Fractured Threads

Orion pressed his back against the rusted fire escape railing, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The city below stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of glowing streets, malfunctioning neon signs, and flickering holograms casting distorted reflections on the rain-slick pavement. The air was thick with static, an unnatural charge still lingering from his encounter with the unknown figure.

His mind reeled.

Anomaly. Error. You should not exist.

The words rattled in his skull, looping like a corrupted data file. What the hell had that meant? Why had the Eschaton Judge retreated? And more importantly—what was that other being? It had felt similar to the Judges, yet... different. Its presence had warped reality in a way he had never experienced before, as if it existed between dimensions.

Orion exhaled, forcing his racing thoughts into some semblance of order. He needed answers. And there was only one place in the city where he might find them.

The UnderNet.

A network buried beneath layers of encrypted code and secrecy, home to outlaws, rogue AIs, and those who had slipped through the cracks of society. If anyone had data on beings like the Judges or that thing from the rooftop, it would be there.

He pushed himself upright, muscles still aching from his brush with oblivion. The fire escape groaned under his weight as he began his descent, moving with practised efficiency. Years of navigating the city's underbelly had made him quick, and precise. He reached the ground without incident and melted into the shadows of the alleyway.

The streets were alive with the pulse of the city. Hover drones zipped past, scanning pedestrians with unblinking red optics. Vendors peddled synthetic food from neon-lit stalls, their voices drowned out by the ever-present hum of malfunctioning infrastructure. The city felt like it was on the verge of collapse, held together by decaying circuits and unfulfilled promises.

Orion moved with purpose, weaving through the crowds, and avoiding security checkpoints. The UnderNet wasn't accessed through conventional means—it required a physical connection, an entry point deep within the heart of the city's ruins. And that meant heading to The Spire.

A towering monolith of forgotten technology, The Spire was a graveyard of past civilizations. Its exterior was riddled with scars from past conflicts, a skeleton of steel and circuitry that no longer served its original purpose. What lay beneath, however, was invaluable—remnants of old networks, abandoned research facilities, and hidden archives long erased from official records.

Orion approached the perimeter cautiously. The entrance was a gaping maw in the structure's base, leading into an abyss of tangled wires and shattered data terminals. The place reeked of damp metal and ozone. He pulled his hood tighter over his head and stepped inside, his footsteps swallowed by the silence of forgotten history.

The deeper he went, the colder the air became. The glow of his wrist-bound interface provided the only source of light as he navigated through collapsed corridors and debris-laden pathways. Finally, he reached his destination—a derelict server room, its walls lined with broken monitors flickering with residual energy.

He knelt by the central console, fingers flying over the interface as he patched into what remained of the system. Static flooded the screen, lines of corrupted code cascading in chaotic patterns. Then, after a few tense seconds, a distorted voice crackled to life.

"Access detected... Welcome back, Ghost."

Orion smirked despite himself. The UnderNet had recognized him.

"I need information," he said. "Eschaton Judges. And something else... something worse."

A pause. Then, the screen shifted, displaying fragmented data—glitches in recorded history, suppressed reports, and classified files that should not exist.

As Orion scanned the information, his stomach twisted. This was bigger than he had imagined.

He wasn't just an anomaly.

He was part of a war that had already begun.

To be continued...