Chapter 2: Home in the Inner Zone
The portal rippled shut behind Ethan, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of light. For a heartbeat, everything turned white — then color seeped back in, flooding the world with brilliance.
He blinked, adjusting to the glow of the Inner Zone. Hover-cars hummed silently through silver-blue skies. Towering buildings glistened in the distance, their mirrored walls catching the light like fragments of glass. Holographic signs flickered above wide, spotless streets.
> You're probably wondering, Ethan thought, his inner voice echoing through the emptiness. After we record… where does it all go? The footage, the sound, the moments we capture?
He smiled faintly. They come here.
Around him, the Inner Zone stretched endlessly — a futuristic city suspended between clouds and calm. For all its shimmer, it felt strangely hollow.
> You might think we rule this place. That we're gods, freezing time, catching heroes mid-rescue.
But no. Here, we're just people. No flying. No glowing. No grand destiny. Just… home. Comfortable enough.
Ethan walked along the main avenue, passing food stalls and repair workshops. Aromas of spiced synth-coffee drifted in the air, but the benches nearby were empty. Parks stood pristine and untouched.
> You'd think a place this perfect would be alive. He looked around at the hurried faces, the blank stares. But everyone's too busy editing, uploading, managing the next story. There's no time left to live it.
His gaze lifted toward the center of the skyline, where a single colossal structure reached higher than the clouds — its golden veins pulsing softly.
> That's Nexus Tower. Every frame, every second we capture ends up there. Billions of stories stored forever.
He paused, admiring it. "Beautiful," he murmured under his breath.
"Already daydreaming again?"
Ethan turned to find Evan walking toward him, sound gear slung casually over his shoulder. A few crew members trailed behind, laughing about something.
"You know me," Ethan said. "Just appreciating the view."
Evan grinned. "You? Appreciating something that doesn't move? That's new."
"Ha. Funny. How bad was it out there?"
"Could've been worse," Evan replied. "You missed half the speedster's final lap, though. Author's office won't love that."
"Yeah, I know. I'll fix it next time."
"You said that after the volcano thing too." Evan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, just keep it together, alright? We don't want you suspended again."
"Relax," Ethan said, shrugging. "I'm fine."
They reached a fork in the street, where the crew split off to different sections of the city.
"See you tomorrow?" Evan asked.
"Yeah. Same time."
They bumped fists, then performed their little handshake — quick, practiced, and familiar. A silent bond between friends. Evan grinned once more before heading down the right lane.
> That's Evan, Ethan thought. Sound guy. Best friend. Probably the only one keeping me from getting fired.
He continued left. Kids played with a levitating football, their laughter echoing between metallic walls. When the ball rolled to his feet, one of them called out, "Hey, Mister Ethan! Kick it back!"
Ethan smirked, flicked the ball up, spun once, and sent it flying straight into the kid's arms. The group erupted in cheers.
"Nice shot!" one shouted.
"Thanks, champ."
Vendors called out to him as he passed.
"Evening, Ethan! Another big rescue today?"
"You could say that."
"Well, don't forget to rest once in a while!"
"Yeah, I'll try."
> Section Five, he thought as he turned a corner. Quiet. Small. But it's home.
Two identical houses stood side by side at the end of the lane. Evan waved from his porch.
"Alright, neighbor," he said. "Don't stay up all night again."
Ethan chuckled. "No promises."
He stepped inside his home, and the door closed behind him with a soft click. The easy smile faded from his face.
The house was narrow — two floors, sparsely furnished, humming faintly with the quiet of solitude.
Then, a bark.
A small, glowing dog sprinted toward him — snow-white fur with streaks of soft blue light tracing her sides. Her collar shimmered with a holographic name tag: Sally.
"Hey, Sally," Ethan said, kneeling to pet her. "Missed me?"
She barked twice, circling him with a wagging tail.
"At least someone's happy to see me."
He collapsed onto the couch and flipped through the holo-channels. News. Statistics. Hero highlights. More of the same. He switched to football — then turned it off.
Stepping out onto the balcony, he leaned against the railing and gazed at the city lights pulsing below like breathing stars.
The girl's image returned to his mind. The café window. The open book. The calm.
> She wasn't even looking. Everyone else was shouting, cheering… and she just sat there reading. Why?
He picked up his digital diary from the table. Holographic pages unfolded, revealing sketches of disasters and rescues. Tiny notes floated beside each image: Focus error. Wrong angle. Paused too long.
He flipped to a blank page, titled it "Mystery Girl," and began to draw.
Line by line, she emerged — the outline of her face, the curve of the window, the soft light of the café. When he finished, she looked almost alive.
Ethan stared at the sketch, his chest tightening. "What's wrong with me?" he muttered.
He tapped the stylus against the table, restless. Then, suddenly, he slammed the diary shut, tucked it under his arm, and headed for the door.
Sally barked once — softly, as if to stop him — but the door closed, and her glow dimmed.
The city lights hummed. The night pressed in.
And somewhere far above, in the shadow of Nexus Tower, a new story waited to begin.