The Hellington subway ran beneath the city like a vein of steel.
On the surface, Down Town—known as the lower city—breathed smoke and rust.
Chimneys spat shadows into the gray sky, and the alleys still wet from the night smelled of burnt oil and stagnant rain.
Further ahead, in the heart of the city, Middle Town began.
The streets widened, the noise softened.
Modern villas and elegant apartment buildings stood behind automatic gates and discreet surveillance cameras.
That was where those with money lived.
Those who could afford order, security, and protected silence.
And beyond that rose Up Town, the business district dominating the skyline.
Towers of glass and steel, cold reflections, windows still lit late into the night.
The place where decisions were made.
In the underground belly of Hellington, where trains moved like invisible gears, Sharlok sat motionless.
The carriage was full, yet an empty space had formed around him.
No one sat beside him.
No one dared meet his gaze.
The cigar between his fingers burned slowly.
A steady ember.
Like an eye that never slept.
He was not going to a courtesy visit.
He had accepted this meeting for only one reason.
He trusted no one.
The metallic voice announced the next stop.
“Up Town.”
The doors opened with a hiss.
Sharlok stood.
When he emerged onto the surface, Up Town swallowed him in its ordered chaos.
Impatient horns.
Taxis weaving between lanes.
Executives speaking on the phone while glancing anxiously at their watches.
The glass-and-steel skyscrapers reflected the traffic like distorted mirrors, multiplying lights and movement.
Street vendors shouted their offers along the sidewalks.
Steam from hot dog carts mixed with the smell of warm asphalt and fuel.
Here, money moved as fast as the cars.
Sharlok moved through the crowd without slowing down.
People did not stop for him, but they parted just enough.
The Imperial base occupied an entire block, separated from the business district by steel gates and reinforced barriers.
Massive.
Protected by concrete walls.
No elegance.
Only function and control.
Above it all, the banner of the Empire dominated the sky, swollen with wind like a warning.
Approaching the main gate, Sharlok did not slow down even for a step.
The guards recognized him immediately and snapped to attention.
“Captain!”
Sharlok did not return the salute.
“At ease.”
Beyond the gates, the atrium was vast and neutral, designed to intimidate.
A central waiting area separated the corridors leading to the offices; a monumental staircase climbed to the third floor like a straight blade.
At the control desk, the soldier on duty snapped into position.
“Captain!”
“At ease.
I’m here to meet the Commander-in-Chief.”
He did not have to wait.
Commander Rione appeared shortly after, walking forward with firm steps.
He stopped one meter away.
Blond hair combed with strict discipline.
Pale eyes, cold as glass.
His green uniform was impeccable, every button aligned with obsessive precision.
He did not tremble.
He did not lower his gaze.
“Captain.”
“Commander.”
Neither of them extended a hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Let’s get to the point.”
“This way, Captain.”
They moved toward the office without another word.
Once inside, the door closed behind them.
Rione sat behind the desk.
Sharlok remained standing on the other side.
No unnecessary gestures.
No useless courtesy.
The air was already tense with things left unsaid—and with what was about to be decided.
“Captain, I assume you know why I requested this meeting,” Rione said, his voice carrying the tone of someone used to guarding protocols and hierarchies.
“I did not consider it necessary to inform your base about the training exercise taking place in the city.”
“It was not my intention to destabilize your patrols.”
Rione tilted his head slightly.
“Captain, for what reason are the Castle Rock recruits conducting their training in Hellington?”
Sharlok slowly placed the documents on the table without breaking eye contact.
“Because I decided it would be here.”
The silence lingered for a moment.
“We are simulating the capture of two fugitives.
The recruits must learn how to locate them and deliver them to justice.”
One of Rione’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“An unusual method.
Operations like this are normally assigned to experienced units.”
“I know,” Sharlok replied, unperturbed.
“Exactly for that reason.”
“They must learn in real chaos.
Among civilians, traffic, and unpredictability.”
“You don’t train a soldier on a shooting range.”
Rione reflected for a moment.
“You are a Captain.
