The rain blurred everything.
Street signs, car headlights, the shape of the world beyond the hospital gates—it all ran together like ink in water. Eli crossed the street with his head down, his hood clinging to his face. Every few steps, water splashed into his shoes from some hidden puddle. He didn't look up.
The restaurant was one of those places you walk past a hundred times and never notice. Faded red sign, one flickering lightbulb above the door. He pushed the door open. It gave with a reluctant creak.
Inside, it was warmer, but not welcoming. The air smelled of boiled cabbage and wet cloth. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. There were only four tables. One of them, near the window, was empty.
That's the one she'd mentioned.
He slid into the seat, keeping his damp hoodie on. His hands were cold. He folded them on the table to keep them from shaking. The Formica tabletop was sticky.
He hadn't asked for this meeting. The woman had called him using a private line. Just a name, a time, a place. No reason.
He hadn't said yes.
He'd just shown up.
Outside, a bus rumbled past, spraying water up the glass. It smeared the reflection of his face—tired eyes, colorless skin. He looked like someone in the middle of falling apart, just not fast enough to notice.
A waitress came by, wiped the table half-heartedly, and left without asking for his order.
He sat like that for five minutes. Maybe ten.
Then the door opened behind him.
He didn't need to turn to know it was her. The sound of the rain changed as she entered—like the weather paused for her.
Footsteps approached. Unhurried. Steady.
She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down without adjusting her coat. Gray wool, perfectly dry. Her black hair was tied back, face pale under the weak light. Her eyes moved once across the room, then locked on him.
"Mr. Mercer," she said. Her voice was low, without temperature. "I'm Dr. Fang Qin. Thank you for coming."
Fang Qin didn't remove her coat. She didn't order anything.
She placed a slim black folder on the table between them, and let it sit there like a quiet ultimatum.
"I'll be direct," she said. "Your mother requires a Li-AuCrite neural stabilizer. Current market value is 7.4 million yuan. Including the surgical procedures, stabilization therapy, and long-term neural recalibration—just over nine."
Eli's eyes twitched.
He hadn't said anything since she arrived.
"We've reviewed all registered donors, public programs, insurance networks. No coverage. No appeal."
She tapped the folder once.
"There's one available solution. You sign this contract, and we provide full coverage. Treatment begins within seventy-two hours. Implant included."
"And if I don't?" Eli asked, voice dry.
Fang didn't blink. "Then we assign her case status: Non-Priority Terminal. And she won't survive the next year"
Silence stretched between them.
Rain trickled down the window. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed softly.
Eli's jaw tightened. "So it is a threat."
"No," Fang said. "It's a system. You fall outside the protection of it. I'm offering you a window back in."
She opened the folder. Thin, semi-transparent contract pages flickered faintly with embedded circuitry. The title on the first line read:
"Volunteer Descent Protocol – SINK_947-A"
Her fingertip hovered over the second paragraph.
"You will be enrolled in the Deep Earth Extraction Program, Phase V. Duration: unspecified. Risk: classified. Probability of fatality: high."
She paused, met his eyes.
"You are the only current civilian who meets neuro-body compatibility with internal node S-96. That makes you viable."
Eli stared at her.
"You think I care about nodes?" he said, sharper now. "You think I'll sign myself to die because I'm… what? Compatible?"
Fang's tone didn't change.
"No. I think you'll sign because you have no other option."
She let that sit for a moment. Then she added, quietly:
"This isn't about guilt, Mr. Mercer. This is just the last place where your choice still exists."
The car was waiting just down the block, engine humming low, black paint slick with rain. No plates. No logos. Just a shape waiting in the dark.
Eli didn't speak as he followed her. She didn't look back.
The backseat was surprisingly spacious, but not comfortable. Plastic seats, steel floor, walls too clean. It didn't smell like a car. It smelled like a lab—sterile and faintly chemical.
Fang sat across from him, already pulling up the interface on a matte display panel embedded in the wall. Blue light bloomed between them. Lines of text scrolled across the projection. His name was already at the top.
"I need verbal consent," she said. "Then signature. Then the neural prep sequence begins."
Eli didn't move.
The contract had no euphemisms. He read, slowly:
'Volunteer hereby forfeits survivorship claims. Death, if confirmed, will not be disclosed to family.'
'Treatment coverage activates only upon confirmation of task entry. If volunteer is disqualified, coverage is revoked retroactively.'
'No contact, legal appeal, or exit clause permitted during term of operation.'
His hand hovered over the projected signature field.
"This is…" he started, then stopped. "This is insanity."
Fang didn't blink. "It's the cleanest version we've ever written."
The cursor pulsed.
He thought of his mother's breathing. How small she looked in that hospital bed. The look she gave him when she said nothing, because she trusted him to understand.
He signed.
The projection dimmed. The interface retreated into the panel.
Fang reached into a small black case and withdrew a sealed injector.
"This will initiate synchronization between your S-96 node and program architecture. You may experience minor hallucinations, sensory disruption, or temporary memory drift. Do not resist it."
She pressed it into his neck before he could respond.
A click.
Then burn.
The fluid was ice-cold, and it didn't stop at his bloodstream. It coiled up his spine like wire, like fingers. His limbs trembled. His teeth clenched. The car, the lights, her face—all melted inward.
Then—
A sound.
Not in his ears, but behind them. A frequency like something trying to speak without words. Not language. Just intent.
Blue light.
Shapes forming, then fragmenting. Circuits, neurons, names that weren't names.
Somewhere deep in the noise, he heard himself say something.
But it wasn't his voice.
Then it stopped.
His chest was wet with sweat. His tongue tasted metal. His vision buzzed at the edges.
Fang Qin was watching him closely.
"You're linked."
———
He came to with a start.
The taste of metal was still in his mouth. His head throbbed in pulses, like something deep inside his brain was adjusting its shape. For a second, he wasn't sure if he was awake at all—or if this was still part of the injection's aftermath.
The interior of the transport was different.
Dim amber lights buzzed overhead. The seat beneath him was thin, military-grade foam wrapped in cheap vinyl. Across the aisle, a man in his twenties sat with a duffel bag at his feet, staring blankly ahead. Next to him, an older woman kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, knuckles white.
There were maybe eight of them. No one spoke.
Eli shifted, felt a belt across his waist. He was buckled in. Outside the window: fences. Floodlights. Watch towers. A rusted crawler crane passed by, haloed in fog. They were no longer in the city.
A quiet hum filled the vehicle—not the engine, but something deeper. Mechanical. Subterranean.
Then: motion at the front. A shadow stepped into view as the cabin door hissed open.
Dr. Fang Qin.
She didn't enter fully. Just enough to look down the aisle, scanning each face as if checking for signs of failure.
When her eyes met his, she gave the smallest nod.
"You are the only viable link to S-96," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "But you're not the only one going in."
She turned without waiting for a reply. The door sealed behind her with a hiss.
The truck rolled forward again.
Eli didn't look around. He kept his eyes forward, hands on his knees, breathing slow.
The others shifted in their seats, quiet as ghosts.
Outside the window, a row of red warning lights flickered along a descending tunnel mouth—half-hidden by smoke and metal scaffolding. The road dipped. Then the light disappeared.
They were going under.