4338.206 · July 25, 2018 AD
Steel Through the Shimmer
The back of the truck yawns open, crammed with concrete mix and timber and the bones of something not yet built. Luke stares at it, then at the gate, then at the Portal Key in his hand. Why haul supplies one armload at a time when the whole vehicle could cross? The engine roars to life. The gate becomes a threshold. And somewhere in the dust on the other side, Jamie is waving—but not in welcome.
The mathematics of survival are brutal. Every bag of concrete, every beam of timber, every tool on Paul's list must pass through the Portal by hand—trip after trip, hour after hour, back breaking under the weight of necessity.
Unless.
The thought strikes Luke with the force of revelation: if items can cross, why not the truck itself? The gate at the end of the driveway becomes a frame. The Portal expands to fill it, shimmering and vast. And with hands that have never trusted machinery, Luke turns the key, shifts into reverse, and guides several tonnes of steel and cargo into the impossible.
What waits on the other side is chaos.
Jamie, waving frantically in the rearview mirror—signals Luke cannot read. The accelerator pressed too hard. A near-miss that leaves them both shaken. And beyond the dust cloud of arrival: Paul's burned arms, evidence of a night that brought storms and hot coals and absolute darkness. Jamie hurls himself at the Portal again, demanding escape, and is thrown back scorched and furious.
Then comes the conversation about money. About wallets. About draining accounts to fund a world that has already taken so much.
The truck delivered supplies. The cost is still being counted.
