New Rules, New World

Chapter 2: New Rules, New World

6 months later

The morning air in Brisbane had a crisp edge to it, carrying the faint buzz of static that always lingered around a portal site. Josh Smith inhaled deeply. To him, it wasn’t just air—it was information. The scent of mana threaded through the atmosphere like veins of smoke, each trace a fingerprint only he could read.

A ferry horn echoed over the Brisbane River. Sunlight glinted off the glass towers of the city’s core, where Atlassian’s headquarters dominated the skyline with sleek confidence. He stood just outside the company’s secure field garage, fitting on his light armor vest with practiced ease. His reflection stared back at him from the vehicle’s side mirror: the head of a Blue Cattle Dog, intelligent amber eyes, the slight lift of ears tuned to nearby footsteps.

He clipped the last strap into place. A nearby tech, Ellie, approached with a scanner tablet tucked under one arm and a coffee in the other.

"Vitals look solid. Scent receptors normal, blood mana levels are stable. You ready, Good Boy?"

Josh rolled his eyes but wagged his tail anyway. The nickname had stuck after his third rescue. Public branding loved it.

“Yeah,” he said, voice clear despite his altered muzzle. “Just another Tuesday.”

“Another Tuesday,” Ellie said, grinning. “In a reality where dogs talk and smell magic.”

He gave her a mock salute and stepped into the van. Inside, two more members of his unit were already prepping: Zara, a former army medic turned gate-EMT, and Wills, a jovial ex-climber with a flair for jury-rigging field tech. The van’s interior thrummed to life as the team’s mission coordinator piped in through the comms.

“Team Bravo-Three, this is Dispatch. Gate 17E has shown instability. Low civilian risk, but we’ve got a research drone that went silent inside. Goal is recon, retrieval, and containment if necessary.”

Zara looked up from her tablet. “Are we expecting hostiles?”

“Negative,” Dispatch replied. “But environmental deviation is likely. Sending the latest telemetry now.”

Josh pulled up the data feed on the van screen. The gate sat just west of Indooroopilly, in a cordoned-off industrial zone. Mana pressure was mild. Inside, terrain scans suggested dense foliage and fluctuating temperature gradients—jungle, maybe. Still, nothing his nose hadn’t handled before.

“Copy,” he said. “We’ll retrieve the drone and check for any local distortions.”

***

Gate 17E shimmered in the air like a heat haze bent around invisible architecture. Set within a containment ring of Atlassian’s own design, the gate pulsed gently with cerulean light. Technicians in hazard suits ran final checks on the containment field as Josh’s team approached.

He crouched and sniffed. The scent was layered—mana, coppery and sweet with an undercurrent of humidity and decomposing plant matter. Something had shifted inside.

“Jungle profile confirmed,” he said. “But it’s older than yesterday. Growth rate’s accelerated. Might be unstable.”

Wills grunted. “Awesome. Carnivorous vines or just poisonous pollen this time?”

“We’ll know in five,” Josh replied. “On me.”

They stepped through together.

Crossing a gate never stopped feeling weird. One second you were in a fenced-in industrial zone in suburban Brisbane, the next your boots crunched on moss-covered stone, and you were hit with the smell of wet soil and ancient wood.

This world was warm—damp, but not suffocating. The jungle stretched in every direction, vines coiling like serpents, trees arching upward into green twilight. Overhead, a purple sun filtered through fog. Their suits regulated temperature and filtered air, but even through the mask, Josh could smell the place.

“Drone’s last signal came from eighty meters that way,” Zara said, pointing.

Josh took the lead. Every few steps, he’d pause to sniff. Scent trails swirled in his mind like heat maps. The drone had moved erratically before going still.

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Ten minutes in, they found it—half-buried in a root system, lights dim, casing cracked. Wills pulled it free and began diagnostics.

“No damage from impact. Looks like something disrupted its memory logs. I can’t get visuals.”

Josh wasn’t listening. He’d caught a new scent. Faint. Wrong.

“Something else was here,” he said, low. “Humanoid. Not one of ours.”

Zara raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Positive.” He sniffed again. “Three days ago. No exfil scent. If they went back through the gate, I’d smell the return trail.”

“Great,” Wills muttered. “Unregistered entry.”

