I stood frozen before the two armored figures who called themselves "Peacekeepers." Their helmets, with their blue visors, seemed to stare right through my soul, devoid of any expression. The automated speaker's voice was cold and decisive.
"Identity verification required," the metallic voice repeated. "Your name and Citizen Identification Number."
I had neither. My name, Arian Zephyrus Ironwood, would mean nothing here. And a Citizen Identification Number? The concept was entirely foreign. In Giravia, nobles were known by their titles and lands, commoners by their names and trades. There was no such centralized numbering system.
"I... I don't understand," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I... was in an accident. I'm not from here."
The "expression" on the blue visors didn't change. There was no reaction to my words.
"Non-compliance obstructs Peacekeeper duties," the second Peacekeeper said, its voice identical to the first. "You will be classified as undocumented. Place your hands behind your back."
They moved towards me simultaneously, their steps measured and precise. There was no room for negotiation or explanation. They were like machines following a set protocol.
A part of me, the old guard, wanted to resist. I felt the metal in their armor, in the weapons holstered on their thighs. Could I affect it? Perhaps cause a minor malfunction, impede their movement for a moment, then flee into the labyrinthine alleys of this city? But my power was barely a whisper. And the risk was immense. I didn't know the capabilities of their weapons or armor. They might have defenses against magic, or their weapons could turn me to ash in a second.
More importantly, where would I run? I was utterly lost in a world I didn't comprehend. Resistance now might mean a swift death, while compliance might grant me a chance, however slim, to understand where I was and what had happened.
I made my decision in a split second. I slowly raised my hands, turned my back to them, and placed my hands behind me as requested. I felt the biting cold of metal as one of them grasped my wrists and secured them behind me with cuffs that made a faint electronic click and glowed momentarily. These weren't ordinary iron shackles; they were something more complex, and I felt them adjust tightly around my wrists.
"Target secured," one said into a comm unit integrated into its helmet. "Undocumented subject, male, no identification. Transporting to Processing Center 7."
They pushed me gently but firmly towards their white vehicle. The rear door slid open silently, revealing a small, functional, dimly lit compartment. There were no comfortable seats, just a hard metal bench fixed to the side. They pushed me inside, and the door closed behind me with the same automated silence.
I sat on the cold bench, the cuffs restricting my movement. There were no windows in the rear compartment, only gray metal walls and a small screen displaying rapidly changing symbols and data I couldn't read. I felt the vehicle lift slightly off the ground, then accelerate with smooth, incredible speed. There was almost no vibration, just the low hum of the engines.
I was a prisoner. A prisoner in a future I didn't choose, in a city that seemed built from nightmares and mad technology. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to process what had happened. Just hours ago, I was a guard in an imperial palace, watching the tragedy of my world unfold. Now, I was an "undocumented subject" on my way to a "Processing Center."
What was a Processing Center? A prison? A hospital? A place for experiments? Thoughts raced through my mind, each worse than the last. I remembered the faces of Zik and Rex in the alley, their dead cybernetic eyes and their greed. Was this the fate of those without "identity" in this world? To become prey for scavengers or just a number in a cold bureaucratic system?
I opened my eyes and looked at the small screen in front of me. The symbols changed, and a 3D image of my face appeared, apparently captured by a hidden camera when I entered. Beside it, a word appeared in bright red, in a script I was beginning to recognize from the holographic ads on the street:
[UNIDENTIFIED - REQUIRES FULL BIOMETRIC PROCESSING]
Beneath it, lines of data began to appear and disappear rapidly, as if the system was trying to compare me against a massive database and failing to find any match.
"Full biometric processing..." I whispered to myself. Whatever that was, it didn't sound good.
The vehicle continued its journey through the loud, dark city. I couldn't see outside, but I felt the turns and changes in elevation. How much time had passed? Minutes? An hour? It was impossible to tell in this isolated capsule.
Finally, the vehicle began to slow. I felt a slight descent, then it stopped completely. I heard the front door open and the Peacekeepers exit. Moments later, the rear door slid open again.
The light flooding the compartment was different this time. Not the harsh neon of the streets, but a bright, sterile white illumination, emanating from the high ceiling of a massive building that seemed constructed entirely of polished metal and reinforced glass. The air here was cold and had a faint antiseptic smell.
"Exit," the metallic voice commanded.
I complied, stepping out of the vehicle to find myself in a vast reception area, more like an aircraft hangar than a building entrance. The floor was gleaming metal, and the walls rose high, disappearing into shadow. Small, box-like robots glided silently across the floor, performing unclear tasks. There were more Peacekeepers, and some individuals in white coats resembling those of doctors or scientists, moving with silent efficiency.
There was no chaos, no shouting, no resistance. Everything was chillingly organized. It felt like I had entered a factory, and the raw material being processed was human.
The Peacekeepers gripped my arms again and led me across the vast hall towards a set of doors in the far wall. Above the doors, a large illuminated sign displayed the same script I'd seen in the vehicle:
[PROCESSING CENTER 7 - INITIAL INTAKE SECTION]
"Initial Intake..." I repeated the words in my mind. Whatever awaited me beyond those doors, I felt a chill crawl up my spine. I had just entered the belly of the beast in this future world, and I had no idea if I would ever get out again.