The transport cut through the city like a blade.Instance 002 stood inside the drop-frame, hands clasped behind his back as the Adjudicator escort locked into position around him. Outside the reinforced glass, towers slid past—neon lights, smoke plumes, emergency sirens painting the skyline red.“Deploy point in thirty seconds,” an Adjudicator announced.Instance 002 nodded once.Across the city, deep beneath the tribunal spire, Matteo felt the shift before the screens confirmed it.“He’s moving,” Matteo said.The envoy leaned over the console. “We’re tracking his trajectory. Sector Twelve. Old Quarter.”Matteo’s jaw tightened. “That’s residential.”The envoy swallowed. “So was the church.”The monitors split.One showed Instance 002’s descent.The other showed the Old Quarter—narrow streets, power flickers, people already running as warning sirens activated.Matteo strained against the restraints. “Recall him. You said reassignment was pending.”The Adjudicator overseeing the chamber

The World Engine did not scream when Matteo touched it.It listened.Lights dimmed across the chamber, not all at once, but in deliberate stages—like a breath drawn slowly through clenched teeth. Consoles flickered. The great column at the center of the room pulsed once, then settled into a low, uneasy hum.The envoy straightened. “What did you just do?”Matteo kept his hand pressed to the interface plate, fingers trembling.“I spoke,” he said.The Adjudicators shifted in unison.“INSTANCE 001 HAS NO ACTIVE DIRECTIVE.”Matteo lifted his head. “That’s the point.”The restraints around his arms tightened automatically, warning pressure biting into muscle.The envoy snapped, “Matteo, disengage. You’re not cleared to—”“I didn’t issue a command,” Matteo said. “I revoked one.”The screens stuttered.City feeds froze mid-motion—an Adjudicator’s weapon half-raised, a transport caught mid-turn, a crowd suspended between panic and hope.“CLARIFY,” the lead Adjudicator demanded.Matteo swallowe

The tunnel breathed again.Not steam. Not air pressure.Breath.Slow. Measured. Alive.Matteo pushed himself up on shaking arms, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the dead power lines. Emergency strobes flickered red, revealing thick cables torn loose from the ceiling—not cut, ripped free.Instance 002 stepped forward, weapon raised but unmoving.“Identify,” he ordered.The darkness answered with metal grinding against stone.Something large shifted.Adjudicators at the rear adjusted their stances, weapons tracking erratic movement.“This is below mapped infrastructure,” one reported.Matteo swallowed. “That’s because it predates you.”Instance 002 glanced back at him. “Explain.”Matteo wiped blood from his mouth. “Before the Adjudicators. Before predictive justice. They tried something else.”The darkness rolled closer.Lights caught shapes—frames, not unlike Adjudicators but heavier, thicker, scarred by age. Their armor was crude, patched, engraved with faded markings that looked di

The chamber sealed with a sound like a coffin locking.Stone slid over steel. Light vanished except for the circle beneath Matteo’s boots—symbols burning white, then red, then something deeper that hurt to look at.Instance 002 stood opposite him, rigid, weapon holstered by force rather than choice.Neither of them spoke at first.The machines did not rush them.They never did.A low pulse rolled through the room. The floor vibrated, not violently—methodically. Systems aligning.Matteo exhaled slowly. “Tell me this thing doesn’t end with us dead.”Instance 002 didn’t look at him. “Statistically unlikely.”“That wasn’t comforting.”“No,” Instance 002 replied. “It wasn’t meant to be.”The symbols flared brighter.A voice filled the chamber—not from one machine, but from all of them at once.“AUTHORITY CONVERGENCE ACTIVE.”Matteo braced himself. “What does that actually mean?”Instance 002 answered before the machine could. “It means jurisdiction is being reassigned.”“To who?” Matteo as

The Adjudicators did not move.They aimed.Every weapon in the square locked onto Matteo’s chest, red targeting lines crossing his coat like scars. Civilians screamed and scattered, boots slapping against pavement slick with oil and blood.Matteo raised both hands slowly.“Do not fire,” he said.The machines did nothing.An officer shouted from behind an overturned transport, “They’re all tracking you!”“I can see that,” Matteo muttered.The blade in his hand burned, heat pulsing in time with the machines’ targeting systems. It wasn’t asking anymore. It was waiting.The envoy’s voice crackled through public speakers again, calm and intimate. “This is the moment, Matteo. The city needs clarity.”“I didn’t agree to this!” Matteo shouted back.“You agreed when you picked up the blade,” the envoy replied. “History rarely asks permission.”A woman near the front of the crowd fell to her knees. “Please,” she cried. “Just tell them to stop.”Matteo’s chest tightened.He looked at the Adjudic