It is not my place to question your methods.”
Sharlok spaced several documents across the table with surgical precision.
“This is the operation report.”
“Additionally, I want to see the surveillance recordings from the past two days.”
Rione studied him for a moment.
“Which area?”
“The entire city.”
Rione did not stiffen.
But something changed in his eyes.
“The surveillance control center is located in Middle Town.
I will inform them immediately that you will be reviewing the footage.”
Sharlok gathered the documents with a measured motion.
Only then did he sit down.
“I prefer to leave no margin for imprecision.”
His voice was flat.
Technical.
He was not rushing.
He was simply eliminating variables.
Silence returned to the office.
But it was no longer the same.
It was the silence that precedes verification.
Rione picked up the phone.
“This is Commander Rione.
Captain Sharlok wants to review the recordings from the past two days.
I want you to—”
A chaotic murmur erupted from the other side.
Overlapping voices.
Tense words.
Someone speaking too fast.
Rione’s face hardened.
“What do you mean you have nothing?”
A pause.
Then his voice dropped lower.
More dangerous.
“Check again.
Immediately.”
Another confused response.
“I don’t care if you don’t understand how it happened.
I care that you fix the problem.”
Sharlok slowly rotated the cigar between his fingers.
He could not distinguish every word, but the agitation in Rione’s voice was enough.
When the commander hung up, he leaned back in his chair as if the room had suddenly grown heavier.
The look he raised toward Sharlok was dark.
“Is there a problem?”
The captain’s question was neutral.
Too neutral.
“This morning we suffered a cyber attack.”
Rione swallowed slightly.
“All recordings from the last two days have been deleted.”
Sharlok narrowed his eyes.
“How is that possible?”
“It’s not the first time.
But the coincidence with your training exercise does not please me.”
“You still don’t have a suspect.”
It was not a question.
It was a request for precision.
“The address changes constantly.
It bounces from one side of the world to the other.”
He paused briefly.
“It could be a single individual… or an organized group.”
Sharlok leaned slightly forward.
The cigar remained suspended between his fingers.
“How long has this been happening?”
A moment passed.
“And besides breaching surveillance systems… what else does this hacker do?”
“He steals sensitive data.
Secret funds.
Classified information.”
Rione’s voice hardened.
“He always hits where it hurts the most.”
Sharlok released a thin stream of smoke.
“And your technicians?
Supposedly the best in the Empire.”
Rione’s hand clenched into a fist.
“We are facing a genius.
Always two steps ahead.”
Sharlok murmured, almost to himself.
“A Desky…?”
The name lingered in the air.
Rione raised his gaze.
“A remote possibility.
And even if it were… we wouldn’t know who we’re fighting.”
He slid the training file toward Sharlok.
“The recordings no longer exist.
I will have to write a report.
Including your exercise.”
Sharlok stared at him.
“That will not be necessary.
It is only a training exercise.”
“With respect, Captain.
I answer only to Captain Benjamin.
And I follow protocol.”
A slow nod.
“Do as you wish.”
He stood up.
His coat brushed the desk.
“I will go to the surveillance center anyway.
Are the live feeds operational?”
Rione nodded and handed him an earpiece.
“My personal one.
Contact me if needed.”
Sharlok slipped it into his jacket and walked toward the door.
“Captain…”
He stopped slightly.
“Why such insistence?”
“Because I am also participating in the exercise.”
He did not turn around.
“I want to find the fugitives before the recruits do.”
His gaze grew colder.
“They need to understand they are still worthless.”
A thin smile appeared on Rione’s face.
“According to the report, the fictional deserters are named Sky Light and Barron Shark.
An interesting combination.”
Sharlok turned completely.
“They have nothing to do with their predecessors.”
His voice became sharp.
“They are just two idiots.”
Rione added nothing more.
When Sharlok left the office, the door closed with a dry sound.
The silence that fell in the room was not simple quiet.
It was waiting.
For two days, Hellington had been blind.
And someone had carefully chosen what must not be seen.
Next Episode — The First Flame