There were no goodbyes or further explanations. The Peacekeeper led me silently through more corridors, each identical to the last in its sterility and harsh white lighting. We passed through additional checkpoints, where ceiling-mounted scanners quickly swept over us before doors slid open. In one of the larger halls, I saw other groups of "undocumented" individuals, sitting on metal benches under the watch of other Peacekeepers. Their faces held a mixture of fear, apathy, and despair. No one looked at anyone else. They were just numbers awaiting their next destination in this massive bureaucratic machine.
Finally, we reached a slightly different area. It looked like a shipping or loading zone. The doors were larger, the ceiling higher, and the smell of fuel and lubricants was stronger here, competing with the scent of disinfectant. There were multiple loading platforms, some empty, others occupied by vehicles different from the sleek white ones used by the Peacekeepers. I saw huge armored trucks and smaller, windowless vehicles resembling flying boxes.
The Peacekeeper led me towards one of these flying boxes. It was painted a dull, dark grey, covered in scratches and scuff marks, suggesting heavy use. It bore no clear markings except for a series of numbers and letters crudely stenciled on its side: AT-TRN-073.
Near the vehicle stood two individuals entirely different from the center's staff or the Peacekeepers. They wore what looked like uniforms, but these were black, made of a tough, leathery material, with light metal plates on the shoulders and knees. They weren't wearing helmets.
The first was a burly, bald man with an ugly scar running across his left eyebrow down to his cheek. His eyes were small and sharp like flint chips, and he was chewing something slowly and unnervingly, making a faint clicking sound. His bare arms were covered in intricate tattoos that seemed to depict interwoven circuitry mixed with demonic symbols.
The second was a young, slim woman with short, messy electric-blue hair. She wore very dark goggles that covered half her face and was fiddling with a small datapad held in her black-gloved hand. Her fingers moved quickly and precisely across the screen, seemingly uninterested in her surroundings.
The Peacekeeper approached the bald man. "Shipment for Arcanum Tech. Classification: Potential Recruit - Under Review. Reference Number: IS-03-8847-Gamma."
The bald man raised his (good) eyebrow. He spat the gum he was chewing onto the clean metal floor with a disgusting sound. He looked me up and down with a cold, appraising gaze, as if I were a piece of meat up for sale.
"This is him?" he said, his voice raspy and deep like the rumble of an old engine. "Looks like he just lost a fight with a scrap press. You sure he ain't just more trash from the lower sectors?"
"Data indicates an unclassified energy anomaly," the Peacekeeper replied in its usual robotic tone. "Raw Talent Acquisition Protocol activated."
The bald man gave a short, dry laugh. "Raw Talent Acquisition Protocol? What a joke. Most of the 'raw talent' we pick up ends up as lab chow or scrubbing toilets at the Academy. Alright, give me the datapad."
The Peacekeeper handed a small datapad to the bald man, who swiped his massive thumb across the screen. He nodded slowly. "Alright, data matches. You can go."
The Peacekeeper turned and left without another word, leaving me with these two strangers.
"Come on, move it, 'raw talent'," the bald man said, shoving me towards the grey vehicle with his huge hand. The push was forceful, nearly making me lose my balance. "We don't have time to waste."
The blue-haired woman opened the vehicle's side door with a tap on her datapad. The interior was cramped and darker than the Peacekeeper's vehicle. Metal benches were bolted to the walls, and the air hung thick with the smell of old sweat and chemical cleaners. There were no obvious restraints, but the walls looked thick and reinforced.
"Sit in the back and don't touch anything," the woman said, her voice sharp and slightly metallic, perhaps due to a vocal mod or just her nature. She didn't look up from her datapad.
I entered and sat on one of the cold benches. The bald man followed, taking a seat closer to the door, folding his massive arms across his chest, his small eyes watching me unblinkingly. The woman closed the door, then took the pilot's seat up front, which was separated from the rear compartment by a pane of opaque glass.
I felt a strong vibration as the vehicle lifted off the ground, then surged forward with increasing speed. This time, there was a small, rectangular window in the side wall, made of thick, scratch-resistant glass. I cautiously approached it, trying to see outside.
What I saw was even crazier than what I'd glimpsed from the alleyway. We were flying high above the city now. A complex web of illuminated sky-lanes crisscrossed between towering skyscrapers, filled with flying vehicles of all shapes and sizes moving at incredible speeds. Some towers were gleaming and clean, reflecting neon lights and giant holographic advertisements that flashed rapid, confusing messages and images. Other towers were dark and decaying, covered in rust and graffiti, with cables and pipes dangling haphazardly from them.
Far below, the streets looked like rivers of moving light. Between the towers were vast patches of darkness – the roofs of low buildings or derelict industrial zones, barely touched by the city's glow. The contrast was stark: excessive luxury alongside abject poverty, advanced technology coexisting with visible decay. This world was wounded, trying to cover its scars with neon and gleaming metal.
"Quite a view, isn't it?" the bald man said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. His tone was sarcastic. "The City of Dreams... or nightmares, depending on who you ask."
I looked at him. He was still watching me. "Where... where exactly are we going?" I asked.
He gave a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "To Arcanum Tech, kid. Or at least, to their reception depot. It ain't exactly in the ritziest part of town, if you catch my drift. The Academy likes to keep its 'raw materials' separate from its pampered students at first."
"Raw materials?" I repeated the term, feeling a slight chill.
"That's what you are now," the man said coldly. "A lump of unformed clay carrying... 'potential.' They'll decide whether to shape you into something useful or toss you on the scrap heap. Most end up on the heap."
I fell silent. His words were harsh and direct, but perhaps true. I was just a nobody in this world, my only value this 'energy anomaly' they'd detected.
The journey continued for some time, the vehicle navigating the crowded sky-lanes. Gradually, the scenery began to change. The gleaming towers became fewer, and darker, more dilapidated buildings became dominant. We saw massive industrial zones spewing thick smoke into the overcast sky, and densely packed housing complexes that looked like giant honeycombs made of rusted metal.
Finally, the vehicle began its descent towards an area that looked like an old spaceport or a massive scrapyard. The ground was littered with the wreckage of old vehicles and piles of twisted metal. There were a few low buildings resembling abandoned hangars, and high walls topped with graffiti and barbed wire surrounded the area.
The vehicle landed with a jarring thud on a cracked concrete landing pad. The engine whine cut out, and a relative silence fell, broken only by the whistling wind whipping through the scrap heaps and the sound of the light rain that had started again.
"We're here," the bald man said, getting up. "The 'Raw Talent' reception station. Enjoy your stay." He opened the side door and shoved me out again.
I stood on the cracked platform, the cold rain soaking my torn clothes. The place was bleak and desolate. There was no trace of the imagined grandeur of the Academy. This felt more like a back entrance, a service door, or a prison gate.
I saw two more figures approaching us from one of the hangar-like buildings. They wore the same black leather uniforms, but were clearly armed with strange-looking energy rifles.
"New shipment," the bald man told them. "Take him inside for initial processing."
The two new guards grabbed me by the arms and started dragging me towards the dark building. I didn't resist. For now, I had to see where this path led.
I glanced back for a moment. The bald man and the blue-haired woman were already back in their vehicle, which was lifting off again, ready to return to the bustling city. They had delivered the 'cargo'.
Now, I was truly in the hands of Arcanum Tech. Whatever awaited me inside that grim building, I had a feeling things were about to get much more dangerous and complicated.