The localized stealth-shroud whined against the air, a high-pitched algorithmic frequency that drilled into their eardrums.
The Vanguard descended the final stairwell into Sector 2, moving in a rigid, claustrophobic five-by-five geometric lattice. Maya's hard-light program bent the pristine, blinding white architecture of the Platinum Concourse around them, pixelating reality to hide their descent.
The concourse was terrifyingly open. It was a sprawling, multi-tiered commercial ring built from white marble and spun glass, currently populated by tailored citizens and heavily armed patrols. Elite Praetorian Guards in gleaming Tier-3 armor marched the walkways, their crackling halberds resting at their shoulders.
Walking inside the corporate shroud felt like suffocating in static cling. Tyson's heavy boots landed in a syncopated, unnatural rhythm, forced to match the exact mathematical pacing the algorithm required.
The system actively struggled to conceal Maddie.
