KIRO: "Veyra, can we eat now?" His stomach grumbled loudly, betraying him as the smell of rich chicken curry filled the small apartment.
VEYRA: (Without looking up from her holoscreen) "No. We wait for Raiji."
(The tension is broken by the loud, pathetic grumble of Kiro's stomach. The food real chicken curry, not synth smelled too good.)
MEANWHILE – THE ARENA CLINIC
Raiji sat as a novice doc-bot patched his wounds with sterile, efficient precision. It was cold and impersonal, but cleaner than any back-alley fix he was used to. The patches sealed the worst of his cuts, leaving him sore but stable.
He moved to the payment area. This time, it was an automated kiosk a sleek console with a robotic voice interface.
RAIJI: "Payment for Wind Blade. Raiji."
A cool, synthetic voice responded. "Processing..."
ROBOT: "Payment ready. Rank updated to: 7. Bonus awarded for defeating a higher-ranked opponent: 20,000 credits. Winnings from two fights: 20,000 credits. Total received: 40,000 credits."
A screen flashed, displaying his old balance and the new total:
BANK BALANCE: 1,800 c
UPDATED TO: 41,800 c
A rare, slow grin spread across Raiji's face. He pocketed the cred-chip.
RAIJI: "Nice. I'm rich. Time to brag to Kiro."
He left the fight club, walking a little taller, the weight of the credits feeling better than any victory.
Raiji finally made it home, pushing open the door to Kiro's apartment to a wave of incredible-smelling spice.
KIRO: "Welcome back, man! We've been waiting for you. Starving over here."
VEYRA: (Scooping curry into bowls) "Kiro was five seconds from eating the pot. I made chicken curry. Enjoy."
They dug into the meal, the comfortable silence broken only by Kiro's enthusiastic chewing. After a few moments, Kiro spoke up, his mouth still half-full.
KIRO: "So? Did you win? You look pretty banged up. Must've been a tough fight. That's the first one, right?"
RAIJI: (Nodding, a faint smirk on his face) "Yes. It was. But I won. So next fight... it's King Croc."
At the name, Veyra's hand paused mid-scoop. She didn't look up, but one eyebrow rose slightly. Raiji continued, his smirk widening.
RAIJI: "...I've got a week to heal. By the way... I'm much richer than you now, Kiro. 41,800 credits."
KIRO: (Almost choking on his food) "Nice! I'm not that far behind, you know. 31,000."
RAIJI: "Alright, Veyra. Find him some real work now that he's rich. No more 'broke boy' excuses."
RAIJI: "Hey, Veyra. You look... younger than yesterday. Did you do something?"
KIRO: (Leaning in, squinting at her) "Really? She looks the same to me."
Veyra's foot shot out under the table, kicking Kiro's leg hard enough to make him wince. But she was hiding a small, grateful smile, her eyes on Raiji.
VEYRA: "Shut up, Kiro. And... thanks, Raiji."
THE FOLLOWING DAY
Kiro and Raiji were preparing for their day a mix of shopping and hitting the gym to work on control and new techniques.
As they headed for the door, Veyra called out from her workbench, not looking up from a disassembled gadget.
VEYRA: "Boys. I'll be looking into something today. Won't see me until tonight."
KIRO: "Finally, a break from you." (He says it with a tired but fond grin.)
VEYRA: (Without missing a beat, not even looking back) "I know you. You'll miss me, Kiro."
And with that, she was gone.
Veyra moved through the grimy streets, a sleek kinetic pistol secured on her back, hidden just beneath her jacket but ready to be used in an instant.
She pushed open the door to the local dive bar. The air hit her first—a thick mix of greasy food, stale beer, cheap wine, and sweat. She didn't flinch; it was a familiar smell.
Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the man behind the counter. She walked over, leaning against the sticky bar.
VEYRA: "What's up, Tony? I need info on these bounties. Big Guy and The Fool."
TONY: The man was a tall, old gentleman with a short, well-kept white beard and sleek white hair. He polished a glass with a clean rag. "How's it going, madam? Ah, these bounties... you know the low-rank postings. Got no info on who put them up. Those are the rules." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "But I know two guys. Sam over there got drunk and mouthy about it last night. And that thug in the corner he's been bragging a lot today."
