THE AIR COLONY
Mani walks through the courtyard of National & International Studies Headquarters.
Glass, steel, and greenery blend seamlessly, retro urban architecture wrapped in modern sustainability.
The building breathes. Solar glass panels shimmer overhead, vines weave through polished concrete, and water features hum softly in the background.
LEED-certified brilliance.
Corporate precision meets quiet zen.
For a moment, Mani forgets the weight of the world outside.
As he crosses the campus, his thoughts drift—and he begins to tell his side of the story.
"The year is 2045."
America isn't whole anymore—not really.
It's fragmented. Divided into systems, ideologies, and territories that pretend to coexist.
The population keeps growing, at least on paper. In reality, it's being managed. Controlled. Trimmed and optimized like data in a server.
Governments always promise stability. They always fail.
And when they do, rebellion follows.
Doesn't matter which side you're on—there's always a bigger player watching both sides… and sometimes pulling the strings.
Roughly 65% of the population has been officially logged through the Global Census.
Those people can buy.
Sell.
Travel.
Live freely.
They belong to what's called the Democratic Republic in the States.
The remaining 35%?
Unregistered.
Restricted.
Forgotten.
Major cities across the former United States have been carved into Hub Cities—elite zones of advancement and surveillance. Technology there is decades ahead.
Citizens integrate directly with cloud-based A.I. systems that manage infrastructure, health, even cognition.
Some people have biological enhancements.
Others are nearly immune to disease.
On the surface?
"Sounds incredible," Mani exhales softly.
Also disturbing as hell.
(Still… he smiles to himself.)
I'm just grateful to be here.
(N.I.S HQ rises around him—alive with movement.)
Students. Mentors. Coaches. Researchers.
Some are barely older than him.
Others carry themselves like they've seen too much already.
The National & International Studies Program pulls together some of the world's sharpest minds. Students aged 15 to 25 are given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study, train, and innovate here.
Those aged 26 to 33 serve as mentors—chosen not just for intelligence, but adaptability.
Beyond them?
Only staff. Teachers. Coaches.
No outsiders.
No exceptions.
Security is absolute.
Mani slows his pace.
Oh—right.
I forgot one important detail.
This campus doesn't sit on land.
It floats!
The entire complex is part of humanity's boldest achievement to date—
the first large-scale airborne city ever sustained.
A miracle of engineering.
A gamble against gravity.
A statement to the world.
New Titus.
America's first Air Colony.
Suspended above the earth like a promise… or a warning.
Mani looks out over the edge of the courtyard, clouds drifting far below.
A quiet grin spreads across his face.
"Alright," he mutters to himself.
"TIME TO EXPLORE."
Moments later.
Mani is hunched over a toilet, gripping the porcelain like it personally betrayed him.
His stomach churns. The world spins just enough to be annoying—not enough to knock him out.
So this is what airborne cities feel like, he thinks bitterly.
He isn't alone.
The men's restroom echoes with dry heaves, coughing, and groans. A few other guys lean against sinks, pale and sweating. Whatever orientation didn't cover—this definitely wasn't in the brochure.
It's obvious now.
There were some things Mani—and a few others—missed before taking flight.
As Mani steps back into the corridor, still dizzy, a calm voice fills the campus over a widespread speaker system.
"All personnel, please be advised: New Titus has begun its ascent to glide upon the heavens."
Mani freezes.
"I assure you—if all policies and suggested behaviors are followed as stated in our Land's Declaration, your time here on New Titus will be that of what you only imagined."
The floor hums beneath his feet.
Not violently.
Not threatening.
Just… alive.
"Thank you, citizens of Titus. Please remember to respect and obey all safety policies, as outlined in Section 4.5.2. Be in peace."
Intercom clicks off.
Mani stands there, flabbergasted, flipping through his handbook with shaking hands.
Section 4.5.2.
Section 4.5.2.
Found it.
His eyes widen.
"Oxygen stabilization during ascent…" he mutters.
Heart racing, Mani reaches to his side—remembering the pouch he received upon entry.
He rips it open.
Inside: a compact first-aid kit… and an oxygen mask.
Of course.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mani notices another student struggling—fumbling with his pouch, breathing shallow, panic creeping in.
Mani rushes over.
"Hey—yo, let me help you."
The guy barely looks up.
"Did you read your manual?" Mani asks, trying to stay calm.
"Manual?" the guy gasps.
He freezes—eyes unfocused.
A flash of memory hits him: tossing his tablet aside, laughing, trying to flirt with a girl at orientation.
"Uhh… you read those things?" he wheezes.
"I ain't see that sh—"
Mani pulls up the handbook on his pad.
"No worries. Look—biometric release. Just tap the top."
The guy follows the instructions.
CLICK—POP!
The oxygen mask shoots out violently.
"Whoa—!" he fumbles, barely catching it before slapping it over his face.
He inhales deeply.
"Wheeeeeew."
He leans back against the wall, laughing through relief.
"Thanks, bro. That was crazy."
Then, squinting at Mani, smirking:
"But next time? You could just tell me. Got me reading while I'm dying."
Mani exhales, smiling.
"Fair."
Then he pauses.
Something about the kid feels… familiar.
Mani takes a closer look.
Curly hair.
Sharp eyes.
That voice.
At the same moment, the other boy tilts his head.
They lock eyes.
"…Jon?"
"…Amanuel?"
Both of them blink.
"Wait—you?!!"