Forgotten Stars

Benedict stood in the middle of the control room, surrounded by dozens of holographic screens. Every inch of the walls pulsed with real‑time data about the Aurora Tower. His fingers danced over the light interface, creating electric blue patterns like a digital river flowing.

"Activate Sigma‑9 protocol," he commanded, his voice cutting through the hum of machinery.

The AI system responded in a voice far too smooth to be just a program:

"Sigma‑9 protocol activated. Security measures:

• Floor 200’s glass wall switched to opaquex™ mode — a layer of nano‑particles resistant to penetration.
• Air filters now remove particles over 0.3 microns, including spores, metal dust, and unidentified biological compounds.
• Deploy Morpho series surveillance drones — equipped with thermal cameras, DNA scanners, and active microsonic weapons.
• Synchronize anti‑sniper frequency on external windows — with automatic laser deflection."

The 30‑centimeter‑thick glass wall shifted from transparent to jet black, accompanied by a mechanical “click” that sealed off all air gaps. In the corridor, metallic butterfly drones—with wings patterned like fingerprints—began to spin around the vents, their red cameras casting blue beams to scan the air particles.

Benedict pressed the communication button on the lapel of his suit. "Manager Crowe, restrict access to this floor. Authorization level‑9 for all doors, including key staff areas."

A gruff, clipped voice came over: "Sniper team is already on the roof, sir. But... the Sigma‑9 protocol is for extinction‑level threats. Intel reports only ordinary meteor activity. Is it really necessary—"

"Necessary?" Benedict interrupted, his eyes never leaving the screen that displayed a heat map of human bodies surrounding the tower. "Do you know how many corporations are waiting for VOSS Industries to crumble? Last week, someone infiltrated the underground lab and planted a virus in the Quantum Core servers. They failed because we have this protocol."

There was a brief, stiff silence on Crowe’s end. "All access points have been locked. Team Alpha is on standby in the underground bunker," came the reply.

Benedict swiped his synthetic diamond access card—the purple code lighting up on its surface. "Add an extra quantum shield layer around the power generator. If anyone tries to cut the power, the system must isolate the area within 0.03 seconds."

"Quantum shield requires 40% backup power. That will—"

"Do it!"

Suddenly, the main screen in the control room displayed an external view of the Aurora Tower—a 1,200‑meter‑tall structure now cloaked in a transparent blue energy layer, like a gigantic, pulsating bubble. Inside, clusters of Morpho drones formed spiraling patterns, while the glass walls on each floor emitted ultraviolet light to neutralize microbes.

"Sigma‑9 protocol is fully active," reported the AI. "All systems stable. No threats detected."

Benedict took a deep breath and then turned his gaze to the city of Novae on the adjacent screen. Small meteors still occasionally streaked through the purple sky, but not a single one was nearing the tower. "Maintain this until sunrise. If there’s any anomaly—even the smallest—report to me immediately."

"Understood, sir."

Elijah crumbled gingerbread biscuit crumbs onto the white leather sofa, his eyes glued to the giant holographic screen. On every channel, the same newscaster—a woman with a robotic smile and heavy makeup—spoke without pause.

"...repeat, there is no reason to panic. This meteor phenomenon occurs every 12 years. The astronomy team has confirmed..."

But in one corner of the screen, Elijah saw something that sent chills down his spine—a recording from the Xanthe Desert. A reporter, standing at the edge of a meteor crater, held a shaky camera as he pointed out something moving within the smoke.

"Here... at the site of the first meteor impact, we discovered—"

The broadcast abruptly cut out. The screen turned blue, then an advertisement for a vacation to the Sky Continent appeared.

"Mom," Elijah said, turning toward Evelyn, who was seated at the bar chair with her portable diagnostic device. "Do you see that? There’s something at the crater!"

Evelyn said nothing. Her hand trembled as she injected a nano‑needle into a cup of chamomile tea. The display on her device showed a jittery graph: "Radiation level: 3.4 microsieverts/hour. No anomalies detected from the Safe Meteor."

