The lunch trays had already retracted back into the table. The faint humming of Mechatopia's power grid filled the silence, like a living heartbeat of the city. Outside the tall window, Sector 13 glowed in muted neon, layered streets stacked on top of each other, airships drifting like insects in shafts of dim light.
Valerian broke the silence first, his voice as calm and cold as sharpened glass.
"Vault Void Club. What is it?"
Nikhil, still wiping his hands with a synthetic cloth, glanced at him. His eyes narrowed. "Arre, tum log gaye the udhar?" He switched back to local language, his tone heavy. "That's not some normal adda, Valerian. It's an android fight club. Illegal, of course. Clubs challenge each other—winners strip the losers for parts, reactors, chips. Sell in black market, make credits. Brutal world. Even the city patrols avoid it. They say some clubs run trafficking rings too. Humans, organics—rare goods in Mechatopia."
Luna paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, her lilac eyes dimming.
Valerian leaned back, tapping his wristwatch. A glowing holoscreen flared up from the device, projecting shimmering blue glyphs and ISA mission files in midair. His eyes flicked over the lines as he read aloud, his voice flat:
"Mission Priority: Locate Flame Stormbringer.
Target Class: Human Child.
Extraction Condition: Alive and Unharmed.
Revenue Allocation: 1.5 Million Star Credits.
Existing Funds on SDX Card: 4 Million Credits."
He closed the display with a flick, the light collapsing back into his wristband. His storm-blue reactor flickered faintly beneath his shirt.
Luna, oblivious, was on her tenth slice of blueberry cake, her cheeks glowing pink with happiness. Thomas's entire parcel—ten boxes—was gone. Crumbs dotted the plate like battlefield remains.
Valerian's gaze snapped to her, his composure cracking with irritation. His voice sharpened, a cruel edge cutting through the air.
"I will not take you with me."
The fork slipped from Luna's fingers, clinking against the plate. Her pink-lit reactor flickered. "W…What? Why?"
Valerian's eyes were storm clouds, unyielding. "Because I cannot tolerate carelessness. You forgot Memorium liquid. You nearly suffocated. You almost died in front of me. You are stronger and sharper than I am, yes… but today? You behaved recklessly. I can't take that risk. This mission is everything. My promotion to S-rank depends on its success."
The words hit her harder than any blade. Luna's reactor dimmed, a faint ache echoing in her chest. She whispered, almost to herself "I just want to be with you as long as this mission…"
She thought it. But she forgot—sometimes, their reactors synced.
Valerian froze. His storm-blue eyes shifted to her, caught off guard. He had heard it, felt the tremor of her truth ripple through the link.
Inside, his thoughts cracked open like fault lines. What is this? Why does it matter if she stays or not? Why did I feel urgency when she collapsed? Why… is something breaking inside me?
Then, faint and sudden, another voice hissed inside his head—sharp, mechanical, almost like an echo from the reactor itself.
Stay silent…!
Valerian stiffened. His composure returned in an instant, his stormy glow dimming again. Without another word, he turned and walked away, heading for the bedroom. The door slid shut with a pneumatic hiss.
Luna sat frozen, staring at her half-eaten cake. Her throat burned, her eyes glistened faintly, though no tear fell. She pressed her hand over her reactor, feeling its pink glow pulsing painfully.
Nikhil exhaled through his nose, leaning forward. "Kya ladka hai yeh…" Then louder, with mock drama, "Fine. I will message Thomas for another twenty boxes of blueberry cake. That will fix everything."
Luna gave a small laugh, but it was hollow. Her thoughts spiraled back—days in ISA, when she was radiant, unshakable, always smiling. An S-rank who never cried. Never faltered. And yet… she remembered the Hyperion Defenders Academy. She remembered being a proctor for A-ranks, juniors gathering around her, praising her charm and warmth. Everyone—except one boy in the corner, always distant, always on the last bench. Valerian.
She used to invite him to lunch. Every single noon. He never came. He never even looked up. He was always alone, a shadow at the edge of the light.
"Luna."
