Jazelle passed through the Portal. Light reached in, urging her to pull in further. Her hand reached out, grabbing onto the bright, blurring light. Jazelle’s chest tingled with a blurring depth of sensation. Feet stepped into the divide of green and shadow, and she walked onto the other side. All went dark as she walked through the tunnel. The neon-green lasers remained, dancing inside the portal. As Jazelle trekked, she noticed the lasers oscillating at a slower frequency.

One laser passed through her, then another, until the lasers enveloped her body. As one laser moved and passed her metallic dog tag necklace, it stopped. All neon-green lasers turned red. A shriek sounded in her ears. The sound faded in and out, like the blaring sounds of sirens she saw that day in Sun-Downe. A voice spoke.

“Identify yourself.”

Jazelle stopped in her tracks. The metallic dog-necklace shone in the neon green light, twisting and turning. When Lior gave her the necklace decades prior, she didn’t know what it meant. That dog-tag necklace spun around, the glyphs written on it indecipherable — even to her. Jazelle saw a wall of lasers intercepting in front of her. They shone bright red — dangerous. A single thread could cut into her skin, twist, scarring her dry. Blood would drip from the wound, drop onto the ground in droplets, and soon the room would be dyed deeper than laser-red.

Jazelle knew she was Tinker. That wasn’t the problem. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A sound burst from the back at a higher-pitched frequency. The glitches sounded like the endless chattering of news. Voices overlapped. She breathed, she heard the voices.

Intruder alert.

We know this is Tinker, but her dog-tag necklace doesn’t say so. It says she’s an anomaly.

An anomaly?

Unidentified. It's like we can’t tell who she is.

​

We can’t pass her through unless she throws away the dog tag necklace or identifies herself as the anomaly.

​

Her head hurt. She had merely managed to open the Portal, and now she was in the middle of sorting all the voices talking to her. They sounded like the bits of an overloaded system. The technological voices sounded younger, desperate, maniacal. She imagined herself surrounded by a shroud-like frequency, tightly wrapping herself up in all the frequencies of these voices. She imagined herself, masked, covered up in voice-strained mesh. The mesh tightened, Jazelle grasped and choked as it gripped onto the entirety of her mind. Jazelle focused, weaving strings of differing frequencies using her Mind’s Eye, matching herself to the frequency of multiple voices. The shroud-mesh loosened around her as she played each frequent tune. 

Weaving the strings within her mind, she spoke.

“Part A2-7484. Grant me access. I’m not an anomaly. I’m a ShArD. Let me pass.”

There was silence.

The voices spoke back.

She says she’s a SHArD!

Yes, only a ShArD could pass through!

But, she has that stupid tag. Letting someone with that enter our territory — that would be considered ludicrous.

Jazelle gulped. She clenched her fist. The string on the metallic dog-tag necklace was fragile; it slung around her neck like a noose, one rip, and her neck could be torn to pieces. She straightened her back.

She repeated the words in Her Mind’s Eye. Jazelle recited what she deciphered from the Orb.

“You’re not Shrap, nor a ShArD.”

Jazelle’s voice was deliberate. “I’m not either, based upon this — you should be letting me through.”

The voices fell silent. Jazelle heard the parts speaking earlier; they all reported to The Grand System. The Grand System orchestrated sets of mechanical commands that determined The Logic Of The System. She heard it whispering to them.

Detect anyone who passes through.

Let them if they’re a ShArD, or a Shrap.

Only those entered into The Orb's system can pass.

They all sat in silence, whispering amongst themselves, when The Grand System spoke.

She is correct. Let her through.

Jazelle wasn’t used to speaking the Language of Parts. Her head was starting to pulse with a dull ache. She ached down to her hollow bones. It weighed upon her like a second entity, and the voices transpired mingled with the thoughts in her head. They merged like the confluence of a river, such that she couldn’t tell which was The Language of Parts, or the voice within her own head anymore.

Jazelle’s hand covered her head, steadying herself. Her mind was like metal being burnt into steel. Metal forged, meshed, and camouflaged.

​

After a sense of trepidation, the red laser wall disappeared and turned neon green. A voice spoke into the intercom.

“Tinker. Access granted.”

