The slums of the Grey Zone didn't have a sky; they had a "Canvas of Neglect."
Sameer sat on a rusted crate outside his hab-unit, a tattered sketchbook balanced on his knees. To anyone else, the air here was a suffocating soup of industrial exhaust and 0.8G low-gravity dust. To Sameer, it was a complex layering of #4A4A4A Charcoal Grey and #D4AF37 Tarnished Gold. He squinted, his charcoal pencil dancing across the paper as he tried to capture the way the smoke swirled in lazy, unhurried spirals.
He caught his reflection in the polished side of a discarded fuel canister. He saw a kid with messy black hair, oil-smudged cheeks, and a face so average it practically vanished against the grey background of the slums. At 5'7", he was physically unremarkable. But Sameer tilted his head, admiring the "composition" of his own reflection.
"Look at those shadows under the jaw," he thought with a genuine, humble smile. "Perfectly balanced. I might look like a 'Nobody,' but as a painting, I'm quite a masterpiece of symmetry."
"Sameer! Stop dreaming in colors and help me with this intake valve!"
His father's voice came from beneath the chassis of a battered, ancient motorcycle. It was a relic from the early 2000s, a mechanical ghost that shouldn't have been able to run in a world of anti-graviton engines. But in the slums, they didn't have high-tech; they had grease, grit, and Sameer's hands.
Sameer slid under the bike, the cold concrete of the 0.8G zone pressing against his spine. He didn't just see an engine; his brain—a complex biological machine he didn't yet understand—was already beginning to "sketch" the world in patterns of force.
"Intake: 0.5x. Efficiency: 0.01%," a deep, unconscious part of his mind whispered.
To the world, Sameer was a "Zero." He had been born with Five Elements, an abnormality so rare it should have made him a god. But there was a catch. While a normal 1-element human started with 1.0x Intake, Sameer's system was so cluttered and complex that he could barely pull in 0.5x. He was like a V12 engine trying to run on a lawnmower's fuel line.
"The valve is stuck because the 'Noise' is blocked, Papa," Sameer said, his sweet-talking voice soft and reassuring. He placed a grease-stained finger on the metal. He wasn't using strength. He was finding the "Asymmetry." He felt the vibration of the engine, the "Quantum Math" of the friction happening beneath the surface.
With a tiny, rhythmic pulse—like the stroke of a fine brush—he twisted.
Clink.
"You've got a knack for the soul of the machine, boy," his father sighed, sliding out. He looked at Sameer, his eyes filled with a heavy, crushing sadness. "But tomorrow, you leave for the Silver Spires. There, they won't care about the soul. They only care about the Hypercharge."
The Myth of Godhood
In the world of Pangea, Hypercharge was the word for Godhood.
Every teenager knew the stories. Once you entered the Academy, you underwent a week of "Unconditioning." It was a week of physical torture—standing in high gravity, starving the body of normal air, and forcing the muscles to the point of collapse. And then, at the end of that week, they would teach you to "Awaken."
They would teach you to enter the Hypercharge State.
To a "Nobody" like Sameer, the mechanics were a mystery. The public only knew that a Hypercharge allowed you to absorb the "Background Noise" of the universe to become Denser. You didn't become heavier—if you were 70 kg, you stayed 70 kg—but your body became harder than diamond. You gained superhuman speed, endurance, and a brain that worked like a quantum computer.
"I'll be fine, Papa," Sameer said, clutching the leather pouch his father handed him.
Inside were the coins—the Last Coin.
As Sameer took it, his Artist's Eye triggered an emotional spike. He saw the history of every coin. This one was from the time his father worked a double shift in 1.5G. That one was from when his mother sold her only gold bangle. The pouch wasn't just currency; it was the "Base Layer" of their sacrifice.
"Don't look back, Sameer," his mother whispered, tucking a set of worn-out paintbrushes into his bag. "Just survive the Unconditioning. Once you achieve the Hypercharge, you won't be a 'Zero' anymore. You'll be a Breaker."
Sameer smiled, a genuine, optimistic beam that hid the fact that his internal "fuel lines" were currently clogged and broken. "I'll paint a better world for us, Ma. I promise."
