The stage had been completed before noon, and by the time the sun shifted above the gray rooftops of Sector 11, people from the Capital had already arrived.

As expected, the square no longer belonged to the sector.

Red-armored guards stood in two perfectly straight lines between the stage and the crowd, their polished armor reflecting pale daylight like blood-colored metal. Each of them carried sleek rifles held across their chests, helmets hiding their faces completely so that none of them looked human anymore—only identical symbols of force sent by the Capital.

This time the order had been absolute.

Every resident of Sector 11 had been summoned.

No excuses.

No staying home.

No remaining in the mines.

Because of that, the square had become more crowded than Tyler had ever seen.

Sector 11 did not actually contain many people compared to what its streets suggested. The buildings were numerous because the sector had once held far more residents, but years of labor, disease, hunger, and quiet disappearances had reduced the population heavily.

At present, there were only around three thousand people.

And all of them were here.

Families stood shoulder to shoulder. Miners in dust-stained clothes crowded near the rear. Children were held close by mothers who looked uneasy even before anything had begun. Old men and women stood silently, some leaning on sticks, some too tired even to whisper.

Even breathing space had become scarce.

Tyler stood among them near the side of the square, beside Old Lady Veena.

Veena held her restored circular drone camera close to her chest like something precious. The small machine hovered quietly near her shoulder, recording everything while pretending to be inactive whenever guards looked nearby.

For most people in Sector 11, Tyler was still simply the unfamiliar young man who had appeared recently and somehow begun moving around with Tansy’s family. Everyone noticed him, but no one had the courage or interest to question it today.

Because everyone’s attention remained fixed on the stage.

Because whenever the Capital gathered all sectors like this, nothing good usually followed.

A low mechanical sound rose overhead.

Several drones descended from above and positioned themselves around the stage.

Their lenses adjusted.

Lights activated.

Then movement began.

A woman stepped forward from the rear entrance.

She looked to be around her mid-thirties, though her posture carried exaggerated youthfulness designed more for display than dignity. Her hair was curled wildly into large waves dyed in multiple bright colors—purple, green, gold, and blue twisting together like a deliberate refusal to resemble anyone from the sectors.

Her dress was long enough to drag across the stage floor, glittering with stitched metallic patterns that caught every beam of light.

Behind her walked two muscular men wearing nothing but fitted black trousers.

Both had bare upper bodies polished with oil so that their six-packs, shoulders, and arms shone unnaturally under the drones. Their only task was obvious—they held the trailing length of her dress carefully to ensure it never touched dirt.

Even entering the stage had become theater.

The woman reached the center and smiled broadly.

At once, a man standing near one of the drones—clearly a Capital camera operator—raised his hand and shouted toward the crowd.

"Clap!"

The command was immediate.

Thousands of hands began clapping.

Not because they wanted to.

Because hesitation itself could be noticed.

The drones zoomed toward the woman’s laughing face, and a moment later her image appeared enlarged on the giant screen standing beside the square.

Her smile looked even larger there.

Artificially warm.

Artificially pleased.

"Hello, Sector People," she announced into the microphone, her voice amplified across the square.

She paused dramatically before continuing.

"On the grace of our First Citizen, the Apex, the President, and the one and only King of Libria—the nation of one Capital and fifteen sectors—John Pmurt Dlanod—"

Before she even finished the name, the entire square bowed.

It happened almost like instinct.

Even Old Lady Veena lowered her head despite the bitterness in her eyes.

Tyler followed as well.

Because not following would only attract attention.

Above them, drones continued recording every angle.

The woman smiled wider when she saw complete obedience.

"Our King," she continued proudly, "has once again decided to entertain the world."

A murmur immediately spread through the crowd.

Fear.

Recognition.

Memory.

Because everyone knew what certain words implied.

"We, the citizens of Libria—the Librials—are about to witness once again the most entertaining cultural game of our country."

The murmurs became louder.

Several faces visibly lost color.

Even people too young to remember previous games had heard enough stories to understand why older generations reacted this way.

Then suddenly—

"SILENCE!"

She shouted directly into the microphone.

The amplified force of her voice cracked through the square like thunder, forcing immediate silence.

Even children stopped moving.

The woman coughed lightly, adjusted her posture, and then smiled again as if nothing had happened.

This time her voice lowered theatrically.

"The Twenty-Fifth Capital Games... are now live."