Josh’s hackles rose. “Or they didn’t come through our gate.”

***

Back in Brisbane, the debrief was routine on the surface. Drone retrieved, minor environmental instability noted, no hostiles encountered. But when the team was dismissed, Josh was pulled aside.

An older woman in a navy blazer waited in the briefing room. Government badge, no smile. Her name tag read R. Madigan – Liaison Officer.

“You smelled a human inside?” she asked.

“Yes. Male. Not recent, but not from the original drone deployment either.”

“Any distinguishing traits?”

Josh hesitated. “The mana signature was… muted. Like they were suppressing it.”

Madigan exchanged a look with the Atlassian project lead. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Smith.”

Josh didn’t like being called that. Not by her. “Are you not logging it?”

“We’ll investigate. For now, it’s above your clearance.”

He walked out without a word.

***

The city skyline twinkled as Josh rode the ferry home. The calm wash of the river was a comfort—real water, no distortion, no tricks. Around him, people laughed, scrolled through their phones, and chatted about dinner plans. No one paid too much attention to the man with a dog's head. Stranger things existed in the new world. He was old news.

The world had changed—but it hadn’t ended. Not here. Gates had opened across the globe. A third of the population had changed, some with gifts, others with strange mutations. But Brisbane held strong, built order where others saw chaos.

Josh lived in a secure apartment complex owned by Atlassian. Clean lines, filtered air, quiet walls. He stepped in and tossed his gear onto the rack.

He paused in the dark living room, nose twitching. No threats. Just the residual scent of yesterday’s curry and his own drying sweat.

He relaxed and took a shower letting the hot water wash the fur on his face and gently massaged sweet smelling soap into his ears as he groaned with pleasure.

After drying himself he flopped onto the couch, tail thumping once against the cushion before he caught himself. Still getting used to that.

Out of idle curiosity, he picked up the sleek remote on the side table and clicked on the television. The screen flickered to life, already tuned to Channel 7.

A news anchor with silver hair and a deep, serious voice sat behind a minimalist desk, flanked by graphics. The banner at the bottom read: "The Mana Revolution: Understanding the Blood Index and Gate Classifications."

Josh sat forward, ears twitching in interest.

“Tonight, we take a closer look at the new frontier of human evolution: the phenomenon of mana sensitivity, gate classification, and the mysterious metric now governing the future of the human race—the Blood Mana Index.”

The screen cut to a sleek, animated explainer. Stylized DNA strands glowed and twisted as the narrator continued.

“When portals—also known as Gates—began appearing a year ago, the world changed overnight. But it wasn’t until people started exhibiting abilities after exposure that researchers began to understand what we now call the Blood Mana Index, or BMI.”

Graphics showed a red-blue gradient bar, marked from 0 to 100.

“The BMI measures an individual’s compatibility with ambient mana energy, detected through a specific protein signature in the blood. A rating of 50 is the threshold for safe exposure and potential ability manifestation. Scores above 70 are considered combat-viable. Scores in the 90s? Rare, elite—and dangerous.”

Josh's ears perked up. He leaned in instinctively, eyes wide. Was he about to be on the news?

“Gates themselves are classified separately, based on the volume and volatility of mana they emit. These classifications range from Class F—the smallest, least dangerous anomalies, often closing within hours—to Class S, which remain open indefinitely and often connect to stable, inhabited worlds. Atlassian, the primary government contractor for gate exploration, maintains control over access and regulates expedition teams based on the nature of each Gate.”

The visuals showed people in sleek armor stepping through massive swirling Gates, their bodies glowing faintly with magic.

“Hunters, the name given to individuals trained and authorized to enter gates, undergo both genetic and practical screening. Only those with BMI levels above 60 are permitted entry into combat-rated Gates. Others support from the outside—healers, analysts, logistics personnel. Every role matters in this new age.”

Cutting back to the anchor in the studio, the man looked directly into the camera.

“What does it mean when someone scores a perfect 100? Experts still aren’t sure. Some theorize such individuals are evolutionary anomalies. Others believe they may be harbingers of deeper, unknown truths about mana, the multiverse—and our place within it.

The story faded into a slow orchestral outro and segued into a new segment, but Josh wasn’t listening anymore, he began to doze off on the couch.