The air was thick, heavy with the weight of something unseen, pressing in like the hush before a storm. A faint metallic tang clung to the silent room, mixing with the stale scent of sweat and damp fabric. Sheets twisted around a restless body, clinging to the wet skin, ensnaring the body in a firm grip, unwilling to release its grasp.


    The presence that felt like a thought without form or meaning conceptualized in the mind of the man wrapped tightly in the soaked prison. An idea that didn’t truly belong. It pressed against the edges of awareness, shifting like a half-remembered dream, bleeding into the waking world.


    The moment he tried to focus on it, it retreated, dissolving into the shadows pooling at the edges of the room. Yet, its presence remained, not fully gone, yet never fully real. It lingered, pressing against his mind like an unfinished thought, like a task left incomplete before sleep. Something pulling at the edges of him, faint as a breath against the skin, an intangible pressure on his being, just beneath perception.


    Come with me


    Lucien sprang awake, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his suntanned skin, pooling into the damp mattress beneath him. The cooling moisture clung to his back as he sat up, breath ragged.


    Shadows twisted in the corners of his room, retreating the moment he tried to focus on them. Only now did he realize he was still screaming.


    A sharp gasp tore from his throat as he forced air into his lungs. Trembling, he ran a hand through his curly brown hair, wiping the sweat from his forehead.


    His fingers cramped as he reached for the bedside lamp, flipping it on with a shaky breath. The dim light spilled lazily across the cluttered room, its glow barely enough to push back the remnants of his nightmare.


    His bed was soaked, his throat parched, his head pounding like a war drum.


    With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge and stood, peeling the damp sheets away from his skin.


    He could never remember the dreams, not fully. But the terror always lingered, an aftershock that left his muscles aching, his lungs tight, the phantom weight of something crushing his chest.


    Even now, awake, he could still feel them lurking just beyond his vision, as if watching from the shadows, waiting.


    The door creaked open, spilling a sliver of warm light from the living room into his nightmarish tomb of a bedroom. The shadows hesitated, clinging stubbornly to the edges of the walls.


    "God damn, man," came the familiar, teasing voice of his roommate, thick with sleep. "With a voice like that, they should station you as an air raid siren." A yawn followed, then a pause. "Did you piss the bed or what?" His tone carried the usual mix of playfulness and mild disgust.


    Lucien rubbed his eyes and looked up, meeting Jan’s perpetually drowsy gaze.


    "Shut up, Jan," he muttered, voice rough. "It’s just sweat."


    Janus—though no one ever called him that, not even his parents—leaned against the doorframe, his finger briefly touching the back of his ear, blinking a few times, his blond brows lifted slightly.


    "Ah, fuck it. It’s already half past six. Get ready; I’ll make some coffee. Come out when you’re done, bedwetter." He yawned again, turning toward the kitchen.


    Lucien grabbed his balled-up sheet and threw it at him, but it unfurled midair, drifting uselessly to the floor like a deflated ghost.


    His room was as uninspiring as ever—boring white walls, a mass-produced gray closet, a black desk, a chair, and his stationary PC, which he barely used anymore.


    The only real signs of life were the ever-growing tower of empty energy drink cans and the mountain of unwashed clothes in the corner, both silently begging for attention.


    With fresh linens on the bed, he got dressed, only to realize he was out of clean socks.


    He sighed, dug through the pile, and settled on the least offensive used pair he could find, and got into the living room. Getting handed a tumbler filled with freshly brewed coffee.


    “Thanks man, it’s just what I need” Lucien said with a smile. “We really need to clean up the apartment though”. He looked around at the cluttered living room. “It smells like something died in here”.


    Jan looked up from his own cup “I think that’s just the smell of your socks dude”.


    Not long after, they were heading out of the apartment.


    As they passed the blue screen at the foot of the stairs, they both beeped themselves out. The scanner chirped in acknowledgment.


    "Maybe you should talk to someone about these dreams," Jan said in deep thought. "I mean, you’ve had them as long as I’ve known you. And that’s been a while."


    Lucien scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "And who exactly would that be?" he shot back, sharper than intended. "What’s a shrink gonna do about nightmares I can barely remember?"


    The automatic doors whispered shut behind them. Outside, the city moved like clockwork, pedestrians hurrying toward the train, shoulders hunched against the light drizzle. Their conversation stalled as they stepped into the flow of bodies, swallowed by the steady hum of morning life. They turned left and walked to catch the NS line.


    "There’s no need to get pissed," Jan said, nudging him with his elbow. "I’m just trying to help."


    "I know, man, I know. I’ve just slept like shit…"


    "For four years," Jan finished for him with a smirk.


    Lucien let out a short, tired laugh. "Yeah, more or less." He took a sip of his coffee mid stride, savoring the bitter warmth.


