"Grrkh-ssskaa! Grrkh-ssskaa!"
That sound… that's the sound of a Skathen.
A Skathen is a pale, sinewy Vireborn with no eyes. They hunt by using sound, and they only nest in shadowy ruins.
"Listen, kid—we only have one shot at this. We need to make our move now!"
This is Marla Reynolds, an ex-American military Master Sergeant—specialty: tactical operations. She's also the current guardian of Jazz.
"Shut it, Granny. It's your fault we're late."
And this is Jaziel, aka Jazz—a genetically engineered human designed to wield Kinetic Energy. A Vector. Also, somehow… a high school student at Tachibana High.
Jazz and Marla are both sprinting toward the center of the city, trying to stop the Skathen with as little collateral damage as possible. Jazz is calculating strategies in his head. Marla? She's thinking about what to cook for dinner.
"Grrkh-ssskaa!"
"Ahhhhhh! Run, evacuate!" screams a random civilian.
The Skathen unleashes a sticky, silk-like thread from its mouth that clings to everything. A monster taller than a full apartment complex now stands over a young girl.
Random Civilian shouts:
"Girl! Get out the way—you're gonna die!!"
Jazz dashes past the screaming crowd and unleashes a move called Gravel Bullet Burst—a technique where he compresses rock fragments into super-dense pellets and fires them in rapid succession, like a kinetic shotgun. The resulting blast tears a massive hole into the Skathen's gut. It collapses, dead before it even has a chance to scream.
"Geez… I freaking hate Strain Beasts."
Strain Beasts are the most common Vireborn, mutated with human or animal DNA. Like all Tier 1 Vireborn, they lack speech and act only on primal instinct. There are two higher tiers, but we'll talk about those later…
Marla's voice cuts through via smart glasses—her custom-built comms system.
These glasses are the invention of her granddaughter: Lisa Iris Reynolds, a tech genius who supports Marla, Jazz, and Tank remotely. Instead of being in the battlefield, she's their eyes and ears. Her greatest creation is the V-Iris, equipped with:
Encrypted voice comms
Threat detection: scans for Vireborn using thermal, kinetic, and sound signatures
Built-in AI ("Omnis") for navigation, analysis, and combat advice
Only four exist in the world—and Lisa guards them fiercely.
"Hey kid. Have you finished off that damn thing yet?" Marla asks flatly.
"With no help from you! Where the hell did you even go?!"
"There were things I needed to pick up for dinner," she replies without concern. "But you shouldn't worry about me. You should be worried about getting to school."
Jazz glances down the street—realizing just how late he is.
He's down two blocks. School is six away.
He closes his eyes, visualizing a 3D memory-grid of District 3—a technique Marla drilled into him with imprint training.
"Main roads? Too slow—drones on patrol. Market tunnels? Crowded, but faster if I cut properly. Building overpasses? Dangerous… but direct."
Jazz's eyes snap open. He bolts forward, weaving between early-morning vendor stalls. He uses a kinetic pulse stabilizer to bounce off a power box and vault over a booth.
He climbs a ladder, sprints across a shaky rooftop where wind whips through the beams. A quick geokinetic burst stabilizes his feet as he crosses narrow rails.
Two Redwatch patrol bots detect him. He drops a smoke pellet—an old trick Marla taught him.
He's at the final fence now, grinning. He summons a stone pillar, vaults over the gate—and lands just inside the door as the bell rings.
"Rrrrinnnnggggg!"
"Hey Jazz, you actually made it!" a voice calls from the hall.
It's Tank—another Vector. Tank's ability? Shatterkinesis.
Shatterkinesis isn't about brute force—it's the manipulation of fracture points, structural stress, and the controlled breaking of objects. It's precise, surgical, and volatile.
Users can:
Trigger collapses in structures
Shatter reinforced surfaces without visible damage
Weaponize fragmentation like kinetic surgeons
But it takes spatial awareness, clarity of mind, emotional control—and geometric mastery.
Jazz glares.
