Sion: Year Zero

Sion’s red hover car glides through Neon City, its repulsors whispering above rain-slick avenues. Dome lights fracture across the windshield while distant traffic streams between towers.

The completed custody record remains behind at GPO Headquarters. Hartwell’s confession is sealed, but the burned evidence trail and the unanswered command behind it follow Sion through the city.

He parks beneath the flickering sign of a neighborhood bar and enters alone, still in his dark blue GPO uniform. Warm air carries the scent of brewed grain, ozone, and recycled citrus.

Subdued music pulses from ceiling speakers. Low conversations ripple beneath it, softened by privacy fields built into the walls. A few patrons glance at Sion’s silver badge, then return to their drinks.

Behind the bar, a service terminal gives a gentle chime. A priority message waits in its local queue, addressed to Sion but carrying no sender identification. The bartender watches him, one hand resting beside the untouched glass.

The stool slides quietly beneath him. The Bartender pours a cold soda and sets it within reach, while the priority message continues waiting on the terminal.

Sion drinks the soda and surveys the neighborhood bar. Its muted lights, empty tables, and quiet service terminal offer an ordinary pause around him.

Beyond the bar, the empty tables sit undisturbed. The service terminal continues its patient wait, its message unheard.

Sion drains the last of the soda, sets the glass on the counter, and rises from the barstool. The service terminal remains unanswered behind him.

The Bartender wipes the counter, then gestures toward the exit without trying to stop him. Outside, Neon City glows through the rain-slick street.

Sion steps into the street and follows the shifting signs toward the club district. Behind him, the bar settles back into its quiet, empty rhythm.

The Lantern Circuit rises beneath a violet transit rail, its transparent facade crowded with silhouettes and colored light. Sion enters with the neighborhood crowd.

Sion threads between the tables and takes an empty booth along the club's side wall, where the crowd remains visible without blocking his view.

A passing patron clips the table. Sion's fresh soda splashes across his sleeve and the booth's edge, leaving a cold stain on his GPO uniform.

From the seat, he surveys the room. Couples lean over glowing tablets, dancers follow the bass, and security drones drift beneath the violet rail shadows.

The club's advertising wall glitches behind the bar. For one sharp second, it displays a custody-system confirmation bearing the same sealed-record insignia used by GPO command storage.

The wall display resets to looping neighborhood ads, while the club's bass settles into an easier rhythm around the booth.

Sion starts wiping the soda from his uniform and the booth table. The damp cloth catches on a rough table seam, tearing open and scraping his knuckles.

The Club Patron shifts out of Sion’s reach and places a fresh stack of napkins beside his hand. Across the table, their abandoned drink sweats onto a small tabletop payment tile.

The payment tile flickers as the Club Patron taps it. Instead of a charge, it displays an identity mismatch notice, then labels the account inactive while their drink remains paid and steaming.

The Club Patron lowers the napkins and studies Sion for a quiet moment. The payment tile continues pulsing beside their drink.

They tap the tile again. A diagnostic panel opens, showing three recent inactive-profile denials from other Lantern Circuit patrons, all approved by the same local service node.

The bartender glances over, then quietly turns the payment tile toward the booth. Beneath the denials, it displays a neighborhood support-room address and an access token valid until closing.

Sion’s question draws a few curious glances from nearby tables, but the club’s music carries on. As he shifts in the booth, his scraped knuckles catch against the table edge, reopening the sting and leaving a small red mark on the napkin.

From above, the coat’s mismatched panels form a bright pattern around Tavi’s shoulders. Each one bears a different transit color, faded by weather and repeated repairs.

Tavi smooths one frayed sleeve, then looks toward the shifting lights over the dance floor. The gesture is careful, almost protective, and the question hangs comfortably between the booth and the music.

Beyond the booth, a handful of patrons talk beneath the violet lights, but no one is watching closely. Tavi notices a faint transit diagram stitched inside their coat and turns it outward.

Therefore, Tavi closes the coat lining and rises from the booth without protest. The surrounding conversations continue, giving the dismissal a quiet place to land.

