Ayla navigated the Outskirts with practiced caution, her steps nearly silent against the cracked and uneven ground. Here, far from Neutra's polished heart, the city's sterile perfection faded into shadows. Forgotten corners of crumbling infrastructure sprawled beneath dim, flickering lights. Official maps ignored this place entirely, but to Ayla, it was home.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of rust and oil, mingling with the faint whir of distant drones patrolling the skyline. She tugged her hood lower, slipping through a narrow gap between two derelict warehouses. Every motion was precise, her senses tuned to the faintest echo of an approaching threat.
This was her routine. Quiet. Careful. Alone.
She ducked into an abandoned processing plant, the structure sagging under years of decay. The dim interior glowed faintly from makeshift terminals, jury-rigged from salvaged parts. A screen in the corner played a loop of Concord propaganda, the images stark but mercifully muted. Ayla ignored it, setting her bag down on the table and extracting her prize—the stolen device.
Its contents were still mostly encrypted, fragments of data teasing answers just out of reach. For months, she'd chipped away at its defenses, desperate to uncover anything that might give the Feelers an edge. The resistance was fractured and secretive, more a whisper than a true movement. Founded 46 years ago, it had grown slowly, its members scattered and cautious. Their small numbers made them vulnerable, forcing them to tread lightly.
Ayla had grown up hearing stories about the Feelers' origins from her parents—stories of those who had fought back when The Concord implemented the NeuraSphere as mandatory. Her family had been among the first to resist, refusing the implants and living on the fringes of society. But the early days were brutal. Many were captured, some killed, and others forced into hiding. By the time Ayla was born, the resistance was little more than scattered cells, desperate to remain unseen.
Her parents raised her on survival, warning her to stay hidden, to avoid risks. But Ayla had never been content to simply endure.
She wanted to fight.
Now, at 27, she was determined to prove the Feelers weren't just remnants of a futile rebellion. She was tired of being dismissed by the older resistance members as impulsive or reckless. Her fire, her need to act, burned too brightly to be ignored.
And now, she had this—the files.
The device's screen flickered to life as Ayla activated it, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Layers of encryption unraveled slowly, lines of code scrolling before her eyes. Her breath caught as the data began to take shape: fragments of a larger puzzle, incomplete but damning.
Facility 12-B. Emotion Cell Production. Authorized Personnel Only.
Her pulse quickened. She leaned closer, scanning the sparse details. The Concord wasn't just suppressing emotions—it was extracting them. The files referenced a facility whose location was still hidden, but the implications were clear. Something darker, something insidious, lay at the heart of The Concord's control.
Emotion Cells.
The term sent a chill through her. She had always suspected The Concord's control over emotions was more than just a public safety measure. But this—this was confirmation that there was more to the story, that The Concord's motives weren't just about stability.
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Ayla sat back, her thoughts racing. This was what she'd been searching for—proof that The Concord wasn't infallible, that their pristine facade concealed something sinister. If she could decrypt the rest of the files, she could expose the truth. The resistance needed this—needed her.
But she couldn't do it alone.
The thought stung, but it was true. She'd left the main Feeler cell months ago, determined to work independently and prove her capability. She wanted to show them that she wasn't just a young idealist with no grasp of strategy. But decrypting the files was taking longer than she'd anticipated, and time wasn't on her side.
Ayla's gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where a small holographic display flickered faintly on a cluttered shelf. It was one of the few things she had salvaged from her family's safehouse before The Concord had raided it—a captured moment of her parents standing in front of their modest cabin on the Outskirts. Her father's arm rested protectively around her mother's shoulders. Their expressions, though serious, radiated resilience—a quiet strength that had shaped Ayla's every decision.
Her mother's words echoed in her mind: "Survival first."
But survival wasn't enough. Not anymore. Not with what she'd uncovered.
Her thoughts flickered to the enforcer she had confronted earlier. She'd gambled everything on that encounter, and for once, it felt like she'd won. He hadn't reacted like the others—those dead-eyed Concord automatons. When his NeuraSphere went silent, something had changed. He'd hesitated, his expression breaking through the cold detachment of Concord training. For a fleeting moment, he'd looked human.
And now, he had her NeuraDisruptor.
Could he be turned? It was a dangerous question, one she didn't dare answer yet. But it lingered, tugging at her thoughts. If she could find him again, if she could show him the truth, perhaps he could be more than just another tool of The Concord. Perhaps he could become something an ally.
Ayla shook her head, forcing the thought aside, and turned her focus back to the terminal. It was slow work, each line of code a puzzle to unravel, but Ayla didn't mind. She was used to waiting, to working in the shadows.
As the code continued to unfurl, her mind wandered back to her parents. They were once engineers who worked on early NeuraSphere prototypes but fled Concord-controlled sectors when the technology became mandatory, realizing that the devices they helped build were tools for control.
They had given everything to protect Ayla, shielding her from The Concord's grasp. They'd taught Ayla the importance of resilience, of standing firm even when the odds seemed insurmountable. She still remembered the night they'd been taken, their safehouse stormed by enforcers. She was only a child, hidden in a false compartment beneath the floorboards, trembling as the sounds of struggle faded into silence.
Now, as an adult, she carried their legacy. Every risk she took, every move she made, was for them—for the life they'd sacrificed so she could survive.
The terminal beeped softly, drawing her attention. A new fragment of data had been decrypted, the words glowing faintly on the screen.
Emotion Cell Production Protocols. Phase Two Trials Authorized. Subject Harvesting Initiated.
Ayla's breath caught in her throat. The words were clinical, detached, but their meaning was unmistakable. This was about harvesting emotions from people like some kind of resource. The implications turned her stomach.
She leaned back in her chair. This was bigger than she'd thought. The Concord wasn't just controlling people—they were exploiting them. And if the files were to be believed, Facility 12-B was at the heart of it.
Ayla clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. The resistance had always suspected The Concord of hiding something, but this... this was beyond anything they could have imagined. If she could uncover the full scope of the operation, it might be enough to rally support, to turn the tide.
Her thoughts returned to the enforcer. He was a risk, but risks were part of the game. Sabotage and stolen data could only go so far. The resistance needed people on the inside—those who could see past The Concord's lies and act against them. If she could reach him, convince him to help, he might be the key to infiltrating Facility 12-B.
Ayla shut down the terminal, slipping the device back into her bag. The path ahead was dangerous, but Ayla had never been one to shy away from danger. She had a lead. And this time, she wouldn't stop until she had answers.