VEYRA: "Thanks, Tony."
She left a few credits on the counter and headed straight for Sam, who was slumped over a table.
VEYRA: "What's up, Sam? You're a bit drunk."
SAM: (Looking up with blurry eyes) "Oh, Veyra! Why's a lovely girl like you here in this dump? You finally here to be my wife?" He gave a perverted grin and tried to touch her arm.
Veyra smoothly pushed his hand away without any malice, like she'd done it a hundred times.
VEYRA: "How many times must I say it, Sam? You're already married. And you're too old for me; you're like a father."
SAM: "Oh, right. I forgot." He slumped again, his mood shifting. "So... what you need?"
She helped him sit up straight and pushed a glass of water toward him.
VEYRA: "These bounties. What do you know?"
SAM: "Oh, I don't know The Fool too well. Seen him once or twice. Nothing special. Just a gabby wrongdoer... loan sharks, I think." He took a sloppy drink of water. "But the Big Guy... nice guy! We're drinking buddies. I make fun of his height, he gets angry... but it's a shame. His backstory... he's an ex-slave on the run."
Sam's eyes suddenly got a bit clearer, looking at her with genuine, drunken curiosity.
SAM: "Anyway... how's your brother? We never see him. Is he too rich for us now?"
VEYRA his ok just too focus on the fight pits at high rank
VEYRA: "Thanks, Sam."
She left him to his drink, but the mention of her brother pulled her mind back. Way back. Sixteen years ago.
[FLASHBACK - 16 YEARS AGO]
A small, sunny park on the grounds of a well-kept corporate apanage. A young Veyra, no more than six or seven, was playing by herself near a swing set, an overgrown sandbox, and a lopsided floating sand castle.
Her quiet game was interrupted by three older teenagers who looked every bit the delinquents, their clothes scuffed and their expressions mean.
DELINQUENT 1: "Hey, little girl. Get lost."
DELINQUENT 2: "Yeah, we want to smoke here. Scram."
DELINQUENT 3 didn't bother with words. He just shoved her, making her stumble back onto the sand.
YOUNG VEYRA: (Tears welling in her eyes) "B-but I was here first... I'll stay just here..." Her voice was a scared whimper.
A shadow fell over the group. A boy, several years older, stood there. Even then, he had a protective, solid presence. This was her brother, Torsten.
Torsten: "Hey. You three. Stop picking on my sister."
DELINQUENT 2: (Sneering) "What are you gonna do about it, kid?"
Leo moved faster than they expected. A sharp gut punch dropped the first delinquent, gasping for air. A swift kick sent the second one stumbling backwards into the swing set.
The third delinquent swung a wild punch that connected with Leo's face. Torsten head barely turned. He just stared, unharmed.
DELINQUENT 3: (Eyes wide with shock and fear) "H-how are you even human, man?! You got the wrong idea!"
Torsten: (His voice low and steady) "Get your friends. And run."
Terrified, the boy helped his gasping friend up. The other scrambled to his feet, and the three of them fled without looking back.
Torsten turned to his little sister, his tough expression softening. He knelt down in the sand beside her.
YOUNG VEYRA: (Sobbing, wiping her eyes) "Thanks, big bro."
Torsten: "You're welcome, Vey." He ruffled her hair gently. "C'mon. Let's go home."
The memory faded, leaving Veyra alone in the dim, smelly bar. A faint, sad smile touched her lips at the old nickname. Torsten. Her protector. Her hero.
MEANWHILE - AT A MAIN ROAD DESIGNER STORE
KIRO: "Nice threads, man! You're gonna catch the eyes of all the ladies with that."
RAIJI: stood before a mirror, checking out his new look. He wore black combat pants and a dark grey tank top with the sleeves ripped off, revealing his toned arms. On the back was a bold, stylized 'Z' the logo of the brand Zeeel. On his feet were a pair of the latest lighting lifts Mark 40s, red with a sharp lightning bolt stripe down the side. He looked every bit the rising arena star.
RAIJI: "It's functional. Now, let's go to the gym. You said you needed to learn control."
BACK AT THE BAR
Veyra faced the thug leader, her expression cold. The rest of the bar had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold.
VEYRA: "Hi, guys. I've got questions about these men. Specifically, more on this guy, The Fool."
