CTS TIME RE250.09.04 — 07:11 AM
Sector 13 — Nikhil's Apartment, Mechatopia
The morning in Mechatopia was unlike any morning Luna had ever known.
Instead of birdsong, Interlink Synthwave rippled through the city's colossal speakers, a bright, upbeat version of the soundscape that had soothed them last night. It shimmered across the skyline, blending with the hum of levitating transports and the quiet whir of cleaning drones gliding along neon-green highways. Holographic sunlight beamed down in warm amber, diffused through high-altitude projectors. Even though there was no "real" sky, the city breathed like it was alive.
Inside the apartment, the faint vibration of delivery drones docking against the balcony door woke them. The hiss of hydraulics followed, then a cheerful chime: "Parcel received — signature recorded."
Luna's purple eyes fluttered open. She blinked, still curled in her clothes from last night, reactor faintly glowing beneath her top. Her first thought wasn't the mission. Or Valerian sleeping stiffly on the other side of the bed. It was the scent.
Sweet. Fruity. Familiar.
Her head shot up.
"Blueberry…?" she whispered, as though the word itself was forbidden treasure.
From the kitchen, Nikhil's voice came in a loud, teasing sing-song Hindi
"Good news! Thomas ne parcel bheja hai. Memorium tubes, aur… khaana! Human food!"
("Good news! Thomas sent a parcel—Memorium tubes and… food! Actual human food!")
Luna practically bounced to her feet, forgetting her usual elegance. She stumbled into the kitchen like a girl chasing her birthday cake.
"C–Cake?" she stammered, cheeks glowing almost as bright as her reactor.
Nikhil grinned, holding up a sleek chrome container that hissed open with a puff of preservation mist. Inside rows of compact ration-packets… and among them, neatly packed pastry boxes with a frosted blueberry insignia.
Luna's eyes went wide. Stars practically bloomed inside them. "Oh. My. God."
She clapped her hands over her mouth, face flushing crimson, then whispered as if the cakes might vanish if she spoke too loudly:
"Thomas is the best man alive…"
Valerian entered quietly, his storm-blue gaze scanning the room as though nothing unusual was happening. He ignored the pastry boxes entirely, focusing instead on the Memorium tubes lined neatly beside them. Each tube glowed faint teal, semi-fluid liquid sloshing inside like bottled electricity.
"Schedule?" Valerian asked flatly.
Nikhil raised a brow. "Bhai, subah good morning bolne ka bhi mood nahi? Always 'schedule, schedule' with you."
("Hey, not even a 'good morning'? Always 'schedule, schedule' with you.")
Valerian's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Good morning," he said, voice flat enough to drain the cheer from the phrase.
But Luna wasn't paying attention. She was already tearing open a cake box with trembling fingers, reverent like she was unwrapping treasure.
The first bite melted against her tongue, cream sweet and tangy. Her cheeks flushed pink, eyes fluttering shut. For a moment all the heaviness—her fear, her nerves, the fake-couple act—vanished in the frosting.
"Mm…" she let out a tiny, involuntary sound of delight. Then she froze, eyes snapping open, mortified.
Valerian had paused mid-reach for a Memorium tube, his stormy eyes on her.
Her reactor pulsed brighter pink.
She flailed, waving the half-eaten cake like a weapon. "D–Don't look at me like that! It's… it's breakfast!"
Nikhil burst out laughing, slapping his thigh. "Arre wah! Forehead touch is hard, kissing is hard, but cake khate hi life reactor glow karta hai! Dekh lo Valerian—real romance toh cream se hota hai!"
("Oh, wonderful! Forehead touch is difficult, kissing is impossible—but the moment you eat cake, your life reactor starts glowing! Look at that, Valerian—real romance runs on cream!")
Valerian looked back at Nikhil, expression unchanging. "You speak too much."
Luna nearly choked on her bite, coughing and laughing nervously. Oh no, oh no… why does it feel like this is more embarrassing than sharing a bed?
Nikhil shook his head, still grinning. "Bas, tum dono kaafi ho. One of you cold as ice, one of you melting like cream. Thomas ne mujhe mission bheja ya comedy show?"
("That's it. You two are enough. One's cold as ice, the other's soft as cream. Did Thomas send me a mission team or a comedy duo?")
The apartment lights auto-dimmed to simulate natural sunrise. Holographic curtains shifted from deep violet to golden amber, synchronizing with the city's morning cycle. Outside the balcony, streams of hovercars zipped by, while on a far-off megastructure a colossal hologram of a pop idol shimmered, lips mouthing to the rhythm of Memory Reboot Synthwave.
