I finish my training session, muscles pleasantly sore from the combination of physical labor and telekinetic exercise. My tablet shows the next scheduled activity, Nutrition Access at CDC-4 from 1700-1800. Better not miss it if I want to keep my strength up.

  The corridors of Block D buzz with increased activity as the facility's day cycle transitions toward evening. Independent assets move between assignments, many bearing the marks of labor similar to my waste processing stint, stained clothing, lingering industrial smells, and the unmistakable weariness of physical toil.

  On my way to CDC-4, I pass a maintenance alcove where two independents are having an intense but quiet conversation. They fall silent as I approach, watching me with the wary assessment that seems common here. The message is clear, trust is earned, not given.

  CDC-4 is significantly more crowded than during the morning cycle. Independent assets line up at dispensing stations, some comparing notes on their daily assignments while others maintain guarded isolation. The air carries the same bland smell of nutritional paste with undertones of industrial cleaning agents.

  I join the line, observing the subtle social dynamics at play. Near the center of the room, Shatter and her Pragmatists occupy several tables, their positioning suggesting informal territorial claims. Newer independents give them a wide berth, while facility staff seem to interact with them more respectfully than with others.

  When I reach the dispenser, the system scans my palm and announces: "Independent Asset 7249. Standard allocation, minus 22% sponsor enhancement factor. Labor intensity adjustment: plus 8% protein supplement."

  The gray paste that slides out looks identical to the morning's portion, though slightly larger. The supplement capsule has a different color, green instead of white. I collect my sad excuse for a meal and look for somewhere to sit.

  Volt waves me over from a corner table where she sits with two other independents, a man with faintly glowing blue veins visible beneath his skin, and a woman whose eyes have an unusual reflective quality, like polished metal.

  "You had your first labor assignment today, right?" Volt asks as I sit down.

  "Waste processing," I reply, opening the container of nutritional paste. "Filtration maintenance."

  The man with glowing veins winces sympathetically. "Classic first assignment. I'm Pulse. Data systems specialist before the aliens decided I'd make a better teleporter."

  "Glitch," the metal-eyed woman introduces herself with a nod. "Technopath. I can interface directly with some facility systems."

  I take a bite of the paste, still bland and vaguely metallic despite the alleged protein supplement. "They mentioned security being particularly tight around the waste processing systems. Something about 'safety protocols.'"

  Glitch's metallic eyes seem to focus inward for a moment. "Partial truth. The monitoring there is more about tracking movement than preventing accidents. Waste processing connects to nearly every sector, including restricted ones."

  Pulse leans forward, lowering his voice. "You looking to navigate around security already? Ambitious for day one."

  I shrug noncommittally. "Technically day two, and I'm just trying to understand the system."

  Volt creates a small electromagnetic field between her hands, a barely visible distortion in the air. "This disrupts audio monitoring within about two feet. We can talk freely for a minute or two before it triggers pattern recognition alerts."

  Within this protected bubble, Glitch continues. "Facility security operates on overlapping systems. Physical barriers, electronic surveillance, biometric tracking, and energy signature monitoring. The tracking implant at your brain stem is the primary control mechanism, it registers your location and basic biological functions."

  "Is there any way to disable it?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

  The three exchange glances before Shatter responds. "Technically, yes, but if you just cut it off, security will come down on you hard. Better to make the signal unreliable, blend it into the noise so they don’t immediately suspect interference."

  "How?" I press.

  "Depends on your abilities," Glitch replies. "In your case, a telekinetic distortion field could scramble the signal, make it look like an equipment malfunction instead of deliberate tampering. With practice, you could expand the interference up to a 30-meter radius."

  That's perfect! I need to start practicing this right away!

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Volt's electromagnetic field flickers slightly. "Need to drop this soon. Quick advice, waste processing level has maintenance tunnel J-23 that connects to an old storage area. Security coverage there is minimal due to equipment interference. Good place to meet if needed."

  The field dissipates as a facility staff member walks nearby, conducting routine surveillance. Our conversation shifts seamlessly to mundane topics, training routines and nutrition supplements, until they pass.

  As I finish my meal, I notice Marcus entering CDC-4. He collects his allocation without interaction, then makes his way toward the exit rather than sitting. As he passes our table, he makes brief eye contact with me and taps his tablet twice, a signal of some kind.

  When I check my own tablet discreetly, but there's nothing there. Ah, right, I probably need the Umbra network data chip hidden in my quarters.

