Chapter 2 — Under Surveillance

Caleb Draven

The air inside the command center of the Central Authority Tower was sterile, unyielding in its artificiality. Caleb Draven stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back, the black fabric of his uniform pristine and precise. Rows of monitors lined the walls, their cold, flickering glow casting blue shadows across the stark white room. Each screen displayed feeds from the surveillance network, an unrelenting swarm of images capturing the muted lives of the Suppressed.

He rarely blinked as his eyes scanned the footage. Systematic. Efficient. That was how Caleb operated. The faint hum of the monitors and the low buzz of the automated systems filled the air, but Caleb heard none of it. He was trained to focus, to tune out distractions. Emotions cloud judgment, Seraphine always said. Discipline sharpens it.

The door behind him slid open with a whisper of hydraulics, but Caleb didn’t turn. He knew who it was even before her measured footsteps reached him.

“Lieutenant Draven,” came the smooth, almost melodic voice of Seraphine Vale. Her presence was unmistakable—sharp, commanding, deliberate. “What do you see?”

Caleb straightened, his voice clipped and devoid of inflection. “An anomaly in the Suppressed District. Sector 42-B.”

Seraphine stepped forward, her pale gray eyes narrowing as she surveyed the footage. The camera feed replayed the events from earlier that night: a young woman kneeling beside a child, the faint distortion in the air as something invisible, like a ripple, spread outward from her. The crowd’s sudden, erratic movements, the confusion etched across their faces, the uncharacteristic tears of the child. And then, the drones zeroing in on the figure as she fled—her movements quick and desperate, those of someone who did not belong.

“There,” Caleb said, pointing to the precise moment the ripple began. “The disturbance originated from her.”

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath as Seraphine observed the footage. She tilted her head slightly, the ghost of a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Interesting.”

Caleb waited, his posture rigid. He had long since mastered the art of patience in Seraphine’s presence.

“She’s not just another rogue,” Seraphine said finally, her tone thoughtful, calculating. “Her ability to disrupt the implants... this could be significant.” She turned to Caleb, her expression unreadable. “You understand what this means?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“She is to be captured. Alive. We need answers, not a corpse.” Seraphine’s gaze bore into him, sharp and unyielding, a silent demand for perfection. “You’ll lead the operation personally. The drones have already tracked her movements to the eastern quadrant. Assemble your team and bring her in.”

Caleb nodded once, sharply. “Understood.”

As Seraphine continued staring at the footage, her voice softened, a rare shift that almost caught him off guard. “This girl... she is dangerous, Caleb. Do not underestimate her.”

“I won’t.”

Seraphine’s words lingered with him as he exited the command center, his boots echoing against the spotless floor. The corridor leading to the armory was as lifeless as the rest of the tower, its walls an unbroken expanse of white, the overhead lights casting no shadows. Caleb liked it that way. Clean. Ordered. Controlled.

Yet, as he walked, a faint unease tugged at the edges of his thoughts. Seraphine’s emphasis on the girl’s significance had been... unusual. He could feel the weight of her directive, the unspoken stakes attached to this mission. Failure wasn’t an option.

He entered the armory, nodding to the officer on duty. Within moments, he was outfitted—light armor reinforced with pliable metallic fibers, a sleek sidearm holstered at his hip, and a neural scanner clipped to his belt. His gloved hand brushed the scanner briefly, its cold surface grounding him. The device was indispensable—a tool capable of detecting fluctuations in implant activity. Against someone like her, it would be critical.

His team awaited him in the briefing room, a mix of hardened enforcers in identical black uniforms, their helmets resting on the table before them. Each face was sharp, disciplined, void of individuality. Caleb liked that about them.

“The target is on the move in Sector 42-B,” Caleb began without preamble, his tone as cold and precise as the room itself. “She has demonstrated an ability to disrupt implant functions. The extent of her capabilities is unknown, but it is highly volatile. We are to apprehend her alive. Lethal force is authorized only as a last resort.”

