The car rushed quietly beneath the bridge tunnel, the dim light flickering across damp concrete walls.
Afternoon sun filtered in streaks, dust motes danced in the beams.
3:18 PM.
Cagaro's hands pressed lightly against the doorframe, excitement thrumming through him. This is it. Mid Strato, real mission, real danger… I'm actually here.
His pulse raced, chest tight with anticipation and nerves but the thrill outweighed fear.
Henry sat perfectly still in the back, leaning against the seat, eyes closed. Straight posture, hands folded loosely, as if the world outside didn't exist. Occasionally, a breath signaled he was alive.
Blyke sprawled across the passenger seat, comic book in hand, expression half-absorbed, half-bored. "You would think we were going to a picnic." he muttered without looking up.
Arcee's hands gripped the wheel with practiced ease, silver-black hair catching a stray beam of sunlight.
Her smirk was constant, unreadable, a mixture of amusement and sharp readiness.
Cagaro stole glances at Henry and Blyke, trying to match their calm, but the racing of his mind made it impossible.
He gripped the seat tighter, smiling faintly. This is just the beginning, he thought. And I'll survive it. Somehow.
The tunnel ended and the car rolled into Mid Strato.
Cagaro's eyes widened, almost disbelieving. Buildings stretched upward like steel fingers piercing the foggy sky, arcologies spaced precisely—no closer than 200 kilometers from each other, each one massive enough to house entire districts within.
The Arcologies seemed like some artificial pyramids from outside. The paint on it was simply silver coloured. The roads were made of hard structures and were furnished by grass and plants by the sidewalks.
Roads glimmered with magnetic transit lines, hovercars streaking silently above the ground like liquid metal.
The mist lingered, dulling the sunlight but it didn't diminish the sense of order.
Every structure had purpose, every corridor a hidden system of surveillance and control.
Cagaro's chest tightened with excitement, but he forced himself to stay calm, patient. He knew that awe without focus was dangerous here.
Henry sat back in the car, hands folded, eyes closed as if he had seen it all before. Nothing fazed him.
Blyke flicked a page of his comic without looking up. "Mid Strato looks cleaner from this angle, I will give it that." he muttered.
Arcee's hands drummed lightly on the steering wheel, gaze scanning the buildings with mild interest. "It's impressive, you know?" she said casually. "However, clean doesn't mean safe."
Cagaro's mind raced quietly, cataloging every detail.
The spacing of arcologies, the patterns of transit, the hum of anti-grav lines. Inside him, a thrill mixed with calculation. This is real. This is Mid Strato. And we're going right into it.
He let himself smile slightly looking out of window, excitement tempered by patience. He had a mission to survive first.
Arcee eased the car to a stop beneath the shadow of a service overhang. The hum of Mid Strato traffic faded as she stopped the engine.
"That's as far as wheels go." she said, hopping out. With a few practiced motions, she guided the car into a recessed alcove, panels shifting, color dulling until it blended with the concrete like it had always been there.
They walked the rest on their feet.
The streets here were quieter. THE maintenance zones was forgotten by civilians in this Arcology.
After several minutes, they reached a rusted bulk door set into the base of the arcology. Thick. Old. No lights. No obvious sensors.
Arcee tugged at the handle. Nothing.
"Locked. From the inside."
Cagaro's spine stiffened. "So… guards?"
Henry studied the door, eyes tracing scratches, corrosion, the uneven welds. "If there were many guards" he said calmly, "A old door like this wouldn't be locked. They want traffic control, not isolation."
He tapped the metal lightly. "This door predates the current system. It's not paranoia. It seems it is very old and can be break."
Arcee grinned. "Hear that, Blyke? That ancient door is more romantic than you."
Blyke didn't look up. "Don't start it again."
"Oh, I'm just saying," she continued sweetly, "if a four-star veteran can't open an old door, maybe the stars really do mean useless."
Henry sighed. "Cagaro, walk with me."
They stepped aside as Arcee kept circling Blyke like a vulture with jokes. "Three years in Atlantis and still scared of manual labor?"
"Oooh, stoic. Love that. You brood like a discount hero."
Blyke's jaw twitched.
"Bet the door has more personality than you—"
Blyke's fist slammed forward, unnatural force blooming around it like pressure given shape. The ground vibrated wholely. Arcee vanished from the strike path an instant before impact. The door exploded inward.
Metal shrieked, hinges tore free, fragments skidding across the tunnel floor. Dust rolled out like a held breath finally released.
Blyke stood there, fist smoking away sweats in heat, breathing steady.
Henry turned back, unfazed. "See? This thing always works."
Arcee reappeared, clapping slowly. "I knew you cared."
Cagaro finally found his voice. "H-how did he do that?"
Henry glanced back as they stepped over twisted metal. "Wrath." he said simply.
"Anger isn't just emotion. It's a stressor—one of the strongest ones the brain knows."
Cagaro listened closely, eyes fixed on the fractured doorway.
"When anger spikes," Henry continued, "it overloads the nervous system. Research shows it can trigger migraines, especially migraines with aura. The brain floods itself trying to cope. Signals misfire, perception warps, strength gets misallocated for a brief moment. What happened to Blyke was a type of sensory migraine aura."
He nodded toward Blyke's fist. "For Impaired like us that misallocation becomes force."
"So… he didn't just punch harder." Cagaro murmured.
"No." Henry replied. "His body believed it had to break something to survive the stress. Wrath hijacked the system."
Blyke cracked his neck as they moved in.
"Do it again," he said flatly, "and I will kill everyone in this tunnel."
Arcee raised her hands innocently. "Noted. Won't emotionally abuse you near structural weak points."
The tunnel swallowed them lined with old cables and condensation dripping like a slow clock. Their footsteps echoed unevenly.
Blyke glanced at his watch, voice turning professional. "Entry time. Three-thirty PM."
Henry nodded once. "Mark it."
Cagaro felt the shift immediately. Jokes gone. Casualness stripped away. The air felt heavier, like they had crossed an invisible line.
As they moved deeper, Cagaro replayed Henry's words in his mind. Wrath as a trigger. Stress as power. Emotion as ignition.
He swallowed.
If anger could do that… what could fear, grief, or despair become?
The tunnel stretched forward, dark and waiting and Cagaro understood something new.