The fugitives' transport module slips beyond the atmosphere—smoothly, almost imperceptibly. Behind them, a trailing pulse of light fades into the black.
Outside the window: an ink-black void, eternal and silent, and in its heart—Earth.
Blue. Luminous. Exposed.
Like a fragile gemstone trembling in the spiderweb of the cosmos.
"Set course for the Celestial City," Alex murmurs, switching the ship to autopilot.
His voice is calm—cool as glacier water. But beneath the armor of habit, unease stirs.
We're flying too close to the edge. One more leap—and there's no turning back.
Ahead, the station unfolds—a silent colossus, like a Titan's ring suspended in eternity.
A gravity loop flickers with lights, encircling a central spire that houses the main docking bay.
This isn't just a refuge.
It's a sanctuary for those wealthy enough to forget gravity—and guilt.
A sealed world where anything is possible… and nothing is forgiven.
Yulia doesn't take her eyes off Earth.
Through wisps of cirrus clouds, the cities glimmer—towers rising like sentinels, stretching upward in a desperate attempt to touch the stars.
"It's beautiful..." she whispers. There's longing in her voice.
I'm drifting farther and farther. From myself. From the past. From home—
if it ever was one.
But something breaks in the silence. Her hands tighten on the armrests. Her posture sharpens, spine stiffening with instinct.
"Alex… we're being followed."
He doesn't even turn.
"Tracking beacon. It's not the first time."
His tone is cool, almost lazy—but his fingers are already sweeping over the holographic console.
A dark silhouette emerges on the projection—
like a shadow torn from the past.
"What now?" Yulia stares at the screen like it's a death sentence.
A cold tide is rising in her chest, but she holds it down.
How long can we keep living on the edge?
Alex shrugs.
"The lab. We scrub the trail there. It's safe—safer than out here."
The station opens before them like a mechanical blossom, steel petals unfurling in silence. The module glides into its embrace.
For a moment—darkness. Only the soft trail lights lining the walls, like fireflies vanishing into the endless dark.
Inside: another world.
Airbridges. Glass domes. Neon signs.
The atmosphere isn't just dense—it flows, like expensive liquor.
Everything here breathes decadence and detachment.
No one remembers what guilt feels like. Or pain.
Only status. Credits. Power.
And the void you can pay to forget.
Alex activates the disguise protocol. His face shifts—like water molding to a vessel.
The features soften, blur. A new identity uploads to his memory block: fake documents, fabricated history, forged biometrics.
Yulia stands beside him. Silent.
She's used to the transformations. The world changes, the masks shift.
But inside—everything stays the same.
The cold. The fatigue.
"All set," Alex says. "Just stay close."
"I always do," she replies softly. "The question is—how much longer can I keep it up?"
He glances at her. Just for a second.
In that glance—understanding. And… fear.
One wrong step, and we're dust.
They clear security in silence.
No one at the checkpoint even looks up.
The station's rhythm doesn't falter for a second.
Their module maneuvers through the streams of traffic like a fish weaving through reef caverns.
It dives into a tunnel hidden behind a holographic storefront and vanishes into the shadows.
The landing platform descends.
Beneath them: a hatch glowing with soft azure light.
The machine halts. The hatch opens.
The transport sinks slowly downward.
Silence.
Only the hum of machinery.
Cold walls of steel and glass slide past.
The air tastes faintly of dust and ozone.
They Emerge
Their footsteps echo dully on the floor.
The service corridor is narrow, its rusted pipes sweating condensation. Flickering lights blink like the weary eyes of a dying machine.
Somewhere deep within, the ventilation hums—
a low, mournful sound, like the station itself is groaning.
Aging. Just like us.
Only it doesn't feel it.
"We're almost there," Alex mutters without turning.
His voice is steady, but there's a tremor beneath it. One more push—and it might snap.
He presses a palm against a disguised panel. A quiet click—then the door slides open.
Beyond it: the lab. Their temporary stronghold.
"Seal it," he says curtly.
Yulia is already at the panel. She doesn't ask. She simply acts.
Fingers brush the sensor. Another click.
The locks engage.
Everything holds its breath.
The lab.
Dim light. The scent of ozone and plastic.
Glass panels alive with flickering readouts. Instruments muttering to themselves in the dark.
At the center—
a capsule, glowing with cold light, like a sci-fi sarcophagus.
"Get in," Alex says. His voice is flat, but weariness seeps through it—like every word costs him something.
"We'll start with you."
Yulia climbs in silently.
There's no fear in her movements—only focus.
Just do it. Don't think. Don't feel. Just finish in time.
The capsule lid lowers with a whisper. A holographic net blooms across her body, enveloping her.
"Scanning. Trackers detected. Beginning deactivation," intones a neutral female voice, echoing in her skull.
Yulia closes her eyes.
Soft vibrations ripple through her body—ticklish, searching, almost… tender.
As if something alien is being drawn out.
Lifted away.
Please work. Just—work.
"Procedure complete. You may exit."
Her eyes snap open. The lid slides back.
She slips from the platform, a little breathless, fingers trembling faintly—like her body still doesn't believe it's truly free.
Alex is already at the console, preparing the next sequence.
"Now me," he says softly, lying back without a word, without ceremony.
It just has to be done.
If anything goes wrong—
Yulia has to make it. At least one of them.
Tension settles over the lab like a net.
Only the soft flicker of panels and the rhythmic thrum of machines break the silence.
His eyelids grow heavy. He closes his eyes.
Just let us be fast enough. Let them not find us...
Then—
a piercing alarm.
Like metal shrieking in pain.
"Alex…" Yulia spins around, eyes wide, breath ragged.
He's already rising from the capsule, eyes sharp, face hardening.
The monitor flashes: three figures outside the lab.
One is already connecting a device to the entry lock.
"They've found us," Alex says, voice taut.
"Sooner than I'd hoped."
"We're trapped?"
Her voice cracks on the edge—real fear, raw and uncovered.
Alex glances at her—quick, warm, almost gentle.
A flicker of a smile. More signal than emotion.
"No. Not with you."
He presses the wall—
and it slides aside, revealing a narrow shaft, like the throat of a living machine.
"Go. Now."
His voice—ironclad. No argument.
Yulia grabs the container—with the kitten.
One last glance—then she jumps.
Just make it. Please, just...
The hatch seals behind her with a soft click—as if it never existed.
At that very instant, the lab door explodes.
Metal tears. Shrapnel screams.
Agents burst through—precise, trained, merciless.
Their eyes—mirrors of command. No fear. No questions.
"Clear. They're gone," one reports.
"Trackers removed," another notes, nodding at the empty capsule.
"Smart. Too smart."
A voice crackles through the comm.
Cold. Sharp. Coiled with threat.
"Find them. Or I'll find you."
The agents glance at each other.
No words needed.
They know what failure costs.
One gestures.
Move.
And the shadows wearing human shapes vanish into the station's veins,
leaving behind only the scent of ozone—
and emptiness.