One of the enforcers, a younger recruit named Verran, raised a hand hesitantly. “What’s the protocol if she uses her ability on us?”

Caleb’s gaze cut to him, sharp as glass. “You will not falter. Maintain distance and follow procedure. We are equipped to handle anomalies. Anything less is failure.”

Verran swallowed but nodded, his shoulders stiffening under Caleb’s scrutiny. The response was calculated—cold enough to enforce discipline, precise enough to quell doubt.

“Dismissed,” Caleb said, and the squad filed out to prepare.

Alone in the briefing room, Caleb allowed himself a moment of stillness. His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the table, his eyes lingering on the small, flickering image on the monitor embedded in the wall—her image. Auburn hair, green eyes. Disheveled, defiant, dangerous.

Something stirred in the recesses of his mind, a faint flicker of... what? Recognition? Interest? It was gone before he could identify it, smoothed over by the implant’s regulation. And yet, it lingered like the edge of a shadow, an unfamiliar sensation he couldn’t shake.

No. He shook the thought from his head, straightening. Focus.

Minutes later, Caleb was in the transport vehicle with his team, the hum of its engine a steady vibration beneath his feet. Outside, the city loomed—gray and listless, its skyline fractured by the jagged edges of surveillance towers. The streets below were empty but for the occasional drone hovering silently, their mechanical gazes sweeping the pathways like vultures circling a carcass.

“Target moving eastward,” came the voice of the operations officer over the comms. “Drone units are maintaining visual. No contact yet.”

“Understood,” Caleb replied. His voice was steady, devoid of the tension that had settled into the air around him.

As the transport descended into the heart of Sector 42-B, Caleb’s gaze remained fixed on the tactical display before him. A single red dot marked her location, pulsing faintly amidst the labyrinth of alleys and derelict buildings.

“Lieutenant,” Verran’s voice crackled through his comm. “Do you think she’s working with the resistance?”

“It’s irrelevant,” Caleb replied. “Our mission is to bring her in.”

But the faint flicker in his mind returned, insistent. He shoved it aside with practiced precision. Emotions are a liability.

The transport came to a halt, its doors hissing open. Caleb and his team disembarked, their boots striking the pavement in unison. The air was thicker here, laced with the acrid tang of industrial waste. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the ground, cast by the flickering streetlights overhead.

Caleb activated the neural scanner, its faint blue light sweeping the area as he moved forward. Each step was deliberate, calculated, his senses honed to detect even the smallest disturbance.

“Spread out,” he ordered, his voice low but firm. “Stay within range.”

The team wordlessly obeyed, fanning out to cover the quadrant. Caleb’s grip tightened on the scanner as he advanced, his eyes scanning the darkened alleys for any sign of movement. The target was close. He could feel it.

And yet, as the moments stretched, that faint flicker in his mind grew louder, more insistent. Not a memory exactly, but a sensation—a tug at something buried deep within him, something that refused to be silenced.

He exhaled through his nose, tightening his jaw. Focus. Discipline.

A faint noise to his left. Caleb froze, his neural scanner pulsing faintly as it detected a disruption. He raised a hand, signaling his team to hold position. Slowly, he advanced toward the source of the disturbance, his movements precise and silent.

And then, he saw her.

The girl from the footage, crouched low behind a rusted dumpster, her green eyes sharp and wary. She was smaller than he’d expected, her frame wiry but tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

For a moment, their eyes met.

And in that fleeting instant, something stirred—a ripple, faint but undeniable, like the first drop of rain on an otherwise calm surface.

Caleb’s hand tightened on his weapon, but he didn’t raise it.

“Target located,” he said into his comm, his voice betraying none of the disquiet that had taken hold of him.

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and in a flash, she bolted into the shadows.

“Move in,” Caleb commanded, his voice cold, steady. “She’s on the run.”

But as he gave chase, that ripple in his mind refused to fade.