Lyra sat motionless on the metal bench, her wrists bound by electromagnetic restraints that pulsed with a faint blue glow. The holding cell contained seven other captured Unaligned, all waiting for processing into the Game. No one spoke. What was there to say? They all knew what came next.

  Three days had passed since her capture during the component retrieval mission. The scanner malfunction had exposed her position to ProtectoCorp sensors, and everything had unraveled in seconds—Dren and the others scattering while she'd been cornered, her specialized tools confiscated, her carefully pnned mission ending in failure.

  But the mission wasn't the only thing that had failed. The neural signature masking system she'd been building would have helped dozens of Sector 17 youths avoid detection. Now it would never be completed.

  The cell door slid open, and a ProtectoCorp officer entered. "Processing group six. Stand up."

  Lyra rose with the others. Today was her eighteenth birthday, though there would be no celebration in this cell. Back in Sector 17, Tel had pnned to mark the occasion with a small protein cake using precious saved rations. The community elders had set aside rare technical manuals salvaged from a corporate outpost as a gift. They had all known what this day meant—both birthday and Activation Day, the deadline she'd been working against. Their investment, their hope, captured just days before her pns could be completed.

  "Move," the officer commanded, gesturing toward the door with his shock baton.

  They filed into the corridor, joining other groups of captured Unaligned being herded toward the processing center. Lyra studied everything as they walked—security systems, door mechanisms, personnel patterns. Even now, she couldn't stop analyzing, cataloging, searching for patterns and vulnerabilities. It was how she'd survived eighteen years in a world designed to eliminate people like her.

  The processing center loomed ahead—a sterile white facility with "GAME ENTRY PREPARATION" embzoned across its entrance in corporate blue. Unlike the Architect-css facilities where others would be experiencing carefully orchestrated ceremonies, this was mass processing—efficient, impersonal, designed to move bodies through the system with minimal resource expenditure.

  "Group six, station four," announced an automated voice as they entered the main hall.

  Lyra gnced around. Dozens of stations lined the massive room, each processing captured Unaligned for Game entry. In the center stood a holographic dispy showing propaganda footage—smiling participants rising through Game ranks, finding opportunities and advancement. Nobody watched it. Everyone knew the reality.

  At station four, a technician in a gray uniform waited, looking bored. "Next," she called after finishing with the previous person.

  Lyra stepped forward.

  "Name?" the technician asked, not looking up from her screen.

  "Lyra Kess."

  The technician typed briefly. "Territory of origin?"

  "Sector 17."

  More typing. The technician finally looked up properly, studying Lyra with mild interest. "Neural scan shows you've never had an interface. Unusual to reach eighteen without at least a basic tracking unit."

  Lyra remained silent. Sector 17 had developed sophisticated methods to help youths avoid detection before Activation age. She'd helped design some of those methods.

  The technician sighed. "Sit down. Standard procedure for Unaligned first-timers."

  Lyra sat in the processing chair. A mechanical arm descended from above, containing a basic scanner. It moved around her head, focusing on the base of her skull.

  "Neural architecture mapping in progress," announced an automated voice.

  This was the dangerous moment. If they detected anything unusual about her neural patterns—anything that revealed her as Subject L7 rather than just another Unaligned—everything would change. She'd be marked for special processing, possibly research. Helena's entire pn would colpse.

  The technician studied the readout with a slight frown. "Huh."

  Lyra's heart raced, but her face remained impassive. Years in Sector 17 had taught her perfect control of her expressions.

  The technician tapped her screen, and a new figure approached—a supervisor wearing a Helix Pharmaceuticals insignia rather than ProtectoCorp colors.

  "Possible anomaly in neural mapping," the technician reported. "Pattern doesn't match standard temptes."

  The supervisor gnced at the screen, then at Lyra. His eyes showed no recognition, but something in his manner changed subtly.

  "I'll handle this one," he said. "Special processing protocol for anomalous patterns."

  Lyra was led to a separate room, smaller and more equipped than the main processing area. The door closed, leaving her alone with the supervisor.

  "Neural anomaly confirmed," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "But expected. You've been fgged in our system."

  Lyra's composure broke for an instant, surprise fshing across her face before she could control it.

  "Don't react," the man continued, maintaining the appearance of normal processing procedures as he worked. "I have instructions for special cases like yours. The anomaly will be marked as a minor variation, nothing to fg in the main system."

  He activated a different scanner, this one clearly modified. "This will register you as standard in the system. Nothing to worry about."

  As he worked, Lyra processed this revetion. Someone had anticipated her capture and prepared for it. How many others like her had passed through here with simir "special handling"?

  "Your interface will be standard issue," the man expined, retrieving a sealed container from beneath the processing station. "With some minor adjustments for your neural pattern."

  The neural interface he removed from the container looked identical to the mass-produced Worker-css models used for all Unaligned. But when he turned it slightly, Lyra caught an almost imperceptible difference in the central connection array—a pattern simir to modifications she'd designed herself.

  "This will hurt," he warned, positioning the interface at the base of her skull. "We can't use the numbing agents without arousing suspicion."

  Lyra nodded once. Pain was familiar in Sector 17.

  The interface connected with a sharp, burning sensation that radiated through her nervous system. Lyra bit down on her cry, allowing only a gasp to escape. The fire spread through her neural pathways, her vision blurring as the system integrated with her brain.

  "Neural interface integration proceeding normally," the man reported loudly for any monitoring systems. Then, much quieter: "This particur model should work well with your unique neural architecture."

  Lyra's thoughts raced despite the pain. Someone had recognized something special about her brain patterns and was ensuring she received different treatment. The implications were staggering.

  "Why?" she managed to whisper through clenched teeth.

  The man continued working, his expression unchanged. "Just following instructions. Some neural patterns get fgged for special handling." He made a final adjustment to the interface. "Integration complete. Neural patterns stabilizing."

  The burning sensation gradually subsided, repced by a strange awareness of the interface itself—a presence at the edge of her consciousness, offering capabilities she could sense but not yet access.

  "Game entry processing complete," the man announced loudly. He helped Lyra stand, speaking normally now. "You'll be transferred to physical maintenance before consciousness transfer. Standard procedure."

  As he guided her toward the door, he added in a whisper: "Look for the patterns in the Game. They're important."

  Lyra was escorted to another facility where her physical body would be prepared for long-term maintenance while her consciousness entered the Game. As she walked between guards, the interface at the base of her skull felt warm against her skin—a reminder of the strange encounter and the modifications that weren't supposed to be there.

  The physical maintenance chamber resembled a medical facility, with rows of cylindrical pods designed to sustain bodies while minds existed elsewhere. Technicians directed her to pod 3179, where she was instructed to lie down.

  As connection cables were attached to her interface, Lyra stared at the pod's transparent ceiling. Eighteen years of life in Sector 17. Eighteen years as their investment, their hope. And now, on her eighteenth birthday, she was entering the Game just like the privileged Architect twins whose lives couldn't have been more different from hers.

  Yet somehow, they were connected—she, Alexander, Elijah, and Helena Voss. The pieces didn't fit together yet, but Lyra was good at patterns. She would figure it out.

  "Consciousness transfer initiating," announced a technician.

  The world began to fade, physical reality dissolving as her mind transitioned to the Game environment. Her st thought before the transfer completed was of Tel and the others who had sacrificed so much for her.

  I'll make it worth it, she promised silently. Whatever this is, I'll make it worth everything you gave.

  Then physical sensation vanished entirely, repced by forest sounds and filtered sunlight. Floor 1. The beginning.

  Lyra Kess, once Subject L7, opened her eyes to the Whispering Woods and took her first step into the Game.