The Blackstone barracks was a former factory warehouse, its walls lined with rows of rusted metal cots. The windows were broken, patched with cardboard and tarps that did little to keep out the cold. The air reeked of sweat, mildew, and the faint stench of radiation sickness—an acrid, sweet smell that Kalen had learned to recognize all too well. The temperature dropped to minus twenty Celsius as night fell, and Kalen huddled under a thin wool blanket, his teeth chattering. He'd spent colder nights in the Wastes, sleeping in snowbanks and abandoned vehicles, but never in a place that was supposed to be "safe."
A scrawny scavenger named Jake, who shared the cot next to his, leaned over, his voice barely a whisper. He was in his early twenties, with matted brown hair and a face covered in acne scars. His eyes were wide with fear, like he was constantly looking over his shoulder.
"You're the new guy from the Wastes, right? Kalen?"
Kalen nodded, keeping his eyes on the door. He didn't trust anyone in Blackstone—not yet. In the Wastes, trust was a luxury you couldn't afford. It got you killed.
"Tyson's Victor Kim's lapdog," Jake whispered. "Victor runs this place. Runs the whole Outer District, really. He's got the UG in his pocket. The administrator, Allen Cole, is on his payroll. Last guy who refused to buy the comms device? Tyson threw him over the wall into the Wastes. Never saw him again. His body turned up a week later, half-eaten by wolves."
Kalen's stomach tightened. He'd made the right choice to pay the 50 credits. He couldn't afford to get on Tyson's bad side—not when he was so close to finding the North Star Outpost. "Why work for Blackstone, then? If it's this bad."
Jake shrugged, pulling a crumpled photo from his pocket. It showed a young girl with his eyes—his sister, Kalen guessed. She couldn't have been more than ten, her smile bright, her hair in pigtails. "My sister's got radiation sickness. She needs meds. Blackstone pays 20 credits a day. It's the only way to keep her alive. The UG clinic charges 100 credits a dose. I'd never be able to afford it otherwise."
Kalen thought of his mother, of the child who'd fallen to his death in the Wastes. He nodded. He understood. Survival sometimes meant making deals with devils. It meant doing things you didn't want to do to protect the people you loved.
Jake nudged him, passing a crumpled note. "Tyson's heading to Warehouse 37 tonight. Around midnight. Says he's moving 'special cargo.' Thought you might want to know. You look like you're here for more than a paycheck. Like you're looking for something."
Kalen slipped the note into his pocket, his pulse quickening. Special cargo. Could it be related to the North Star Outpost? Or something else entirely? Maybe weapons. Maybe drugs. Maybe the fake meds he'd heard rumors about—counterfeit antibiotics that did more harm than good. He'd spent years sneaking through the Wastes; a little midnight surveillance was child's play.
At 2200 hours, Kalen slipped out of the barracks. The Outer District was quiet, most scavengers asleep or hiding from the cold. He pulled his jacket tight around him, his boots crunching softly on the dirt streets. He followed Jake's directions to Warehouse 37—a corrugated metal shed surrounded by a chain-link fence, four Blackstone guards patrolling the perimeter. Their flashlights swept the area, casting long shadows in the moonlight.
Kalen ducked behind a pile of rusted car parts, his heart pounding. He watched the guards for ten minutes, memorizing their patrol routes. They were lazy, complacent, talking and laughing instead of keeping watch. Kalen smiled. It was a mistake they'd regret.
He climbed over the fence, his hands gripping the cold metal, and landed softly on the other side. The warehouse's windows were dirty, but he could see inside. Tyson stood in the center, barking orders to his men. They were loading cardboard boxes labeled "UG-Certified Antibiotics" onto a black truck, but Kalen noticed something odd—one of the men was pouring sawdust into the pill bottles before capping them.
Fake medicine.
Kalen's blood ran cold. In the Wastes, bad medicine was a death sentence. He'd seen scavengers die slow, painful deaths from infected wounds because they'd taken counterfeit pills. He'd watched a woman cry as her child choked on his own blood after taking fake anti-radiation meds. It was a cruelty that made his skin crawl.
He needed proof. He slipped around to the back of the warehouse, pried open a loose board, and grabbed a box of the fake antibiotics. The pills were a powdery substance with a bitter, chemical stench—nothing like the real antibiotics his mother had carried. He slipped the box into his jacket, then pried the board back into place.
A guard's voice made him freeze. "Hey! Who's there?"
Kalen ducked back, holding his breath as the guard's flashlight swept past. He could see the man's boots, scuffed and dirty, only a few feet away. He waited until the guard moved on, then slipped back over the fence. As he ran toward the barracks, he heard Tyson's voice echoing through the night. "Find the rat who was snooping around. When you catch him, break his legs. I want him to beg for death before I throw him to the wolves."
Kalen slipped into the barracks, hiding the box under his cot. Jake was awake, staring at him nervously. "Did you find something?"
Kalen nodded, pulling out a pill bottle. "Fake antibiotics. They're selling poison to the scavengers. Your sister—does she take these?"
Jake's face paled. He pulled a pill bottle from his pocket, his hands trembling. The label was identical to the one on Kalen's bottle. "I bought these yesterday. She's been getting sicker. I thought it was the radiation. But… what if it's these pills?"
Kalen's jaw tightened. He'd been right to come here. Victor Kim wasn't just a corrupt security chief—he was a murderer. And Kalen was going to take him down. He put his hand on Jake's shoulder. "Don't give her any more. I'll find real meds. I promise."
Jake nodded, tears in his eyes. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her."
Kalen lay down on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He thought of Jake's sister, of the child who'd died on the overpass, of all the scavengers dying from Victor's fake pills. He thought of his mother, of her dream of healing the world. He knew what he had to do. He had to expose Victor's operation. He had to find the North Star Outpost. He had to make things right.
But first, he had to survive Blackstone Security. He had to earn Tyson's trust. He had to bide his time.
As he drifted off to sleep, he heard the sound of distant wolves howling. It was a reminder of the world outside the Safe Zone—a world of danger and death. But for the first time in years, Kalen felt a flicker of hope. He wasn't alone anymore. He had a purpose. And he was going to fight for it.