"You've got skill," she says, standing a few meters away.
I get up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Sometimes you just get tired of getting mugged, you know?"
She narrows her eyes and tightens her lips. Then she starts advancing on me again. I try a new strategy and throw the stool—still in my hands—right at her head.
I don't know if it hits, but I dash toward one corner of the room, hoping to find something I can use against her. Bingo—there's one of those hospital IV stands by the bed.
I yank it loose and turn, ready to fight. Negra is standing in the middle of the room. Looks like I'll have to go to her.
I run straight at her, and when I get close, I aim for her feet. She jumps to dodge—exactly what I was hoping for. I spin my whole body with the momentum of the swing and land a hit with the IV stand while she's still in the air.
Negra is thrown to the side. She plants her hands on the floor and lands on one knee—gracefully, I'll admit. She stands back up, almost with style.
"Don't make me hurt you any more than I have to."
She stops picking at her nails and gives me a disapproving stare. Right at that moment, the IV stand in my hands snaps clean in half—precise, straight cut.
Shit. This woman could've sliced me in half hours ago.
"Still planning to keep trying?" she asks.
"Why do you people even want me here? I just want to go home. How could I possibly help?"
"We have plenty of recruits, eager to hunt down Conductors used by terrorists and make them pay for what they've done. But we've never had a Conductor on our side. You could help with training, and more than that—you could boost morale. If they see there's a Conductor with us, they'll feel more hopeful. Less afraid."
"But I don't want to help, okay? I don't want any of this. I just want to go back to my home, so please, move."
Once again, Negra presses her lips together. She clasps her hands behind her back and looks me over, head to toe. She's even scarier now.
"Kaiki, let's make a deal. If you stay with us willingly, your entire district will receive monthly funding to help recover from the damage caused by the explosion."
I scowl. That's not a deal—that's blackmail. And worse, it's good blackmail. Somehow, they figured out my weak spot: helping people. For them to know that, I can only imagine the research they've done.
"You're saying every family will get enough to return to a normal life?" I ask.
"Not just the families. Your entire city. All affected households will receive funds based on their class level. The lower the class, the more they'll get."
"And if I refuse?" Asking that question is harder than I thought, but I ask anyway.
Negra tightens her lips again, and for the first time, I see her almost lose her composure.
"I'm offering you a deal, Kaiki. Help us willingly, and your city will be helped. Refuse, and your body will be treated as a biological research specimen."
The "research" part sends a chill down my spine. I don't want to accept this—it doesn't feel right. It's not what I want. But if my district will benefit from me being here… then I don't have a reason to say no.
"You give me your word… Commander?" I extend my hand.
She stares at it for a few seconds. Slowly, the frustration in her face begins to fade into something more neutral. Then she walks to the corner of the room, where a hidden door slides open, and she disappears through it. I follow.
As soon as I step through, a guard approaches and hands me a stack of folded clothes—all black. On top of them is my metal bat. The guard says:
"You are entitled to a shower, food, clean clothes, and also a monthly salary with bonuses per completed mission. Any violation of the rules or imposed guidelines will result in punishment, recruit."
I grin wide at the words monthly salary, and my face probably twists into something terrifyingly huge when I hear bonus.
When I look to the side, I see that Negra is gone. Now all I'm left with is the guard, these clothes, my bat, and a long, white corridor lined with countless doors.
The guard tells me, in a cold tone, where I need to go. He doesn't come with me.
I turn down a few hallways and corners until I find a door. Finally, I'll get some peace and privacy to think about everything that's happened. In front of the door, a facial scanner analyzes me. Once it finishes, the door slides open.
I step into the dorm, and the first thing I realize is that peace and privacy are not happening.
There are dozens of other recruits inside—about my age, maybe a bit younger. I have no idea how they ended up here, but I'm pretty sure they didn't come for the same reasons I did.
I walk through the maze of bunk beds, looking for one that's free. I'd say there are more than forty people in here.
From what I can tell, there's no separation between girls and boys. That's not great—I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night to rhythmic sounds coming from the bunk next to me.
There are a few empty beds, but they're all bottom bunks. I'd rather sleep on top. It doesn't take long to find one that looks free. I approach the guy sitting beneath it, completely focused on something through his binoculars.
"Hey, man. Mind if I take this bed?"
He flinches, lowering the binoculars quickly—like I just caught him in the middle of something shameful. I glance at what he was looking at and notice—without trying to be obvious—that some girls are changing clothes nearby, completely unbothered.
Strangely, no crowd of boys is surrounding them.
"Uh… ah… sure, yeah," the guy stammers. "It's not taken or anything. Not like I was saving it or… yeah. Nobody ever wants this corner anyway. I'm Noan, by the way."
He offers his hand. His fingers are slim and slightly pink, his skin almost sun-touched, with a faint golden hue. His hair is light blond and tousled, like someone who grew up in ocean wind.
"Kaiki," I say, shaking his hand, then tossing my stuff onto the top bunk.
"Cool bat," he says, pointing. "The silver one. Looks… reliable."
"Thanks. It was a gift from my dad." I pause for a moment, studying his face. Behind his glasses, his eyes are soft—light amber, almost like kelp in sunlight. "Where are you from?"
"District 7. Coastal line. It's... different there," he replies, with a slight, dreamy tone. "Quieter."
I nod, but before I can respond, someone grabs my arm with force. I turn and come face-to-face with that same white-haired, red-eyed girl from earlier.
She looks angry. Again. Why does she always look at me like I broke her favorite plate?
Her grip tightens slightly. Around us, I feel the tension shift. Dozens of recruits are suddenly watching, whispering.
"Mind letting go of my arm?" I ask calmly.
She doesn't move. Her eyes sharpen.
Then she speaks loud enough for everyone nearby to hear—loud enough for word to spread like sparks down a fuse:
"What is a Conductor doing here?"
Silence breaks like glass. Whispers ripple through the room like waves.
Great. Looks like getting used to this place just got a whole lot harder.