2024
“Don’t let them know you’re coming,” they bellowed, their voice cutting through the heavy, humid air. Their tranquil authority took command in the steamy, subterranean boiler room, humming with generations-old equipment monitoring the city’s sewage flow—a hum signaling “all clear” for the city above, as long as it held.
“What do I lose if they catch on? We have the means to tear them asunder regardless,” they said, their words laced with mock bravado, peering through the haze. They could barely make out their surroundings, but no matter; confidence alone might anchor them.
“Besides, what could they possibly do about our ascent now?”
“You grow foolish in exile,” the voice returned, rolling in from every part of the mist, obliterating any sense of distance. It was as if the voice wasn’t a voice at all but the steam itself. “It’s our calculated tone that grants us the edge. Do not lose ground to hubris. Recognize that you serve a higher call and respect a greater plan. Yield to the rhythm we command; ascend only when it is time.”