Agent Hector rested one hand on the metallic roof of the Coupe and observed Colin, Jesse, and Peter. He introduced himself, saying: «Hector — he said, his voice measured against the cold wind howling in the valley. — My name is Hector.» Jesse spat a little dirt, adjusting the brim of his hat in the darkness, and commented: «To me, it sounds like an IRS auditor's name, man.» Colin smiled slightly, continuing to walk toward his small Locost, and replied: «On the road and in the desert, nobody chooses the nickname they carry, kid — said Colin, without looking back. — You came in a Division vehicle until yesterday, drive like a devil, and know the police shortcuts like the back of your hand. To us, you are Agent.»
Hector held his gaze for two seconds and let out a breath through his nose. The irony was notable: the word he had tried to eliminate by refusing Level Three no longer related to the badge, the Commissioner, or paternal expectations; it had become merely the name of someone who knew the paths.
«So be it — said Agent Hector. — But nobody starts the engine yet. If we leave this dry recess, the drones will pick up the heat signature of the blocks before we travel five hundred meters.» Colin considered the situation, while Jesse and Peter exchanged tense glances. Charlie stepped forward, opening the trunk of the Fiat and taking out a reinforced plastic box filled with small black modules, the size of packs of cigarettes, wrapped in electrical tape and exposed wires.
Implementation of the Electromagnetic Curtain
«It's the warehouse's electromagnetic curtain — the young man explained, his voice hoarse and colorless, but demonstrating quick tactical reasoning. — I managed to save the inverters before we fled. If we attach one to each bumper and keep the convoy tight, less than three meters apart, the inverters create a pocket of thermal distortion. For the drones up there, the heat from the four engines will look like just the heated stone floor of the desert.» Without waiting for orders, Charlie knelt on the cold earth of the valley and began attaching the modules to the bumpers of the Skyline, the Beetle, the Locost, and the Fiat. He worked in the dark, guided only by touch and urgency, fastening the wires with nylon ties.
Ten minutes later, the young man tapped twice on the Coupe's hood. «Done. The inverter batteries will hold the curtain for two hours. We can reach the underground access and disappear off the map before they notice.» Colin praised Charlie's work, touching his shoulder before getting into the Locost. Then, the silence of the Hidden Valley was broken. The Fiat started first, with the strong roar of the Lampredi sounding like music to all four. Shortly after, the rumble of the Skyline's inline-six, the rough burble of the Beetle's boxer, and the sharp snap of the Locost with its Honda engine awakened the darkness.
Under the invisible shield set up by Charlie, the four pairs of yellow headlights cut through the desert openly, following in a single file line, undetectable to the autonomous fleet patrolling the sky and the ground, until the large concrete opening of Level Zero swallowed the convoy. The Fiat Coupe idled as it passed through the subterranean piping portal. Behind it, tightly packed, the marker lights of Jesse's Skyline, Peter's Beetle, and Colin's small Locost cast red marks against the damp walls of raw concrete.
Outside, on the surface, the thermal scanning drones passed without registering the quadrant, capturing only the cold and inert reading of the rocks. Charlie's strategy was completely effective: the convoy crossed the most exposed stretch of the desert without triggering any alarm. However, the subsurface of White City presented another type of difficulty: an environment of gigantic pipelines, constant dripping, and an oppressive odor of wet rust. As the desert air was left behind, the night heat was replaced by the dense and stifling humidity of the citadel's cooling ducts.
Arrival at the Underground Workshop
On the upper level, the city floated in its synthetic perfection; below, the concrete entrails sustained the electric miracle. After twenty minutes of navigation without visibility, the yellow beam of the Coupe illuminated the sliding steel door at the end of a secondary duct. The heavy plate groaned as it slowly rose, moved by an iron counterweight. Val Vance was already waiting for them at the threshold of the workshop. She wore a faded denim jumpsuit, stained with oil up to her elbows, with a cutting torch hanging from her belt. She asked no questions upon seeing the red Fiat parking, followed by the other three vehicles; a glance at the soot-covered bodywork and at Charlie's weary expression was enough.
«Get this junk inside quickly — Val said, her voice deep and dry, signaling for the convoy to stop in the secondary bays. — The central network started receiving reports of voltage spikes in the perimeter half an hour ago. It won't take long before they conduct a consumption audit through these ducts.» Agent Hector got out of the Fiat and indicated the group parked right behind. «Folks, this is Val — he said. The engineer expected a longer and more formal introduction, but soon accepted it, remembering that waiting too long would be a mistake.
As the phrase echoed through the hangar, Hector realized his own ignorance. He knew frequencies, routes, and access codes, but knew almost nothing about the woman in front of him. He did not know her full surname, her origin, or how she kept that blind spot active right under the nose of White City.
Peter did not wait for the introductions to finish. He walked straight past Val, stopping two steps from a heavy workbench at the back of the hangar, where a hydraulic winch and an old welder rested on wooden blocks. «Damn... do you have TIG welding for aluminum and an alignment jig back there?» he exclaimed, running his fingers over the equipment's pipes without asking permission. Jesse immediately lowered his tone. His relaxed posture gave way to a discreet adjustment of his hat and a thoughtful inclination as he assessed the jumpsuit-clad woman and the rhythm of the hangar. «Excuse me, ma'am — Jesse said, in a dry and restrained tone.