Her name snapped her from her thoughts. She turned—Valerian was standing by the door, eyes cold as ever.
"I've been calling you three times," he said sharply.
"S…sorry," she whispered.
Valerian's jaw tightened. "I'll head out by evening. Investigate deeper into Sector 9 and Vault Void connections. You will stay here with Nikhil."
Before Luna could protest, Nikhil stood and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"Not a good plan, bhai. Think logically. You two came here as a couple. If people see you split after just one day, they'll smell something. Rumors spread fast in Mechatopia. Doubt leads to suspicion. Suspicion leads to exposure. You'll ruin your cover."
Valerian hesitated. His reactor flickered—a faint, troubled shade.
"…Fine," he muttered finally. His voice was reluctant, but the decision was made. "You'll come with me."
Luna's lips curved into the smallest smile, one she tried to hide, but her reactor betrayed her—bright pink, glowing like a pulse of joy.
Nikhil grinned, winking at her with shameless mischief. "Bas, ho gaya. Couple ready. Now go, lovers. Mechatopia is waiting."
The room hummed with faint mechanical static as Valerian buckled the last segment of his biomechanical layering. The stormy blue filaments pulsed along his arms like veins of living lightning, syncing with the reactor embedded in his chest. It glowed an ominous shade—mostly red, only the faintest flickers of green shimmering at the edges before vanishing.
He flexed his fists. The gloves hissed softly as the Assault Unit engaged, the kinetic capacitors within the palm-chambers beginning their quiet charge cycle. The faint weight of dormant violence sat in his hands like coiled thunder.
Across the room, Luna was fastening the soft jacket over her lilac-glowing suit. Unlike Valerian's storm-blue glow, hers bled warmth: faint lavender lines tracing under her skin-tight layer, eyes dimly lit with lilac fire, reactor on her chest bright and alive—pink, pulsing in rhythm with her racing heartbeat.
The contrast between them was striking. His energy stormy, restrained, red with simmering danger. Hers luminous, warm, almost too human for this mechanical city.
Nikhil leaned against the wall, arms crossed, tone half-warning, half-brotherly nag. "Ek aur baat sun lo. Don't get carried away. This is not Hyperion Academy sparring. This is the underworld. Mk 2 androids wield weapons, plasma blades, even magnetic rifles that can fry your layering in seconds. Tum dono Mk 1 ho—HP 25,000 sounds like a lot, but it drops fast in real combat. If your layering tears…" He gestured with two fingers at his own chest. "…you'll be exposed. Human flesh in this city? Finished. No respawn, no second chance."
Luna listened closely, lips pressed, nodding. She understood the stakes—yet her reactor betrayed her, glowing like a beacon.
Valerian adjusted the wrist seals of his suit, his stormy eyes cold, voice like sharpened metal. "I can't promise that, Nikhil." Then he turned to Luna, gaze steady, merciless. "And you. Don't become a burden to me."
The words cut like blades.
Her pink glow faltered, her eyes dipped, and her lips parted as if to respond—but no sound came. The usual blush didn't rise to her cheeks; instead, there was silence, heavy and pained.
Inside her mind
Burden. That's all he sees me as. Not partner. Not equal. Just a liability. He doesn't even realize… how much my heart—
She stopped the thought, pressing her palm over her reactor to calm its frantic glow. She didn't want him to hear it. Not now.
Nikhil saw the exchange, his brow raised, hiding a smirk. "Bas, ab ho gaya. Drama khatam? Lovers' quarrel ka time nahi hai. The city is waiting."
("That's enough. Are we done? No more drama. This isn't the time for a lovers' quarrel.
The city is waiting.")
Valerian moved first, his movements clipped, precise. He opened the door and the cool mechanical air of Mechatopia's night spilled into the apartment. Beyond, the neon arteries of Sector 13 throbbed with life—android merchants, holographic signboards, transport drones weaving between skyscrapers.
Luna followed him silently, adjusting the strap of her casual jacket, the faint glow of her reactor still bleeding through the fabric.
The city swallowed them whole.