The 1.1G Threshold
The transit bus to the Silver Spires was a pressurized cage of chrome. As it crossed the boundary from the 0.8G slums into the 1.0G Civilian Sector, the "Weight" hit.
[GRAVITY ADJUSTED: 1.0G STABLE]
To a normal human, 1.0G was the baseline. To Sameer, it felt like someone had poured Heavy Lead Paint into his veins. His 70 kg body felt like it was being dragged toward the center of the earth. His heart—his internal pump—started to sputter.
He sat in the back, his knuckles white as he gripped his sketchbook. Around him, other candidates were already struggling. Some were vomiting; others were gasping for air. None of them were Breakers yet. They were all just "Nobodies" waiting for the week of Unconditioning to begin.
"Look at the Zero," a voice sneered from across the aisle.
It was a boy with a sharp, arrogant jawline and a Tier 2 "Silver" emblem on his jacket. He wasn't a Breaker yet either, but his family had paid for "Pre-Conditioning." He sat comfortably, his 2-element hardware already pulling in a steady 1.0x Intake.
"Five elements," the arrogant boy laughed, pointing at Sameer's ID tag. "What a waste of biological space. You can't even sit upright in 1.0G. How are you going to survive the 1.1G of the Spires? You'll be a puddle of grease by tomorrow morning."
Sameer didn't get angry. He looked at the boy—not at his sneer, but at his Symmetry. "He has a very high center of gravity," Sameer thought, his brain unconsciously performing the math. "If the bus turns at more than 40 km/h, his posture will collapse because his intake is focused entirely on his chest, not his legs."
"You're right!" Sameer chirped, offering his best, most genuine smile. "I do feel a bit like a puddle! But puddles are very good at reflecting the light, don't you think? It's a very interesting perspective!"
The arrogant boy blinked, confused by the lack of fear. "You're a freak, Zero."
"I get that a lot!" Sameer said happily, opening his sketchbook.
He began to draw. He drew the way the gravity pulled at the shadows in the bus. He drew the "Noise" of the engine. As his pencil moved, his Quantum Brain started to hum. He didn't know he was doing math. He just thought he was "shading".
"If I breathe in 3/4 time... the pressure on my heart decreases," he realized.
He synchronized his lungs to the vibration of the bus floor.
Breathe. Vibration. Balance.
Slowly, the "Red-Out" in his vision faded. He was still a "Nobody." He wasn't in a Hypercharge state. He wasn't "Dense" yet. But by observing the patterns of the universe, he was doing what the other students wouldn't learn for a week: he was Manual-Tuning his body to survive.
The Gates of the Spires
When the bus finally arrived at the Academy, the doors hissed open to a world of blinding white towers and a punishing 1.1G.
Sameer stepped out, and his knees immediately buckled. He "clumsily" caught himself on a railing, his bag spilling a few pencils. To the Elite seniors watching from the balconies, he was a joke. A 5'7" Zero who looked like he was about to die from a stiff breeze.
"Welcome to the Spires, Trash!" a senior shouted from above. "The Unconditioning starts in one hour. Prepare to hate your own skin!"
Sameer stood up, shaking the dust from his average-looking coat. He felt the 1.1G weight pressing down, trying to crush his 70 kg frame. His 0.5x Intake was screaming at him, unable to provide enough energy to his 5-element core.
But as he looked at the massive Academy gates, he didn't see a prison. He saw a Vast, Unfinished Canvas.
"One week," he thought, clutching the lucky spark plug in his pocket. "Seven days of 'Unconditioning.' Seven days to watch how the others suffer... and to learn their patterns."
He didn't know how to Hypercharge. He didn't know how to become "Godly." He only knew that the "Noise" of the universe was a song, and he was the only one in the Academy who was actually listening to the music.
He walked forward, his steps heavy and slow, but perfectly symmetrical. He was a Nobody in a world of potential gods, but he was the only one who realized that the "Burden" wasn't the weight—it was the lie that you had to be strong to survive.
You didn't have to be strong. You just had to be Precise.