Two weeks had passed since the bonfire night, since Ryosuke sat across from Mikey in the glow of the flames and laid bare the scars of his past.Two weeks since Mikey learned not just Ryosuke's story, but the harder lesson—how to keep breathing when the weight of memory tried to smother him.
The days had moved forward, though little else had. Amelia hadn't spoken a word to him in that time. Their silence had hardened into something heavier than anger, and Mikey carried it like a stone in his chest.
He woke with a start.
Heart racing, lungs tight.
Sweat clung to his skin.
For a moment he didn't know where he was—then the soft hum of Luce's pod reminded him.
He was safe.
Across the room, Luce sat at the small table, chewing on a strip of bacon and scrolling absently through a datapad.
She glanced up when she heard him stir.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice casual but her eyes sharp.
Mikey sat up, hand pressed against his chest. His breath came heavy, uneven.
"Yeah… just another dream."
He pushed himself upright, stretching the stiffness from his limbs.
Luce tilted her head, still chewing.
"Still happening?"
Mikey crossed the room, feet dragging slightly. His eyes fell on the necklace hanging from the rack near the stove—his mother's.
He lifted it carefully, as though it might break under his fingers, then fastened it around his neck.
"Yeah," he muttered, grabbing a piece of bacon from the pan. "I don't think they'll ever go away."
Luce raised a brow, watching him.
"Wanna talk about it?"
Mikey tore off a bite, chewed slowly, and shook his head.
"Nah. Not this one. Wasn't too bad."
He leaned against the counter, the morning light catching the lines of fatigue under his eyes.
"Fair enough."
Luce took a sip of water, then set the glass down with a clink.
"I tried to talk to Amelia again, for you—"
"Don't," Mikey cut in, his voice soft but firm.
Luce blinked.
"You don't have to," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "She said some rough stuff, but… she wasn't completely wrong. Not completely right either, but…"
His voice trailed off into a dry laugh.
"Still not all wrong."
Luce studied him for a long moment, then lifted her hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I won't push it. Not like she was responsive anyway."
Mikey chuckled under his breath.
"Somehow, I don't doubt that."
For a brief second, their laughter filled the pod—small, tired, but genuine.
Mikey poured himself water, took a long sip, then set the glass down gently.
"I got more important shit to worry about anyway."
Luce leaned back in her chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Yeah, you do. Tomorrow's the big day. You ready?"
Mikey let out a slow breath, staring down at the floor.
"I hope so. Ryosuke's been pushing me hard. I'm sore in places I didn't even know I had muscles."
That drew a laugh out of both of them.
"Bet you are," Luce said.
"Sure am."
Mikey rolled his shoulder, wincing.
"I just wish I didn't have to do this damn test. I wish I could just join your Hit Squad already."
"I wish you could too," Luce admitted between bites.
"You've fought with us before and held your own. But this—" she waved her fork for emphasis "—this is for Isaak and the brass. They need to see for themselves what you've got."
Mikey arched a brow.
"And honestly…?"
She gave him a look.
"…A lot of people doubt you."
Mikey's expression hardened, though there was no surprise in his eyes.
"Not shocking. I was raised in the Council. Of course some people think I'm suspect."
Luce set her fork down, studying him in silence.
There was no pity in her gaze—only expectation.
"Just focus on the test," Luce said, her tone carrying that no-nonsense edge she always had when she wanted him to cut the noise in his head.
"You'll be fine. You'll show them."
Mikey nodded, though his eyes lingered on the floor.
"I know."
She tilted her head.
"How's training with Ryosuke?"
Mikey let out a breath, thinking.
"Good… but terrible. I'm learning a lot, but I get the shit kicked outta me every time."
Luce burst out laughing, the sound bright in the cramped pod.
"I bet. He's good."
Mikey smirked faintly.
"Yeah. He told me his past."
That caught her off guard. Her fork froze halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening.
"He told you? So you know?"
Mikey nodded.
"Yeah. He was trained by a Director. Kael. But why? Why was a Director in Hiroki? Why live there for twenty years?"
Luce set her fork down, chewing on the thought more than her food.
She finally shrugged, shoulders rising slow and deliberate.
"No clue. None of us do. The Directors are… complicated. They move in ways nobody understands. Ryosuke barely talks about Kael. And when he does, it's never clear."
"I don't doubt that," Mikey muttered.
The ticking clock on the pod's wall caught his eye. His chest tightened.
"Shit—I gotta get going. Training with Ryosuke."
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pushed his chair out, and headed for the small hanger where his coat was slung.
The loose tank top he wore barely clung to his frame as he slid into the heavier jacket, tugging it into place.
Behind him, Luce scraped her chair back, grabbing her plate.
"Wait, wait—"
She stacked her dishes and glanced at him over her shoulder.
"Care if I join you?"
Mikey raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"So you can watch me get my ass kicked?"
Luce laughed as she rinsed her plate in the sink.
"So I can make sure you don't."
He paused for a second, weighing it, then shrugged.
"Sure. You can come with."
Bending down, Mikey tugged on his boots, lacing them tight.
Luce grabbed her cropped jacket from the hook by the door, slipping it on with practiced ease.
"Alright," she said, flicking his arm with a grin, "show the way, Rookie."
