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Steed and Emma entered the Great Hall, a massive chamber in the heart of the city designed to evoke awe, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling and casting prismatic lights across the gleaming surfaces below. The walls, adorned with intricate engravings depicting past rituals of Commencement, added an air of reverence to the space, enhanced by the rhythmic, pulsing hum that filled the hall. Just beyond lay the Commencement Arena, a sleek, domed structure symbolizing the state’s power, featuring luminous screens promoting the virtues of "renewal." Inside, bright lights and holographic projections created a carnival-like atmosphere, attempting to mask the underlying dread surrounding the event, even as the oppressive weight of what was to come lingered in the air.
Ahead, the grand archway of the arena loomed, crowned with a crimson crystal that pulsed in harmony with the collective breath of the audience. The throng of onlookers surrounded Steed and Emma, both clad in their sleek black Iceman uniforms—leather with silver accents—providing a stark contrast to the citizens around them. The attendees were dressed in 25th-century garb that combined functionality with an almost ceremonial elegance; many sported capes that shimmered like molten metal, featuring flowing designs reminiscent of ancient British heraldry, yet abstracted into clean, geometric shapes. As citizens gathered in the arena, a sense of excitement mingled with trepidation filled the air, each individual aware that their lives would soon change dramatically. For many, it was a rite of passage, while others quietly harbored doubts about the process ahead.
As they moved toward their seats, they caught sight of a fellow Iceman, a trusted comrade named Alec-9-Welling. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and an easy smile, though tonight his expression was far more somber. His crystalflower blinked the ominous red-black rhythm shared by the others. He nodded at them as they passed.
“You should’ve been with us at Nursery earlier, Alec. I swear, I recognized him,” Steed murmured, voice low.
Alec gave a stiff nod, his eyes briefly flicking toward the arena. “Maybe. But I’m on Monitor duty tonight, same as you two.” He gestured toward the massive, looming crystal.
Emma sighed, a flicker of impatience in her voice. “Of course. Right when I was hoping for some downtime in Promenade.” She exchanged a look with Steed, her eyes gleaming with restrained excitement.
Suddenly, the Great Hall dimmed, and the rhythmic pulse that had been humming through the air intensified, now a deep, reverberating thrum that seemed to echo through every corner of the vast chamber. The crowd instantly hushed, every gaze turning toward the arena in anticipation. The grand archway with its pulsating crimson crystal loomed larger as the room darkened, casting eerie reflections over the gathering. Steed and Emma, in their sleek black Iceman uniforms, stood out even more starkly among the citizens dressed in futuristic ceremonial robes—flowing garments that shimmered under the dimming lights, a symbol of purity and renewal. These robes, worn by those approaching their 30th birthdays, shimmered like molten metal, reflecting the surrounding lights and adding an air of elegance to the procession. The stark contrast between their youthful appearance and the grim fate that awaited them was palpable. A mixture of excitement and dread hung in the air, as each person knew that their lives were about to change forever. For some, this moment was a long-awaited rite of passage; for others, an unspoken fear lay beneath their serene expressions.
At the tier below, the Lastday Group emerged from the shadows, their movements deliberate, like a procession of sacrificial lambs. Hands raised in solemn surrender, the crystalflowers embedded in their palms pulsed in unison—red-black, red-black—a silent signal of their impending fate. Unlike the crowd gathered above them, adorned in futuristic, ceremonial garb, the Lastday participants wore only simple, translucent fabrics. The barely-there garments floated around their bodies, accentuating their forms in a way that spoke of purity and submission, their simplicity underscoring the gravity of the ritual.
As they made their way into the arena’s well, moving as one, the weight of their destiny settled heavily on their shoulders. The great hall dimmed further, the pulse of the arena intensifying, matching the thrum of their synchronized steps. The crowd, dressed in shimmering capes and geometric designs reminiscent of ancient heraldry, hushed in anticipation. They had gathered to witness this moment of transformation—this Commencement.
Suddenly, the voice of Mother rang out, amplified across the vast hall. His tone was commanding yet unnervingly serene.
"Citizens," he began, his voice carrying an almost fatherly warmth, "we gather today to honor those whose time has come, whose crystalflowers have signaled their Lastday. They stand before us, ready to embrace the renewal that awaits them." He paused, surveying the still, attentive crowd. "It is through this sacred ritual that we maintain balance, that we ensure the vitality of our society. Those who stand before you, bathed in the light of their own mortality, will soon be reborn."
