel.
"It was worth it. We got Amelia and Ryosuke back."
Mikey watched them trade words, jaw tight.
Yeah… they do not like each other.
Jasmine tilted her head, arms folding across her chest. "And many died for it, I bet."
Her tone was crude, but not unfeeling.
The words hit harder than Mikey expected. Luce's gaze faltered for a fraction of a second, then hardened again.
"…Elliot."
Jasmine's brow furrowed.
"Elliot? What do you mean?"
Luce's voice dropped, quiet but unflinching.
"He's dead. Killed."
The space between them seemed to still. Jasmine's sharp expression melted, just a little. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"…Shit."
She looked off for a moment, the weight of the name settling on her shoulders.
"I'll tell Marlene. Get her and her family back here for the Ceremony of Loss."
Luce nodded once, the gesture tight, controlled.
Jasmine let the silence hang only a moment more before glancing over her shoulder. Her soldiers were still trembling in place, bodies locked mid-pushup, sweat streaking their faces.
She barked, voice cracking through the square like a whip.
"Did I say you ladies could drop?!"
The men roared in strained unison, their arms quivering, and Jasmine strode back toward them without another word.
The group pressed forward again. Luce, still simmering, slugged Bobo in the shoulder with a sharp fist. He stumbled, laughing nervously, rubbing the spot with his remaining hand.
Mikey trailed just behind, his thoughts weighing heavier with every step. The life of the silo breathed around him—the hum of lanterns, the churn of engines far above, the shuffle of boots on metal floors, the laughter of children echoing down narrow corridors. It was alive in a way the Council had never been.
Mikey exhaled, his chest tight, and for the first time it sank in.This was it. This was his life now. Not as a Council soldier. Not as some faceless cog.
But as something else.
A defector.
An unofficial one—but a defector all the same.