The noise of the hallway thinned into a tense buzz as Zerek faced the man with light gold hair, his icy stare slicing through the air like a blade. The weight of his pack tugged at his shoulders, filled with gear—and the strange, high-density rounds tucked carefully away. The man's eyes locked onto him with a cutting glare, like Zerek's very presence was an offense.
"You are?" the man asked again, voice laced with condescension. Each word felt like it was designed to sting. His uniform was spotless, and the insignia gleamed like a neon sign—high-ranking recruit. He carried himself like he was born to command: shoulders squared, chin up, dripping with the kind of privilege Zerek had seen too often in Eagle City's upper crust—the kind that never had to fight for scraps or sleep with one eye open.
"Me?" Zerek said, his voice cautious, but firm. "Zerek. And you are?"
The man gave a cruel smirk, eyes narrowing. "Thorne," he said flatly, as if that name alone should make Zerek shrink. "Son of Councillor_ No, you don't deserve to know him. You're the powerless one, right? Rika's little pet project."
Zerek's jaw locked. Hearing Rika's name from Thorne's mouth hit harder than expected. He and Rika had clawed their way into the city together—two orphans from their destroyed city. She got spotted early, plucked out for her telekinetic like gifts, while Zerek had to keep scraping by, always the odd one out for not having powers. But she'd never turned her back on him. She pulled strings, opened doors, made sure he had a fighting chance. And now this prick was reducing that bond to some pitiful charity?
"Charity case?" Zerek repeated, voice low. Steady. "Rika's my friend. Not that you'd understand the word."
Thorne's smirk vanished, replaced with a flicker of anger. He stepped in, close enough for Zerek to smell the antiseptic polish on his gear. His boots clicked against the concrete floor, each step like a challenge. "Watch your mouth, runt. You think you earned those bullets Varyn tossed you? You're nothing. Just a walking target. Rika's with real soldiers now."
Zerek's hand brushed against the edge of the metal case in his pocket. Five shots. Level the field, Varyn had said. He forced himself to breathe, to meet Thorne's stare without flinching. "If I'm nothing, why're you pressed?"
Thorne's face darkened, and his hand shot forward, grabbing Zerek's collar. The straps of Zerek's pack bit into his shoulders as he was yanked forward.
"Because Rika belongs with me," Thorne growled, eyes blazing. "Not dragging dead weight like you around. Stay away from her—or you won't be coming back from this mission."
The threat hung there like the smell of old blood—sharp, heavy, real. Zerek's heart kicked into overdrive. It reminded him of the orphanage, of being cornered by older boys with greedy hands and hungry looks. He'd learned to fight then, to win ugly. But Thorne wasn't some thug. He was trained, connected. Dangerous. Word was, his power could short-circuit a man's nervous system with a touch.
Zerek swatted his hand away, taking a step back to reset the distance between them. "Rika's not yours," he said, tone like steel. "She's not anyone's. And if you think you can scare me off, you've clearly never been where I've been."
Thorne laughed, sharp and derisive, loud enough to draw a few sideways glances. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't save you when the Juggernauts come. You'll break before the first shot even lands."
Zerek's fists curled, the case in his pocket a solid weight that kept him grounded. He wanted to swing, wanted to wipe that arrogant look off Thorne's face. But this wasn't the time or place. One wrong move and he could be off the team. Rika had put her neck on the line for him—he wouldn't blow it now.
"Keep talking," Zerek said, voice calm despite the fury burning under his skin. "Out there, your name won't mean a damn thing. Powers won't save you when it's just you and the dark."
Thorne's eyes narrowed again, a flicker of doubt showing through the cocky mask. But before he could say anything else, a sharp whistle echoed from down the hall.
"Recruits! Form up! Transport leaves in ten!" Commander Varyn's voice carried like a gunshot.
The hallway shifted as bodies moved, a swarm of gray uniforms surging toward the exit. Thorne gave Zerek one last venomous look.
"Stay the hell away from her," he muttered. "Or you'll regret it." With that, he turned and vanished into the crowd, his golden hair catching the light like a flame.
Zerek let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The holoposters on the wall flickered, one looping a Juggernaut's growl, shaking the quiet around him. He adjusted the straps of his pack, the cold metal of the case a constant reminder of Varyn's strange confidence in him.
Why me? The question gnawed at him, sharper now with Thorne's threat ringing in his ears. He scanned the hall, looking for Rika, maybe she was among them since Thorne a high class was here too. But after a while he didn't.
The corridor emptied out as the recruits pushed toward the transport bay. Zerek followed, his boots tapping over scarred concrete. Thorne's words stung, but they weren't anything new. He'd been hearing versions of them his whole life. Powerless. Worthless. A mistake. And yet—Rika believed in him. Varyn had trusted him with those bullets, maybe to Varyn it means nothing to him and he's just giving him something out of goodwill but to Zerek it was more than that.
Outside, the engines of the transport rumbled to life, heat shimmering off the metal. Eagle City loomed ahead, jagged towers piercing a sky thick with ash. Humanity's last stronghold. A city barely holding the line against the chaos beyond.
Zerek climbed aboard the transport, the pack rattling faintly on his back. He took a seat near the rear, his fingers brushing over the case in his pocket. Five bullets. Five chances to change the outcome.
As the doors hissed shut and the plane began to takeoff. Zerek leaned back. Thorne could talk all he wanted. But when things went south, out there where it counted, the battlefield didn't care about bloodlines or power. Out there, it was about grit. About who could survive when everything else collapsed.
He'd show them. Thorne. The recruits. Himself.
That he wasn't just a slum rat with no future. He was still standing. Still fighting.
For the city.
For the kid who'd made it out of nothing.
The transport rolled on, engines roaring beneath him, carrying him into the unknown.