  "First week's the hardest," Pulse says, returning to normal volume as we finish our meals. "Labor assignments, training restrictions, getting used to the paste. It gets more manageable once you establish routines."

  I nod in agreement while my mind processes the signals and information exchanges happening beneath the surface. Independence clearly operates on multiple levels, the official system visible to facility monitoring, and the unofficial network of connections and knowledge shared between trusted individuals.

  Finding genuine allies in this place is going to be a real challenge. Everyone here has their own agenda, the Resistors with their revolutionary aspirations, the Pragmatists with their comfortable survival, and who knows how many individual players working their own angles.

  As I head back to my quarters after the meal, I realize I need to observe more before committing to anyone. Trust is a luxury in a place where every enhanced human is both a potential ally and a potential threat.

  My cramped room feels almost welcome after the long day. The thin mattress and minimal furnishings are at least familiar territory now. I retrieve the data chip from under the mattress and insert it into my tablet, curious what Marcus' message was.

  The Umbra interface activates, revealing a simple message:

  "Meeting tonight. Service tunnel K-14, access through waste processing level. 2300 hours. Critical information regarding facility security protocols. —M"

  Marcus again. His faction seems the most organized, but also potentially the most dangerous if the facility administration identifies them as disruptive. Aligning with the Resistors too quickly could paint a target on my back.

  I remove the chip and hide it again, then lie back on my bed to think. What I need isn't a faction but individuals, people whose motivations I understand, whose skills complement mine, and whose personal integrity I can verify over time.

  My telekinetic awareness extends outward, mapping the nearby quarters. The energy signatures of other independents pulse with varying intensity, some resting, others exercising, a few engaging in what appears to be personal power development. Each unique, each a potential ally or threat.

  My tablet chimes with a notification, tomorrow's labor assignment has been updated. Maintenance in Agricultural Sector 2, 1000-1400 hours. A different area to map, more facility infrastructure to understand.

  A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. When I open it, I find Iris standing in the corridor.

  "Mind if I come in?" she asks, glancing discreetly at a nearby monitoring device. "Better to talk inside."

  I step back to allow her entry, curious but cautious. Her scales shimmer slightly under the harsh lighting of my quarters, shifting through subtle color patterns that seem to indicate emotional states.

  "I noticed you talking with several factions today," she says once the door closes. "Shatter made her pitch, and Marcus is clearly interested in your abilities."

  "Everyone seems to want something," I respond, keeping my distance. "The question is whether anyone's being straight about what that something is."

  Iris nods, her scales shifting to a pattern that suggests agreement. "That's exactly why I'm here. I don't represent a faction. I've been independent for seven months and stayed unaligned by choice."

  She pulls a small object from her pocket, a handcrafted device that looks like a miniature signal jammer. "Temporary privacy. Not perfect, but good enough for honest conversation."

  After activating the device, she continues. "Most independents end up factioned because isolation is dangerous. But factions come with political baggage and expectations. Some of us prefer selective alliances instead, individuals who watch each other's backs without the hierarchy."

  "Like who?" I ask.

  "Myself. Mira from waste processing, she's been independent longer than almost anyone. A few others who value autonomy above factional power plays." She studies me with calculating eyes. "You showed something rare today, adaptability without desperation. You handled the shit work without complaint, observed security patterns, and didn't immediately jump at the first alliance offered."

  "What are you proposing?"

  Her scales ripple with a pattern I can't interpret. "Not a faction. A mutual support network. Information sharing, strategic positioning during labor assignments, occasional resource pooling. No leaders, no political agenda beyond survival and freedom."

  "And if I'm approached by Marcus or others?"

  "That's your business," she says pragmatically. "We don't demand exclusivity. Just honest communication about threats or opportunities that might affect allies."

  I consider her offer. It sounds more aligned with my current thinking than the structured factions, but trust remains the critical question.

  "Why approach me specifically? I'm completely new here."

  Iris's scales shift to a more serious pattern. "Three reasons. First, your telekinetic abilities have incredible potential, I saw what you did in Facility 7 with the damaged equipment. Second, you've already attracted attention from all major factions, which makes you a valuable information node. Third, and most importantly, you chose independence despite high-tier sponsor offers. That suggests principles rather than just circumstance."

  She extends her hand, iridescent scales catching the light. "No grand commitments. Just an offer of mutual support between individuals who want to chart their own course."