Vortex Origins

A few minutes passed. Ash exhaled slowly, pushing himself off the couch. The base was quiet—its smooth metallic walls, the steady hum of hidden machinery, the soft buzz of lights overhead. Everything had its purpose. Yet, the place felt empty.

He rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension.

'I might as well eat before it gets dark.'

The automatic door hissed open, releasing a cool draft. The faint scent of food mixed with the sharp tang of metal. His boots clicked softly against the floor as he walked down the corridor, the only sound of life in the stillness.

The kitchen door slid open with a soft swish. Inside, everything was sleek and efficient. White countertops gleamed under the bright lights. Stainless steel storage units lined the walls. A kitchen bot whirred to life, assembling a meal with smooth, mechanical precision. It didn't pause to acknowledge him. It didn't need to.

Ash didn't bother waiting. He grabbed a pre-made meal from the storage unit and turned to leave. No words. No pause. The door hissed shut behind him.

'This place is still the same as always.'

Tiny maintenance bots zipped past, their spindly limbs carrying tools and supplies. One sped by, welding torch in hand.

'Max must be busy.'

Back in the main room, Ash sank onto the couch, tearing open the meal. Warm rice. Protein. Bland but filling. He chewed slowly, his mind wandering.

Since the beginning, the Vein system had shaped humanity. The energy within their veins determined everything—who ruled, who struggled, and who survived. Power was never a privilege—it was survival.