Those words settled over Sector 11 like cold ash.

The Capital Games were never scheduled.

They did not happen yearly.

They did not belong to tradition in any comforting sense.

They happened only when the First Citizen desired entertainment.

And because the First Citizen ruled all of Libria, desire itself became law.

Tyler glanced sideways.

He noticed Veena’s fingers tighten around her old drone camera.

Around them, fear had already begun spreading through the crowd long before anyone explained what this year’s game would demand.

---

"Just like always, I am obligated to select candidates for the Capital Games," the woman announced, her voice bright and theatrical as if she were introducing a festival rather than deciding lives. "And as tradition allows, the winners will earn the right to live in the Capital."

That single sentence changed the atmosphere instantly.

Until then, fear had dominated the square.

Now something else entered the crowd.

Hope.

It moved quietly at first, visible only in shifting expressions and lifted eyes, but it spread fast. Even people who had arrived expecting bad news could not completely suppress that reaction.

Because for anyone born in the sectors, living in the Capital was more than comfort.

It was the highest dream possible.

No ration shortages.

No mines.

No fear of monthly collectors.

No gray streets or coughing nights.

It meant clean air, stable electricity, proper medicine, endless food, and a life where one no longer belonged to the disposable side of Libria.

Even those who distrusted the Capital could not deny the temptation.

Somewhere in the crowd, Tansy stood between her parents and Rose, her eyes fixed on the stage.

Even she felt that small dangerous pull for a moment.

Not because she trusted the promise, but because the word Capital itself had been placed in front of them like bait polished over generations.

Still, everyone also knew something equally important.

Reaching that promise was never simple.

No one entered the Capital through kindness.

Every reward demanded blood first.

The woman on stage lifted her chin slightly and continued.

"For the Capital Games, we will select five people from each sector."

She raised one hand and spread her fingers dramatically.

"Three male participants... and two female participants."

Then she paused deliberately, enjoying the silence she had created.

"Of any age above ten."

A visible ripple moved through the square.

This time even the earlier hope became unstable.

Ten.

That meant children.

Parents instinctively pulled younger ones closer.

Several boys and girls near the front lowered their heads immediately, as though avoiding eye contact might somehow hide them.

The woman smiled as if the reaction amused her.

Then her expression brightened further, as though remembering a pleasant extra detail.

"And remember," she added lightly, "selection is not the only thing happening today. We will also be taking back some young beauties for decoration."

The words were spoken casually.

Almost lazily.

As though she were requesting flowers for a banquet.

"Don’t worry," she said, laughing softly into the microphone, "we will return them after use."

The sentence struck the crowd harder than her earlier announcement.

Several women lowered their heads immediately.

Some mothers instinctively pulled daughters behind them.

Rose, standing beside Tansy, suddenly gripped her sister’s hand tightly without understanding every implication, but understanding enough to feel danger.

Even Tyler’s eyes sharpened from where he stood near Veena.

The woman had spoken of people exactly as if they were borrowed furniture.

Disposable.

Temporary.

Without dignity.

And the guards behind her remained expressionless, rifles steady, as though such words were ordinary.

"Now," she continued, her tone bright again, "at this exact same moment, fourteen other hosts identical to me in duty are speaking in the other sectors, each selecting participants for their own games."

She spread her arms proudly.

"The entire nation watches together."

Then she placed one hand dramatically over her chest.

"As for me—Host of Sector Fifteen—Aruna—"

She bowed slightly toward the drones, making sure the cameras captured her best angle.

"—I shall now choose the first participant."

Immediately, two red-armored guards stepped forward carrying a machine unlike anything most of Sector 11 had ever seen.

It looked like a polished metallic globe mounted on a stand.

On either side protruded two handles shaped like vertical gears—one blue, one pink.

The globe itself glowed faintly from within, transparent enough to show movement inside, though what moved there remained unclear.

The machine was placed at center stage.

Aruna approached it with obvious excitement.

She placed one hand on the pink gear.

"For our first selection..."

Then she pulled.

The gear rotated with a smooth metallic sound.

Inside the globe, light swirled rapidly.

A few seconds later, a glowing pink sphere emerged from the top with a soft mechanical sound and floated upward into her waiting hand.

The square had become completely silent now.

Even breathing seemed reduced.

Aruna smiled brightly and looked at the glowing sphere as a picture appeared as a projection.

It was Rose.