Chapter 12: The Tannel project

Q had heard of this place—the infamous Tanel Street. A shadowy, unregulated alley tucked away in one of the farthest circles, circle 4. 

The stories were murky, but the most intriguing detail stood out: no authorities dared to enter, at least not with an uniform. Total freedom reigned.

Such a place might conjure images of chaos and violence, but while there was no shortage of eccentricities, it was curiously free of brutality. Some claimed the residents lived in fear that the authorities might seize their tenuous grasp on liberty if they pushed too far. But Q knew better. True anarchy never looked this organized. Something about Tanel Street was deliberately crafted, a mystery left deliberately unsolved.

Across the circle, it had gained notoriety as a haven for indulgence, curiosity, and unrestrained pleasure. Its continued existence seemed to defy all logic and reason.

So, when Q overheard the architect speaking about the "Tanel Project," his interest sharpened.

The man's face grew increasingly flushed, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but his words were rapid and urgent—so much so that Q realized this would be his only opportunity to learn the truth.

"The Tanel Project is, without a doubt, my most groundbreaking work," the architect began, his voice laced with both pride and bitterness. "And I can't even claim it as mine. 'Classified,' they said. Everything is 'classified' with those people. A gaggle of bureaucrats—it's maddening."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "At first, they told me to design a town inspired by Little Italy. I thought it strange, given how poor this sector was. Who would even care about such a place? Initially, I assumed it was a cozy retreat for some high-ranking officers. But then I saw the technology. That was no military installation, no sir. You wouldn't believe the sophistication—the surveillance systems, hidden corridors, smoke diffusion setups in nearly every room, every alley, even the sky is fake, we can make it rain, thunder, red for that's matter. And the strangest part? The entire place was sealed. Completely, with only one access, by a tiny discreet door on Tannel street." 

He paused, his fingers tightening around his glass. "For an engineer, recognition is everything. I was young, ambitious. My family had sacrificed to elevate our status, back in time one can not move up with his relatives as of now, it was a one person thing." He exhaled sharply, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "But this project? It was designed to vanish, concealed from public view. If they'd been honest upfront, I would've demanded triple—or found a way to turn it to my advantage. Circle Two bureaucrats, always scheming."

The architect stared into his wine, swirling it as though searching for answers in its depths.

Then, a figure approached the table. To Q's surprise, instead of presenting a bottle, she extended her arm, revealing a mechanism beneath her sleeve. She poured the wine directly, her movements practiced but uncanny. The process, though strange, left the wine remarkably intact.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. The figure, sensing the unease, bowed slightly in apology and withdrew.

Without prompting, the architect continued, his voice darker now, heavy with unspoken truths.

"Tanel Street wasn't built for freedom. It's designed to control an entire population on a scale you wouldn't believe." He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Q's. His eyes, a striking azure, seemed to cut through the air like a blade. "In fact Tannel street is the strange result to a legal abnormality, it's in fact like part of the circle 3 territory inside circle 4, a kind of consultate isolated and unknow, those poor bastard have no idea they are walking by one of the worst abomination of human kind" he added "so far" still watching in the distant robe of his wine, he naturally cleaned with his finger a drop of wine at the edge of this one and put it to his mouth. 

"But how?" Q asked, his voice steady despite the growing dread.

"If you're born there, your life is a construct," the architect replied bluntly. "They don't know it, but everything is fabricated. They believe they're free—like the people of your era once did. Poor souls."

He sighed deeply, his gaze turning hazy as though reliving memories he would rather forget. "They're given whatever the clients desire. Education. Jobs. Families, even. But it's all an illusion. They're nothing more than toys for the elite."

"A human zoo?" Q asked, the words bitter on his tongue.

"Animals are treated better," the architect muttered, his voice thick with disdain.

Before Q could press him further, the man's head slumped forward onto the table. The wineglass tipped over, shattering as it hit the ground.

Q sat back, watching the architect's unmoving form. He knew that was all he would get—at least for now. Fortunately he was still breathing, snoring even. 

Q asked for something stronger.