"Safe?" Elijah stepped closer, his voice trembling. "Dad said something came out of the meteor, but this report—"

"News is fabricated, honey," Evelyn whispered, glancing at the surveillance camera hidden behind an abstract painting. "What you’re seeing is just one selection out of 1,214 hours of footage taken today. They picked the most boring scenes to keep you calm."

A two‑meter‑tall service robot suddenly emerged from the wall, carrying a metal tray filled with food. Its featureless face was just a flat screen with a blinking smiley emoji.

"Tonight’s menu: black truffle mushroom soup from the Southern Continent’s vertical garden, organic salad with genetically engineered microgreens, and—"

"Disable it!" Evelyn tapped the emergency button on the robot’s back. Its motor hummed in protest before finally falling silent.

"Why do you always shut it off, Mom?" Elijah asked.

"Because we don’t know who programmed them today," she replied, eyeing the food tray suspiciously.

An emergency bell suddenly rang. The lights shifted to red.

"All non‑essential personnel, proceed to the evacuation zone immediately," the AI voice echoed.

Benedict emerged from a special elevator, his face as pale as marble. "We’re leaving. Now."

Elijah had no time to protest. His usually cold father now gripped his arm tightly, pulling him toward the back elevator that could only be accessed via retinal scan.

"Verification: Benedict Voss. Access level: Master," the AI intoned as a red laser swept across Benedict’s eyes.

Inside the graphene capsule lift, whose walls transformed into a transparent screen, Elijah watched a terrifying panorama during the 30‑second ascent to floor 500.

• On floor 400, teams in black uniforms were scattering, feeding documents into a shredding machine.
• Floor 450: Biotechnologists in the lab were injecting a purple liquid into climbing plants that suddenly began to move on their own.
• Floor 480: Rows of quantum servers glowed blue, bombarded with data every second.

"Dad, what—"

"Silence," Benedict cut him off. His heart pounded so hard that Elijah could see his pulse at his temple.

The lift doors opened onto a narrow, dim corridor. Evelyn, panting, clutched her coat as it snagged on the door.

"Here," Benedict said as he pulled them to a plain metal wall. His fingertip pressed against a hidden panel. "Biometric verification: Benedict Voss, owner of the facility."

But what took Elijah’s breath away were the figures already seated there—the living legends he had only seen in the news after that wall had been revealed.

They stepped into a meeting room steeped in an artistic silence, and Benedict directed both of them to sit on a corner sofa. A 15‑meter‑long black crystal table was surrounded by nine chairs made of rare metal, with cold blue light from holographic screens reflecting off Vibranium walls, highlighting faces that Benedict had known—and despised—for the last two decades. Across the door, Lian Zhao of Astra Armory sat as stiff as a war general’s statue. Half of his face was hidden behind gleaming cybernetic plating, his red eyes narrowing as he studied a map of the Eastern Continent—his kingdom, a concrete jungle of endless arms factories. His synth‑dragon leather cloak exuded the scent of burnt metal, while his mechanical fingers drummed on the table like a threat.

Next to him, Goran "The Furnace" Volkov from Fusion Core Energy leaned back in his chair like a solid rock. His reddish skin, stained by nuclear radiation, glowed faintly, and his hammer‑sized hand gripped a crystal glass filled with a thick, green liquid. "We burn them to ash!" he growled, his voice rumbling like a turbine engine from the Western Continent he controlled.

Mirai Kobayashi of Neo‑Med Corp needed no words to make the room vibrate. The slender woman sat at the far end of the table, her left arm transformed into writhing nano‑metal tentacles that slithered over the tabletop like snakes. Her white hair, tied with spiky wire, swayed whenever she tilted her head—a movement that stretched the experimental scars on her neck into something eerie. "Death is the best data," she murmured suddenly, her pupil‑less eyes scanning Benedict’s face.

Across from her, Rajesh "Earthshaker" Gupta from TerraForm Inc snorted as he exhaled toxic smoke from his cane. The old man, draped in a metallic leaf‑patterned robe, scratched the topographic tattoo on his cheek—a map of the Southern Continent that he had turned into one giant laboratory. "Your solutions will only further scar the earth," he grumbled, his mechanical magnifier spinning slowly over his eye.

