CHAPTER 3: The Moment of Impact
The air in Argentis Central Transit Station hummed with the controlled motion of an efficient hive. Maglev trains arrived and departed in their underground tunnels with barely audible pneumatic hisses, while on the upper levels, moving platforms ferried passengers between different sectors of the vast Habitable Zone. Cloe stood on one of the elevated pedestrian walkways crossing over the main tracks of the mid-level, a constant flow of people moving around her in both directions. She was heading home, her usual route from the Mediatheque.
She tried to disconnect, observing the anonymous faces in the crowd: office workers with briefcases, technicians in uniforms from various Work Zones, families carrying shopping bags from the Central Market. It was a microcosm of Argentis, a snapshot of life stubbornly persisting despite the invisible war raging beyond the walls. The station's vaulted ceiling, high above her head, was crisscrossed with massive support beams and lighting panels mimicking natural daylight. Everything was solid, secure, designed to endure. Or so she assumed.
She was halfway across the walkway when she felt a strange vibration beneath her feet. It wasn't the distant rumble of perimeter artillery or the smooth glide of the trains below. It was a sharper, structural vibration, accompanied by an unsettling metallic screech that seemed to come from the walkway's own support beams.
People around her noticed it too. Conversations halted. Heads turned nervously. A few stopped, peering down through the transparent railings or upward at the structure. The screech intensified, morphing into a high-pitched metallic groan under strain.
Then, with a violent jolt that knocked several people off their feet, it happened.
A section of the walkway—about ten meters ahead of Cloe—simply gave way. It wasn't an explosion but a catastrophic failure. A main support beam snapped with a deafening roar, and a five-meter-wide segment of the pedestrian platform tilted sharply downward, partially detaching from the main structure.
Panic erupted instantly. Piercing screams filled the station. People on the collapsing section slipped and fell, shrieking as they plummeted toward the electrified tracks and service platforms several meters below. Others near the edge of the fracture clung desperately to buckling railings or the hands of strangers.
Cloe froze for a split second, her heart pounding against her ribs. She saw a small child, separated from their mother in the chaos, sliding inexorably toward the broken edge of the platform. She saw an elderly man lose his balance and fall to his knees, about to be dragged down the slope. The sight of their terrified faces, the certainty of their imminent death if they hit the tracks below, struck her like a physical blow.
*No.*
The word echoed in her mind, not as a thought but as a visceral command. She forgot her fear, forgot Dr. Thorne, forgot her own instability. The raw instinct to protect—the same she'd felt during the earlier accident—flooded her.
She thrust both hands toward the collapsed section of the walkway. She closed her eyes for a moment, not visualizing a cube or a leaf, but *willing* with scorching intensity for the fall to stop, for something to be there to catch them.
She felt the pull of energy within her, but this time it was different. Not a cold trickle but a roaring torrent, as if a dam had broken inside her. She opened her eyes.
A network of bright, golden light erupted from her hands, expanding at incredible speed toward the gap. It wasn't solid or perfect—a translucent mesh of pure energy, its edges flickering and fluctuating—but it was real. It enveloped the broken section of the walkway just as it threatened to fully detach.
A crackling sound filled the air, like static electricity on a massive scale. The fall didn't stop completely but slowed drastically. The energy net sagged and stretched under the immense weight but held, turning freefall into a agonizingly slow descent. It bought those slipping precious seconds to grab onto something, to help each other scramble away from the edge. The child was snatched by a burly man just in time. The elderly man managed to cling to a bent railing.
Maintaining the net demanded absolute concentration and brutal energy expenditure. Cloe felt her strength draining, her arms trembling violently, her vision blurring at the edges. She could sense the unstable structure of her creation straining to hold under the tension. She knew she couldn't last much longer.
But it was enough. Before the net fully collapsed, Argentis Security rapid-response teams arrived. Agents with lightweight gear descended on cables from nearby intact walkways, securing trapped civilians. Others activated emergency energy fields below the danger zone to cushion any residual falls.
The moment she saw the agents secure the last civilian in peril, Cloe's focus shattered. The golden net flickered once and dissolved into a shower of glowing motes that faded into the air. A choked gasp escaped her lips as exhaustion hit her like a tidal wave. Her knees buckled, and she would have collapsed if someone hadn't caught her from behind.
She trembled uncontrollably, gulping for air. The world spun around her. She vaguely heard the station's sounds: security agents barking orders, rescued survivors sobbing, and a new murmur rippling through the crowd watching from safe zones. A murmur of awe, disbelief, and perhaps fear. Some pointed openly at her.
"Did you see that?" someone said. "What was that light?"
"It was her," a closer voice replied. "The girl… I think she's one of *them*. A Gifted."