The Lastday Group stood motionless, their faces reflecting a mixture of resignation and fear. Mother continued, his voice unwavering.
"Do not pity them, for they are the fortunate ones," he said, almost gently. "They will become part of something greater, their essence returned to the whole. Renewal is not an end—it is the beginning of a greater existence."
As he finished, the pulsing of the arena grew louder, the crimson light deepening, casting an eerie glow over the Lastday Group standing at its center. They were the symbols of a society promising eternal renewal—but at a price few could fathom. Above them, a dark oval shape materialized on the ceiling, surrounded by a stunning display of light in shifting hues, predominantly blood-red. To a 20th-century Englishman, it would have seemed like something straight out of Dante's Inferno.
The crowd watched, captivated by the unfolding ritual, as the Lastday Group prepared to take their final steps.
As the Lastday participants filed into the Commencement Well, the black hole above loomed ominously, pulsing in time with their steps. This gaseous, churning structure appeared to devour everything around it, as though not even light could escape its grasp. Its edges flickered and distorted in a hypnotic dance, creating a sense of endless depth that seemed to reach out and pull the eye inward. A soft, nervous applause began to ripple through the crowd, a palpable blend of excitement and dread thickening the air.
Below, the Well began to stir. The crystalline petals of light unfurled like a massive, otherworldly flower, forming a radiant cocoon around the participants. The translucent leaves shimmered and reflected a cascade of shifting hues—deep reds, vibrant golds, and rich violets—mirroring the dark and pulsating entity above. The entire chamber seemed alive, the black hole’s rhythmic pulses and the swirling, prismatic light merging into a spectacle of chilling beauty.
Steed watched as the Commencement Ritual reached its apex. The well, now fully closed, began to spin, slowly at first, but soon it picked up speed. Bands of light spiraled upward, encasing the participants in a kaleidoscope of color. The crowd’s energy shifted from tense anticipation to unrestrained fervor.
"Renew!" someone from the bleachers shouted, their voice cutting through the air.
The crowd picked up the chant. "Renew! Renew!" they cried, their voices rising to a fever pitch.
The spinning cocoon within the arena blurred, and through the shifting lights, the figures inside became visible—floating, weightless, their bodies twisting as they reached upward. Steed’s heart raced as he watched, mesmerized by the spectacle. One figure, a man, strained desperately toward the uppermost reaches of the arena, his arms outstretched as if grasping for salvation.
The chants grew louder. “Renew! Renew!” echoed through the Grand Hall, a cacophony of voices in perfect unison.
The man reached higher, his body outlined against the swirling colors. Then, in a brilliant flash of light, he vanished. The crowd erupted in cheers, their passion reaching a boiling point.
Steed glanced at Emma, her eyes alight with the same fervor that gripped the crowd. “They never stop, do they?” he muttered, half to himself.
“They don’t,” Emma replied, her voice tight with excitement. “And neither do we.”
As the arena continued its hypnotic dance, Steed found himself swept up in the collective ecstasy, chanting along with the crowd as the figures reached for the unattainable, one by one disappearing into the brilliant, spinning light.
Suddenly, a man, lost in the rapture of the crowd, toppled into the swirling blackness below. In an instant, he disappeared, consumed by the void, leaving nothing but a fleeting echo of his presence.
The arena whirled with an intoxicating brilliance, vibrant colors spiraling like a cosmic whirlpool. Rainbows danced against the dark, creating a dazzling spectacle of light and shadow. The audience erupted into orgiastic pleasure, reminiscent of a Spanish crowd reveling in a perfect performance. Their screams echoed through the hall, a symphony of exhilaration and fulfillment.
Figures began to ascend to the highest level, straining upward toward the radiant bands of color that beckoned them. Amidst the cacophony, Steed and Emma exchanged glances, the energy of the crowd palpable around them.
In the background, a faint buzzing noise broke through the chaos. Steed, sensing the disturbance, reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, dark plastic box. He glanced at it, the words “MAN: NOSTALGIA EMPORIUM 14. COORDINATE 305 X, 275 Y, 177 Z.” printed on its surface, a stark reminder of his duties amidst the spectacle.
