TENANTS

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CHAPTER 1: LOCKED DOWN The air in Level 7 tasted of rust, ozone, and old fear. Deep underground, far below the surface cities, the walls were reinforced steel, three metres thick, lined with sensors that picked up a heartbeat from twenty metres away. This place did not exist on any map. It was not a prison, not a lab, not a military base — though it was all three at once. My name is Kane Voss. I stand six foot four, fourteen stone of hard‑worn muscle built through years of combat, labour, and survival. I have scars on my skin and in my mind, but the worst thing I carry is what I know. Three years ago, I died. Flatlined on a hospital table after an incident they called an accident but I know was an attempt. I saw the light. I saw the truth. I was told I had work to finish, and then I breathed again. Since that day, I walk through this world with eyes wide open, seeing every wire, every camera, every lie woven into daily life. Right now, I stood in the shadows of the observation deck, watching the cells. An invasion of patients, aliens locked in basements, They called them “patients”. Subjects. Test cases. In reality, these were beings that walked the Earth before humanity built its first city. Some were from the stars, brought here aeons ago in ships that burned across the sky. Some were from realms folded into our own, dimensions they barely understood. They sat behind blast‑proof glass: tall, slender figures with skin like polished stone; hulking creatures that moved like living rock; things barely solid at all, shifting in the dim light. Sedated, monitored, studied, kept hidden from the world above. Ancient arraignments, shadow‑world engagements, This arrangement went back thousands of years. Agreements written in blood and secrecy. Wars fought in the dark history never recorded. Deals made in temples, caves, palaces long turned to dust. Power traded for silence. Knowledge traded for control. Now it happened here, in facilities across every continent, run by people who believed they owned the right to know everything while we were allowed to know nothing. Entertainment for black‑ops agents — Down below, men in black tactical gear — Unit 9 — leaned on railings, drinking coffee, laughing, pointing. Their uniforms were plain, no badges, no names. They were the sharp end of the stick, the invisible hand that kept secrets buried. To them, this was a shift. A show. They didn’t understand what they guarded. They didn’t care. As long as the pay was good and the orders were clear, they would lock up gods if told to. We're just tenants on a planet full of venom and hatred. I turned away from the glass. That was the truth that burned in me every second. We don’t own this world. We don’t own our lives. We rent space, living under rules set by powers that see us as nothing more than temporary occupants. Tenants on a world soaked in greed, violence, and a poison that had been seeping into the soil for millennia. I had come here to find something. Not weapons, not technology, but answers. And I had found more than I bargained for. PAGE 2 A soft footstep behind me. I didn’t jump. I never jump anymore. I turned slowly, hand resting near the heavy pistol at my hip. A woman stood there. Mid‑thirties, dark hair pulled tight back, eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperate determination. She wore a white lab coat over dark tactical trousers, a badge clipped to her chest that read Dr. Sarah Jenson — Research Division. I recognised her face from files I had obtained. She had been one of their best scientists, until six months ago when she vanished from public records. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, voice tight. “Raynor and his men patrol this level every twenty minutes. If they find you, they won’t just arrest you. They’ll make you disappear.” “Then you shouldn’t be here either,” I said, low and steady. “You left the program, Sarah. You ran. Why come back?” She stepped closer, glancing over her shoulder as if shadows themselves might be listening. “Because I couldn’t live with what I knew. I couldn’t keep helping them hide the truth. What you saw down there… those beings… they aren’t dangerous. Not really. They are prisoners. Just like us, but older. Much older.” I nodded. “I know. I saw one of them looking at me. It recognised me. Like it knew I’ve been where it comes from.” Her eyes widened. “You really are him, aren’t you? The one they talk about in whispers. The one who died and came back. I thought it was