Tavi steps away from the booth, weaving between small tables toward the rain-bright entrance. Their reflective coat catches the violet lights, then dims near the doorway.

The door seals behind Tavi. Music and low conversation fill the space again, while Sion remains alone at the booth with the ordinary room spread out around him.

Sion looks across the Lantern Circuit. The crowd is mostly absorbed in drinks, music, and private conversations; no one especially draws his attention. The club remains ordinary, its brief distraction ending as the room settles back into itself.

Sion rises from the booth and moves through the club with controlled ease. Near the bar, the first woman who seems dressed to impress someone sits alone beneath a strip of violet light.

She is an adult brunette with pale skin, a sharply tailored silver jacket, and polished boots. Her untouched drink waits beside a compact mirror and a folded invitation.

Sion reaches her table without jostling a glass or drawing a protest from the surrounding crowd. He stops at a respectful distance.

She closes the mirror and turns fully toward him. Her appraisal is direct, but not unfriendly, lingering on his uniform only long enough to place him.

Elian traces one finger around the rim of her glass, considering how much of the answer to offer in a crowded room.

The Lantern Circuit’s advertising wall abruptly blanks. Across it, neighborhood service notices replace the music visuals, including a citywide maintenance bulletin marked with dozens of unresolved access failures.

She lifts her glass, then gestures toward the open seat as the club’s music resumes its ordinary rhythm.

A soft chime ends the song, and the Lantern Circuit’s lights shift from violet to amber. Around them, patrons turn toward their tables and conversations settle. Elian sets down her glass and studies Sion across the booth.

Elian rises and guides you past the bar's glowing bottle racks to a curtained alcove beneath the transit rail. The music softens there, reduced to a distant pulse.

A wall display cycles through neighborhood notices. For one quiet second, an ordinary service receipt expands into a sealed custody-status template, then collapses back into advertisements. No one nearby reacts.

Sion laughs at the alcove, the sound briefly overtaking the muted club music.

Elian collects her glass and steps through the curtain with him. The Lantern Circuit's amber glow falls behind them as the club door seals against the rain.

A short ride later, the Razer Building rises through the wet neon haze. Elian stands beside Sion beneath its covered entrance, looking up at the residential tower.

The elevator opens onto Apt. A8. Sion unlocks the door and welcomes Elian inside, where the building’s neon glow softens across a quiet, orderly living space.

The apartment accepts his voiceprint, but the home system tags the statement as a behavioral exception. Its privacy reserve drops by one unit to preserve the conversation locally.

She steps farther inside and studies the quiet room instead of the uniform. Behind her, the entry panel briefly refreshes with a building-wide profile notice: resident records unavailable across three floors. The message vanishes, but the apartment remains in local privacy mode.

Elian sets her glass on the nearest shelf and turns toward Sion, no longer treating the apartment as a stop between places. The rain ticks against the window while the building network stays silent.

The apartment records the exception without transmitting it. Its privacy reserve closes around the room, severing the building network from every interior sensor and leaving only the two local voiceprints active.

A muted status pane appears on the wall, not a custody record but a civic systems notice: resident histories remain unavailable across three floors. The notice folds into a blank privacy icon, and the apartment stays offline.

Elian leaves the shelf behind and takes the chair opposite Sion. With the network shut out, the room becomes smaller, quieter, and wholly present.

The question settles between them without the apartment recording it. Sion's answer gives the quiet a firm center.

Elian leans forward and rests her forearms on her knees, studying him without trying to categorize him.

For a moment, the apartment holds only their breathing and the distant rain against the window. Elian's guarded posture eases.

Sion leans in. Elian hesitates, then meets him for a brief, uncertain kiss before pulling back. Her sudden movement clips the drink beside her, spilling it across the floor.

The apartment's cleaning sensor wakes with a soft chime, tracing the spill with a ring of pale light. Neither of them reaches for it immediately.

They lean down together, gathering the fallen glass and napkins. Their eyes meet over the pale cleaning ring, and this time neither hesitates. The kiss is mutual, brief, and steadier than the first.