The two stepped out of her pod together, the door sliding shut behind them with a hiss.
The streets of Level 127 sprawled before them—low neon signs buzzing faintly, the tang of oil and smoke hanging in the air.
Vendors called from their carts, the steam of morning meals rising to meet the artificial glow of the overhead lights.
Somewhere above, machinery groaned like the bones of the city shifting in its sleep.
Mikey and Luce walked shoulder to shoulder into the crowd, their boots echoing against the worn steel beneath them.
Mikey nodded to a few faces he recognized in the crowd as they passed through Level 127. Two months ago, he'd have been invisible here.
Now, people actually waved back.
He was settling in.
He glanced at Luce as they walked.
"So what's the deal with the test?"
Luce tilted her head, chewing on the question like she'd been waiting for him to ask it.
"It's to make sure you're ready to be a Hit Squad member. We're not just soldiers. We're the ones Isaak sends when things get messy. Missions that are dangerous, undercover, sometimes right into the Council's nest."
Mikey frowned.
"So you can't just… join?"
She shook her head.
"Nah. Anyone can become a soldier, sure. You train, you pass, you defend the Silo or support the union states like Rossen. But the Hit Squads? That's different. The brass has to know you won't crack under pressure. And you said you wanted to run with us—so, you've gotta take the test."
Mikey chuckled, though it was thin.
"Ahhh, okay. Makes sense now. And your squad is just you four? You, Bobo, Amelia, Ryosuke?"
Luce smirked faintly.
"Not always. Your ma and pa used to run with us. Willie, Silvia, Jasmine too, before they split to another squad. We keep it small. Tighter that way."
She slowed her steps, almost like she was choosing her words.
"But really—we're missing our fifth."
Mikey's brow furrowed.
"Who?"
They reached a grated elevator shaft, and the floor beneath them rattled as it carried them upward.
"Tobi," Luce said.
Mikey's eyes widened.
"Him? That's the guy who got Ryosuke caught and thrown in Jöten?"
Luce chuckled, folding her arms across her chest.
"Yeah. That idiot. He's a giant pussy, but… useful. Resourceful. Like a rat that knows all the cracks in the wall."
Mikey shook his head.
"So he's still not back?"
"Not that I've seen," Luce muttered. "Probably holed up in some corner of the silo, hiding from us. But when Ryosuke finds him?" She laughed under her breath. "He's a dead man."
The elevator clanged to a halt at Level 93.
The doors grated open with a screech, revealing a very different floor from the bustle below.
This wasn't a community hub—it was a machine.
Soldiers in formation thundered past in precise rows, boots pounding the steel while instructors barked orders sharp enough to cut air.
Sweat and iron filled the space, the stench of grit and discipline.
Off to the side, Jasmine was among the drillmasters, voice fierce as she drove recruits to the ground for pushups.
Mikey and Luce wove through the organized chaos until the noise thinned into an open corridor.
"So," Mikey asked, watching soldiers slam fists against training dummies, "what exactly is the test? Ryosuke won't tell me. Neither will Bobo."
Luce smirked.
"Shit, I won't either."
Mikey sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
"You people. Just tell me."
"Nope. Can't."
She gave him a pointed look.
"What I can tell you—no matter what happens, don't run. Remember what Ryosuke's drilled into you. Plant your feet."
Mikey studied her, then nodded slowly.
"Alright. Thanks."
"Don't mention it," she said, smirking. "Like—seriously. Don't mention it."
He let out a small laugh.
They reached the heavy curtains that separated the training hall from the rest of the floor. The muffled clatter of weapons and voices hummed behind them.
"This is it," Mikey said. It had become routine at this point.
Mikey stretched his shoulders, took a deep breath, and forced a grin.
"Let's hope I don't get—"
"AHHH!"
A sharp, panicked scream tore through the hall, cutting him off. Both Mikey and Luce snapped their heads toward the curtain, eyes wide.
"What the hell—"
They shoved through the fabric, and the sight that greeted Mikey nearly knocked the air out of him.
Inside, Ryosuke had drawn a wooden practice sword and was chasing someone around the mat like a predator stalking prey. His voice rang with fury, sharp and guttural:
"You imbecile!"
The one being chased was younger than Mikey expected—barely older than him. A wiry, lean figure scrambled clumsily across the floor, his boots skidding on the mat. Short, messy brown hair stuck out at odd angles, dirt streaked across pale skin. His wide, dark brown eyes were bugged in sheer panic, darting around for an escape. A torn jacket flapped open over a ragged hoodie, cargo pants stuffed into battered boots.
"Ryouske, I'm sorry!" he yelped, voice cracking as he ducked another swing.
Mikey's jaw dropped.
"Who the fuck—"
"No way…" Luce chuckled, folding her arms with a shake of her head.
Ryosuke swung again, his voice a growl.
"Tobias!!!"
The boy yelped, scrambling in circles, arms flailing.
Mikey turned to Luce, bewildered. She gave him a half-smirk, like this was the most predictable chaos in the world.
"Tobi, you dumbass," she said simply.
And just like that—Tobi, the missing fifth member of Savior Hit Squad , their wildcard, their liability, their ghost—had returned.
In the most humiliating, ridiculous, and Tobi fashion imaginable.