[DEAD MAN'S SWITCH: 719:54:59]
The silver skiff limped through the smog-choked canyons of the Taurus Sector. Here, the air wasn't thin and crystalline like in Aries; it was thick, tasting of iron filings and recycled sweat. The "Crush" was heavier here—a constant 1.5x gravity that kept the labor class grounded and their spines perpetually curved.
"Landing gear is jammed," Lyra muttered. Her hands were shaking as she fought the yoke. The lingering "Neural Echo" made her feel as if Kael's heartbeat was still drumming inside her own chest. "The Star-Hunters clipped our stabilization fin. We're going to have to 'pancake' into the Sump-Docks."
"Don't fight the gravity, Lyra. Use it," Kael said. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the Chronos-Drive. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of Lyra's childhood—the sterile, white hallways of the Gemini Spire, the feeling of being a "perfect" child in a world of clinical expectations.
He reached out, his hand glowing with a soft, pulsing platinum hue. He touched the floor of the skiff.
[TECHNIQUE: LOCALIZED BUOYANCY]
By slightly decreasing the Gravitational Constant in a three-meter radius around the ship's hull, Kael turned the 20-ton vessel into a feather. The skiff didn't crash; it drifted downward, settling onto a rusted landing pad with the sound of a sigh rather than a crunch.
The engines hissed into silence. The cockpit went dark, leaving only the rhythmic, crimson glow of the timer on Kael's chest to illuminate the space.
"We need to hide," Lyra said, her voice small in the darkness. She didn't move to unbuckle her seatbelt. "They'll be scanning for our heat signature. In the Taurus Sector, everyone is a snitch for a handful of 'Gravity-Credits'."
"I know a place," Kael said. "But you aren't going to like it. It's below the Sump-line. No filters. No recycled air. Just the 'Real Weight'."
They stepped out into the Sump-Docks. The transition was brutal. To Lyra, who had lived her life in the low-gravity "Penthouses" of the upper sectors, the 1.5x pull felt like an invisible hand pressing on her shoulders. She stumbled, her knees buckling.
Kael caught her.
For a moment, they were locked together—the Slum-born scavenger and the Fallen Princess. Through the residual link, a surge of raw, unedited emotion passed between them. Kael felt Lyra's intense vulnerability, a fear of "the dirt" that was almost phobic. Lyra felt Kael's sudden, protective instinct—a warmth that felt entirely too real.
She pulled away, her face flushing even in the dim, greenish light of the docks. "I can walk, Kael. I just... I'm not used to the planet's 'unfiltered' affection."
"The gravity doesn't care about your feelings, Lyra. It only cares about your mass," Kael said, though his voice was softer than before.
They moved through a labyrinth of steam-pipes and grinding gears until they reached a reinforced bulkhead marked with a faded 13. Kael punched a code into a rusted keypad. The door groaned open, revealing a workshop filled with salvaged tech and half-finished "Inertia-Engines."
"My sanctuary," Kael said.
Lyra looked around, her eyes widening as she saw the sheer amount of "Forbidden Tech" scattered about. "You've been building your own Protocol tools? Kael, if the High Overlords found this place, they'd nuke the entire sector just to be sure."
"They've been trying to nuke my spirit for twenty years," Kael said, setting the Chronos-Drive on a workbench. "This is just me fighting back with math."
The Conflict:
As the adrenaline faded, the "Neural Echo" began to distort. This was the side effect of a Sync—the "Cognitive Spillover." "Why did you do it?" Lyra asked suddenly. She was leaning against a stack of crates, watching the crimson timer on his chest. 719:40:12. "Why steal the Drive if you knew it had a fail-safe? You're a genius, Kael. You could have lived a comfortable life as a Sector-Engineer. Why commit suicide for a code?"
Kael stopped working on the ship's stabilizer. He turned, his platinum eyes reflecting the red pulse of the switch.
"Comfortable?" Kael laughed, a bitter, dry sound. "In the slums, 'comfortable' means you only lose two fingers to the machines instead of four. It means you only pay 40% of your soul to the Gravity-Tax. I didn't steal this to be a hero, Lyra. I stole it because I'm tired of being 'Calculated'."
He stepped closer to her. The air between them grew heavy—not from the Taurus gravity, but from the Interpersonal Tension.
"I saw your mind, Lyra," Kael whispered. "I saw why you defected. You didn't leave the Gemini Sector because you were 'erased.' You left because you couldn't stand the fact that your father was using the Arrays to predict the lives of every child in the sector. You left because you wanted to be a Variable."
Lyra's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "And look where it got me. Trapped in a basement with a dying man and a stolen galaxy."
"You're not trapped," Kael said, his hand hesitating before reaching out to brush a strand of silver hair from her face. "You're the only person in twelve sectors who isn't a part of the Overlords' equation right now."
Lyra didn't pull away this time. She leaned into his touch, her skin cold against his feverish, Protocol-heated hand. The romantic tension was a living thing—a "Zero-Sum" game where both sides were beginning to win.
BEEP. BEEP.
The Chronos-Drive on the table suddenly began to spin, emitting a low-frequency hum that vibrated the very air.
[WARNING: DATA UPLINK DETECTED]
[VIRGO-SIGNATURE ENCRYPTED]
"Kael," Lyra whispered, her eyes fixed on the device. "The Drive... it's not just a power source. It's a Beacon. Someone is talking to the Switch inside you."
A holographic projection erupted from the mercury-sphere. It wasn't a map or a code. It was a DNA-helix, and at its center, a single name was flashing in white-hot letters: LYRA.
Kael looked from the projection to the woman in his arms. The "Dead Man's Switch" on his chest turned from crimson to a blinding, lethal violet.
"Lyra," Kael said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, calculated tone. "Why is the 13th Protocol calling your name?"