A lot of people were having very different thoughts.
Silk was mildly annoyed that Leslie’s little formula and patent were pulling in more than his monster-loot stores. Victor was mapping out how to secure even more mana fragments. Ren was in his lab, but his mind kept drifting to Lorena—and the baby.
***
But regardless of what people were thinking about, time passed, as it always did.
Calendar pages kept flipping.
The day that changed everything began with a bang.
A literal BANG.
Across all the different districts, it was as if the Makers had looked down at the world and decided flying cars should not exist, then snapped their fingers.
Hovercars fell out of the sky.
Some did it violently. Others drifted downward. Emergency safeguards that had been built long ago, when hovercars first became common, kicked in automatically.
Stabilizers whined.
Wheels unfolded.
Engines sputtered as backup systems struggled to keep the vehicles from dropping straight down.
A lot of districts had been pushing for a while now for people to make sure those backup systems were working. Some people were smart about it—getting inspections, visiting certified mechanics, paying the fees.
Others had shrugged.
‘Sudden failures? That happens to other people.’
The worst was in District 2.
People there were always scrambling to make credits and didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to get their emergency flight backups fixed.
That decision would haunt them.
Like Max.
A courier in District 2 stared at the red warning lights filling his dashboard.
He had meant to get the stabilizers checked.
The district had been sending notices about it for a while now.
But inspections meant missing work.
Missing work meant missing rent.
The car dropped ten meters in a single violent lurch.
“Come on,” he whispered.
The emergency system tried to engage.
The console flashed.
FAILURE
The vehicle plunged.
His hovercar slammed into the street.
Glass exploded outward.
Concrete cracked.
The impact shook entire blocks.
***
High above a wide avenue in District 6, Irena Pad watched the hovercar in front of her suddenly tilt nose-down.
Its overworked engines died.
The vehicle dropped like a stone.
Her own dashboard erupted in alarms.
Altitude dropping.
Emergency systems activating.
With a metallic snap, the wheels slammed out from the chassis.
The car dropped the final meters and smashed onto the street.
KRAK
Her hands trembled on the controls as she realized she was still breathing.
***
Two teenagers riding in a borrowed hovercar over the commercial blocks of District 10 looked at each other when the engine cut out.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t touch anything!”
The vehicle dipped sharply.
Both of them grabbed the dashboard.
The emergency stabilizers kicked in with a screaming whine.
“Fuuuuuuckkkkkk!”
“I can’t die a virgin!”
“Holdddddddf on!”
The car slammed into the pavement hard enough to bounce.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
BOOM
The two teenagers looked at each other and laughed, the tying of giddy uncontrollable laughter that people had after narrowly escaping death.
***
Across the districts, it sounded like artillery.
Car-shaped missiles falling from the sky.
Buildings struck.
Shops crushed.
People running.
Sirens began wailing everywhere.
The day had barely started.
***
In the MegaPatch, people ran outside to see what was going on.
Unlike many of the other districts, very few cars were falling—mostly tourists who had driven in. Kanuka had long ago enforced a rule that every vehicle operating inside the MegaPatch had to be certified and inspected.
So those hovercars weren’t crashing.
They were descending.
Slowly.
Emergency stabilizers hummed as vehicles drifted down toward the streets, their wheels deploying at the last moment before touching pavement.
But fewer was not the same as none.
Across the districts, it sounded like cannon fire.
Sirens began wailing.
Smoke rose in dozens of places.
Folo sprinted down the street, waving his arms and shouting to his team of Patch Rats.
“Get everybody to safety! Pull people out of burning cars! Get medics to the crash sites!”
Kanuka was moving just as fast, barking orders to crews dragging hoses and emergency gear out of nearby buildings.
Simms and Davon moved through the crowds, pushing people back and making sure nobody stood around staring like looky-loos while the fires spread.
The MegaPatch shifted instantly from surprise to response.
***
That night on MetaTube and every other screen across the districts, the footage ran nonstop.
One of the most watched broadcasts came from Jessa Acrylipay.
Clean studio lighting framed her against a wall of floating screens filled with crash footage and emergency reports.
“We’ve all seen what’s been happening with the recent Tower Merge,” Jessa said calmly. “For anyone who has been living under a rock, the Merge happened—and our electronics have been constantly failing.”
Images flashed behind her.
Hovercars falling.
Engines sputtering.
People running in panic.
A commuter vehicle stalled mid-air above an intersection and dropped straight down into traffic.
A hovercar punched through the glass roof of a restaurant, tables and chairs scattering as the wreck slammed into the dining floor.
Emergency crews dragged people out of a crushed taxi while flames crawled up the side of a nearby building.
“We’ve seen smaller failures for weeks now,” she continued. “Personal devices shutting down. Internet instability. System glitches.”
The screens shifted again.
Burning wreckage.
Collapsed storefronts.
Fire crews spraying foam over shattered vehicles.
