Hurrgh!

‎‎The boy woke with a gasp. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rhythm and vibrations coming from there.

‎Thump. Thump.

‎‎His heart... His heart was still beating without a problem. Despite everything.

‎He sighed.

‎It wasn't only that though. Unlike before, his entire being felt light and airy. He'd been feeling heavy-headed and fatigued lately.

‎

‎Then he felt it. A metal chain wrapped around his ankle, locked tight. And beyond that, a ring of sand circled his bed, smooth and untouched. The tape on the door hadn't been broken.

‎Everything was just as he had left it. ‎But something still felt wrong.

‎His hoodie clung to him, soaked in sweat. His muscles ached as though he'd been running. And his head, it throbbed.

‎Had he left again? Had something taken over whilst he was unconscious, making his actions and decisions for him?

‎He didn't know. He never did.

‎He sat up slowly, unhooked the chain, and wiped away the sand with one hand. He didn't want to see the truth. Not again.

‎‎In the outskirts, in a forgotten alley where light dared not reach, the boy now slept on a rooftop covered in tar and dust. His hoodie was thin and worn. His breathing was shallow. His dreams were full of fear, the kind only the hunted knew.

‎‎Ksshh!

‎‎The sharp sound of glass breaking cut through the silence. ‎He snapped awake, instinctively forcing himself up. He was getting a really bad premonition right about now.

‎The sound of boots crunching over the shards came next. Harsh. Fast. Focused.

‎More than one pair. ‎A whole squad.

‎‎His breath caught. Fear spread through his body like fire. ‎Thud-thud-thud — the heavy steps stormed up the stairwell below.

‎‎His heart raced.

‎‎He knew that sound. He'd heard it in nightmares, behind every locked door he'd ever cowered behind. The Foundation. Their dogs were here.

‎‎He anxiously swallowed his saliva.

‎‎'This is unreal...'

‎‎They were always coming.

‎‎He bolted upright, sweat beading cold on his forehead. His makeshift alarm of glass had bought him a few seconds, but not enough. He scrambled barefoot and breathless across the rooftop, his thoughts a mess.

‎‎'Think. Think fast. They're here...'

‎‎Below, a battering ram cracked the door with a splintering BOOM.

‎‎'C'mon, think!'

‎

Tti-ring!

‎‎A clear beep entered his head.

‎‎:: [SYSTEM ALERT] Hostile presence detected.

‎

The words flared across his vision in molten yellow.

‎‎"A little too late, don't you think?" He muttered in response. Bitter, tired.

‎‎The boy quickly threw himself into motion. ‎He kicked a rusted platform down the stairwell. It slammed and jammed, blocking the steps and buying him a few precious seconds.

‎

‎'They'll breach in anyway,' he thought grimly.

‎

But he had to try. Because there was no Plan B.

‎He was just a runaway. A half-dead whisper of a human with a mask stitched to his face and scars that never stopped itching. The Foundation didn't miss. If they had him now, he was gone.

‎He stumbled to the fire escape, slipping down the rails like falling thunder. Cold metal tore at his palms, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. ‎Below, he saw the soldiers burst into the small space with precision and smoke.

‎‎"I thought I saw movement," one muttered.

‎‎"Shadows. Or bait. Lock down the sector. Get a drone up," snapped the team leader.

‎The boy crouched behind a dumpster two blocks away, clutching his ribs as he gasped for breath.

‎'Lock down the sector…?!'

‎

‎'Hold up...!'

‎

‎'Because of me? Am I the situation?!'

‎The bitter thought clung to him. Someone must've seen him. Some nosy civilian. A camera. A whisper. A moment of carelessness— That's all it took to undo everything. ‎‎He cursed under his breath and kept moving.

‎‎This city wasn't safe. Not anymore.

‎Later that night, the storm came. The kind that soaked you through before the first lightning strike, sweeping away at tracks, blood, and sins alike. The boy found shelter in the skeleton of a burned-out building, its brick walls smeared with graffiti like forgotten screams.

‎‎He scraped together kindling: plastic, scraps of wood, a twisted chair leg. His hands shook as he coaxed a tiny flame to life.

‎He huddled close. ‎‎The fire's warmth clawed its way into his bones, not comforting to say the least. He had to tolerate it for there was nothing he could do.

‎Rain drummed against the broken windows. The air reeked of mold and gasoline.

‎The boy sat in the flickering dark, his hood pulled tight, a surgical mask clinging to his jaw. With cautious fingers, he touched the edge of it then hesitated.

‎He pulled it down, just a little. Underneath was raw flesh. Torn skin. A cheek carved open to the bone.

‎‎He stared at the ruin with dead eyes.

‎‎'Insane. This is insane. I didn't do anything. Not one part of this... is my fault. I did not choose this.'

‎And yet.

‎He didn't even flinch when the nosebleed started; thick, hot trails running down over his lips, staining his shirt and pooling on the concrete like some grotesque offering. It didn't surprise him. It was like a tap had opened inside his skull. He didn't bother to wipe it. What was the point?

‎This was the cost of defiance. The System didn't need to strike with thunder or flame. It simply unraveled you, piece by piece.

His lips parted as he muttered, dazed, "Guess I broke another rule…"

He didn't even remember which. Maybe it was refusing the last mission. Maybe it was just thinking about quitting. Maybe... it didn't matter.

‎"I was never meant to live long anyway."

‎