The city had the scent of something that was once beautiful, and had just died. Quelis moved through the shattered elegance of wide Risian streets, the shattered facades of luxury storefronts and resort lobbies casting strange shadows in the low light. Signs flickered half-heartedly above doorways: Euphoria Gardens, The Endless Horizon, Welcome, Traveler. All now hollow greetings of an interrupted paradise.

The famed pleasure planet had gone still, the lights were dimmed, and the music was silenced, and luxury resorts sealed their doors as the lockdown settled in. To conserve power during the Blackout, officials rationed everything, even indulgences. The Risians, draped in silks and accustomed to excess, did not take kindly to deprivation.

Whispers turned to protests, and laughter gave way to low, bitter murmurs.

Somewhere ahead, the bass thumped like a mechanical heartbeat.

“We’re getting reports of another gathering in that direction,” Kindle said, tricorder angled out in front of him. The screen pulsed, but even its data seemed sluggish, distorted.

Quelis didn’t bother masking his scowl. “Another one?” he said, squinting up the street where neon still burned in soft blues and pinks. A group of partygoers had painted a mural across the glass facade of an old pleasure spa, dancing silhouettes under twin suns. Below it, someone had spray-painted: LIVE BEFORE THE END.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with these people,” Quelis said, voice low. “Half the systems on the planet are down, and they’re out here pretending it’s First Contact Day.”

Patel didn’t slow as he replied. “On Risa, they’ll find any excuse to party, Mr. Drevan. You know that.”

Quelis could see the commander’s jaw tighten, though, as he turned the corner. The thud of music was louder now, and rhythmic lights were dancing across the pavement a block away. The city was trying to pulse back to life, but the wrong kind.

The five of them moved in a tight wedge formation, boots clicking against stone and plasteel. The city around them was cracked but standing. Empty transport shuttles hovered, frozen mid-transit. Traffic signs blinked outdated alerts. Communications were down, interstellar, even. No word in or out. Quelis had felt the weight of that silence like a pressure behind his eyes ever since the phenomenon they called Blackout.

The rain began with no warning.

First, a sound, sharp, unnatural— tick. Then tick-tick. Then came the downpour, as sudden as a dropped curtain.

Quelis froze as the water hit him full in the face—warm, insistent, real. Not a spa simulation. Not one of those controlled mist events for ambiance. Rain.

He blinked hard. “This can’t be right,” he said, voice quiet.

Kindle whipped his head toward him. “It’s raining, on Risa? This place has weather control towers every half-kilometer. It doesn’t rain here, not unless you book it with your massage.”

The lieutenant held his arms out wide, as if trying to confirm that the sensation on his skin was real. “This is bullshit. Absolute—”

Quelis cut him off with a sharp wave. “Lieutenant. Focus.”

Patel was already scanning the sky with his tricorder, shielding it from the downpour. The display flickered, sluggish under the same interference they’d seen since the Blackout.

“The weather grid’s down,” he said. “It must’ve been knocked out with the rest of the planetary systems.”

Quelis narrowed his eyes. “You think that Blackout hit this hard?”

“We’ve had reports of systems failure from Starbase 74 all the way to Deep Space Twelve, but as long as we’re still relying on short-range communications, who knows?” Patel said, still watching the readings crawl across his PADD. “Interstellar comms, warp drives, subspace relays. If the cause is gravitational or subspace in nature, it would’ve disrupted satellite-based weather control too.”

A droplet slid down Quelis’ neck, cold now as the wind shifted. He gave a dry, humorless laugh and raised his arms, staring at the storming sky. “So what you’re telling me is: the one time the Federation needs a planet like Risa to not fall apart… it decides to throw a tantrum.”

Lightning cracked somewhere far off, briefly illuminating the silhouette of dancers swaying on a rooftop ahead, carefree shapes outlined in flickering light.

“Looks like the party doesn’t care,” Quelis muttered.

“No one’s taken the Blackout seriously yet,” Patel replied, frowning. “Maybe this will wake them up.”

Kindle shook his head, water flying from his drenched hair. “Sure. Nothing says ‘wake up’ like dancing in a thunderstorm.”

Quelis adjusted his phaser belt and stepped forward into the rain. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go ruin their evening.”