Chapter 2: Seen
You ever notice how everyone's life feels like a movie… except yours?
Elijah had that thought every morning.
Only today—today was different.
He stood in front of the mirror. Except… it wasn't his reflection.
The boy in the glass was tall. Broad-chested. Veins along lean muscle. Skin smooth, cocoa-brown, clean. Jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of face you see on billboards. The kind girls pause for. The kind men instinctively respect.
"Elijah?" he whispered.
But the voice that came out was deeper. Clearer. Confident.
It made his skin crawl.
This isn't a dream. This isn't a prank. This is… real.
He touched his face—no acne scars. His stomach—abs, hard as brick. Hair—sharp taper fade, thick coils, lined perfectly.
"Elijah Cole?" his mom's voice called from behind the curtain wall that separated the kitchen.
He flinched.
"Yeah," he replied, voice foreign to his own ears.
A pause.
She peeked in, lips parted in confusion. "Eh?"
She blinked like she didn't recognize him. Like a stranger had answered from her son's room.
"Elijah…?"
He gave her a hesitant nod.
"…You look—" she shook her head. "Never mind. Just hurry. School."
She closed the curtain and left.
She didn't recognize him.
District 9 — Zone 14 Border
Lagos Megazone wasn't built for people like Elijah.
It was built against them.
Towering above the skyline were the Core Rings, domes of tinted glass and glowing blue infrastructure. Military-grade drones floated between them like gods watching ants. That was where the elites lived—Zone 1 through 6.
Zone 7 to 14?
The system called them Grey Districts.
Locals called them the Casket.
Elijah walked out into the muggy air, hoodie abandoned, black tank top stretched over his new frame. People stared.
Girls on the bus platform whispered behind their hands.
A group of older boys stopped mid-conversation to eye him up and down.
"Where's this one from?" one muttered.
Elijah kept walking, every muscle stiff with tension. It wasn't the stares that bothered him—it was the fact he could feel them.
Like spotlights.
Like being seen was a threat.
St. Augustine High — Tier-4 Institution
He stepped onto campus.
It hit like thunder.
The courtyard froze. Students looked up from their phones, their drama, their gossip. A ripple passed through the concrete like someone had dropped a live wire.
Someone new had entered the jungle.
"Elijah?" a voice behind him.
He turned.
It was Adanna. Shy girl. Burn scars down one arm. Always sat two rows ahead in math. She'd never once looked him in the eye before.
Now she was biting her lip.
"I—uh—didn't recognize you," she said.
"Yeah," Elijah said simply.
"I like the hair," she added, and turned away quickly.
He stared after her.
She used to avoid me like I was diseased.
"Elijah Cole!" another voice boomed.
Kuda.
He strutted forward with Jayvon and the other Apex dogs behind him. Shirt unbuttoned halfway, showing a silver chain. Flexing as he moved.
"Elijah Cole got a glow-up?" he laughed. "Nah, this ain't no puberty. You on some body-swap shit, huh?"
Jayvon leaned in. "He looks like one of those Core Sons, for real."
Elijah stood still.
Kuda moved closer, trying to tower over him.
Elijah didn't flinch.
Their eyes locked.
"…Tch," Kuda clicked his tongue. "Enjoy the attention while it lasts, bro. People forget faces real quick around here."
He patted Elijah's chest mockingly and walked off.
But his smirk was forced.
Jayvon glanced back once more, eyes calculating.
The Class Divide
Classes didn't matter in St. Augustine. Rankings did.
There were three unofficial social classes:
Apex — The physically dominant, socially viral, or rich.
Shadows — The average. Floaters. Survivors.
Ghosts — The untouchables. The bullied. The invisible.
Elijah had been a Ghost his entire life.
But today, people pulled out a chair for him.
"Yo, you good if I move over?" one kid asked. "You probably want more space."
Elijah blinked.
He wasn't used to being asked. He was used to being walked through.
"Sure," he muttered.
Even the teacher paused when he walked in.
"New student?" Mr. Bako frowned.
"No," Elijah said. "Same one. Just… changed."
Bako hesitated. "…Ah. Right. Well. Sit."
The Mirror World
At break, he went to the school gym—his sanctuary.
The cracked mirror on the wall reflected his other self now: tall, dominant, inhumanly attractive.
He reached out to it again.
And his vision snapped.
The old Elijah blinked back into place. Skin rough. Arms thin. Acne scars returning like old debts.
The room smelled different.
Duller.
Colder.
Outside the gym, people brushed past him like he was nothing.
No glances.
No warmth.
The girl who smiled at him earlier didn't blink as he passed.
He switched again.
In an instant, he returned to the chiseled form.
The hallway slowed. People smiled. Someone offered him a protein bar.
It was real.
The world remembered only one version of him.
And erased the other.
The Cost of Being Seen
He spent the rest of the day switching between forms—testing limits.
It took effort.
Mental strain. Headaches.
And each time he returned to his old body, he felt less real.
More hollow.
Nightfall — Alone Again
Back home, he locked the door and collapsed on his mattress.
His old body.
No lights on.
Just silence.
His phone vibrated once.
You've been seen. Now choose what you'll become.
Then another message.
Every cage looks like a throne when you're the one sitting.