Volume 2 Begins — One Month Later
West High — Class 3C
The air-conditioning in the classroom buzzed like a dying fly. The kind of buzz that made you want to tear your ears off. Daniel sat by the window, staring blankly outside as sunlight poured through the dusty glass.
His palm had stopped bleeding weeks ago, but the scar stuck around like a ghost. A long, pink ridge down the center of his hand. Faint… but it pulsed. Like the nerves underneath remembered every second.
He flexed it under the desk. It stung.
He didn't care.
Across the room, Eira sat in her usual seat. Still. Silent. Like a statue that hated being looked at.
Daniel didn't look at her.
Not anymore.
They were "friends" now. Maybe. Whatever that meant. But they hadn't talked much since the stabbing. Not really. No shared secrets. Maybe some nods in the hallway. Just distance, shaped like her cold eyes and his bleeding hand.
It was better that way.
After Class — Sidewalk Near West High
Daniel walked with Isac down the cracked sidewalk, their school bags slung low, bumping against their legs.
"Dude, you sure you're good?" Isac asked, nodding at his hand.
"Yeah." Daniel flexed his fingers again. "It only hurts when I try to strangle someone."
Isac chuckled. "Dark humor's back. Good sign."
"Can't kill it," Daniel muttered.
They turned the corner and stopped outside a tall red brick building. Big glass doors. A camera crew out front.
Inside, Sunny was mid-photo shoot. Half-buttoned shirt, sunglasses, wind machine blowing his perfectly fake-bedhead hair.
"Bro looks like he just stepped off a perfume commercial for heartbreak," Daniel mumbled.
Isac snorted. "He told the makeup artist to 'make me look like I fought God and won.'"
They watched Sunny pose, then laugh between shots. Lehya sat on a bench nearby, scrolling her phone.
Underground — Parking Lot Lot 6
The stink of gasoline and piss. Concrete walls crusted with graffiti and old blood stains.
Raphael leaned against a rusted pillar, mask in hand, watching two men argue over a locked trunk. His eyes didn't move. Blank. Heavy. Tired.
This wasn't what he thought XUX would be like.
There were no secret missions. No glory.
Just blood. And cleaning it.
His last task? Strip a body. Burn the clothes. Bag the fingers separately. "Dental records can be faked, but the bones can't."
That was all the instruction he got.
Now, he just waited for the next thing. Orders came and went. Always whispered. Always unsigned.
Farrel didn't talk to him unless it was to threaten him.
But it worked. Raphael was still alive. Still in.
And that meant something. Right?
Didn't it?
He looked down at the white mask.
It didn't answer.
Farrel's Loft — 32nd Floor, Old District
Cigarette smoke curled into the air like snakes. Farrel sat with his feet propped up on the edge of his steel-framed desk. The room was all glass, cold wood, and silence.
He watched the skyline. Fingers tapping slowly.
"Raphael's still moving," someone said from behind him. A shadow near the elevator.
Farrel didn't look back.
"He'll prove useful," he said calmly. "Or he'll be an example."
The shadow said nothing more.
Farrel's phone vibrated once.
"No movement from Unit 03."
He smiled.
Let her think she's safe.
Café Outside West High — Saturday
Daniel nursed an iced coffee like it owed him rent. Across the table, Isac chomped on fries like he was in a food competition.
"Yo," Isac said mid-chew, "you ever get sleep now?"
Daniel shrugged. "Enough."
The glass door swung open. Wind chimes. Sunny walked in like he owned the air. He sat with a dramatic sigh, pulling off his sunglasses.
"Photo shoot done?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah," Sunny said. "They said I had 'depression in the eyes.' I took it as a compliment."
Isac grinned. "That's because you do."
Sunny flipped him off.
Lehya walked in.
She didn't hesitate. Sat beside Sunny. Wrapped her arm around his.
Daniel blinked.
Isac blinked.
Sluuuurp..
Daniel sipped his coffee way too loud. Sunny ignored them. Lehya leaned on his shoulder.
"You guys good?" she asked, looking dead at Daniel.
He nodded, slow. "Just... adjusting."
"To what?"
He sipped again. "To the apocalypse."
Late Evening — School Gym (Closed Hours)
Daniel stepped into the gym alone. Lights half-off. The smell of sweat and old rubber still lingered.
He walked to the corner mats, unzipped his bag, and pulled out his own tape.
He hadn't told anyone.
Neither Sunny nor Isac.
But thrice a week now, he came here. Late. Alone.
To hit.
To bleed.
To feel the pain, and remind himself he wasn't dead.
He wrapped his fists. Tighter over the scar.
He punched the bag until his knuckles went red again.
Then purple.
Then raw.
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Somewhere Else — Basement Boxing Gym, Downtown
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The sound of a bell. The crowd was loud, but not stadium-loud. Just the kind that screamed with hunger.
Blood hunger.
The basement walls dripped sweat. Concrete. No logos. No medics. No rules.
One ring.
Two men.
Fourteen seconds.
That's all it took.
The taller one, black hair wet with sweat, dodged the first swing. Parried the next. Then slammed a brutal right hook that made the whole crowd flinch like they felt it themselves.
The other guy dropped. Twitched once. Out cold.
Silence.
Then a roar.
The tall one didn't smile. Didn't lift his arms. Just turned away like it wasn't even worth his energy.
He stepped out of the ring, his shoes soaked in someone else's blood.
Near the wall, a rough voice muttered to the man beside him.
"Who the hell is that kid?"
"No clue," the second man whispered, eyes wide.
The coach walked closer, eyes narrowed.
He asked the timekeeper, "How long was that?"
"Fourteen seconds."
The coach nodded once.
Then stepped forward, extending his hand.
"You got a name?"
The boy looked up, breathing steady. No smile.
Just a cold voice.
"…Ruben."