    They walked in silence for a few minutes, passing what appeared to be the same apartment building again and again, in between each building, a park or another recreational area was strategically placed. As they came closer to the train station, Jan picked up the conversation again. "I wasn’t actually talking about a shrink," he said.


    Lucien, lost in his own thoughts, barely registered the words. "Huh?"


    Jan grinned. "Before, you said, what’s a shrink gonna do—" He twisted his voice into an exaggerated, slow-witted imitation of Lucien.


    Lucien snorted. "Oh, right”. They began walking up the stairs, while a long line of people stood idle on the escalator right next to the staircase, looking into their phones, or simply staring right ahead, as if they were long away in thought.


    "What I meant was, maybe you could talk to one of the professors or students working on those sleep studies at the university." Jan was taking two steps at a time as he ascended towards the platform.


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    Lucien raised an eyebrow in hot pursuit of Jan. "That’s… actually not a bad idea. When did you develop a brain?"


    “Fuck you,” Jan shot back with a grin, stepping over the platform into the train cabin that would take them to the university.


    “Stand clear of the platform,” an automated female voice said in a flat, emotionless tone.


    After a brief delay, the cabin surged forward and attached itself to the back of the main tram.


    “Looks like they still haven’t fixed that screen,” Lucien said with a grin, pointing at a cracked monitor as they crossed into the first cabin. “Tell me—did you ever manage to score that brunette in the end, after that glorious feat of acrobatics?”


    “Well… no. No, I didn’t,” Jan said, blushing a little but trying to keep his head high.


    They moved through the first cabin and into the next, finally finding an empty spot to sit down.


    It was less crowded than usual, but just as grimy. They found seats in one of the cubicle containers, facing each other. Lucien hated riding backwards—it made his stomach churn—but it was still better than standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers for fifteen minutes.


    “It would have been a truly glorious showing of your somersaults” Lucien chuckled, “if you’d just been aware of your surroundings and not smacked that poor monitor with your leg.”


    Jan’s face darkened. “I busted my nose and my leg! And you’re just sitting there laughing.”


    He gestured dramatically at Lucien, faking offense. “Let’s see how far you get in class without me helping you understand it afterwards because you’re always so tired”.


    “Hey! You know I love you, don’t be like that. I need your help!” Lucien said lightly, still laughing.


    “You should have thought of that earlier” Jan smiled, crossing his arms.


    Across from them, two women in their mid-twenties whispered gossip with voices laced in judgment. One of them looked up briefly, raising an eyebrow before quickly turning back to their conversation. Clearly not interested—more enthralled in the latest gossip.


    After a minute or so more of Lucien and Jan taking stabs at each other the conversation slowed down again.


    Lucien leaned against the window, staring out at the city. Parks, walkways, and apartment buildings with porcelain-white facades and obsidian-black windows slid past in a seamless blur of design and greenery as the train raced through the second circle toward the city center.


    “Cabin detaching to Circle One, Outer Perimeter North, in one minute,” the same automated voice announced over the speaker system.


    A few passengers rose and hurried to the rear of the train. A soft hiss and the metallic click of decoupling followed, just as a new cabin attached itself to the back, filling quickly with commuters preparing to exit at the next junction.


    The train curved left, continuing clockwise around the city. From his seat, Lucien could see the graceful arcs of buildings and parks encircling the Central Hub, all framed by the deep green of the surrounding forest. Mansions dotted the terrain, standing apart from the hydroponic towers near the Inner Perimeter of Circle One. The view was breathtaking as always. The entire landscape looked like a massive bowl of forest and light, with sleek structures rising like polished stones from within.


    Lucien could make out three of the four massive gateways leading into the inner circle as the train hurtled toward the eastern platform. They passed the jagged scar cutting across the pristine symmetry of the structure at the very center of the city—Edu-4’s town hall. Though only a small part of the Central Hub, its once-immaculate white surface was now scorched black and gray from the bombing. Drones hovered around it, already repairing the damage, efficient and silent.


    “Still feels surreal,” Jan muttered beside him.


    Lucien nodded slowly. “Yeah, it really makes you wonder how far out of control things are getting. The Brotherhood has really increased their presence over the last couple of years”.


    Jan didn’t respond. He just stared at the rubble and reconstruction drones. He rarely spoke on political matters, especially when the brotherhood was involved, Lucien didn’t know why that was, but he didn’t want to pry.


    “Hard to believe we’ve lived here four years now, in fact... isn’t this the exact day we met for the first time?” Lucien said, breaking the comfortable silence while switching subjects.


    “Feels like eight,” Jan replied, managing a half-smile. “And I don’t know man, it’s not like we’re going to hold an anniversary party for being put together as roommates”.


