Their footsteps echoed unevenly on the cobblestone street.
Henry walked loosely and crooked, hands in his pockets, Cagaro straight-backed still adjusting to the weight of everything he'd learned.
Henry broke the silence suddenly. "Hey," he said, glancing sideways. "How does it feel… having a friend?"
Cagaro looked at him, surprised. "I—what?"
Henry waved it off immediately. "Never mind." He chuckled, then added more quietly, "You are a nice person, Cagaro. Don't lose that."
Cagaro didn't answer right away. "You say that like it's temporary."
Henry smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Most people who join Organizations start like you. Cheerful and curious. Believing the world still negotiates."
He nudged a loose stone with his shoe.
"Then they learn what fixing the world actually costs. You get hit by those slippers for every truth you speak."
They walked a bit more. A vendor passed them pulling a cart of steaming buns. Cagaro watched the steam fade into the fog. "Did you change too?"
Henry hummed. "I think so. Hard to tell when you are inside the process." He tilted his head. "But I remember being lighter. Thought strength meant being seen."
Cagaro smiled faintly. "You are still loud, hehe."
"Professionally," Henry replied, deadpan. Then he sighed. "Last year, things really were crap. There was a civil war inside the 'Order of the Last Hand' organization."
Cagaro stiffened. He had heard about these on illegal webs.
"If I remember right," Henry went on, "it was about choosing a new leader. Ideals versus control. Old blood versus necessity." He shook his head. "Didn't matter how it started. What mattered was how many people it broke."
"An Organization fighting itself…" Cagaro murmured.
Henry nodded. "That's when people realize these groups aren't heroes. They are instruments." He glanced at Cagaro. "There are only eight Organizations that truly shape Kal'zhet. Eight that move borders without armies. The Atlantis is one of them."
"And the others?" Cagaro asked.
Henry smiled again this time sharper. "You will learn slowly. If you are lucky."
Henry cleared his throat. "You know" he said, awkwardly, "partnerships here don't usually last. People die or casually change as their perception about the environment does." He looked straight ahead. "So don't mistake this for permanence."
Cagaro nodded, then said quietly, "I understand, even temporary bonds matter."
Henry blinked. Then he laughed softly. "Yes. That is what makes them dangerous."
They hadn't gone far when Henry's step faltered.
Bzzzzzzzzzz
A soft bzzt came from his pocket. He frowned, then pulled out a slim black smartwatch. The screen pulsed once as he tapped it.
A pale-blue hologram bloomed above his wrist, light bending the fog around it. Static cleared, resolving into a woman's face—sharp eyes, tired posture, hair pulled back with clinical precision.
"Henry Ford," Dr. Karen Layles said, her voice calm but edged with urgency.
Henry straightened a little. "Morning, Doc. You look like you slept a whole three minutes."
"Four or six... whatever!" she replied dryly. "We are moving you again."
Cagaro leaned closer, curiosity barely contained.
Karen swiped a hand through the air. The hologram shifted, projecting layered schematics of a towering structure—an arcology piercing upward through the mist.
"Mid Strato." she continued. "Corporate housing and research compound. Hijacked approximately six hours ago."
Red markers blinked across the structure. Drones hovered in miniature, feeding fragmented visuals, corridors warped by strange growths, lights flickering in irregular patterns.
"Unnatural activity detected." Karen said. "Thermal distortions. Movement patterns inconsistent with baseline humans. High probability of Impaired involvement."
Henry exhaled slowly. "So not just a takeover like the battleship one."
"No," Karen agreed. "Likely a containment failure turned hostile occupation. The hijackers may not even know what they are anymore."
Cagaro felt his stomach tighten in curiosity.
Karen's gaze shifted slightly, as if reading off unseen data. "Team composition is set. Blyke Rhodes is being redirected. You, Henry, will lead field operations. Cagaro Kunero remains attached under supervision."
Cagaro blinked. Henry glanced at him, then back to the hologram. "And the fourth?"
"Another operative is en route," Karen said. "You'll meet her on approach."
Henry clicked his tongue. "Four people for an arcology. You are generous today."
"Efficient it is." Karen corrected. "Atlantis needs this resolved quietly. Mid Strato panic would cascade fast."
The hologram dimmed, then brightened once more. "Be advised," she added. "If the Impaired have crossed into Grandior thresholds, escalation protocols may apply."
"Misunderstood!" he gave a salute in diabolical way.
The projection dissolved, light folding back into the watch with a soft snap. Henry slipped it into his pocket.
Cagaro looked up at him. "Another mission already?"
Henry stretched his arms overhead, joints popping. "Breakfast is optional by the way but chaos is scheduled."
He glanced down at Cagaro, a grin returned. "Guess you will see Mid Strato sooner than planned."
Cagaro slowed his steps, the towers of Mid Strato looming clearer now in his imaginary vision.
"Thank you," he said. "All of you."
Henry glanced back, confused. "For what? We haven't even ruined the day yet."
Cagaro smiled faintly. "For letting me be here." He took a breath. "I was born in a town that doesn't even appear on maps anymore. A poor town in low Strato."
His fingers curled unconsciously. "I studied there under flickering lights. I trained there because I had no other place to go. Prada Military University wasn't a dream—it was an escape."
Henry listened without interrupting.
"I saw Mid Strato only in news feeds," Cagaro continued. "People who spoke about problems instead of surviving them."
He looked up as the imaginary arcology's silhouette sharpened. "Now I'm here. It feels… unreal. Like I walked into someone else's life."
Henry let out a short laugh. "Civilized, futuristic, advanced!" he muttered. "That is the marketing!"
He stopped, turned fully toward Cagaro. "All of this?" He gestured at the towers. "It's just polished shit. Same fear, same cruelty—just better lighting and fewer witnesses."
Cagaro didn't argue on his words.
Henry's voice dropped. "I didn't want this life. I didn't want to fix things that keep breaking themselves. But life's funny like that."
He tapped his chest once. "It gives you endurance instead of peace. And once you survive long enough, it hands you a bill."
He looked away. "So you pay it. Not because you're noble. Not because you're grateful." A pause. "Because you're still standing and others aren't."
"So that's what this is?" Cagaro asked quietly. "Payment?"
Henry shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just inertia. You keep moving because stopping would mean asking whether it was ever worth it."
He glanced back at Cagaro, eyes softer now. "Just don't mistake Mid Strato for heaven. It's only higher ground and nothing else."