Cloe looked up, dizzy. She saw the crowd's faces: astonishment, confusion, curiosity. No one seemed hostile, but the way they stared… as if she were a museum piece, something alien. A wave of panic hit. She'd been seen. Her carefully guarded secret had shattered in seconds. The momentary relief of helping was drowned by terror of the consequences. What would her father say? What would the authorities do now?
A medical team rushed over, a paramedic kneeling beside her, asking questions she could barely process. She just wanted to vanish, to become invisible again. But she knew, with icy certainty, that it was no longer possible. The moment of impact had arrived, and her life had irrevocably changed.
A medical team rushed over, a paramedic with Argentis Red Cross insignia kneeling beside her. "Are you injured? Can you hear me? What's your name?" The questions were professional, calm, but Cloe could barely process them through the ringing in her ears and the tremors wracking her body.
"I-I'm okay," she managed to whisper, though her legs felt like jelly and a hollow coldness in her stomach screamed of energy depletion. "Just… tired."
The paramedic ran a handheld medical scanner over her. "Vitals are low but stable. Cellular energy rates far below normal. Have you been exposed to anything? Any energy fields?"
Cloe shook her head, unable to articulate the truth. How could she explain that the drained energy source was herself?
As the paramedic offered her an electrolyte tablet and water, a different group approached, parting the onlookers and emergency crews with authority. They wore the dark gray uniforms of Argentis' Internal Security Command, their faces impassive, their eyes scanning the scene with trained efficiency. Leading them was a tall woman with short silver hair pulled into a severe bun, high-ranking insignias on her collar. Her gaze locked onto Cloe immediately.
"Clear the area," the woman ordered calmly but unyieldingly. Her agents formed a discreet perimeter around Cloe and the medical team, blocking the crowd's view. She crouched beside Cloe, her sharp gray eyes studying her pale face. "Are you alright, young lady?"
Cloe nodded timidly, intimidated by the woman's authoritative presence.
"I'm Commander Valerius," the woman said, and the surname struck Cloe with sudden recognition. Not her father, obviously, but the connection was undeniable. A distant relative? Someone from her father's military family branch? The Commander seemed to notice her confusion. "No, I'm not directly related to Marcus, though I know him well. I'm Evelyn Valerius, Head of Internal Security for this Sector." Her voice softened slightly. "We've received multiple witness reports of an unusual energy manifestation… a golden light net that halted the walkway's collapse. Do you know anything about that?"
Cloe's heart raced. The question was direct, inescapable. She glanced around at the agents' expectant faces, the paramedic now watching with renewed interest. The truth hung in the air. Denying it would be futile, maybe even dangerous.
She took a deep breath, gathering what little courage remained. "I… I did it," she whispered, the confession barely audible over the station's background noise. "I don't know how. It just… happened."
Commander Evelyn Valerius showed no surprise. She nodded slowly, as if confirming a suspicion. "I see." She stood and addressed an aide. "Secure the area structurally. I want a full report on the structural failure on my desk within the hour. And retrieve all security cam footage from the station's last ten minutes." She turned back to Cloe and the medical team. "We'll take her to the Security Medical Complex for a full evaluation. Standard protocol for incidents involving unknown energy manifestations."
"But I'm fine—I just need rest," Cloe protested weakly, the idea of being taken to a military security facility filling her with dread.
"It's a necessary precaution, young lady," Commander Valerius said, her tone kind but unyielding. "Besides, I'm certain your father will want to know you're safe and being cared for." The mention of her father silenced her. *Of course they'd call him.*
As two agents carefully helped her to her feet, Cloe cast a final glance at the disaster scene. The trapped civilians were already being evacuated. The broken walkway segment hung precariously, now supported by emergency cables and temporary force fields. She'd averted a greater tragedy, but at a personal cost she was only beginning to grasp. The crowd's eyes remained on her as agents discreetly escorted her to an armored transport vehicle that had arrived on the lower platform.
Seated inside the austere vehicle, flanked by two silent agents, she watched the Central Transit Station shrink into the distance. The bright lights, functional architecture, anonymous crowds… all now part of a world she no longer fully belonged to. She'd crossed an invisible line. The power within her—the part she'd tried to ignore and fear—had revealed itself in the most public way possible.
The fear remained, a cold knot in her stomach. But beneath it, deep down, something else began to stir. A tiny spark, not of pride, but of… possibility. She'd done something. She'd saved lives. *Maybe… maybe Dr. Thorne was right.* Maybe she wasn't just a burden, a cursed inheritance. Maybe it was something that, if she could understand it, if she could control it, could be used for good.
The thought was as overwhelming as it was terrifying. She leaned her head against the armored window, cold and unyielding, and closed her eyes. The vehicle accelerated, carrying her toward an uncertain future, far from the relative simplicity of her former life. The moment of impact had passed, but its shockwaves were only beginning to ripple.