Prologue — Commander Arkwright I’m Commander Solenne Arkwright, Halo Shield, Sector Atlantic. If you’re reading this, it means you found a copy that wasn’t “softened” for public health. That’s the first rule of the Eternal War: nobody is allowed to *see* the war. They can *feel* it—fatigue without cause, dread without memory, a civic mood that tilts toward obedience— but they can’t see the gears. Not unless someone hands them a lens. Most citizens wear an Optics Lens by law. It’s framed as wellness: bright color correction, anxiety reduction, a “stability patch” that keeps the cities calm when the Rift winds up. When the Lens is on, Plaid Mode—bare concrete, tired faces, hungry eyes—becomes Optics Mode: clean streets, friendly signage, smiling neighbors, a world that looks like it finally learned to be kind. But Optics is not kindness. It’s a governor. A filter. A leash. There are other modes, too. Truth Mode overlays the dead-eyed layer beneath the veneer—procedures in human clothing, demons in suits, the places where compassion has been turned into a machine. Hell Mode is older. It’s what the world looked like before the rebrand: raw flame, purple-black ash, neon green vita fumes, the entire system admitting what it is. Only a few people can turn a Lens freely. Fewer can turn it without