From a dark corner at the back, Kael Torrance of Black Horizon hid his face beneath the shadow of his hat. His leather jacket, studded with micro‑knives, rustled as he leaned back, his masked voice echoing in a robotic cadence, "Those creatures are searching for something...."

At the far end of the table, Sophia Laurent from Sky Haven smiled as sweetly as a porcelain doll. Her dress shifted patterns—sometimes showing a floating city map from the Sky Continent, other times a series of secret codes. A drone, no bigger than a louse, hovered in her golden hair, blinking as it recorded every movement in the room. "You're taking this far too seriously, Benedict," she chimed in a singsong tone, "our greatest enemy isn’t those creatures—it’s our own fear."

Not to be left out, Anya Verdeflora from Quantum Net—a 16‑year‑old with an unstable holo‑body—sneered behind her holographic cat mask, her voice recorded from a cryo‑pod in the Digital Continent, "The energy pattern is identical to the intel report from 2077. This isn’t a coincidence."

Finally, General Orson Lee—whose face represented a counterfeit government—crossed his arms over his chest. His black uniform was decorated with fake medals, and a barcode‑shaped burn on his cheek pulsed red every time he lied.

General Orson hurled a holographic document onto the center of the table. "That creature has already destroyed three villages on the borders of the Western and Southern Continents. They don’t eat, don’t sleep—only kill and... collect metal."

Goran Volkov banged his fist on the table. "We deploy nuclear forces! Obliterate the contaminated zones!"

"Insane!" Rajesh Gupta huffed. "Radiation will ruin the ecosystem for centuries!"

Sophia Laurent interjected in a shrill voice, "Sky Haven offers an alternative: evacuate citizens to floating cities. Let the creature seize the land."

"And you think it can’t fly?" Kael Torrance laughed bitterly. "One of the 12 sites is the Fusion Core factory, perched 5,000 meters high."

Benedict Voss raised his hand. "VOSS Industries has 500 next‑generation combat drones ready. But we need approval from 9 votes to activate them."

Anya’s hologram suddenly flickered, distorting. "Quantum Net detects anomalies at all attack sites. There’s an energy pattern—exactly as if someone is controlling them from afar."

The room fell silent.

"Voting now," General Orson growled. "All in favor of activating the combat drones?"

Hands raised: Benedict, Goran, Sophia, General Orson.

"Against?"

Lian Zhao stood up, his cybernetic plating creaking. "Astra Armory objects. Those drones are useless without knowing the enemy’s weakness."

Mirai Kobayashi smirked. "Neo‑Med Corp also objects. It’s better to capture the creatures alive for experimentation."

Rajesh Gupta and Kael Torrance joined in the objection. The vote failed.

Benedict glared at them coldly. "Your arrogance will be your downfall."

Benedict slammed the meeting room door shut with a rough gesture. His face was still flushed with pent‑up anger. In the private lounge on floor 350, the Voss family sat on a cold black leather sofa, surrounded by abstract metal sculptures and holographic monitors tracking the city.

"Why did they refuse?" Elijah asked, his eyes still haunted by the footage of the creature he’d seen during the meeting.

Benedict poured whiskey into a crystal glass, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly. "Lian Zhao wants a prolonged war so that Astra Armory can sell more weapons. Mirai Kobayashi needs living specimens for her illegal experiments. They’re all—"

"Not human anymore," Evelyn interjected sharply, clenching her black‑gloved hand around the sofa’s arm. "They’re Armani‑clad demons."

Elijah gazed down at the crescent pendant in his hand. "But Dad said that creature collects metal. Can they be stopped?"

Benedict took a long sip of his whiskey. "VOSS Industries has advanced combat drones, but without the approval of the Nine Dragons, our power is limited. All we can do is hold our ground."

On the holographic screen, the headline news continued to broadcast lies: "Meteor phenomenon has ended! Citizens are advised to resume their normal activities!"