The city was awake, alive, infinite.
At the dining table, Nikhil turned from his terminal, still typing with one hand while holding a Memorium tube in the other. His eyes flicked to Valerian and Luna, both standing straight in their biomechanical suits like cadets awaiting briefing.
"Ab tum dono ready ho," he said in fluent Hindi, his voice sharp and serious now. "Mission simple hai par Mechatopia bahut bada hai. Tumhe Flame ko dhoondhna hoga. Zinda hai ya nahi—yeh confirm karna hoga. Samjhe?"
("You're both ready now. The mission is simple, but Mechatopia is vast. You must find Flame—alive or not, confirm it. Understood?")
Valerian gave a curt nod, "Understood."
Luna followed with a softer, "Yes," though her voice wavered slightly.
Nikhil gestured at the table, where two sleek black wristwatches lay on a velvet tray. They weren't ordinary—thin as glass, edges glowing faint cyan, the straps shifting in real-time to auto-adjust sizes.
"These belong here," Nikhil said in Hindi, tapping the display. "Thomas ne tumhare mission details file already load kar diya hai. Revenue bhi attach hai—completion ke baad credits direct transfer honge. Wear them. Don't take them off. In this city, without proper data-bands, tum 'visitors' lagoge. With them—you're locals."
("Thomas has already uploaded your mission file. Revenue details are attached too—once the job's done, credits will transfer automatically. Wear these. Don't take them off. In this city, without proper databands, you'll look like outsiders. With them—you're locals.")
Valerian picked his watch first, strapping it on with efficient precision. As soon as it clicked into place, the holo-screen projected into the air—a rotating sigil of ISA with encrypted text scrolling around it.
Luna hesitated for a second before sliding hers on. The moment the strap sealed, the projection bloomed into lavender light, automatically syncing with her faint lilac eye-glow. She gasped softly.
"It… reacts with me," she whispered.
Nikhil smirked. "Good. Matlab system tumhe accept kar raha hai."
("Good. That means the system is accepting you.")
Then his expression sharpened as his gaze flicked toward Luna.
"Ek aur baat," he said in a lower, pointed tone. "Valerian romance mein zero hai. Bilkul bakwaas. Agar tum dono ko couple act karna hai, toh tumhe lead lena hoga. Samjhi? Stop blushing, stop flustering. Machine ban jao. Level 10 Mk 1 Attack type."
("One more thing," he said, his voice dropping to a sharp, deliberate tone. "Valerian's hopeless at romance—absolutely terrible. If you two are going to pull off this couple act, you'll have to take the lead. Got it? Stop blushing, stop getting flustered. Be a machine—Level 10, MK-1, Attack Type.")
The words hit her like shockwaves. Her life reactor pulsed violently, glowing bright pink beneath her top.
Valerian's octagon, in contrast, flashed red for a brief moment before steadying back into a neutral glow.
Luna's heart sank, cheeks burning, so he really doesn't feel anything… it's just an act for him.
Valerian finally spoke, his voice colder than before.
"I will manage."
He didn't meet her eyes.
Luna's reactor pulsed again, this time faint—half-pink, half-dim—as if reflecting her emotions. She bit her lip, masking it with a faint smile. No… I can't let it show. If this is the mission, I'll fake it. But… why does faking hurt more than truth?
Nikhil leaned back in his chair, sipping from his Memorium tube, then chuckled under his breath. "Luna is good at faking emotions. Bahut effective. Machine bhi confuse ho jata hai. Mission ke liye best skill hai tumhari."
("Luna's good at faking emotions. Very convincing. Even machines get confused. That's your best skill for this mission.")
Luna managed a nervous laugh, though her chest tightened at his words.
Then Nikhil's tone shifted again, professional but laced with mischief.
"One more thing. If anyone asks—your family. You are both my adopted children. My wife left me years ago. Bahut sad story hai, perfect cover. Later, I will give you my life reactors to store in your layering for extra authentication."
He paused, raising an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Aur haan—remember, adopted or not, couples toh tum dono hi ho. So act like it. Warna Mechatopia tumhe kaat khayega."
("And yes—adopted or not, you two are the couple. So act like one. Otherwise, Mechatopia will eat you alive.")
Valerian said nothing, expression flat as a steel wall.
Luna smiled faintly, her mind spiraling. Couples… fake, yes. But why do I wish it were real?