Jazelle walked through. As Jazelle walked, she conversed with the rest of The Parts in her mind, and slowly, the mechanical parts revealed themselves as she went deeper into the laser tunnel. There was an avalanche of lights, then a bright, blinding light. Jazelle covered her eyes; her eyes winced as she reached the other side.

It wasn’t what she had anticipated. After the light, there was darkness.

Jazelle walked on the metallic ledge and looked below. There was a city. But this city had no sky. The sky was a metallic dome with shades of three different types of metal, hollow and brittle to the touch. Arches of metal spanned and surrounded the domes, resembling girdles of a birdcage. The arches were heavy, tightened, and condensed, trapping all the netizens within their own enclave. Jazelle smelled the corrosive steam, gasoline, and smoke streaming out of the airships. The air was putrid, humid, heavy, and industrial. Gas left moisture on the surface of the metal, ripping apart the fine, smooth coating. The city smelt of rotting decay, foulness, dirt, and oil-slicked streams, pulling the city into the sewage ravages of its depths. Light shone from the neon signage and streetlights below. Pale street light skirted the bottoms of buildings, washing and cutting through the edges of buildings, enveloping the city in a lonely sheen.

Airships and vehicles passed the tops of pinnacling skyscrapers, and Jazelle watched as one flew right overhead. Jazelle looked at the height. Wind rushed, sweeping past her fingertips and flapping the ends of her tank top. Jazelle was tempted to yank out the Astrolab from her bag, jump off the edge and swerve her Astroboard side-to-side right there. She heard the city with all its noisiness and flashing lights. A chill travelled up her spine, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. Her head felt dizzy as she looked at the staggering height. The skyscrapers poked out at her like a giant spikey spiral. She swiped her thumb to cover one of the airships. One push, and the airship could be obliterated from the face of this earth. Jazelle felt the wave of the city rush over her, seducing her with its tantalizing lights. She grinned maniacally. This was a city. This was life.

She looked to her left. Orb and her mother were there.

“How is the city treating you?” Orb asked.

Orb scooched her chair towards the edge of the precipice. One wrong turn with the wheels, and Orb could be plummeting to her death.

“Great!” Jazelle replied. Jazelle stretched her arms out to feel the rising air. “Where is this?”

“Grave-Downe,” Orb replied. “How are you finding it?”

Jazelle paused for a moment. She looked at the view below, the airships moving along like a trail of ants. The city appeared like mechanical clockwork; it looked just as intricate as the opening of The Orb.

“Nice…I guess.”

“You know,” Orb said. “You could’ve chosen not to follow us.”

Jazelle turned to face the city. The city was angular, protruding in various shapes and sizes like a mechanical spiral. The air was dense, full of heat and foul, but she was drawn into the city’s centre like a furnace. She watched the airships as they streamed by, absorbing the industrial rot like art, looking at the repetitive industrial verticals as they slithered up into the sky.

Orb looked at Jazelle, eyes wide. Jazelle turned around to look into Orb’s eyes. Orb’s thin eyelashes looked as if they would fall off the tips of her eyes at any moment.

Orb spoke, “These are where all the ShArDs go.”

Orb looked towards the city.

“That’s why many choose to pass by Sun-Downe. In Grave-Downe, you’re undetected, and also they’ll only let you in if you’re a ShArD…”

Orb paused, then corrected herself.

“Actually, we’re not ShArDs…but we don’t know what to call ourselves really.”

ShArDs were instruments or tools used by the government. And Shrap? They were scrap. People to be disposed of, never seen, never noticed, disappearing from the fringe of society, becoming mere remnants of history.

​

They wouldn’t call themselves Shrap.

They wouldn’t call themselves ShArDs either.

There was no in-between.

Jazelle felt the music humming in her veins. She was unsure about the course of events and how it was meant to unfold.

All she knew now was that the tunnel obviously flowed one way, and there wasn’t another way out.

She imagined Lior. Lior, in the house they called home, sipping coffee and still reading that book about cartography. She wondered if Lior at any point stretched her fingers across those large, expansive maps between The Scorchlands and The Iron Valley, pointed to an area on the map, and said…

I want to be here.

Jazelle wondered if Lior would’ve asked her to go along with her.

We’ll see lots of things. Jazelle imagined Lior speaking. Chameleons. Komodo Dragons. All sorts of things.

Maybe we can see an actual Dragon one day, and see one ourselves!

