I already feel my eye twitching. The camera cuts to a boxing ring. Some big bastard from the forges is standing there in a textbook stance. Opposite him is this skinny western cunt in a skin-tight technical suit, twirling a pocket watch like a complete bellend. The big lad throws a jab. The skinny bastard slips it like it's nothing, then cracks his leg out with a horrible metallic sound. The brawler drops like someone cut his strings, face-first into the canvas….
"AA-DRI-ANNNN!"
"Adrian!"
The room warps for a micro-second, the audio clipping into jagged static. I shake my head, rubbing my ears. It sounds like the wiring is fried again. The western lad catches his watch, dusts his trousers, and looks bored out of his mind.
"Effortless," the host purrs, literally stepping over the unconscious man. "One simple kinetic extension. Boxing is an obsolete, low-yield pastime for the uneducated dross who refuse to upgrade their machinery."
I nearly spat my drink across the desk. "You absolute fucking prick," I growl at the screen. "I'd love to see you say that shit to any lad down the Athletic."
The screen mocks me, yet my own lanky legs twitch with that sickening, instinctive weight, a hidden leverage I violently suppress every single round out of pure, stubborn pride. I know kicks are illegal in proper boxing anyway. Still… every time I see someone use their legs like that, my own feel strange. Like they want to move, like there's something there I've never properly tried. I shove the feeling down hard. I'm a boxer, not some fancy leg-twirling western cunt.
The host keeps waffling on about how dreams are just "loose slag clogging the mental furnace." I can feel my blood pressure climbing. I slam the lever down, killing the broadcast. As the room goes dark, I catch my reflection in the polished wood. For half a second my eyes flash black and blue. I blink hard. They're back to normal metallic grey.
"What the fuck was that?"
My eyes drift to a crumpled blueprint. There, in frantic ink, she's written 67%. I look down at the desk and see the same two numbers freshly carved into the wood right beside my spanner. I don't remember touching a knife today.
A low, rhythmic vibration suddenly fills the room. The strange brass device I have been working on is pulsing on my workbench, deep and steady, almost like it's breathing….
"En-rii-que-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
The table groans under the pressure of the pulse. I glance at the brass casing, annoyed, then just turn back to my drink. That thing moves like it's obeying a law older than the Mandate itself. People say the Mandate isn't just about keeping us in line. They say it's keeping something from crawling up out of the deep ocean abyss. Of course, saying that out loud is how you end up in a correctional facility, so nobody says it.
The device starts humming louder. Then my comms line starts rattling like mad, the green indicator flashing angrily. It is her. I stare at the receiver for a second. I've got fuck all to tell her. The thing on my desk looks barely any closer to finished than it was yesterday. Still, I pick it up.
"Nate?" Clara's voice comes through, sweet and warm but carrying that familiar sharp focus she's had since we were kids running around the Lower Gears together. "Are you there? Tell me you've made some progress."
I glance back at the device. It's no longer just pulsing, it feels like it's pulling at something, like a beacon sending out a signal into the dark. Just tell her it's dead. End this. The words stick in my throat. If I kill this dream right now, I don't know what she'll do. Or what I'm to become without it. She's the only one left who still believes in what we promised each other all those years ago.
I force the lie out, smooth and completely hollow. "Yeah, it's going well, Clara," I say. "Nearly there."
There's a short pause. Then she lets out a soft, pleased sound. "Good," she murmurs, gentle but certain. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. You never will."
She pauses again, and her voice drops just slightly. "The breathing means it's working. Something is finally coming, Nate. And when it does… We'll be ready."
I stand there holding the receiver, staring at the device as its deep hum grows louder, vibrating through the floorboards like it's calling out to something far away.