IRON WALL FEDERAL PRISON Block D – Isolation Tier The van screeched to a halt as armed guards pulled the rear doors open. Elijah Quinn stepped out in full prison gear grey uniform, number printed across his chest . His wrists were still cuffed, though now, they were reinforced with steel clasps. No chains. No welcome. Only silence and eyes. Prisoners peered through reinforced glass windows. Some whistled. Some cursed. Others simply watched. Because news spread fast in prison. And Elijah Quinn’s name… was now legend. They walked him through halls that reeked of sweat, metal, and the kind of violence that never healed. Cameras followed every step, and the guards barely looked at him. He was a number now. A target. They reached Cell 118 isolated, heavy-bolted, with a reinforced titanium frame. The guard with the key sneered. “Your new kingdom, prince.” CLANK. The door groaned open. Inside was dim , the walls stained, and only one double decker bunk. On the lower bed, sat a

Valeria stepped back into the grand hall, her breath controlled but shallow. She walked slower now, composed as ever, but beneath the steeze, her pulse beat with unease. That bump... That voice. That scent. Caleb. She hadn’t expected it. Not so soon. Not so close. And he hadn’t recognized her. Not yet. But close calls weren’t victories. She adjusted her blazer and resumed her place by the judge panel just as the final pitch timer went off, signaling the end of Day 1. Across the hall, contestants were already packing up gear. Engineers secured robot limbs. Screens blinked out. The electric energy dimmed. As everyone began to trickle out, Marcus Cain returned, smiling, a folder in one hand. “There you are,” he said, exhaling with relief. “Was beginning to think you bailed.” Valeria offered a polite smile. “Apologies. I had to make a quick detour.” “Well,” he said, tapping the folder lightly, “you missed Mr. Quinn. He asked for you personally.” “Oh?” Valeria asked innocently,

The storm outside rattled faintly against the tall glass of the NovaX Tower. Rain smeared down the panes . On the 71st floor, inside the executive suite that overlooked the entire southern district, Caleb sat alone. His fingers drummed softly against the armrest of his custom black-leather office chair, the room dim except for the glow of the electronic interface projected in front of him. A thousand profiles hovered in midair, faces, names, records, DNA imprints, psychological metrics, and loyalty algorithms. Each one neatly categorized under NovaX Clash 2029. Caleb's face, sharp and blade-thin. His tie was undone, shirt collar open, but not a hair was out of place. He rolled the chair forward, eyes scanning profile after profile. Michael Dawes Robotics Engineering finalist. Good scores, family from New France. No political ties. Next. Keira Jansen -Neuromech prosthetics. Good test logs. Boring, compliant. Next. Click. Swipe. Next. He yawned without opening his mouth. Anothe

The black sedan came to a stop beneath the NovaX Tower's sweeping archway. The doors open. Valeria Monroe or as the world used to know her, Valeria Quinn stepped out in silence. Dressed in a pristine charcoal-gray coat, her heels clicked on the marble as she approached the building’s front doors. Her dark hair was pinned neatly back, her glasses shaded, her jaw tight with quiet precision. The receptionist, a young woman with anxious eyes and corporate polish, stood upright as soon as she recognized her. “Good morning, Ms. Monroe!” she said brightly, a little too eagerly. Valeria gave a polite nod. “Morning, Sarah.” Then came the ding of the elevator waiting. She stepped in alone. She pressed the 14th floor—the Research and Development division. The doors began to close. Then “Mrs. Valeria!” A voice familiar, too loud, echoed across the lobby. Valeria winced before turning. Charging toward the elevator like a frantic deer was Livia Gomez, half-breathless, her academy ta

Valeria stood near the console, her heartbeat syncing with the biometric pulse projected across the holographic display. But her eyes weren’t on the data. They lingered, watchful. Cold. She could feel it that gnawing, invisible presence. He’s watching. Caleb Quinn didn’t need security cameras to see through people. If Lucas knew about Livia, then Caleb surely did too. He always had ways. Her gaze shifted to Livia, who was kneeling beside her half-assembled prototype, humming softly, oblivious to the thing about to descend. Sparks crackled from her handheld welder as she fixed the final arm of her spider-like automaton. Then CRASH. A security guard was thrown into the lab’s polished floor, tumbling like a rag doll before crashing against a metal desk. Gasps erupted across the room. Students and staff stepped back in alarm. And then he stepped in. Marcho. Towering. Bearded. His heavy boots slammed into the floor as he marched forward. The blood on his knuckles was still warm.