just a story to keep us obedient.” “It’s not a story,” I said. “It’s my life. And I’m here to break the lock.” Before she could answer, alarms began to scream. Red lights pulsed along the walls. Heavy boots thundered from both ends of the corridor. “INTRUDER ALERT! SECTOR 4! CONVERGE!” a voice boomed over the speakers. Sarah looked at me, terrified but resolute. “Raynor is here. He leads Unit 9. He doesn’t take prisoners.” I pulled the pistol free and checked the magazine. Fourteen stone of muscle tensed, ready. “Good. I prefer talking face to face anyway.” PAGE 3 Steel doors at both ends crashed open. Men poured in, automatic rifles raised, black armour covering every inch of them. At the front, a man bigger than most, broad, hard face, eyes like cold flint — Commander Raynor. He held a heavy sub‑machine gun loose in one hand, like it weighed nothing. He saw me, saw Sarah, and smiled without warmth. “Dr. Jenson,” he said, voice deep and gravelly. “We missed you. And you… whoever you are… you have walked into the deepest hole on Earth. There is no way out except through me.” “I don’t do what people tell me anymore, Raynor,” I said, stepping forward, putting myself between him and Sarah. “I’ve been dead. Your guns don’t scare me. Your basements don’t scare me. Your secrets? I’m going to drag them all out into the sunlight.” Raynor’s smile hardened into a sneer. “You think you’re special? We’ve locked up things that can crush cities. You think a big man with a gun is going to change anything?” “I’m not just a big man,” I said. “I’m the one who knows exactly what you’ve been doing here. Ancient arraignments. Deals made when your ancestors were living in caves. You think you’re in charge? You’re just the current caretaker. And your lease is running out.” He signalled his men. “Take him. Break him. Make him regret ever waking up.” They rushed. Twelve men, trained, armed, brutal. I didn’t run. I met them. The first one came at me with a rifle butt. I caught his wrist, twisted until bone cracked, and drove my fist into his chest. He went down gasping. The second fired — bullets sparked off the steel wall behind me as I moved faster than they expected. I grabbed his weapon, used it as a lever, and threw him into two more coming up behind. It wasn’t fighting. It was clearing a path. I used every bit of my weight and strength, turning their own momentum against them. They were good, but they were just men. And I was something else entirely. Raynor watched, shocked, as his best men fell one by one. PAGE 4 In less than a minute, only Raynor was left standing. His men lay groaning or unconscious around us. I stood over them, breathing steady, barely winded. Sarah watched from the side, eyes wide — she had never seen anyone move like that. Raynor raised his weapon, aiming straight at my head. His hand shook slightly. “You… what are you?” “I told you,” I said, stepping closer, ignoring the gun pointed at me. “I’m a tenant who realised the landlord is a thief. And I’m here to evict him.” Before he could fire, a voice echoed from the observation glass behind us — deep, resonant, sounding like stones grinding together. “KANE VOSS… YOU CARRY THE LIGHT STILL… YOU WALK BETWEEN WORLDS… COME CLOSER… I WILL SHOW YOU WHAT THEY HIDE.” Raynor froze. He knew that voice. It was The Wanderer — the oldest captive in Level 7, the one no one could communicate with, the one they feared most. I walked past Raynor, past the guns, up to the thick glass. Behind it sat a figure that looked like a man carved from dark crystal, eyes glowing softly. It leaned forward. “Ancient arraignments… shadow‑world engagements… they made us sign… they made us stay… they took our knowledge… our power… and used it to build their thrones… while your kind fought in the mud… they ruled from the sky…” Raynor was shouting now, backing away, shouting orders that no one could follow. But I didn’t care about him. I listened. Every word matched what I had seen when I died. Every word confirmed what I suspected. “They aren’t just keeping you here,” I said to the being. “They are keeping history here. They are keeping the truth locked away so they can stay in charge forever.” “FOREVER IS A LIE,” The Wanderer rumbled. “AND YOU… YOU ARE THE BREAK IN THE CHAIN… GO… SEE THE WRECKAGE… SEE WHAT THEY DO WITH WHAT THEY STEAL…” Alarms screamed louder. More men were coming. I turned to Sarah. “We’re leaving. Now.” She nodded, still stunned. We ran down the corridor, away from Raynor, away from the cells, deeper into the complex but towards a service exit I had mapped