The interface dissolved like vapour the instant Kai whispered "yes". Reality snapped back; pain arced from his bruised shoulder to the base of his skull, and the cold weight of his drenched suit clung as if forged from lead. Copper pooled on his tongue.
His mind still vibrated from the download, circuits abruptly widened; his body, however, remained unmistakably human and unmistakably hurt.
A sanitation worker pushing a crooked refuse cart found him slumped beside the kerb, half-conscious and muttering fragments of unfamiliar code. Rain spattered against the tin cart, each ping a small metallic metronome that measured how slowly Kai tried to breathe.
Garden City Central Hospital was ill-equipped for crises. The entrance canopy leaked, drops landing on the linoleum with hollow taps, and the waiting bay smelled of iodine over damp plaster. Damp streaked the walls, lifts stalled between floors, monitors flickered like tired fireflies. As the trolley rattled through triage, ceiling lamps shuddered. Somewhere, a diesel generator coughed, failed to catch, coughed again.
"The mayor?" a nurse murmured at his wristband."Stitches and saline, same as anyone," another replied, peeling a wet swab from its paper envelope.
Rain drummed the windows like drumsticks on rusted sheet metal. Behind Kai's eyelids, three-dimensional schematics still revolved, yet every breath speared his ribs.
SYSTEM ADVISEMENTCOGNITIVE FUNCTION IMPAIRED. HEALING RECOMMENDED. DELAY ACCEPTABLE WITHIN TWELVE-HOUR OPERATIONAL WINDOW.DO NOT DIE; THAT IS COUNTERPRODUCTIVE
A laugh tried to rise; pain overruled it. The nurse tightened the bandage at his temple.
"You should have stayed under cover, Mr Mayor.""I tried," he croaked. "The building disagreed."
Generators hiccupped once more; the overhead strip flickered, then steadied, leaving a faint ozone tang in the air.
Three hours later he stepped outside, swaddled in gauze and a hospital jacket pulled over his half-dried dark-navy suit. The city exhaled a pale grey fog that smelled of rust and old rain.
The street-lights blinked once, twice, and died.
Blocks of windows darkened in a single breathless instant. For half a second silence felt physical, then a child wailed inside the hospital lobby and phones lit up like scattered glow-worms. Emergency strips glowed sickly in corridors behind him, but they were a whisper against the night.
His phone vibrated.
Alert: District Three grid failure. Relay node compromised by rain.Alert: Fire reported, Residential Zone C-12.Location: 22 South Hill Lane.Structural damage: unknown.Emergency response: delayed, network congestion.
Kai's pulse lurched. South Hill Lane, his registered address, his grandmother's house, the only place that had ever felt like home.
"You must be joking," he whispered, although the city never joked.
An orderly named Chen jogged up, shrugging on a slicker two sizes too big. "Sir, you just got stitched. Let someone else go," he urged, voice tight with genuine alarm.
"That house is my grandmother's," Kai answered, raw-voiced. "It's still the address on every form."
Chen opened the passenger door of a battered municipal van. Driver Liu, already behind the wheel, muttered, "Hospital said rest, Your Worship."
"And I will—after we get there," Kai said, easing in with a wince. "Thank you, both."
Chen swallowed, stepped back and gave a reluctant salute as the van pulled into the fog, his expression a mix of duty and helpless respect.
The city van rumbled through the haze. Every sweep of the wipers cleaved curtains of rain that seemed to hang motionless until the headlights parted them. Flames stained the low clouds amber above Kai's neighbourhood of ageing roofs and drooping washing lines. His grandmother's two-storey house coughed smoke into the sky.
Neighbours huddled in muted knots, faces lit by a lone petrol generator's lantern. Someone's child sobbed against a woman's shoulder; bucket lines formed, more ritual than rescue. On the far side of the chain, Kai spotted the same sanitation worker, shirt now soaked through, hefting a dented bucket like a soldier clutching a shield.
"Mayor?" a man called, voice cracking between respect and fear.
Kai tasted ash in the rain.
SYSTEM INQUIRYCURRENT RESIDENCE COMPROMISED. INITIATE EMERGENCY ENGINEERING MODULEBLUEPRINT AVAILABLE: MOBILE SHELTER UNIT GEN ONEMANUAL DEPLOYMENT TIME: THREE HOURSMATERIALS: SPECIAL COMPONENTS REQUIRED; LOCAL STOCK INADEQUATE
"Not now," he muttered, voice raw.
He turned to the onlookers. "Back up. Those with water form a chain. Metal buckets only, plastic will melt. Move."
They moved, some out of respect, others because his tone left no room for argument.
Rain hissed when it met the guttering flames, flaring into brief bursts of steam that ghosted across the street before vanishing into the fog. Sparks leapt, clung to his soaked sleeves, died. The scorched air tasted of wet plaster and burning varnish. Kai squared his shoulders, pain lancing but ignored. He felt the city's weight settle upon him like an old, defiant cloak.
He would not fall. Not tonight.