x
Steed stood in the dim glow of the nursery, his eyes fixed on the infant behind the glass, nestled in one of the many softly lit cubicles. The crystal, embedded in the tiny hand of the sleeping child, shimmered faintly in the rosy hue of the auto-tender—a sleek, cocoon-like cradle that gently swaddled the baby, attending to its every need with silent efficiency. The soft sound of distant music, bubbling like faint laughter, drifted through the air, adding an almost surreal calm to the scene. Steed’s face was thoughtful, his expression unreadable, as he lingered in the tranquil, almost ethereal light.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, with an aristocratic grace to his movements. His sharp jawline and youthful, dark eyes mirrored the elegance of someone who held both power and intelligence, though now, his face held a strange intensity. A tension that belied his usual calm.
Beside him, Emma watched. Her deep-set, intelligent eyes flicked between Steed and the infant. Her face, striking in its beauty, carried a regal air—sharp cheekbones, a soft curve to her lips, and a calm intensity that exuded control. Her long, dark hair framed her face, giving her an air of quiet elegance. Emma-8-Peel, the model of efficiency, yet her curiosity was piqued as she observed her partner’s growing agitation.
Steed’s knuckles rapped softly on the soundless glass, his gaze never leaving the infant. "Rise and shine," he murmured, almost to himself. "Come on... John-7."
Emma frowned, her hands resting on her hips. "Steed, what exactly are you doing?"
His voice was laced with both anticipation and frustration. "That's him. John-7-Steed. I just know it." He leaned closer to the glass, eyes searching for any sign that the baby might stir, his breath fogging the pristine surface. "He just needs to wake up."
Emma’s brow arched. She regarded the tiny child through the sterile cocoon of glass as if trying to see what Steed saw. "They all look the same to me, Steed."
"No," he insisted, his voice growing more desperate. "That one. That's him. That's the one." He knocked harder, almost impatient now, his manic energy palpable.
Emma stepped closer, her hand gently touching his arm. "Even if it is, what does it matter, Steed? He's just a baby."
Steed tore his gaze from the infant for the first time, looking down at her, his dark eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. "It matters, Emma," he said softly. "It matters because that’s me... or will be."
As Steed’s knuckles struck the soundless glass once more, the chime rang out, a sharp, mechanical pulse that echoed through the sterile corridor like a sudden clap of thunder. The alarm was no lullaby. It was a piercing reminder that the Dome was always watching, always vigilant.
The violet light washed over the nursery like a wave, casting sharp shadows against the glass cubicles. It wasn’t just a warning — it was a demand.
Then, the voice followed. It was cold, calculated, but unmistakably male, each word pronounced with exact precision, yet dripping with a thin veneer of authority. The tone was low and metallic, edged with a mechanical rasp, but laced with impatience, as if waiting for disobedience. It reverberated through the walls, sterile and unfeeling:
"Intrusion detected. State your identity, now!"
The command wasn’t a suggestion, but an order, designed to send a shiver down the spine of anyone foolish enough to delay their response. The voice belonged to the Dome's watchful eye, always present, never sleeping, ready to administer punishment if necessary. This was not a polite query — it was an insistent interrogation.
Steed, with a practiced calm, straightened himself. His reply was immediate and firm, spoken with the authority that only his rank afforded him. "Identification: John-6-Steed, Emma-8-Peel. Authorized personnel. Accidental intrusion. Requesting clearance."
For a moment, there was silence. The violet glow hung in the air, casting an eerie hue across the sterile corridor. Emma shifted slightly, her eyes flicking between the softly glowing cradles and the walls, awaiting the Dome's judgment.
Then, the voice returned, more pointed, more deliberate. This time, it was even sharper, a confirmation laced with a warning, as if to remind them that they had come perilously close to the edge of the Dome’s tolerance.
"Clear, John-6-Steed. Emma-8-Peel. But do take heed—should this happen again; I shall not be so lenient with your oversight."
The violet light dimmed slowly, returning the nursery to its soft pink glow, but the air remained heavy, the weight of the Dome’s surveillance palpable even in the lull.
Emma shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes as she watched Steed take one last glance at the sleeping infant, his face softening.
"Even the alarm didn't wake him," he muttered, turning away from the cubicle at last.
"Perhaps it’s time we left," Emma suggested, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Before they decide to revoke our authorization."
Steed hesitated, giving the sleeping infant one final, long look. Then, with a sigh, he nodded, his moment of obsession slipping away as they moved down the dimming corridor. As they passed the other cradles, each holding their tiny charges, the faint lullaby resumed, and the voice returned, softer this time. "Sleep time... go to sleep. Sleep, little ones."
