In Neon City, the rain never stopped.
It was there the night Jack West's life ended and began again. A curtain of endless water fell from skies swallowed by smog, washing the neon lights into smeared reflections across the wet streets. The rain didn't cleanse the city. It drowned it, smothering life until hope seemed like a myth whispered in back alleys.
For seven year old Jack, the rain was a nuisance. He tugged his father's hand, blinking against the cold droplets that slicked his hair to his forehead.
"Dad," Jack muttered, shivering. "Why do we have to come out in this?"
His father chuckled, a sound rich and deep, though laced with fatigue. "Because, Jackie, tonight you get to see what makes this city shine. The turbines. The power. The reason Neon City never sleeps."
His mother squeezed his other hand, her smile warm despite the storm. "Don't pout. You'll remember this for the rest of your life."
And Jack would. Just not in the way she imagined.
They never reached the turbine safely.
The ground shook first a vibration that rippled through Jack's boots and rattled his teeth. His father's face went pale. Then came the roar, louder than thunder, as a turbine exploded in a violent plume of fire and steel.
The sky lit up in orange, and shards of metal screamed across the night.
"Run!" his father shouted, shoving Jack backward.
Jack stumbled, falling into his mother's arms. She clutched him tight, her heartbeat pounding against his ear. He tried to scream, but the fire swallowed his voice.
A second explosion. Debris raining down. His father turned once, eyes wide with desperation then the fire consumed him, vanishing him into light.
Jack's mother fell to her knees, curling her body over him, shielding him from the storm of death. He felt the heat sear her skin, smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh, heard her whispered words through her ragged breath:
"Live, Jack. Please… live."
And then,silence.
When the smoke cleared, his father was gone. His mother's lifeless weight pressed down on him. Her blood, mingled with rain, ran into the gutter.
Jack screamed until his throat tore, but the city didn't answer.
By dawn, black suited officials came. They didn't speak to him. They didn't offer comfort. They just zipped his parents into black bags and loaded them into a van.
Jack stood in the rain, small and shaking, watching the van drive away. Watching everything he loved vanish into the endless storm.
That was the day the world branded him: alone.
The orphanage was supposed to save him. Instead, it carved his misery deeper.
The building smelled of mildew and hopelessness, paint peeling from its walls. The caretakers were tired, bitter, and cruel, more interested in their pay than in the children.
Jack was easy prey. Small. Fragile. Eyes hollow with grief.
"Trash," the other kids called him. Every day. Every hour.
They shoved him into puddles, stole the stale bread from his tray, and laughed when he coughed from hunger. Older boys pinned him down and beat him until he bled, sneering, "Why don't you cry for Mommy and Daddy, Trash? Oh, right,they're gone."
Even the adults weren't better. One caretaker, reeking of cheap liquor, once leaned close and sneered, "If the fire didn't take you too, boy, it missed its chance. You'll never be anything but a burden."
Jack stopped answering to his name. To everyone, he was Trash.
At night, he lay in a damp bunk, whispering his parents' names into the darkness. The rain tapped against the window, steady and merciless, drowning his words. It never stopped. It never let him forget.
For Jack, Neon City wasn't just rain-soaked steel. It was hell.
Years passed. Jack grew, though "grew" wasn't the right word. His body stretched taller, but his frame stayed thin, his skin marked with bruises that never seemed to fade.
By sixteen, he had learned to keep his head down. He worked odd jobs delivery boy, stall cleaner, scrap hauler,anything to scrape together credits. He ate little, slept less, and endured much.
But then he met Maya Cross.
She was everything the city wasn't. She smiled at him when others sneered. She laughed at his awkward jokes. She reached for his hand, and for once, he didn't feel invisible.
Maya had chestnut brown hair that curled when the rain caught it, and eyes the color of autumn leaves,warm, alive, full of light. To Jack, she wasn't just a girl. She was proof that the world still had something worth holding onto.
For the first time since the fire, Jack let himself believe.
He believed when Maya whispered that he mattered. He believed when she leaned against him in the rain and said she was glad he was there. He believed when she kissed him, soft and gentle, and for a fleeting moment, the storm inside him quieted.
Jack saved every spare credit he could. He skipped meals, worked longer shifts, pushed his frail body until his bones ached all for one thing: a gift.
A necklace. Simple, cheap compared to the luxuries of Neon City's elites, but beautiful in its own way. Under the neon glow, it shimmered. To him, it was proof that he could give Maya something lasting. Proof that he wasn't just trash.
The rain was heavy that night as he walked to Maya's apartment, the gift box clenched in his trembling hands. His heart hammered, but there was hope in its rhythm. For once, he imagined a future.
He pushed the door open.
And the future shattered.
Maya was there;his light, his salvation. But she wasn't alone.
Marcus was with her.
Marcus, the boy who had made his life hell in the orphanage. Marcus, whose fists had broken his ribs, whose laughter had followed every humiliation.
Now Marcus's arms were around Maya. Their lips met, their bodies pressed close, their laughter cruel.
The box slipped from Jack's hand. The necklace hit the floor, the delicate chain snapping, beads scattering like broken dreams.
Maya turned, saw him, and her expression wasn't guilt. It was contempt.
"Jack," she said, her voice cold. "You'll always be a loser. Marcus is a real man. You? You're nothing but trash."
Marcus smirked, his arm tightening around her. "Even she knows it now, West. You were born a failure. You'll die one."
Their laughter rang in his ears, sharper than any blade.
Jack staggered backward, his chest hollow, his throat tight. He ran into the rain, his tears indistinguishable from the endless storm.
Hours later, he sat on the orphanage steps, drenched and shaking. His fists were raw and bleeding from pounding the concrete, but the pain was nothing compared to the void inside.
The broken necklace dug into his pocket, each jagged edge cutting deeper into his thigh, reminding him of everything he had lost. Or maybe everything he had never truly had.
His parents. His dignity. His hope. Maya.
Hell had taken it all.
And for the first time, Jack wondered if the city wanted one last thing: his life.
He looked at the street stretching before him, wet and glowing with neon reflections. Hovercars zipped by, engines screaming. One step forward, and it would all end. The rain. The laughter. The humiliation.
Trash would disappear forever.
Jack stood, swaying, his body light with numbness. His eyes locked on the blur of headlights. One step. Just one.
But his legs trembled. His fists clenched. His breath hitched.
The rain fell harder, pounding against him like the city's judgment.
And Jack whispered to the storm, "Why me? Why couldn't you have taken me too?"
The storm didn't answer.
Not yet.