The code was screaming, but only Alexander Kane could hear it.

  High above the rain-slicked pavement of Canary Wharf, tucked away in the sub-basement of the London Grid Authority, Alex stared at a wall of monitors that shouldn't have been doing what they were doing.

  "Kane? Talk to me. Why is the South Sector drawing three hundred percent more load than the hardware can handle?"

  The voice of his supervisor, Marcus, crackled through the headset. It was a voice that sounded like stale coffee and middle-management stress.

  "I’m looking at it, Marcus," Alex muttered, his fingers flying across a mechanical keyboard that clacked like gunfire. "It’s not a load surge. It’s not even a spike. The power isn't being used—it’s just... disappearing."

  "Disappearing? Don't be cute. Power doesn't disappear; it’s consumed. Check the transformers."

  "I did," Alex said, his eyes narrowing. "The transformers are cold. The copper lines are pulling three gigawatts, but the thermal sensors say they’re at room temperature. Physically, Marcus, this is impossible."

  Alex leaned in closer to the primary terminal. Usually, the power grid data looked like a steady, predictable pulse—a green wave of energy moving through the city's veins. But tonight, in the center of the display, there was a jagged, black void. It was a hole in the data.

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  He reached out and tapped the screen.

  For a split second, his vision flickered. It wasn't the monitor. It was him.

  The world didn't just blur; it pixelated. For the space of a heartbeat, the grey concrete walls of the basement dissolved into a shimmering wireframe of neon-blue lines. The air smelled suddenly of ozone and old paper. He saw the "strings"—cascading waterfalls of golden light that seemed to bind the monitors to the floor, the floor to the earth, and the earth to something much deeper.

  Then, with a sickening snap, the world returned to normal.

  Alex gasped, clutching the edge of the desk. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  "Kane? You still there? We just lost the whole block on Heron Quay. Get your gear. I’m sending a security detail to escort you to the substation."

  "I don't need security, Marcus. I need a physicist," Alex whispered, but he was already reaching for his tech-bag.

  As he stood up, he noticed something on his terminal that made the hair on his arms stand up. The black void in the power grid data had moved. It wasn't a static fault. It was a shape. A silhouette.

  It looked like a door.

  And more importantly, the system log at the bottom of the screen—the one that usually tracked voltage and frequency—was scrolling a single line of text in a language Alex had never seen, yet somehow understood:

  [CRITICAL ERROR: ACCESS_REQUESTED_BY_ROOT_USER_01]

  "Root user?" Alex whispered to the empty room. "There is no root user for the London Grid."

  He grabbed his tablet and headed for the elevator. He didn't know it yet, but the hardware of his life was about to be overwritten.

  The Beginning of the End

  Alexander is now on his way to the epicenter of the glitch.