out weeks ago. Behind us, I heard Raynor screaming orders, but I also heard something else — The Wanderer laughing. A sound like mountains shifting. PAGE 5 We burst out into the night air, cold and sharp, miles from the nearest town. Behind us, the entrance sealed shut, hidden again behind rock and concrete, looking like nothing more than an old mine entrance. Sarah leaned against a tree, breathless, staring at me. “You… you actually spoke to it. No one has ever spoken to it. They said it was mindless. They said it was just a leftover creature.” “They lie about everything,” I said, wiping dust and blood from my face. “That thing is older than humanity. It remembers everything. And what it told me… it matches every piece I’ve found so far. The deals. The control. The way they treat us all like renters.” We started walking towards the transport I had hidden kilometres away. “You said something back there,” Sarah said, falling into step beside me. “About seeing the wreckage. What did you mean?” I looked at her. “That’s the next part of the story. What happens after they take what they want from the ground or from the past. You saw the secrets here. But you haven’t seen what they do to the rest of the world.” Two days later, we stood on broken ground on the other side of the world. The Borderlands — formerly the region of Kalath. Nothing left here but ash, twisted metal, and skeletal remains of buildings that used to be homes. The air tasted of burnt oil and dust. Children played in the rubble while mothers searched for clean water from pipes blown apart six months ago. It had been a rich land, fertile, full of resources. Now it was a scar. No questions for henchmen that wreak wrath on the poor, A convoy rumbled past us. Armoured trucks marked with the neutral logo of Global Security Solutions — a private army hired by whoever paid most. They answered to no government, no law, no conscience. They rolled through destroyed towns, enforcing borders no one agreed to, crushing anyone who stood in the way. Nobody asked them why. Nobody dared. They were the muscle, the wrath, aimed only at people with nothing left to lose. Sarah covered her mouth, horrified. “I read reports… they said there was a war here. That the people destroyed their own land.” “Lies,” I said hard. “They destroyed it. On purpose.” PAGE 6 Further down the road, we watched crates being unloaded from unmarked planes parked on a strip of broken tarmac. Weapons. Rifles, explosives, ammunition. Handed out to warlords, factions, anyone willing to fight whoever they were told. Droppin’ guns at the doors of the third world — can’t ignore. “Look at that,” I said, pointing. “They give guns to both sides. Keep them fighting. Keep them weak. As long as the poor kill each other, they won’t notice who is really taking everything.” Sarah shook her head. “It’s sick. Why? What do they gain?” No gov’ wants to restore, just explore then exploit, “Everything,” I said. “This land used to have oil fields. Minerals. Rare earths worth trillions. The governments didn’t send aid. They didn’t send peacekeepers. They sent diggers and soldiers. They came only to take. They don’t want to rebuild. Rebuilding costs money. Taking makes money.” I knelt and picked up a piece of scorched concrete. It crumbled in my fingers. Like a crashed asteroid hittin’ Earth, leavin' nothin' but void. “That’s their method,” I said. “Strike, destroy, scatter value, leave a crater. Nothing grows there for a long time. They call it progress. I call it theft.” We walked deeper into the ruins. People stared at us, wary, tired, hungry. Most turned away — strangers usually meant trouble. But an old man sat on a broken wall, watching us. His face was like leather, eyes deep and dark, seeing everything. The Elder. He motioned for us to come closer. “You have the look of someone who knows the game,” he said, voice rough as gravel. “You come to see what they did? Or to finish it?” “To understand it,” I said. “And to stop it.” He laughed, a dry rasping sound. “Many have said that. None have succeeded. They are too big. Too high. Too many hands in too many pockets.” “I died once,” I told him. “Nothing scares me anymore. Not their size. Not their height. Not their pockets full of gold.” The Elder leaned forward, intense. “Then listen well. What you see here… this wreckage… this is what they do everywhere. They take the wealth, they leave the pain. And they call it running the world.” PAGE 7 He pointed to the horizon, towards where the rich nations lay far beyond the destroyed lands. “They sit up