“It looks like it’s time to step up,” he remarked, his tone edged with reluctant acceptance. “We have to go,” he added, his words hanging heavy in the air, as though fully absorbing the weight of what lay ahead.
Emma, with a playful smirk, asked, “Who invited you to this little party?”
“I thought I’d crash it, seeing as I’m dressed for the occasion,” he quipped, a sly grin spreading across his face.
Steed, appreciating her spirit, assisted her in navigating through the ecstatic crowd, and making their way deeper into the hall. As they moved, he held the small plastic box, disappointment momentarily clouding his features. But then, a faint beeping sound emanated from the device, cutting through his momentary gloom. Hope flickered in his eyes as he exchanged a knowing glance with Emma, the thrill of their next adventure pulling them deeper into the night’s unfolding mystery.
Steed pivoted sharply in one direction, the beeping in his device fading out. With a frustrated sigh, he turned again, searching. Nothing. He paused, brows furrowed, before swiveling once more. This time, the beeping resumed—sharp and steady.
“Got him,” Steed murmured to Emma, his jaw tightening. The two moved quickly through the grand hall, the relentless beeping guiding them as they closed in. The haunting screams from the Commencement echoed faintly behind them.
Then they saw him.
A man, tall but lean, with a gaunt face and wide, terrified eyes, was sprinting ahead, his ragged clothes billowing as he fled. His dark hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead; his panic clear as he darted around the corner.
“Separate!” Steed ordered. “We’d better set our weapons in firing position.”
Emma shot off to the right, her movements swift and graceful, while Steed veered left. They were going to box him in. The man was a Runaway, one of the damned souls trying to escape Commencement—an impossible dream in this world.
As Steed rounded the corner, he caught sight of Emma firing her s-blaster, a sizzling bolt of light streaking past the man, narrowly missing him. He cursed under his breath but grinned, catching Emma’s wink from across the corridor. She was playing with him, indulging in the chase. A little cat-and-mouse action before they wrapped this up.
Their quarry bolted up a nearby ramp, his feet pounding against the metal as Steed’s beeping device screamed louder. Steed raised his blaster and fired, but the blast fizzed past the man's shoulder. Emma mirrored his action, firing just behind him. Both shots were missed intentionally.
The Runaway was wild-eyed now, his chest heaving as he raced up to the higher levels. His expression grew crazed, frantic—like a cornered animal. They were toying with him, and he knew it.
Up another ramp he ran, now reaching one of the highest platforms in the hall. Steed and Emma followed, their guns glowing hot in their hands, ready to fire once more. The man’s steps faltered as he realized he had nowhere left to run. He reached the edge of a balcony and teetered, frozen in place. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, his sweat-streaked face contorted in terror. He was completely exposed now, with Steed aiming directly at him from twenty feet away.
Emma watched from the opposite side of the hall, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She had him trapped.
Steed raised his weapon, lining up the perfect shot. His finger hovered over the trigger—but he hesitated. For just a fraction of a second, his mind clouded with a shadow of thought. Could he do it?
Across the hall, Emma caught the hesitation, her playful expression turning curious.
The Runaway stood petrified, his eyes locked onto Steed, teetering on the brink of death as the moment hung in the air.
Steed moved swiftly, his every motion precise and efficient, the s-blaster ready in his hand. He and Emma had separated during the chase, and now their quarry was trapped. The beeping from Steed's locator device had led them right to him.
The man lunged suddenly, but Steed fired, the blast narrowly missing him. Before Steed could adjust his aim, Emma took over, her face determined. She fired her own salvo, the quiet whump of her s-blaster sending a glowing beam toward the fugitive. It drove the man back, forcing him against the rail of the upper balcony.
Teetering there, with nowhere left to run, he raised his trembling hands in a futile attempt to shield himself. His terrified eyes locked on Steed’s as if begging for mercy, but there would be none tonight.
A split second later, he let out a desperate cry and plunged over the railing. His scream was drowned out by the roar of the distant Carousel below, the crowd cheering in manic ecstasy.
Steed reached the body first. It was crumpled at an unnatural angle on the cold floor beneath the rail. He crouched down, his sharp eyes already examining the corpse with dispassionate efficiency. He grabbed the man’s left hand and turned it over, revealing a black flower crystal embedded in the palm. It confirmed what they already knew. The man had run, and now he was dead.
