The private transit pod shot straight down into the depths of Sector Nine, and the clinical white of the upper Omni Domain quickly disappeared.
Down here, the utopian illusion fell apart.
The air became heavy and smelled of ozone, hot copper, and the distinct, rotting stench of the Void. Large industrial pipes and sparking server banks created a dark, metallic canyon, while jagged, sickly-yellow tears in space began to bleed through the walls of reality.
Zen stood at the entrance of the maintenance sector, holding the secure weapons case Nyx had given him ten minutes ago.
"I will not lock you in a room," Nyx had told him before he left, adjusting the lapels of his coat with terrifyingly obsessive care. "But you will take these."
She had handed him the case. Inside wasn't just a weapon.
