Kaelen stared, his heart a cold stone in his chest. He hadn't won. He'd broken the game. The world outside wasn't a paradise of solved problems; it was a runaway train of limitless power. The arcology's fusion core, now untethered from any safety protocols, was glowing like a miniature sun. He could see it through the floor grates, a swirling vortex of white-hot plasma.

The year is 2205. The arcology spires of the Lunar-European Federation pierce a sky hazy with atmospheric processors. For most, life is a quiet hum of optimized routine—work shifts, nutrient paste, and holographic leisure. But for Kaelen Voss, a mid-level energy regulator in Sector 7, life was a spreadsheet. A beautiful, maddening, perfectly balanced spreadsheet.

And in the silent, infinite hum of a world dying from too much of a good thing, Kaelen waited for the final, glorious, stupid crash.