Emma appeared beside him, her breathing steady, watching as Steed pulled out his transceiver. The small screen blinked to life, and the face of a man appeared on it—a face that didn’t match the dead one lying in front of them.
“Not our target,” Steed muttered, frowning as he glanced at Emma. She simply raised a brow, unphased.
He then moved the transceiver closer to the dead man’s face, resting it gently on his forehead. The readout flickered and confirmed, in cool, detached lettering: IDENT. CONFIRM: CLASSIFICATION... RUNAWAY. RECORDS ALTERATION: FRESH FACE #483.
Steed let out a soft sigh, his shoulders momentarily relaxing. He took out a small, flat pouch and began removing the man’s few personal belongings, stuffing them efficiently into it. He was almost finished when something caught his eye—something clutched in the man’s right hand. Steed pried it open to find a small metal object on a chain: an ankh.
It meant nothing to him. He shrugged and shoved it into the pouch without a second thought. His job done, he tapped the transceiver once more and spoke softly into it.
“Runaway iced. Time: 0:31,” he reported, his tone businesslike. After a brief pause, he added, “Requesting retrieval and disposal units for body management and data extraction.”
Steed stood, dusting off his hands, and turned to face Emma, who had watched him in silence the whole time. He gave her a quick nod, and the two of them began to move away from the scene, leaving the dead Runaway for the cleanup robots. Another job finished, another life snuffed out.
Steed shrugged as he surveyed the scene, the cool efficiency of his work evident in the subtle tension of his shoulders. Emma walked beside him, her pace quick and purposeful. Together, they strode down the grand hall, the echo of their boots tapping against the cold, metallic floor. The distant hum of machines overhead signaled the arrival of the cleanup crew.
In the distance, a pair of robotic drones—Stickmen—descended into the hall. These peculiar machines hovered effortlessly, their slender metallic frames riding on circular grav-pads. One hovered above the body of the fallen Runaway, a mere silhouette now in the grand, sterile emptiness of the hall. Its mechanical arms extended, and with a swift button press, a thick vapor was emitted from the undercarriage, enveloping the corpse in a dense, shimmering mist.
The body, once human, began to dissolve, breaking apart into millions of fine crystals. They sagged and collapsed, crumbling into a formless heap as if a once intricate sand sculpture had been left to the mercy of the wind. The Stickman’s operator, emotionless and precise, observed the process. Once satisfied, the drone revved its engines, lifting higher and moving smoothly out of the scene.
As the first Stickman departed, the second glided down to complete the task. Its sensors swept the area, assessing the remains. With another press of its control panel, a low whir filled the hall as the crystals were vacuumed into the drone’s storage compartments. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of ionization, but the floor beneath was immaculate as if the Runaway had never existed.
Steed cast one last glance toward the Stickmen as they ascended, disappearing through the arches above. Around them, the exhilarated crowd began to spill out of the Carousel arena, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices echoing in jubilation. The spectacle of the Commencement had reached its peak, and now, the revelry was spilling over into the arcade, where more distractions awaited.
As Steed and Emma descended from the top level, the hall became less crowded. Emma, with her usual sharp gaze, gestured toward the Dreamworks, an enormous glowing structure built to provide the citizens with the next thrill.
“You're getting stale, Steed,” Emma teased with a smirk. “Go on, give the whole burn a try—word has it the new psycho-lift flips you inside out.”
She nudged him playfully toward the machine, her expression a mixture of amusement and challenge.
Steed chuckled. “I’ll pass for now,” he replied, his smile faint but genuine as Emma sauntered off, her figure disappearing into the crowd.
“I'll look for you later when I’m off,” she called back, her voice lingering in the air as she disappeared into the depths of the arcade.
Steed raised a hand in a casual wave, his mind already turning elsewhere. He glanced toward the Dreamworks, its pulsating lights beckoning him, but he hesitated, his senses not in sync with the frenetic energy of the crowd.
A young couple pushed past him, laughing, eager for their next thrill, but Steed’s attention drifted to the upper levels of the arcade. From the far reaches of the Commencement, the masses poured in, loud and animated, hungry for more amusement.
But Steed wasn’t in the mood for fun. He turned on his heel and made his way down, his steps growing quieter as he moved toward the exit, leaving behind the chaos of the Grand Promenade for the solace of the quieter corridors.