"Shut up, you idiot!"
"Calm down, buddy! I'm just checking on you—seeing how the mission went!"
Tank's voice booms through the hall. Jazz seethes.
"Can you keep your voice down?! People don't know what we can do—and I'd like to keep it that way!"
The bell rings again.
"Rrrrinnnnggggg!"
They split off to class. Jazz heads to third period: History.
He's never liked school. He sucks at it. Sucks at making friends. Sleeps through most of his lessons. And the teacher—Mr. Munaki—is always yelling at him.
"Jazz! You're not going to make it anywhere at this rate!"
Jazz just gives his usual blank expression… and falls back asleep.
But today isn't like the others.
A transfer student has arrived.
"Hello everyone! My name is Elena Burk. I'm 17, I love long walks, hanging with friends, and my favorite food is tacos. Nice to meet you all!"
The class bursts into excitement. People invite her to lunch, after-school clubs, study groups. She's a natural.
Jazz? He shrugs and goes back to sleep.
Later that day…
"Rrrrinnnnggggg!"
"Huh… school's over already?" Jazz mutters.
He slings his bag over his shoulder and heads home, the sunset casting a warm orange glow over the street.
He doesn't see beauty the way others do. He just yawns, uninterested, and walks.
Glassen Belt. District 3.
Jazz, Marla, Tank, and Lisa live in a humble little home:
A small two-story house with faded blue paint and a slanted roof patched with tin
Wooden porch with wind chimes and a hanging garden Lisa built herself
Old lawn chairs that squeak when you sit
A mailbox still marked "Reynolds" in chipped gold paint
Jazz opens the door. Same old routine.
Marla is in the backyard doing her daily workout drills. Tank is polishing his work shoes—paid for by his part-time labor job. Lisa is sketching new V-Vector kinetic models.
"Hey Jazz—you wanna help me clean my shoes?" Tank asks, genuinely hopeful.
"Hell no. Why the hell would I do that? I'm going to my room," Jazz grumbles.
"Aw c'mon, man—Granny's making dinner!" Tank pleads.
"No, let him go," Marla says calmly. "He needs time to himself. I'm surprised he doesn't take more of it in this messed-up world."
Jazz enters his room and shuts the door. Silence.
Everything goes still.
("Gllrkkk—huuuuueeeggghhhkkk…")
He vomits into the trash can, sweating uncontrollably. His teeth grind. His whole body trembles.
The weight of the day—of everything—comes crashing down.
He gasps for air.
And then…
quiet.
He wipes his face.
"Damn it… not again," Jazz growled, his voice rasping between retches.
The sound of him vomiting echoed from behind the closed door. Harsh, violent. It wasn't just his stomach trying to empty itself—it was everything else he couldn't purge. The memories. The faces. The silence afterward.
Outside the room, the others stayed still.
Lisa stood near the door, arms crossed tightly, worry shadowing her face. "How long do you think he can keep this up?" she asked, voice low, careful not to make it sound too much like fear.
Marla leaned back against the wall, exhaling slow. Her eyes were fixed ahead, not on Lisa. "Don't worry," she muttered, striking a lighter with one practiced flick. The flame lit the edge of a cigarette she'd been saving. "He's a soldier."
Smoke drifted upward between them.
"He's been like this ever since I met you two. Keeps it in until it breaks him. Then gets back up like nothing happened," she said, jaw tight.
She inhaled and let the smoke roll out slowly, almost like it hurt. "Pushes back every inch of fear, every crack of trauma. He turns all that pain into something else. A weapon."
She paused, her voice softer now, as if saying it too loud might make it real.
"He might be the strongest kid I've ever met."
The sound of coughing echoed through the door again, sharper this time. A pause, then the thud of something—maybe his fist—hitting the sink or the wall.
Lisa swallowed. "Does he ever talk about it?"
"No," Marla said flatly. "And if he ever does… it'll mean something inside him finally broke for good."
They stood in silence as the boy behind the door fought his demons again.