Chapter 1: The Capture

“Identify,” stated the cool, female voice.

“Y-26-X-473,” I recited.

“Scan,” responded the voice.

I pushed my arm into the blinking device and closed my eyes, waiting for the familiar jab of pain. A microscopic needle punctured the crook of my elbow and a droplet of blood swelled up.

The usual three seconds passed. “Proceed.”

The gate in front of me slid open. I yanked my arm out and pulled my sleeve back down, barely noticing the smarting and the stain that would live alongside all the other blotches on my Builder uniform. The blood had bothered me at first—its very appearance from such a small wound a foreign sensation. But today was day 729, and that sensation had faded long ago.

I marched forward and disappeared into the mass of Builders funneling their way upwards, the worker behind me already striding up to the Mueck for his scan. Four flights, turn right, then seventy-three steps to station 473. I would not leave here for the next fourteen hours, save for bathroom reprieves and two fifteen-minute breaks for lunch and dinner.

No one ever complained. A lifetime spent toiling would never be enough to repay our debts to Mordiam, the First Protector and the Savior of Humanity.

***

The day started like it always did.

Because every day started like it always did.

The machines started up at six in the morning, sharp. The screen in front of me would show a picture of the task that I was responsible for that day. It was always something that needed screws, but I would only ever be responsible for one of them. And then I would fix that same screw into the same position for fourteen hours straight as the same part appeared again and again on my section of the conveyor belt.

My station had walls on both sides, so I couldn’t interact with the person beside me. The steel flap in front of me only opened when my task was to be performed, but I sometimes caught glimpses of the person across from me, depending on whether the metal part was large or small that day.

Today was a medium-sized part. Up close, I could see it was some kind of vessel, since the bottom curved inward. My job was to tighten one of the screws at the top. The work was meaningless, of course, but I still held my breath while fixing each screw to ensure I did it perfectly. It had taken me twenty-three months just to make it to this point, and I needed them to trust me enough to let me into the mechanics hall—it was the most imperative part of my plan.

Everything was going as it mind-numbingly should’ve been that morning when, suddenly, screams erupted from somewhere in the building. I jumped in alarm, the drill slipping by a fraction in my hands. Beatings were a common occurrence at The Haven, but screaming?

I risked a quick glance at 474—the Builder who worked across from me. Like me, she was an average-looking brunette in her early twenties. Though, unlike me, she was completely unfazed by the anomaly that was clearly taking place somewhere in this building.

The metal door in front of me closed and reopened, waiting for me to perform my assigned task. I raised the drill in my hand, my unease growing by the second.

An explosion shook the building, and I abandoned all pretenses of feigning interest in my work this time. My senses sharpened synchronously, my mind reevaluating the viability of each exit within seconds.

"Builders, attention on your stations-" started the Protector at the door, but he stopped suddenly.

Something had changed in the air, as though someone had opened a valve. The sirens sounded and the Builders all stopped, turning to the Protector for instruction as we had been trained.

Gas filled the room, and the Builders around me fell unconscious, dropping one by one to the floor. The blood thudding in my ears blocked out the sound of the wailing, and I felt a familiar sense of disembodiment as my reflexes took over, repressing all emotion and pulling me into a crouch. I slid behind the station leg and peered around it.

What I saw next made me certain I was dreaming.

Two people—soldiers—clad in black combat gear from head to toe, appeared out of nowhere. They materialized while airborne, as if they had leapt through some invisible gate in midair.

While the two of them fell from the sky, the taller, broader one threw a sharp object that seemed to emerge out of nothing.

It sliced clean through the Protector's neck, his muzzled head sliding off slowly and landing with an unceremonious thump on the ground. And then, instead of hitting the wall behind the Protector as it should have, the sharp object simply vanished.

Erastasians.

The two soldiers landed with expert dexterity, completely silent. The smaller one put her hand on the ground before a strange pulse echoed through the room. A split-second later, two more soldiers appeared beside them.

“Comms are out,” a male voice said. “Perimeter secure.”

“Scan complete,” announced another. “Negative.”

“All right, then let's bag one and go,” ordered the smaller one—the woman. Her accent was unfamiliar to me—as were those of the others who had spoken.

They were so tall, so built. Even without a single inch of skin exposed, I could tell only pure muscle lay beneath. Especially the men—their shoulders had to be nearly twice as wide as mine. And the way they moved: fast, lithe, precise. The Protector hadn’t stood a chance.

Something flickered inside of me, but it withered away before I could reach for it.

Follow the Call.

Four helmet-clad heads whipped in my direction and froze.

“Didn’t you set the gas?” one of the male soldiers asked.

“Of course I did. Look around you,” the other responded, gesturing to the ground where all the Builders lay, unconscious.

“Then why is one awake?” the first one shot back sardonically.

The woman was silent, approaching me slowly as a predator would.

When she reached a few feet away from where I was crouched, she stopped, standing eerily still. I heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Thalix above,” was all she said. I couldn’t see a glint of what might be hidden beneath that helmet—her visor was down and tinted completely black.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a tone I couldn't place before clenching her hand in a fist.

Instinct had me tensing, gauging whether I could still make a run for it. Could you run from a dream? But my thoughts grew fuzzy, my breathing short. I strained against it, though it was no use. My limbs felt leaden and I was suddenly so, so tired.

In the last second before my eyelids slid shut, I saw the woman reach for me.

This was definitely not a dream.