Colin slowly removed his leather gloves, allowing his footsteps to echo on the damp concrete before stopping in front of her. «It is a rare privilege to find a sanctuary of this magnitude under the Citadel's concrete — Colin said, his voice calm and modulated in the enclosed space. — And even rarer to find someone who knows how to keep it running.» Val stared at Colin for a long moment, her face impassive before letting slip a hint of an imperceptible smile. «The privilege belongs to those who have the tools to work — she replied, turning towards the center of the workshop. — Less talk and more action. Start unloading the heavy boxes onto the pickup truck before the ducts go into lockdown.»
The group dispersed in sync. In the background, Jesse and Peter pulled fuel drums and parts boxes from the Skyline's trunk, while Colin stacked oil cans near the bed of the cargo Ford F-150 that Val kept in the hangar. Hector looked at the pickup, intrigued. How had he not noticed that utility vehicle hours earlier, when he went to get the Coupe? Sector B-09 should have had more shaded recesses than he imagined. The F-150 itself wasn't special: worn bodywork, no sports emblems—it wasn't a Lightning or anything like that, to the Agent's slight disappointment. It was just a common workhorse. Even so, that relic of bygone times should have been noticed sooner.
The hangar vibrated with the sound of chains being dragged, tools falling into metal boxes, and the constant bubbling of water running down the concrete walls. In the center of the workshop, resting on an iron stand under a dirty cloth, the bare block of a light-alloy Ford V8 awaited manipulation. Agent Hector approached the main hydraulic lift. Touching the support pillar, his fingers felt the relief of a metal plate. Beneath the thick layer of soot and grease accumulated over decades, the aluminum plate riveted to the steel bore the unmistakable engraving of the Citadel's logo: MANUFACTURER PROPERTY — URBAN INFRASTRUCTURE DIVISION / SECTOR B-09.
Hector stared at the symbol for a few moments. Val noticed his gaze and let out a nasal laugh while wiping her hands on a dirty rag. «Nice, isn't it? — she said, crossing her arms. — We are in their guts, using their light, their elevator, and their water pressure. To the board upstairs on the eighty-eighth floor, this sector has been listed as 'deactivated due to obsolescence' for about fifty years. They spend billions building the clean future up there, but forget that the foundation of everything is still the same concrete encrusted with oil forever.»
Before Hector could respond, a sound from the side workbench interrupted the noise of the tools. Suspended over a wooden structure, an old CRT monitor displayed the live broadcast of the Citadel's news channel. The image was clear, without static, accompanied by a soft synthesizer ambient soundtrack. The presenter, impeccably dressed in a wrinkle-free gray suit, smiled at the camera:
«...And we conclude the morning with confirmation from the Logistics Directorate: the Southern Quadrant Perimeter Harmonization plan was completed with one hundred percent efficiency. The definitive transition to the autonomous and clean fleet eliminates operational noise and guarantees the zero-emission goal at the border.»
The image switched to an aerial shot, filmed by a surveillance drone. In the center of the screen, Charlie's warehouse zinc structure appeared reduced to a grey, smoking smudge in the desert dust. «The Department's preventive action eliminated a high environmental risk clandestine structure operating without a license in the unmapped area. Residents of the upper levels report that the air in the southern quadrant woke up with purity indices three percent above the historical average. The Manufacturer reaffirms its commitment to life and efficiency.»
Val stopped in front of the monitor, holding an aluminum mug, and let out a short, bitter laugh. «Look at this — she murmured. — Nobody was beaten, nobody was dragged to the public square. They just pressed a button up there, burned a piece of iron in the desert, and sold the smoke as a sustainability report.» Agent Hector approached the workbench. He stared at the screen for a few seconds. He imagined his father, Marcus, on the eighty-eighth floor, drinking the same coffee in a synthetic ceramic mug, watching the air quality graph rise three percent on the monitor.
Up there, the citizens of White City regulated the temperature of their apartments, saw the news on the kitchen panel, thought 'it's good that I live here,' and went on with their lives without a single drop of blood needing to be cleaned from the asphalt. The Manufacturer was not a dictatorship of heavy boots. It was a convenience machine. And people loved convenience. «There's no one to be saved up there, Agent — Val said, turning off the monitor with her thumb. The image tube shrank until it became a luminous point and disappeared. — They are happy with everything as it is.»
While Colin and Jesse tied the last oil drums onto the F-150 bed and Peter tested the winch bearings, Charlie remained motionless in a crate in the dark corner of Sector B-09. The young man had his knees bent and his head buried in his arms. His shoulders trembled silently. Agent Hector walked up to him and stopped two steps away. He didn't say anything initially—just listened intently. «Three years, man... — Charlie's voice came muffled, interrupted by crying. He raised his face, revealing red eyes and skin stained with grease and soot. — I hadn't even finished mapping the injection system. The roar of that V8... there's nothing left in the world that sounds like that.» «The car was gone, Charlie — Hector said calmly.