Jazelle wrapped herself in the warmth of imagination. In that pocket-filled daydream. Lior wasn’t wearing a heavy leather coat. She wasn’t dressed in all black in the style of the Capital. Lior just tilted her head to the side, curled the page into a loop, and let it rest there. She would bend the edges of the pages, saying I’m just bookmarking it for later, and wouldn’t care if she never got to it.

Lior's name flashed red when she entered her name into The Orb. It was the same red when she was denied access to the Portal. Her name was claimed, rendered obsolete. Lior wasn’t a common name, and Jazelle didn’t think there were enough Lior's in the world.

She took a moment to settle her thoughts. She always found it odd how Lior’s clothing seemed too tightly constrained around her. Every time she moved, Jazelle felt the leather bulging into her skin. Lior’s clothing was a second skin, a shadow of the Capital, tightly-bound and austere, similar to the mask Lior wore after age nine with Jazelle.

Slowly, the realization dawned upon her. Used by the government. Young. Abilities.

Lior had always been smart. But that smartness…almost seemed a bit too unnatural.

Jazelle remembered their small home in The Overview. It was small and warmly lit, and from The Overview she could look out into Grave-Downe with its warm dunes, sky, and clouds. But as she looked out, she realized she was out just out there, still, and in the wilderness.

But what she saw was absolute chaos. Airships crossed, emitting steam, an irregular nine-year-old who appeared to talk like an adult, and choppy wind piercing straight through her, in all sorts of shapes and angles.

​

She looked over at Orb and sighed.

“Seems like I’ll be staying over,” Jazelle said. “Have a place to stay?”

​
–

Detective Tru and Lior looked at each other,  and the buzzing electricity streaming out of The Portal.

​

“I’ll go with you,” Lior said. “But we need to understand what is beyond that Portal.”

Detective Tru nodded.

“I should send over some of my subordinates.”

Lior interjected, “You shouldn’t. It’s best if you come alone, or else it’ll be too dangerous for you.”

Detective Tru’s subordinates looked over at Detective Tru. He signalled them to back away.

The Detective took long strides and disappeared into the Portal. Lior followed suit and went along with him, leaving the rest of the subordinates behind.

As they both entered, they saw ribbons of light; the lasers danced like reflections glowing atop water, curved and bent at odd angles. As Lior walked, the lasers bent and parted like a curtain. She was the avalanche, and the waves made way for her. The detective followed suit.

The green lasers scanned Lior, and a voice spoke through the intercom.

“Lior. Detected. Access granted.”

Lior stepped through, turned full circle, and extended her hand towards the detective.

“Care to join me, Detective?”

The Detective paused. Lior’s smile was inviting; the Detective could see her neatly trimmed teeth. Small, delicate, lined up to the rim, polished. Lior’s canines curved up at an obtuse angle, like two sleek guillotines. The black coat and silhouette disappeared into the shadows. The green lasers gleamed behind her like spotlights, an invitation to a much larger show. Sweat oiled the inside of the Detective’s palms.

He stepped forth. The green lasers moved and scanned him. He walked forward. One step. Two steps. Nothing happened. Then the lasers turned red. The Detective felt the darkness surrounding him. His arm wanted to grab the pistol in his pocket, but his arm remained frozen in place. His pistol dropped to the ground, and the lasers, previously dazzling, now straightened and tightened around him. The lasers seared right into his skin. The tunnel was rampant with the smell of burnt flesh. Lior stood on the other end, masked in shadow. The Detective wanted to cry out, but the pain enveloped him, fastening him in place.

The whole tunnel turned red.

A voice emanated from the intercom.

“Intruder detected.”

The Detective gritted his teeth and looked straight at Lior.

The red light surrounded the edges of Lior’s face, and the strand of hair that ran down and parted her face now looked like a sickle.

She looked straight at the Detective.

“Annihilate the intruder,” Lior said.

Lior’s voice was hoarse and dry. It felt like needles were poking into her skin. Usually, she would say things with precision, but her tone was loud, harsh, ready to snap bones.

There was a red flash of light, and several red lasers jumped out at once, forming a triangular pyramid-shaped spear. They combined and shot out in one giant beam.

The Detective screamed. Lior stood as the tunnel flashed black, white, and red. Lior turned away and walked to the other end of the tunnel. All fading to black.