A Covenant Of Flesh

Chapter One: Manufactured Sunlight

Song: Aviva - Rabbit Hole

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The sun was shining like it had something to prove. Like it knew we couldn't do anything to stop it and reveled in the performance. I used to love days like this when I was younger—when brightness meant comfort.

Now it just irritated me. It was too perfect. Manufactured. A light that didn't warm, only revealed.

You'd think they'd allow some kind of weather variation. I understand how it's more viable, how consistency supports agricultural efficiency, minimizes mood swings, and sustains baseline productivity.

Yada yada yada.

Blah blah blah.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I'm tired of the same old shit. Tired of the way the air smells like bleach and lemon trees that don't exist. Of the low hum of surveillance towers blending with birdsong. Of pretending that everything about this place isn't a holding cell with clean floors and polite guards.

I took the long route past the archives. Not that the data towers held anything real anymore. Not since Virex Prime rose above Jupiter's curve. Only endless reels of curated knowledge—the history of the Concord, the founding of the Peace Compact, testimonials from Terrans who'd been Chosen and "thrived" in the Virexari Exchange.

All of it felt hollow.

They used to let us learn things here. Before the Compliance Acts. Before the civic chips. Now everything you knew had to be approved, and anything you wanted had to be earned.

I paused outside a ration vendor, watching a girl about my age trade her last two credits for a syrup-sponge protein cube. She bowed to the machine after the transaction. Automatic. Like it had become part of the ritual of daily life.

I looked around and saw everyone else going about their day. Smiling. Trading ration credits for novelty snacks. Visiting the touchstone stations to whisper prayers into copper receivers, as if that ever made a difference. They called it grounding. I called it begging into a drainpipe.

But where is my contentment? Why do I dream of forests I've never seen? Mountains too far south to reach without clearance? Why do I keep old maps folded in my shoe like I might one day run?

Sometimes, I feel like the only real alien here.

Speaking of aliens—

"Hey Lyra! Fancy catching you here."

I didn't need to turn to know who it was. That voice was pure Allen—too loud, too familiar, and always trying to sell charm he couldn't afford. I used to call him Allen the Alien when we were kids. He was tall and scrawny with a head that looked too big between his bony shoulders.

Not anymore. Now he was just tall.

I rolled my eyes. "We see each other here every Wednesday, man."

"And it's still the best part of my Wednesday route."

"You're not an Enforcer anymore. Why are you even still doing route checks?"

"Neighborhood watch," he said with a dramatic shrug. "I like looking out for the community."

I snorted. "All grown up and still pretty lame. Wish I could say I never saw that coming."

"You really can be a dick sometimes, Ly." His voice faded into something softer, and for once, I didn't feel like breaking the silence.

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to the perimeter drones before lowering his voice.

"Aren't you nervous?"