Atlas stood on the observation deck of the central spire, eyes fixed on the live feeds from a dozen border districts. The numbers didn't lie. Velocity integration had accelerated unevenly.
In the hybrid zones, people moved like they had three bodies—crafting tools that built themselves, streets rewriting their own layouts overnight, kids fusing with shard fragments before they could walk. Productivity metrics were off the charts. Burnout rates were worse.
In the anchor districts, things were slower by design. People cooked real food over actual flames, held meetings that lasted hours instead of minutes, and trained their bodies without augmentation.
They were falling behind in every measurable way, and they knew it. Resentment had turned into organized sabotage.
Riots had broken out at three crossings in the last forty-eight hours. Velocity gangs were hitting anchor supply lines, smashing slow-machinery that kept basic infrastructure running.