Outside the nursery, the air felt lighter, though Steed’s thoughts were far from at ease. As they stepped into the glide-cab station, Emma glanced at him, her eyes catching the distant look in his own. "You know, Steed, sometimes you wonder too much for an Iceman."
Steed chuckled, the sound dry and mirthless. "Perhaps," he admitted, leaning back as the glide-cab glided toward them. "But I wonder if that's what keeps me from becoming one of them."
They entered the car, the door closing with a soft hiss behind them as it whisked them away, moving smoothly through the city. Lights blurred past, giving them glimpses of the vibrant world beyond. But Steed’s mind remained far from the bright, chaotic streets of the Dome.
Emma watched him for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer now. "You think that infant could be… you?"
Steed didn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed on the blurred lights outside. "Maybe," he said at last. "Maybe not. But if he is, then I need to know."
Emma remained silent, sensing that there was more at stake in Steed’s thoughts than he was willing to share just yet. They continued through the twilight of the Dome, the hum of the Glide-cab the only sound between them, as Steed's thoughts raced ahead, wondering what would come next in their search for answers.
The Grand Promenade shimmered in a dazzling display of lights and sounds, a world within the Dome that pulsed with life and pleasure. Emma-8-Peel and John-6-Steed moved through the throng, their faces illuminated by the neon glow of signs that advertised endless indulgence. The façade of the Relive Shop loomed ahead, its bold, flashing signs urging passersby to RELIVE YOUR MOST TREASURED MOMENTS! Above the entrance, another banner promised, EXPERIENCE IT TIME AND TIME AGAIN! REFRESH AND REVITALIZE WHENEVER YOU PLEASE!
Two men emerged from the Nostalgia Emporium, their faces lit with broad, contented grins. They stumbled slightly, laughter bubbling up between them, clearly still lost in the haze of their artificially replayed memories. As they walked, one of them stopped abruptly, almost crashing into Steed and Emma.
"Apologies," the man muttered, his expression dazed. With a quick, sheepish glance, he turned back toward the entrance, unable to resist the pull of the experience. He disappeared back into the Nostalgia Emporium without a second thought, while his friend, now walking alone, shrugged good-naturedly at Steed and Emma before continuing down the Arcade.
Emma watched him go, her gaze lingering on the shop’s garish façade. She turned to Steed. "How do people live like this?" she asked, her voice tinged with something between curiosity and disdain.
Steed glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "They don’t live, Emma," he replied. "They relive."
They moved on, passing the next gaudy establishment. Fresh Face #594, the sign proclaimed, flashing a kaleidoscope of colors. A man burst out of the entrance, his face alight with excitement. He rushed toward a nearby woman, practically throwing himself in front of her, hands framing his freshly altered face.
"Well?" he demanded eagerly. "How do you like it?"
The woman tilted her head, examining him critically. Her eyes lingered on his cheeks before she spoke. "I don’t know," she said, her tone indifferent. "The cheeks, maybe. They look a little..."
The man’s expression faltered. "Too much?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
"Too little," the woman replied, almost absently.
The man blinked. "Too little?" He gestured helplessly at his face as if trying to find the flaw she had pointed out. "Right. Wait here." Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and darted back into the shop, leaving the woman standing alone. She shrugged, unbothered, and casually linked arms with another passerby, disappearing into the crowd with him.
Steed shook his head, bemused. "The never-ending pursuit of perfection," he said dryly.
"They’ll never stop, will they?" Emma remarked, her voice soft but edged with a trace of something darker. "Always looking for something better, something newer."
"They don’t know any different," Steed replied. His eyes flicked toward the next garish sign they passed. AMOUR EMPORIUM, it promised, with bold letters declaring LOVE, FULFILLMENT, RARE DELIGHTS. Streams of people flowed in and out, each wearing the same glazed, blissed-out expression. A woman drifted past them, her lips parted in a half-whispered sigh of "Yes... yes..." as she disappeared into the mass of bodies.
Emma’s gaze lingered on the Amour Emporium, but she said nothing. Instead, she fell into step beside Steed as they threaded their way through the crowd, their path taking them toward the heart of the Arcade. They passed another shop, DREAMWORKS, where signs screamed promises of BLAST OFF, IZZABLAST, ZOOPERBLAST. The people going in looked excited, full of anticipation, but those coming out were stoned, their eyes wide and vacant as they stumbled through the crowd, lost in their drug-induced euphoria.
Steed’s brow creased slightly as he observed the revelers. "It's all too easy here, isn’t it?" he murmured. "A life of endless distractions."
