Invercargill, Southland, New Zealand.

  Once the southernmost peaceful city on Earth, Invercargill had devolved into a wasteland—a scrapyard the size of a metropolis, ruled by no one and mourned by few.

  The sky was no longer blue. By day, a suffocating gray haze pressed down on the land; by night, the fragments of dead satellites reflected sunlight from orbit, casting a warped, silver glow across the clouds.

  People called it the Silver Veil.

  Three meters below the frozen Southland soil, Ethan worked in silence. His underground workshop smelled of damp earth, ozone, and old oil. A rusted tractor engine lay gutted before him, its mechanical entrails exposed to the dim light.

  Clang. Clang.

  The steady rhythm of his hammer strikes echoed through the cramped space. His hands were black with grease, hardened with calluses that felt like leather.

  Five years ago, these hands were praised as the tools of a genius. Now, they struggled to loosen rusted bolts in the dark.

  Until two years ago, those same hands had held chalk in a university lecture hall, teaching systems behavior to graduate students under a borrowed name—Professor John. Linda’s protection had felt permanent back then. A shield of bureaucracy and fake IDs.

  Then Major Marcus’s search unit had stormed the institute.

  Everything collapsed in a single afternoon. Linda had pressed a hard drive into Ethan’s hands. “Run,” she’d whispered. “This time, don’t hide. Stay alive and wait for your chance.”

  That was the last time he saw her face.

  Ethan had burned the ID bearing the name Professor John and buried himself deeper—into the oil-stained air of Invercargill, into anonymity, into the grave of his former life.

  Bzzzt… hisssss…

  On the workbench, an antique shortwave radio sputtered with static.

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  Debris Echo. It was the electromagnetic interference created by orbiting fragments colliding in space. Ethan listened to it every night before sleeping. To him, it wasn’t static; it was the screaming of dead stars—the sound of a guilt that would never fade.

  “Loud tonight,” he muttered, snapping the radio off.

  Then—BANG. BANG.

  The heavy steel door leading to the surface shook violently. Not the erratic pounding of a beast or a desperate raider. This was deliberate. Controlled. Lethal.

  Ethan reached beneath the workbench and pulled out an old, short-barreled shotgun.

  “Who is it?” he shouted. “There’s nothing worth taking here!”

  “Dr. Ethan Cole.”

  A woman’s voice. Cold. Precise. Like a blade drawn across stone.

  Ethan froze. No one had called him 'Doctor' in five years.

  “I’ve brought you the last chance to tear down the hellish veil you created,” the voice continued. “Open the door.”

  After a long pause, Ethan slowly unlatched the heavy bolts. The door swung open, and the cold night air flooded in—along with the metallic stench of fresh blood.

  A woman in dark gray tactical gear stepped inside, supporting a wounded companion. Black camouflage streaked her face, but it couldn't hide the intensity of her gaze.

  Mei.

  “A Runner?” Ethan asked, his shotgun still raised.

  Runners were the bloodlines of the post-collapse world—couriers who carried information between isolated cities, risking their lives on broken roads.

  Mei didn’t answer. She reached into her jacket and threw a black, titanium-sealed hard drive onto the oil-stained workbench.

  “Seed,” she said. “The nano-algorithm to cleanse the atmosphere. The autonomous control code designed to fix the orbit you shattered.”

  Ethan stared at the drive. Silver light leaked through cracks in the ceiling, dancing across the metal casing.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked hollowly. “I’ve forgotten how to press buttons.”

  Mei slammed him against the wall, her hand gripping his collar with terrifying strength. Hatred—and something dangerously close to hope—burned in her eyes.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t come here to make you a hero,” she spat. “Do you know what your interception missiles did to my family? My home? You’ll spend the rest of your life apologizing.”

  She leaned closer, her breath hot against his cold skin.

  “And there’s only one way to do that. Open the sky again.”

  Ethan saw the reflection of a thousand burning fragments in her eyes. She was the victim. He was the man who had pulled the trigger.

  Then—a distant, high-pitched mechanical hum.

  Ethan’s skin prickled. He knew that sound—not from a textbook, but from the nightmares that had chased him into this scrap depot. It was a whine that felt like it was drilling into his very marrow.

  “They’re coming,” Mei snapped, releasing him. “In ten minutes, this entire zone will be wiped clean by Marcus’s hunters.”

  She grabbed Ethan’s travel bag from the corner. Ethan pulled an old, heavy coat from the wall. Five years of hiding were over.

  “I’ve got a Dust Hopper in the backyard,” Mei said. “If we want to reach the harbor, we’ll need to wake that junk heap up. Now.”