Photography class.
The assignment: Take photos of whatever you find interesting, then write a 3-page paper about why and how it captures artistic expression.
Ray wandered the halls, taking pictures.
Ray's feet carried him through the halls, the camera steady in his hands. He was lost in the rhythm of it, capturing moments as they passed by.
He paused.
He slowly rolled his shoulders as he leaned against the wall. The academy buzzed with its usual chaos—students shouting, energy crackling in the air, and the occasional explosion in the distance. But all he wanted was a single, peaceful day.
Not that peace ever lasted long.
He reached into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of his camera. Photography was the only thing that let him slow down, the only thing that made sense. Through the lens, the world wasn't just noise—it was structure, balance, light and shadow. He could frame a moment, capture it, and for that brief second, everything stood still.
No expectations. No powers. No fights. Just focus.
His grip tightened. He hadn't had a moment like that in weeks. Maybe today would be different.
Probably not.
This school was different.
Fights weren't just common—they were expected. Violence wasn't just brushed off; it was built into the system. It was accepted, but not tolerated. A contradiction that made perfect sense here. They didn't punish us for fighting, not really. They wanted us to be tested. They wanted to know our limits. They wanted to see if we had what it took to serve them... or if we were just a waste of time.
I hated it.
I hated the system. I hated its rules. And I hated the people pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Most students here accepted it. Some even thrived in it. They believed in the academy's purpose, in the idea that we were training to be something greater. But I wasn't like them. I wasn't here to be their soldier.
I was here to get to the bottom of everything.
Because something about this place was wrong.
Were these students gifted? Or was there something much more sinister going on?
People always feared the unknown—ghosts, spirits, monsters in the dark. But the truth? The scariest thing in this world wasn't hiding under your bed.
It was watching you from behind a desk. Smiling. Writing laws. Pulling strings.
Even in a world crawling with demons, nothing terrified me more than the people in charge.
Ray's thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, suspicion, and quiet frustration. The school, the rankings, the unspoken rules—none of it made sense. None of it ever did.
And then a sound cut through the air—a sharp thud, followed by a muffled cry.
Ray's head snapped up.
Down the hall, a group of students had Dr. Moreau cornered against a row of lockers. His lab coat was half-torn, and a trickle of blood ran from his temple. One of the students held him by the hair, yanking his head back with vicious force.
Josh stood nearby, electricity sparking lazily between his fingers. He was slim, wiry, almost snake-like, with tousled blond hair and an ever-present smirk that dripped arrogance. His school blazer hung open like he didn't care enough to wear it right.
Ray's stomach dropped.
"Hey!" he shouted, voice echoing through the corridor. "Knock it off!"
Josh turned, not surprised, not even annoyed—just amused.
"Look who finally joined the party," he said, voice smooth and venomous.
The boy holding Dr. Moreau—Kade, dark-haired with sharp eyes—snarled without looking at Ray. A faint green shimmer pulsed beneath his skin, crawling like veins of light.
"I can control chemical compounds in the body," Kade growled. "I can also detect foreign substances in the bloodstream. This freak laced us during our last check-up. Serum or something. He tried to alter our bodies."
Dr. Moreau squirmed. "Lies! They're making it up!"
Ray's fists clenched, mind racing. "If that's true, why didn't you report it? This is serious—"
Josh cut him off, stepping forward, lightning flickering behind his eyes.
"You still don't get it, Ray. There's no one to report it to. The school doesn't care about people like him," Josh sneered, motioning to the doctor. "Ungifted, bottom-tier trash. He's just here to collect data. That's all any of us are to them—numbers, results, weapons-in-training."
"They stop us from killing each other," Kade added, "but only to keep the labs tidy. If it helped them learn something? They'd love to see us rip each other apart."
Dr. Moreau cried out, finally finding his voice.
"Please! Their tests came back positive for NEPHRITE.
He clutched his sleeve, voice trembling. "NEPHRITE isn't a drug — it's a weapon. Bone-seeded combat serum. Burned out their nerves, rewired pain responses.
They were banned from The Gauntlet because of it. This is retaliation!"
Kade yanked his head back again, hard. "You think anyone believes that?"
Ray's eyes darted between them—Josh's cold smirk, Kade's glowing veins, the trembling doctor who might be innocent… or not.
Something was wrong.