The city was a machine of cold glass and grinding gears, and Elara was the grit that it tried to spit out. They called them "The Hollowed"—those whose spirits had been deemed inefficient for the Great Cog. The Enforcers, draped in chrome and carrying rhythmic pulse-rifles, tracked her through the neon-slicked alleys.

She was cornered in a dead-end plaza. The lead Enforcer stepped forward, his voice a distorted boom through his mask. "Lower your defenses. Your frequency is disruptive. We will silence the noise."

"Shoot me down," she whispered, her eyes burning with a steady, unbreakable light. "But I won't fall. I am titanium."