The thug leader, a bulky man with a nasty scar over his eye, leaned back and gave a greasy smile.
THUG LEADER: "Yeah, I know of him. He owes me 50 grand. But hey..." He eyed her up and down, his smile turning into a leer. "...You can pay it for him. You got a nice body. Could probably sell it."
Time seemed to slow. In one fluid motion, Veyra flipped the sleek leather chair she was leaning on, planted her boot on it, and in the same movement, grabbed the head of the thug to her left and slammed it face-first into the table with a sickening thud. He slumped, unconscious.
Before anyone could even gasp, her pistol was out of its holster and pressed directly under the chin of the second thug beside the leader.
VEYRA: (Her voice was a low, dangerous whisper, her eyes locked on the leader) "I can be fast like this, too. You. Speak. Now."
THUG LEADER: "Okay, okay. The Fool... interesting guy. Casino addict. That's what it seems like on the surface, anyway." His one hand began to move, slowly lowering toward his waist.
SHINK. A plasma knife materialized in Veyra's hand, its blade humming with a deadly blue energy. She drove it into the table, millimeters from his fingers. The wood sizzled where the superheated edge touched.
VEYRA: (Her voice colder than the void of space) "Don't. Try. Me."
THUG LEADER: (Swallowing hard, his eyes wide on the glowing knife) "Okay! Okay... He's got a family to feed. He needs that money to pay off a debt to other people. He owes bigger sharks than me. A lot bigger." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "Clan executives."
He leaned back, all the fight gone out of him. "That's all I know. Now... please. Leave."
Veyra yanked the plasma knife from the table, the glow extinguishing as she sheathed it. She holstered her pistol without another word.
VEYRA: "Thanks."
She walked calmly away from the table. She tossed a few extra credits onto the bar as she passed.
VEYRA: "Thanks, Tony. Sorry about the trouble." She glanced over at the still-drunk Sam. "And Sam? Say hi to your wife for me."
TONY: (Nodding, wiping down a glass) "Always a pleasure, Veyra."
Sam just mumbled into his drink, already half-forgetting the whole event.
The memory hit Veyra like a physical blow, triggered by the thug's whisper of "clan executives." It wasn't a clan that took them. It was something far colder.
[FLASHBACK - THE DAY THEY WERE TAKEN]
The scene: Outside a stark, imposing church that doubled as an orphanage. The air was cold.
YOUNG VEYRA: (Terrified, tears streaming down her face as a woman in a lab coat dragged her by the arm) "Brother! Where are they taking us?!"
TEEN TORSTEN: (His voice a mix of fury and desperation, fighting against two agents in black tactical gear) "Let her go! Where are you taking my sister?!"
AGENT 1: (His voice a monotone behind a dark visor) "Kid. Stand down."
One of the agents, a big man, chuckled. "Don't worry, little girl. You're just the backup plan." Then he moved.
It was too fast for the eye to follow. A blur of motion he seemed to vanish and reappear instantly. A devastating gut punch connected with Torsten's stomach, followed by a sharp blow to his head. The air left Torsten's lungs in a whoosh, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed, unconscious.
AGENT 1: "Take him. Don't want the boss waiting."
As agents dragged Torsten's limp body away, a figure stepped out of the church's shadow. A man in an impeccably tailored suit The Boss approached the woman who had dragged Veyra out. She wasn't just a scientist; she was the orphanage's head nun, still wearing her habit over the lab coat.
THE BOSS: (A smooth, cold voice) "Nice work, Ms. Lara. Keep up the 'nun' job. These are fine subjects." He handed her a sleek cred-stick. "250,000 credits. As agreed."
NUN (MS. LARA): (Her face was a mask of greedy satisfaction as she took the payment) "These two should speed up your research significantly."
Another agent approached the Boss, checking a datapad.
AGENT 22: "The siblings are all accounted for, sir. Torsten Crescent and Veyra Crescent."
The Boss gave a final, dismissive glance at the crying young Veyra and her unconscious brother.
THE BOSS: "Excellent. Load them up."
They were thrown into the sterile, cold hold of a black, unmarked airship. The last thing Veyra saw was the orphanage the place that was supposed to be a sanctuary shrinking away below them, a prison she was finally leaving, only for a worse one to await.