Kam chose the site for the tension.

  A distribution substation crouched beneath a Deptford flyover, its concrete yard boxed in by temporary fencing that had bowed outward under years of pressure. The mesh leaned at odd angles where vehicles had brushed it too many times. Plastic warning signs hung crooked on the wire, their edges sun-bleached and brittle.

  Permits layered the main gate in curling sheets of paper. Each new authorization had been taped over the last until the stack looked like geological strata of bureaucracy. Rain had softened the adhesive so the corners lifted and fluttered in the wind.

  Crews had carved shortcuts into the concrete over time. Thin grooves crossed the yard where boots and equipment carts had cut their own unofficial routes between transformers and control cabinets.

  Infrastructure never stayed pristine for long.

  Two vans idled inside the perimeter, engines ticking softly in the drizzle. Exhaust drifted upward in pale clouds that tangled with the low concrete of the flyover above.

  Eight responders stood in a loose formation near the central transformer bank. Their high-vis jackets glowed beneath portable floodlights, reflective strips flashing each time the rain shifted the beams.

  Armor plates hid beneath the fabric.

  They pretended it was just part of the uniform.

  One of them kept glancing toward the gate.

  They had been told he might show up tonight.

  Kam arrived on foot.

  Hood down. Pace measured.

  He stepped through the open gate with the quiet certainty of someone the rules still struggled to exclude.

  One responder checked the drone feed twice to make sure it was really him.

  Another spotted him.

  Froze.

  “That’s him,” someone whispered.

  The words moved through the group like a dropped glass.

  Kam halted ten meters away and raised both hands, palms open.

  Rain collected on his sleeves and rolled slowly from his fingertips.

  One responder took a half step back without realizing he had moved.

  “I came here to talk.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The words carried across the wet concrete more clearly than they should have.

  A supervisor advanced a few steps, boots scraping against scattered gravel. His fingers hovered near the sidearm he preferred to keep holstered.

  “This is restricted ground.”

  Kam dipped his head.

  “Escort me out, then.”

  Silence stretched across the yard.

  Protocol tangled with intent.

  No one wanted to be the first person to touch him.

  “He’s baiting us,” someone muttered.

  The supervisor pressed a finger to his comm bead.

  “Control, confirm identity and”

  The substation surged.

  A spike punched through the power flow.

  Current roared through the grid with a rising electrical growl. Copper busbars vibrated under the sudden load.

  Heat flared sharp and immediate.

  Three warning lights snapped from green to red in rapid succession.

  Kam felt the shift deep in his chest.

  The lining reacted instantly. Cooling channels stitched through the suit dragged the rising heat sideways across his ribs.

  Pressure vented through the thermal buffers.

  Balance held.

  Barely.

  “Stand down!” the supervisor shouted.

  A responder flinched and fired.

  The foam canister struck Kam square in the chest with a dull thud.

  Residual heat met chemical suppressant.

  The reaction happened in stages.

  Foam spread across the surface.

  Heat surged upward to meet it.

  The compound flashed.

  A heavy whump rolled outward.

  Foam converted to steam in an instant. Pressure expanded violently through the air.

  Two responders were knocked off their feet and slammed onto the wet concrete.

  Kam hit the fence behind him.

  The chain links tightened under the force.

  Support wire snapped.

  Metal shrieked as the fence folded and tore loose from the post.

  For one strange heartbeat the entire yard went still.

  Then chaos arrived all at once.

  “Contain!”

  “Fall back!”

  “Keep him away from the grid!”

  Kam rolled onto one knee, coughing hard as steam and suppressant burned in his lungs.

  Not good.

  The lining vented coolant in violent hisses. White plumes blasted from seams along his jacket and mixed with the rain.

  He refused to push further.

  He closed the exchange instead.

  Kam turned toward the nearest control cabinet and drove heat into the housing.

  Temperature climbed rapidly.

  Paint blistered first.

  Then the steel began to move.

  The cabinet door bulged outward.

  Bolts groaned under stress.

  The metal warped and fused shut.

  Inside the panel relays sparked as the surge locked itself into a dead end.

  A baton arced toward him.

  The responder swung too early.

  Like he expected Kam to explode.

  Kam caught the shaft mid-swing.

  The responder tried to pull it back.

  The polymer flexed.

  Heat bled through Kam’s grip.

  The material softened.

  The baton sagged and collapsed before slipping free and hitting the ground in a warped curve.

  Another responder lunged.

  Kam slipped inside the swing and drove his shoulder forward.

  Force transferred cleanly.

  Boots lost traction on the rain-slick concrete.

  The responder slid backward across the yard, armor clattering loudly against the ground.

  Fear spread faster than pain.

  One responder backed toward the vans without realizing he was retreating.

  Another fumbled his comm bead twice before finding the button.

  Alarms screamed across the substation.

  Circuit breakers slammed open.

  Red strobes began flashing along the perimeter fence.

  Pressure climbed inside the transformer bank.

  The secondary unit failed first.

  The cheaper component installed during the last maintenance cycle.

  Heat spiked.

  Coolant boiled.

  The casing bulged outward.

  Bolts sheared loose.

  The seam split.

  A transformer detonated.

  Orange flame punched into the rain.

  Steam and fire erupted upward as the housing tore open.

  The explosion arrived as a deep rolling boom that shook the flyover above.

  Metal fragments tore free and spun outward in bright arcs. Shards clanged against railings and pylons before skittering across the concrete yard.

  Heat slammed into the underside of the flyover and rolled down the roadway in heavy waves.

  Above them traffic seized.

  Brakes locked.

  A line of cars shuddered to a halt across the bridge.

  Kam staggered, catching himself against the side panel of a van as debris rained down around the yard.

  Sirens answered almost immediately.

  Multiple units closing fast.

  Through drifting smoke he could see responders hauling themselves upright.

  Coughing.

  Still moving.

  Still alive.

  The outcome was enough.

  Kam turned and ran.

  Behind him the supervisor’s voice cracked across the open channel.

  “Escalation triggered. Response authorized.”

  Overhead a drone dipped lower, stabilizing against the wind. Its optics narrowed as it locked onto the yard below.

  The feed replayed the blast.

  Again.

  Again.

  Responder biometric data scrolled across the drone display.

  Heart rates spiking.

  Formation collapse.

  Tactical retreat.

  Context arrived after the moment passed.

  FIRST BLOOD