“Today proved something important,” Jessa said. “If your electronics are not hardened against mana interference, you could literally be risking your life every time you step outside your door.”
The broadcast cut to a scientist.
“It’s true,” he said. “There is a new mana-hardening formula available. Unfortunately, most manufacturers have not adopted it yet. And even if they do, there is currently no universal way to enforce compliance.”
The screen shifted to an infographic.
A map of the districts appeared.
Impact zones blinked red across the display.
Hovercars dropped from the sky in animated arcs.
“Some districts have already begun enforcing mandatory certification and safety requirements,” the scientist continued. “Others have not.”
He gestured toward the screen.
“This is the result.”
The camera slowly pulled back.
Across the map, red lights spread from district to district.
Failure reports continued to cascade across the display.
“Alright, everybody,” said Jessa, looking directly into the camera drone. “This is Jessa Acrylipay signing off.”
She paused for a moment as the footage behind her slowed—hovercars falling, emergency crews working, districts lighting up red across the map.
“Remember, only you can make sure you stay safe. The world is changing.”
Her voice remained calm, steady, professional.
“If you want to stay alive—and keep your loved ones alive—take care of the things you can control. Don’t leave it to chance. And don’t wait for new laws to come into effect before you protect yourself.”
The studio lights dimmed slightly as the broadcast prepared to cut.
“Good night, and stay safe. Also don’t forget to subscribe and like.”
The MetaTube broadcast faded to black.
***
The bar lights were low in the restaurant.
Soft amber bulbs hung over the counter, reflecting off rows of bottles behind the bartender. Outside the window, emergency sirens wailed somewhere far down the street. On the television above the bar, footage of hovercars falling from the sky kept replaying.
Ren and Leslie sat at a small table near the wall. They had finally finished dealing with the aftermath of the falling hovercars.
Two bottles of Krud sat between them, beads of condensation running down the glass.
In the center of the table was a mountain of nachos.
Cheese covered everything.
And then there was more cheese on top of that.
Ren had already eaten half of it.
Leslie glanced down at her tablet.
Her banking app was still open.
A notification appeared.
Deposit received.
Then another.
Then another.
She watched the numbers climb as payments rolled in from across the districts.
District 4.
District 7.
District 10.
Manufacturers.
Transportation companies rushing to harden their electronics.
District governments using it for weapons.
Her patented mana-resistance formula was spreading everywhere.
The balance kept ticking upward, more zeros appearing than she had ever seen in her account before.
Leslie blinked.
On the television, Jessa Acrylipay was still talking while footage of burning wreckage rolled behind her.
Leslie lowered the tablet slowly.
“Wow,” she said. “I never expected my little formula to save so many lives.”
Ren took a long pull from his Krud and set the bottle back down beside the nachos.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a great thing. And just in time.”
Leslie looked thoughtful.
“Do you think this is the beginning?”
“What do you mean?”
She tilted her head toward the television.
“You saw monsters attacking. Coming out of the Tower and killing everybody.”
Ren shrugged.
“I think that was metaphorical. The Tower is way out in the Deadlands. Why would it show up inside the districts?”
“Sure,” Leslie said. “But without you here, the MegaPatch wouldn’t be hardened. I don’t know where I’d be.”
“Well,” Ren said, grabbing another nacho dripping with cheese, “based on your last life, you’d probably still be stuck in your old apartment.”
He glanced back toward the screen where another hovercar slammed into the ground.
“And since you drove a lot for work, you might have been one of the people who crashed.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“No way!”
“Depends on your luck, I guess,” Ren said, eating another nacho.
Leslie nodded.
“It’s crazy. Your butterfly wings are flapping all over this.”
“Oh?”
She gestured toward the television.
“Imagine if monsters attacked and all the hovercars in every district dropped at once.”
Ren leaned back in his chair and wiped cheese off his fingers.
Behind them, the bartender turned the volume up slightly as the news replayed another crash clip.
“People would be scrambling,” Ren said.
“And then if monsters attacked?”
Ren watched the screen for a moment.
Hovercars falling.
Fire crews dragging people away from wreckage.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “The infrastructure wouldn’t hold.”
Leslie nodded slowly.
“Exactly. We’re not built for continuous emergencies. None of the districts are.”
“Yep,” Ren said.
Then he grabbed another nacho and lifted his Krud bottle. He smiled, but it was a grim smile.
“So you’re buying these drinks, right? Because you’re rich?”
Leslie laughed and raised her bottle.
“You run the entire CHEESE corporation and want to take advantage of me, a poor little scientist?”
“I do,” Ren said. “I really do.”
Leslie laughed.
“Sure. I’ll pay for this.”
“Great,” Ren replied.
“Because at the end of the day, we never know how much time we have left, right?”
“Exactly,” said Ren. “All we can do is prepare for the worst and hope it doesn’t happen.”
“Yep.”
They clinked their bottles of Krud together, then took a satisfying swig of the cool beer.
