"Thom! Wait!" Riley shouted, his voice breaking through the hum.

  Thom turned, confused, his hands still gripping the module's casing. "What?"

  The words barely left his mouth before it happened. A blinding light erupted from the module, and a loud crack split the air. The energy discharge surged through Thom's body, and he jerked violently, the arc of electricity illuminated the room in sharp, strobe-like bursts.

  Riley's legs felt rooted to the ground, his voice caught in his throat. The hum of the array had turned into a banshee's wail, a horrifying crescendo of machinery and raw power. Sparks rained down as Thom collapsed to the ground, the smell of burned fabric and flesh choking the air.

  "Thom!" Riley finally screamed, stumbling forward.

  His chest tightened as Thom continued to convulse, his uniform charred and smoked. All Riley could do was hover near him, trembling, unsure what to do.

  "Help!" Riley shouted, his voice hoarse and cracking as he turned toward the other Mod Jockeys nearby. "Somebody—get the medics! Anyone!"

  The frantic motions of nearby Jockey's drowned out his useless plea. One worker sprinted toward a nearby panel, hitting the emergency override. A shrill alarm echoed through the space, and a red strobe light began to flash overhead. The entire array began its shutdown sequence. The chaos of machinery and voices overlapped, creating a cacophony that rattled Riley's already frayed nerves.

  Within moments, two workers arrived with an insulated rod. One knelt by Thom, carefully prying his hand away from the module with the rod to avoid residual charges. The other, a tall man with a gaunt face, gestured for Riley to step back.

  "Kid, you need to move," the man said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Let us handle this."

  Riley scrambled back, his heart pounding in his ears as the medics arrived. They descended on Thom with practiced urgency, their faces a mixture of determination and grim focus. One checked for a pulse while the other began CPR, their movements sharp and efficient.

  The world blurred around Riley. He stood frozen, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as his mind replayed the moment of the discharge over and over. The snap of the grounding strap. The flash of light. The sound of Thom's voice cut off mid-sentence. It all felt like a terrible, surreal loop.

  Tamitha's voice broke through the haze. "Riley!" she called sharply, jogging toward him. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tense, her steps quick.

  Riley turned toward her, his face pale. "It—it wasn't supposed to happen," he stammered. "He hooked the strap. I saw him do it. But then it—"

  Tamitha held up a hand, her stern gaze locking onto his. "Breathe," she ordered. "Take a breath and tell me exactly what happened."

  Riley swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. "The strap," he said, his voice shaky. "It snapped while he was leaning in. I tried to warn him, but…"

  Tamitha's jaw tightened. She glanced toward the medics, who were still working frantically over Thom's lifeless form. Her shoulders squared as she turned back to Riley. "It sounds like the strap failed," she said, her tone clipped but not accusatory. "That's not your fault."

  "But he—" Riley's words faltered as the medic shook their head, the subtle gesture cutting through him like a blade.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tamitha followed his gaze, her expression hardening. She approached the medics, exchanging a brief, quiet conversation before returning to Riley. Her face was drawn, her usual sharpness tempered by a hint of something softer.

  "He's gone," she said quietly. "There was nothing you could have done."

  Riley's knees buckled, and he sank to the ground with his head in his hands. The weight of the day crashed down on him, suffocating and relentless. Thom's laughter echoed faintly in his memory, a cruel reminder of how quickly it had been silenced.

  Tamitha crouched beside him, her voice low but firm. "Listen to me, Riley. This was an equipment failure. Not yours, not his. The report will reflect that." She hesitated, her hand hovering near his shoulder before pulling back. "But you need to pull yourself together. This place doesn't stop for anyone. Not even this."

  Riley looked up at her, his eyes red. "How can you just move on?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "He was—he was my friend."

  Tamitha's gaze softened, just for a moment. "Because if we don't, lives within the InfiNet could be put in jeopardy," she said quietly. "And he wouldn't want that hanging over you."

  She stood, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Go take a break. Get some air. But I expect you back on the floor after that. Understood?"

  Riley nodded mutely, his body on autopilot as he trudged toward the breakroom Tamitha had mentioned. The space felt like an afterthought—barely more than a few chairs shoved into a corner, a scuffed table, and a vending machine humming faintly against the background noise of the facility. The smell of oil and burnt circuits lingered, clawing at the back of his throat.

  He dropped into one of the chairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. The light above buzzed faintly, casting sharp shadows that only made the room feel smaller. A clock on the wall ticked softly, the sound too loud in the silence.

  Riley stared at it. Twenty minutes left in his shift. That was all. Barely a day out of the orphanage, he thought bitterly, and Thom's already gone.

  His chest tightened at the memory, the flashes of light, the sickening smell of fabric scorched into flesh. Every detail was etched into his mind like a scar, replaying in an endless loop. Less than an hour ago, Thom had been cracking jokes, his laughter cutting through the drudgery like a lifeline. Now, the silence was unbearable.

  Riley clenched his hands together, his knuckles whitening. I should've noticed sooner. I should've checked his strap. I should've— He stopped himself, inhaling sharply. Tamitha's words echoed in his mind, measured and firm: "This was an equipment failure. Not yours, not his."

  The logic of it didn't help. Guilt didn't care about logic. And the hollow ache in Riley's chest didn't either.

  The breakroom door creaked open, and Riley's head shot up. A Mod Jockey stepped in—a wiry man with smudged hands and tired eyes. Without a word, he grabbed a drink from the vending machine and left, letting the door clang shut behind him. The interruption left Riley feeling more isolated than before.

  A soft chime from his tablet pulled him from his thoughts.

  Shift End Approaching. Please clock out at the designated terminal.

  Riley stared at the screen for a moment, the words blurring. It was a small, ordinary task, but its weight felt insurmountable.

  With a long breath, he pushed himself to his feet. The hum of the machinery outside was deafening now, a reminder of how the world moved on, indifferent to what had happened. Workers filed past, their faces blank, their movements efficient. The day hadn't stopped for Thom. It hadn't stopped for anyone.

  Riley swiped his ID at the clock-out terminal near the exit. The screen's soft glow displayed his earnings.

  Luxa credited: 90

  The number felt like a mockery. "Thom's last shift logged, same as mine," he thought bitterly.

  Outside Hyperion, the steel door groaned as Riley pushed it open. The cold air outside bit into his skin. He stood on the threshold, staring out at the sprawling city. Towers of glass and steel stretched into the sky, their lights flickering faintly against the coming night. The murmur of traffic and distant voices filled the air, a quiet reminder of the world beyond Hyperion's walls.

  Riley adjusted his jacket, pulling it tighter against the wind as he stepped out. The distant silhouette of Tower 7c loomed on the horizon, its lights flickering in the haze of the city. His feet moved without thinking, each step carrying him farther from the power hub.

  One day. That's all it took.

  The thought stuck in his mind as he walked, the weight of it pressing on his chest. Thom's laughter still echoed faintly in his memory, like a ghost he couldn't shake. All he could do was keep walking.