?Arc 1:

  Episode 1: Operating Conditions

  Chapter 1: The Dream That Doesn’t Matter

  ?(Scene 1: Nightmare Sequence)

  Where am I?

  I can’t breathe.

  I have to get to the hospital. But… why is everything so dark?

  Wait. There is a light.

  ?Ha! Ha! Offf...

  Finally. I can breathe.

  ?Suddenly, a sound ripples from behind me. Like a heavy stone dropped into still water.

  What is this?

  ?It stood there. A creature with a head like a crane, perched on a neck that was too long, too broken. Its body was emaciated, ribs pressing against gray skin as if hunger had sculpted it. Its fingers were elongated, twitching needles.

  ?But the legs were the worst. They were made of bone, stripped clean. One leg was folded the wrong way—inverted at the knee. It stood like a bird waiting for a fish in the shallows.

  ?Black smoke coiled around its ankles.

  ?Run.

  I have to run. Far, far away.

  Why won't my legs move? The air… the air is too heavy.

  Wait. Who is that?

  ?A figure stood between me and the creature. A man in a long black coat. I couldn't see his face, but a chill ran through my spine just by looking at his shadow.

  ?Why is he coming toward me? He isn’t looking at the monster. He is looking at me.

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  No.

  No.

  No...

  ?(Scene 2: The Dormitory)

  ?"Hey! Silas, wake up. Wake up!"

  ?Silas gasped, lungs burning, sitting bolt upright in his bunk.

  "Ha...! Ha....! Oofff...."

  ?Merrick was standing over him, buttoning his shirt, looking annoyed.

  "What happened?" he asked, though his tone suggested he didn't actually care.

  ?"Nothing," Silas stammered, rubbing the cold sweat from his forehead.

  "Nothing serious. Just… a nightmare."

  ?"Okay, well, get dressed quickly. We have the rotation at Oakhaven Hospital today. We are already running late."

  ?Silas fumbled for his glasses.

  "What is the time?"

  ?"8:30, my dear scholar."

  ?"Wait," Silas reached for the leather-bound journal on his nightstand.

  "Let me quickly note down the dream. The creature... the bone structure was specific..."

  ?"There we go again," Merrick groaned, walking to the balcony.

  "Why do you have to write down every single f__king detail?"

  ?"It won't take much time. If I write it, it stops being chaos. It becomes data."

  ?Silas’s hand shook as he wrote. Crane-like morphology. Inverted patella. Atmospheric density increased.

  ?He closed the book and stood up. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired.

  ?He began to dress. First the white shirt, crisp and starched. Then the Prussian blue waistcoat with the six brass buttons. Finally, the heavy frock coat—Prussian blue, double-breasted.

  ?It was a heavy uniform, both in weight and meaning. It marked him as a resident of The Royal Academy, the seven-hundred-year-old fortress of logic that kept Fathom Bay from falling into the sea.

  ?Silas smoothed the lapel. He took extra care. He had to.

  He wasn't like Merrick, who came from money. Silas was a bartender's son from the Rosen Bar. Without the Scholarship Program, he wouldn't be wearing this coat; he'd be pouring ale for sailors in the High Rim Plaza.

  ?Perfect time. Perfect dress. No mistakes.

  ?"I am ready, Merrick."

  ?Merrick turned around from the balcony. He was smoking a cigar, staring out at the fountain in the courtyard. The grey smog of the city swirled around him.

  ?"Okay, let's go" Merrick flicked a long trail of ash over the railing. It drifted dangerously close to Silas’s pristine sleeve.

  ?"You look like a statue, Silas. Breathe."

  ?"You smell like tobacco," Silas said, stepping back.

  "It’s a violation of the Sterile Code."

  ?"Don't worry," Merrick grinned, picking up his medical bag.

  "We’ll go through the Engineer's Steam Section. The smoke will mask the smell. They never doubt a man in a blue coat, Silas."

  (Scene 3: The Cafeteria)

  The Academy Cafeteria was a cathedral of glass and steel, suspended high above the smog line. Up here, the sunlight was actually yellow, not grey.

  Merrick threw his bag onto a pristine white table, startling Juna as she nursed a cup of tea.

  “You’re late,” she said without looking up. Her uniform sleeves were rolled past her elbows—a quiet violation of Regulation 4-B. Her forearms smelled faintly of antiseptic.

  “The bell rang five minutes ago.”

  “Silas had a vision,” Merrick said, grinning as he slid into his seat.

  “He was communing with the Great Beyond. Or maybe he just ate bad cheese.”

  Elara sat beside Juna. She didn’t have a tray. She didn’t have a drink. Just a small black notebook resting against the table, her eyes fixed on the door.

  “It wasn’t a vision,” Silas muttered, adjusting his collar. The light up here felt too clean, too exposed.

  “It was just… a dream.”

  Juna finally looked at him.

  “Then you’re late for a dream that doesn’t matter.”

  Elara slid a thick, wax-sealed envelope across the table. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the cafeteria hum like a scalpel.

  “Assignments came in.”

  Silas broke the red seal.

  LOCATION: OAKHAVEN HOSPITAL (WARD 4)

  SUPERVISOR: DR. JOHN BEYER

  DURATION: 7 CYCLES

  “Oakhaven?” Merrick exhaled sharply.

  “That’s practically the Docks. It’s on the Slant.”

  “It’s where the interesting cases are,” Juna said.

  “High Rim patients have gout and boredom. Oakhaven patients have… texture.”

  “Texture,” Merrick snorted.

  “That’s a polite word for industrial mutations.”

  "Hey, Merrick the smell tells me that you have violated the rules again" Juna said in tired manner.

  "Oh, then what about the regulation 4-B?" Merrick replied with a smirk.

  Elara stood, slipping the notebook into her coat pocket.

  “We need to move. The Vertebrae tram leaves in twelve minutes.”

  She paused.

  “And you know he won’t wait.”