there in glass towers,” he said. “Counting the money they stole from under our feet. They think we are just dirt to walk on. But dirt grows things. And sometimes… dirt grows things that bite back.” Sarah knelt beside him. “Do you know who they are? The ones at the top?” He nodded slowly. “Names change. Faces change. But the family stays the same. The Council. Twelve people who hold more power than every prime minister and president combined. They never stand for election. Never appear on ballots. Yet they rule everything. And the richest among them… Julian Vane… he is the worst. He owns the companies, the armies, the banks. And he knows secrets older than the pyramids.” I looked at Sarah. “Vane. That’s the name I found in the archives. The one with the artefacts.” “He has a house,” The Elder said, “called The Spire. In the centre of the richest city. Glass and gold. He keeps history there. Things dug up from places like this, from Egypt, from everywhere. Things that tell the truth about how it all began.” I stood up. “That’s where we’re going then.” We said goodbye to The Elder, leaving him supplies we had brought, though he refused most — he said he was used to going without. As we walked away, he called out after us: “Be careful, Kane Voss. Vane doesn’t just guard secrets… he guards power. And he will kill to keep it.” Two days later, we stood in the shadow of The Spire. Glass towers scraped a clean blue sky. No dust here. No rubble. Polished stone, expensive cars, silence broken only by the hum of wealth. Security was everywhere — cameras, guards, sensors, invisible fences. I adjusted my suit. I didn’t look like the big tough man from the basements or the ruins. I looked like exactly what I was pretending to be: a wealthy investor come to meet Julian Vane. Sarah was beside me as my assistant. We had forged the credentials, the background, the history. It was easy when you know how they think. We walked into the private dining room of The Council. And there he was. Julian Vane. Old money, older secrets.PAGE 8 He sat at the head of a long table, drinking expensive wine, watching screens where numbers moved in billions. He looked up as we entered, eyes sharp and intelligent, missing nothing. “Mr. Voss,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard things about you. A man who has been many places, done many things. Some say you even died and came back. Quite the story.” “Stories are often true,” I said, taking a seat opposite him. Sarah stood quietly behind me, watching every movement. Oil funds shifted by the vultures in society’s throne, He gestured to the walls, to the screens, to the wealth surrounding us. “You see all this? It doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from knowing where to look, what to take, and who to leave behind. We move resources, we move markets, we move whole nations like pieces on a board.” “Like thieves,” I said flat. “Like Bonnie and Clyde robbin’ everything in sight on their own — then call it business.” He laughed, low and rich. “Thieves? We are architects. We built the system. We wrote the rules. If we take what we want, it is because we have the right. We earned it.” Then say we’re the bad guys? Open your eyes, “Earned it?” I leaned forward, voice dropping, heavy as lead. “You take land that isn’t yours. You start wars just to sell weapons. You leave people starving while you drink wine worth more than their whole lives. And when anyone fights back? You call them criminals. You call us the problem.” His smile faded. He didn’t like being challenged, especially not by someone who knew exactly what he was doing. People fell from the sky, secrets buried in Egyptian paradise. I nodded to the artefacts displayed behind him — stone tablets, statues, metal objects that didn’t match any history book. “You keep them hidden here. Things from Egypt, from Sumer, from places history says we couldn’t reach. You know they weren’t built by slaves or simple tools. You know they were left by people who came down from the sky. You know the truth… but you bury it deep so only you hold the power.” Vane stood up slowly. The charm was gone now. In its place was cold, hard calculation. “You talk too much for a guest, Mr. Voss. You think you understand the game? You are just a pawn. And pawns get taken off the board.” PAGE 9 He signalled sharply. Doors at the back opened, and four men walked in — big, hard, trained killers. At their front: Marcus. Tall, scarred, eyes dead and empty, Vane’s right‑hand man. Ex‑special forces, dismissed for brutality, now the man