    “Pff, I know you want this” Lucien said winking at Jan, rubbing his chest.


    “Ew”


    They had only been roommates at first, two mechanical engineering grads from different corners of the country tossed together by shear chance to further their education into programming. Neither of them had expected to become friends. But they both got a long great, both collaboratively and socially.


    Lucien remembered that first night, the awkward introductions over a pizza from the local dispensary, Jan quietly setting up his drone charger on the floor while Lucien tried to debug a compiler loop he’d broken at 2AM.


    “You sleep with the window open?” Jan had asked. “I can’t sleep with traffic noise.”


    “I don’t sleep much anyway,” Lucien had replied.


    Nothing had really changed on that part.


    Lucien and Jan both insisted they weren’t political, that this was just another war between people too consumed by their own righteousness. But wars had a way of pulling everyone in, whether they wanted it or not.


    A little over two decades ago, the old political system had been dismantled, replaced with a direct technocratic governance designed to eliminate inefficiency, bureaucracy, and corruption.


    It was supposed to mark the end of political deadlock, the end of endless debates that led nowhere, the beginning of a system where progress would no longer be strangled by self-interest and stagnation.


    Yet what should have been the death of bureaucracy became its final mutation. A hegemonic remnant, a power structure with no purpose beyond its own preservation. A system run by those unwilling to let the past die, propped up by a populace either too invested in the illusion of their last democratic choice to admit it had failed, or too distracted to realize the truth.


    Dissent had started quietly, voices rising in protest against a government that had outlived its necessity. At first, demonstrations flooded the streets—marches, speeches, carefully orchestrated rallies intended to demand reform.


    They were ignored by the majority. The government refused to acknowledge them, as did the media, brushing them aside like the empty cries of a misguided few. But when the protests persisted, when their numbers grew and their message spread, the first signs of fear rippled through the establishment. Determined to stamp out the movement before it could take hold, the government acted swiftly.


    Crackdowns became routine. Protesters were beaten and arrested. The message was clear, there would be no revolution, no correction, no grand course adjustment to put governance back in the hands of the people. But suppression does not erase resistance; it only reshapes it.


    What had begun as a public outcry dissolved into something far more dangerous—a hidden war waged in the shadows. Those who had once stood in the streets now moved unseen through the city''s underbelly, exchanging banners for explosives, chants for whispered plans.


    The government-controlled media referred to them only as a terror cell, stripping them of their cause and painting them as radicals without purpose beyond destruction. But to those who still believed in the fight, they had become something more.


    "It’s getting really crazy out there," he muttered. "You’d think by now, as a species, we’d have figured out how to stop killing each other."


    Lucien glanced at his friend’s despondent face. "I don’t know, man," he said, voice low. "I guess, in the end, we’re all kind of savage.. given the right reason. Or if you step on someone long enough." Jan lifted his head from where he’d been staring at his shoes, meeting Lucien’s gaze with narrowed eyes. It made him look both intense and, somehow, even sleepier than usual.


    "What do you mean?"


    "I mean, this isn’t just about that one night," Lucien said, shifting in his seat. "It’s a reaction—something building for decades. That attack was just the spark, but the fire was already there. Years of oppression, inequality. You can only push people so far before they push back."


    Jan exhaled through his nose. "We had it pretty good before this war broke out, man. It wasn’t perfect, but at least we felt safe."


    "Sure," Lucien admitted. "But feeling safe and being free aren’t the same thing. Just because life was livable doesn’t mean it was good. And let’s be real—there’s no guarantee it’ll be better even if the Brotherhood wins in the end. But for now—"


    "Tickets." The sharp voice cut through their conversation like a knife.


    Lucien and Jan snapped out of their thoughts, looking up to see the conductor standing over them, arm outstretched.


    A scanning device sat in his palm, a rectangular sensor glowing at the center. One after another, they pressed their wrists to the scanner. A soft beep signaled the transaction. The word "tickets" was a relic of the past—no one bought them anymore, in fact nothing could be bought at all.


    Travel was simply registered by the conductor. It could easily have been handled digitally when passengers boarded, but the system kept conductors employed. A job with no real purpose, just another cog in a machine designed to keep running.


    Something felt off, as the old man’s stomps left their immediate surroundings, the train compartment felt eerily quiet.


    Lucien glanced around. The other passengers were staring at them, eyes narrowed, expressions tense. They had been listening. "Let’s get out of here before we get in trouble for talking" he said under his breath, looking at Jan, while pointing at the other passengers using his eyes.


    They both stood and headed for the exit. The next stop wasn’t theirs, but walking the last 30 minutes was preferable to dealing with unnecessary questioning. They rushed to the cabin in the back, barely missing the detach. The cabin swayed gently to the left decelerating at a decent pace, till it came to a stop on the Circle 1, East platform.