Pending Rewards
The delay was not accidental.
Brenda knew that the moment the broadcast arrived.
She stood in a narrow observation chamber three levels above Compartment Ten, one hand resting lightly against the glass as the CNC interface unfolded before her. Lines of data scrolled in disciplined columns, each tagged, time-stamped, and approved through redundant verification layers.
Everything looked clean.
That was the problem.
"Post-descent recalibration in progress," the system announced again.
"Reward distribution pending. Rank adjustments temporarily frozen."
Pending was not a word the CNC used lightly.
It was a holding pattern. A way to let pressure dissipate without acknowledging the source.
Brenda exhaled slowly through her nose. Sector Nine had never been meant to produce this. The trial was brutal, yes, but brutality was expected. Casualties were expected.
What wasn't expected was silence in the data where causality should have been.
She toggled her private console, pulling up comparative projections. Survival curves. Stress thresholds. Psychological decay models.
They all fit.
Barely.
"They're trying to smooth it over," she murmured. "Like it was a rough landing."
A figure moved in her peripheral vision. Nathan Varr stepped into the chamber, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"You're thinking too loudly," he said.
Brenda didn't look at him. "You're thinking too narrowly."
Nathan leaned against the opposite wall. "Thirty-six survived. That's within acceptable variance."
"Variance assumes a stable baseline," Brenda replied. "Sector Nine wasn't stable."
Nathan's jaw tightened. "We don't have proof of instability."
Brenda finally turned. "We never do. That's the point."
Below them, Compartment Ten began to stir as candidates were released from rest pods in staggered intervals. Brenda watched the movement patterns closely. No one clustered. No one relaxed into familiar habits.
Fear had rearranged them.
On her screen, individual candidate profiles updated with temporary status markers.
PENDING
PENDING
PENDING
She scrolled.
Raghu's profile flickered differently.
Not an error. Not a warning.
Just a delay that felt… intentional.
"Have you seen this?" she asked quietly.
Nathan stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he read the overlay.
Status: Compatible — Monitoring Ongoing
"That's not a reward," he said.
"No," Brenda agreed. "It's a placeholder."
"For what?"
She shook her head. "For something the system doesn't want to define yet."
Nathan straightened. "You're projecting."
"Maybe," she said. "But the train isn't."
As if summoned by the thought, the ambient hum shifted. Not louder. Just… angled. Brenda felt it in her teeth, a faint vibration that suggested alignment rather than motion.
Nathan noticed too. He always did.
"Route change," he said.
The console confirmed it a second later.
UNSCHEDULED REROUTE DETECTED
DESTINATION: STATION OF RECORDS
AUTHORIZATION: CORE
Nathan frowned. "No request logged."
"Of course not," Brenda said. "Requests are for things you can refuse."
In Compartment Ten, the delay hit differently.
Ayush paced a precise rectangle near the wall, steps measured, controlled. His Halo Watch displayed a rotating calibration ring, refusing to settle.
"Pending," he said softly, as if testing the word. "They freeze ranks when they don't want anyone to move."
Vedant snorted from where he leaned against a pillar. "Or when they don't know what to give."
"Same thing," Ayush replied.
Gudi sat cross-legged on the floor, chin propped in her hands, watching the ceiling lights pulse faintly out of rhythm. "I don't like it," she said. "Usually when they delay rewards, it's because they're changing the rules."
Mira hugged her knees nearby, silent.
Raghu stood apart, close enough to hear but far enough not to be pulled in. His Halo Watch remained dim, no new notifications appearing.
He tapped the interface manually.
Nothing.
He frowned and tried again.
Still nothing.
Then, just as he was about to lower his hand, a line of green text flickered briefly across the display.
Monitoring Ongoing
No sound. No explanation.
Raghu's throat tightened.
He looked up instinctively, half-expecting to catch someone watching him.
No one was.
And yet, the train hummed in response, a low vibration that seemed to pass through him rather than around him.
Across the compartment, a candidate slammed his fist against the wall.
"That's it?" he snapped. "We lose people, we break ourselves, and they tell us to wait?"
No alarms triggered. The wall absorbed the impact without comment.
Harry's voice came over the intercom, calm and level.
"Maintain composure. Recalibration requires stability."
"Stability," the candidate echoed bitterly. "After that?"
No answer came.
Raghu closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the Verdant Pulse stirred faintly, responding not to intent, but to proximity. The metal floor beneath his boots adjusted imperceptibly, compensating for a stress point he hadn't noticed forming.
He swallowed.
This wasn't power the way the others had it.
It was… permission.
In the observation chamber, Brenda watched the same moment play out through a dozen sensor feeds.
"See that?" she said quietly.
Nathan followed her gaze. "Micro-adjustment in structural lattice. Trigger source… candidate proximity."
"Raghu," Brenda said.
Nathan didn't argue.
Below, the intercom chimed again.
"Attention. All cleared candidates will proceed to assigned compartments. Further instructions will be delivered upon arrival at Station of Records."
The message ended there.
No timetable. No explanation.
Just inevitability.
As the survivors began to move, Raghu felt the weight of the delay settle fully. Not as fear, not as anger.
As expectation.
Whatever the train was waiting for, it wasn't finished listening.
And whatever rewards were coming, they were no longer meant to comfort.
They were meant to prepare.
Far ahead, unseen rails adjusted once more, guiding the Doom Train toward a station that did not exist in any public registry.
The system marked the moment with a single, silent update.
STATE: UNRESOLVED
The word lingered.
Pending.