sent to make problems disappear. “Mr. Marcus will show you out,” Vane said, sitting back and sipping his wine like nothing had happened. “And he will make sure you forget everything you thought you knew.” Marcus stepped forward, hand resting on the pistol at his hip. “Come quietly, or I break you here.” Sarah tensed beside me. I put a hand on her arm to calm her. I stood up, fourteen stone of muscle uncoiling slow and dangerous. “I don’t go anywhere I’m not invited,” I said, voice loud and clear. “And I haven’t finished speaking yet.” Marcus moved fast, lunging to grab my arm. I caught his wrist mid‑motion, twisted hard, and drove my elbow into his chest. He gasped, air driven out of him, and stumbled back. The other three rushed. It was fast, brutal, and loud. I met them head‑on. One went down with a broken rib from a heavy punch. The second I lifted and threw across the room into a display case — ancient glass shattered, artefacts crashing to the floor. The third pulled a knife; I grabbed his wrist, forced the blade down, and used his own momentum to send him sprawling. Marcus recovered fast, drawing a heavy combat knife. He was good — one of the best I’d ever fought. But I was better. I had died. Pain didn’t stop me. Fear didn’t slow me. We circled. He struck; I dodged. He slashed; I blocked. Every move he made, I saw it before he did. It was like fighting a child. I caught his arm, twisted until I heard bone snap, and slammed him face‑first onto the table in front of Vane. He lay there, groaning, broken. I looked straight at Vane. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even spilled his wine. But his eyes were wide, shocked. He had never seen anyone move like that. “That was just the warm‑up,” I said. “Next time, I don’t stop.” I turned, Sarah right behind me, and we walked out of The Spire, past guards too terrified to stop us. We had made our point. But I knew — and Vane knew — this was only the beginning. PAGE 10 We were back on the street, blending into the crowd, moving fast. Alarms were already sounding behind us, but we had planned our exit well. “He’ll come after us now,” Sarah said, breathless but steady. “Vane doesn’t let anyone disrespect him and live to tell it. He has resources, money, private armies, contacts everywhere. He will hunt us to the ends of the Earth.” “Let him,” I said, adjusting my jacket. “I want him to. Every time he comes for us, he leaves a trail. Every trail leads back to him. Every step brings me closer to pulling the whole thing down.” We turned a corner and vanished into the busy city centre. But even here, in the heart of the richest place on Earth, I felt it. I saw it. Paralyzed, compartmentalized, watched by satellites, High above, hundreds of satellites moved in perfect formation. I knew exactly what they did. They mapped every face, tracked every movement, logged every word spoken in public. I looked up, squinting against the sun, and imagined the eyes looking back down. People walked past each other, heads down, eyes on phones, ears in buds. Isolated. Locked in their own little boxes, their own jobs, their own lives. No one talked. No one connected. Everyone too busy, too tired, too distracted to notice they were all watched the exact same way. Paralysed by fear, by routine, by the heavy feeling something was wrong but never knowing how to say it. Nations with big appetites takin’ everything like parasites. Every country around us wanted more. More land, more oil, more money, more control. They didn’t build relationships. They fed. Just like Vane. Just like The Council. They attached themselves to the planet, to the people, draining everything dry, moving on when nothing remained. Forests gone. Oceans empty. Mountains mined flat. People worked until they had nothing left to give. Stuck in headlights under spotlights, no strength to fight, I watched a family cross the road. Father tired, mother worried, kids quiet. Trapped. Like a deer frozen in the road, bright lights blinding you, vehicle coming fast, no way to run. They were under the spotlight of control, every move lit up, every choice limited. They had been drained of the strength to even want to fight. Taught to be good tenants, pay on time, stay quiet, don’t ask questions. Each breath pullin’ pieces of their life into the night. Every day that passed, a little bit more was taken. A little freedom gone. A little money gone. A little truth erased. We breathed it in with the air — a slow, steady theft of everything we were, pulled slowly into the dark until almost nothing was left.