Tomoko walked beside him through the crush of the transit plaza, her gaze flicking over strangers' faces with practiced suspicion. The air hummed with vending drones and looping station announcements, a constant noise that made Jamaal keep his head down. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. Meeting in person was safer—at least that's what he told himself. Online, he could feel EMI watching. Out here, it was harder to tell.

  The change came like a seizure in the sky.

  A ripple passed across the concourse. Every digital surface - signs, stall menus, wall projectors - flickered.

  Then the overlay hit: bold red sigils locking into place like gears. Screaming over the image of Jamaal's EMI corporate photo ID.

  ?? EMERGENCY SECURITY BULLETIN — CLASS RED ??

  The station's public voice activated - cool, synthesized, unhurried.

  "Effective immediately, subject Jamaal Songh has been classified as a dynamic threat to environmental systems' integrity."

  A pause, then a new overlay appeared.

  Holographic projection — full-body — Dauss. His face was smooth, underlit, drained of empathy.

  "This is Chief Systems Director Dauss.

  This is a containment directive!

  Singh is suspected of unauthorized interface activity resulting in spontaneous subsystem desync and breach of station-scale protocols.

  All station residents are hereby required to report any anomalies, unauthorized transmissions, or interactions involving Singh or deceased pilot Ty Singh.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Failure to comply will result in immediate restriction and system-level containment."

  The projections shifted to surveillance footage.

  → Jamaal entering a lower deck maintenance shaft

  → Tomoko beside him at a med kiosk

  → A warped image of Ty flickering inside a drone's lens — half-face, half-noise

  Around them, conversations stopped. Heads turned. Cameras pivoted.

  Tomoko's breath caught. "We need cover. Now."

  They ducked behind a recycling pod as Trident operatives in black compression armor fanned across the plaza. Drones followed - thinner than usual, faster, weaving like snakes through air vents.

  Jamaal's pulse pounded in his neck.

  Then he noticed it: the blinking of a service panel nearby. It was flickering out of sync. Not malfunctioning - pulsing.

  Blink. Pause. Blink-blink. Pause. Blink-blink-blink.

  Then: a sudden screen woke - filled with garbage code and a half-rendered schematic of the plaza they were standing in.

  No text. No voice.

  But it highlighted an empty kiosk panel across the square. Then a vertical shaft - ventilation. Then it all glitched away.

  Tomoko stared at it. "Was that...?"

  Jamaal nodded. "Ty. Maybe."

  She grabbed his wrist. "We don't have time to guess."

  They ran - out into the open. A few civilians screamed. A Trident officer shouted - but just as he lifted his weapon, every billboard in the square flashed white. Blinding.

  For three seconds, all drones fell from the air. The crowd ducked. Systems rebooted.

  And by the time they blinked back to normal... Jamaal and Tomoko were gone