The End of the World

Seven in the evening. The sky had not been blue once in the eighty years since the Great Collapse. Clouds mixed with Ash-Dust hung low, and beneath them, the power distribution time for Gehenna ended. Half the city was plunged into darkness. Only two things remained lit: the lights of the Capitol's main street and the electronic billboards. The billboards were everywhere. In the Capitol's plazas, on the crumbling station walls of the subject districts, on the roofs of distribution centers. The same video looped on the screens. Black letters on a white background — Acheron. Below that, the suppressant distribution schedule, Ash-Dust concentration by district, and quarantine zone guides. People looked up to check the screens, then bowed their heads again to stand in line. The lines in the plaza were long. Hands holding a single ampoule scattered into the shadows, and the dry late autumn wind carried ash between them.

The districts were darker. The billboard in the Western Port District had one cracked corner, but the letters for Acheron shone perfectly. Beneath it, a distribution truck entered under the escort of security forces, and beside the truck, Ian rolled up his sleeves and shook hands with the district head with a smile.

At the same time, in the outer containment zone. Alarm lights spun red, and El, dressed in field gear, led a response team through the iron gates. Two stretchers came out. One was covered, and one was not. El looked down at the uncovered one for a moment, then nodded with a kind smile. He decided whether to save them or use them as specimens.

Acheron Tower, the center of Gehenna. There was no rationing in the tower. Lights were on on every floor, and the glass exterior did not reflect the lines in the plaza. The carpet in the top-floor hallway swallowed the sound of footsteps. The CEO's office door opened, and Khan stepped out. His tie was already loosened, and his expression was that of someone who had just swallowed something.