"Distractions from what?" Emma asked, her voice thoughtful. "From thinking? From questioning?"
"Perhaps." Steed's expression darkened slightly. "Perhaps from realizing that there’s more beyond the Dome than what they've been told."
As they moved deeper into the Grand Promenade, the crowd thickened and funneled into a grand passageway that opened up into a vast, glittering hall. The Grand Hall of the Grand Promenade stretched out before them, a massive room teeming with people. The air was thick with anticipation, a restless energy stirring the crowd as they gathered from every corner of the entertainment district.
Steed and Emma wove their way through the throng, occasionally nodding to acquaintances or catching the eye of familiar faces. As they approached a raised platform at the center of the hall, a virile-looking man caught sight of them and broke away from her companions. He made a beeline for Steed, his smile broad and welcoming.
"John," he greeted, her voice smooth and honeyed. He stepped in close and heartily shook hands with him.
Steed returned the handshake with a polite smile before stepping back and gesturing toward Emma. "This is Emma," he introduced. "We're celebrating tonight. Her next in line for... well, let’s just say something special."
The man smiled at Emma, a flicker of lechery in his eyes as he gazed at her. "Well then," he said with a playful lilt, "let’s make sure the celebration lives up to expectations."
Emma glanced at Steed, arching a brow. "I doubt anything could surprise me in a place like this," she quipped, her voice tinged with amusement.
Steed chuckled softly. "Oh, Emma. You never know what you might find in the Grand Promenade."
As they moved through the bustling Grand Promenade, a young woman’s eyes sparkled with mischief, a broad smile gracing his features. She shook her head playfully, amusement dancing in her gaze. The young woman smiled, shaking her head with a hint of mischief. “Only if I make it to the top,” she declared, raising her hand as if to emphasize her point. In her palm, the crystalflower glowed red, a reminder of the stakes involved.
Steed glanced at her, a playful smirk on his lips. “Thirty—already? I always thought I was the elder statesman here,” he quipped, feigning an air of sophistication.
“Hardly,” she replied with a light chuckle. “But you know me; I’ll give it my best shot.”
Their friend nodded, the camaraderie palpable as they exchanged knowing looks. “Well, whatever happens, just remember—you’re not alone in this. We’ll face it together.”
“Give it a good try,” she replied, her tone pleasant and light, filled with a sense of hope.
Just then, another striking woman approached them, her presence commanding the space. “Sorry I won’t be at Commencement tonight,” she said to the first woman, a note of regret in her voice. “It’s my turn at the Amour Emporium.”
“That’s all right. Happy turn!” the first woman replied, her smile genuine.
“You’ll renew. I’ve got a feeling,” the second woman assured her.
The first woman beamed, a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. “So do I... but if I don’t, at least I’ll have the ultimate thrill. I’d almost rather have that than renew.”
“I feel the same way,” the second woman confided, her voice thoughtful. “Sometimes I think I’m not even going to try to renew when my time comes. But— that’s three years away.” With a wave, she turned and disappeared into the throng.
The young woman and the first woman exchanged a moment of understanding. “It’s been nice,” she said, her voice trailing off as she turned away.
Emma observed her departure in stride and turned to Steed. “I guess you never had her?” she asked a hint of jest in his tone.
He shook his head in reply, a flicker of regret passing through him. “You missed something special,” Emma remarked, teasing.
Steed regarded Emma with a subtle curiosity. “And whose company have you ever had the pleasure of?” he inquired, his tone steeped in rich understatement, as though discussing the weather rather than a romantic encounter.
“Ah, well… one cannot have everything,” Emma replied with a shrug.
In unison, they recited an old joke, their voices lightening the mood. “But one can try.” Their laughter was cut short as a trio of youngsters burst onto the scene, their energy like lightning. They darted between the two men, nearly knocking one of them over.
“Watch it!” Steed shouted, reeling slightly as the children dashed past, shrieking with delight and scattering patrons like leaves in a storm.
“The bloody Foxtrots are getting out of hand,” Emma remarked with a hint of exasperation, her gaze following the trio as they weaved through the crowd. “Those three belong in the Sin Bin. They’ve no business scrambling about in Grand Promenade.
Steed laughed, cuffing his friend's arm playfully. "What an old maid you're getting to be, Emma. Weren't you ever a Foxtrot Class? I bet you were even wilder than..." He was interrupted as the lights in the Grand Hall dimmed suddenly, an ominous shift that beckoned their attention.
“Come on, Iceman,” she urged, a sense of adventure sparking in his eyes. Together, they moved toward the far end of the Great Hall, their laughter fading into the buzzing atmosphere around them, the world filled with the promises of joy and excitement.
