The rain hadn't stopped since the sky first cracked.
Kaelian's arms ached from carrying Elara's small, limp body, but he refused to loosen his grip. Her pale face pressed against his chest, her breaths shallow and glitching—sometimes air, sometimes static—as though she wasn't entirely tethered to the world. Each time her skin flickered with faint lines of light, panic clawed at his chest.
"Hold on," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I'll find someone. I'll find anyone."
The system inside him had been silent since Progress Day collapsed, no glowing screens, no mysterious voice offering guidance. For once, it wasn't numbers or quests keeping him moving. It was just him. And that terrified him more than anything.
The Outside World was nothing like the stories told in the Walls. It wasn't some barren wasteland; it was alive—too alive. Rusted towers tilted like corpses of the old world, their shadows long and sharp under the storm. Weeds and black vines clawed out of cracked roads. Somewhere in the distance, a beast's roar made his spine lock up.
And then, through the downpour, he saw it.
A crooked neon sign glowing faintly: Brokaw's Bar.
The letters sputtered, threatening to go out, but it was still light, still warmth, still shelter. Kaelian staggered toward it, clutching Elara close.
The heavy metal door groaned when he pushed it open.
Inside was dim, lit by flickering bulbs strung across the ceiling. The air smelled of oil, smoke, and faint alcohol. Wooden tables, some nailed together from scraps, were scattered about. The bar itself was long and scarred, bottles lined up behind it.
And behind the bar stood a mountain of a man.
Broad-shouldered, with a thick beard streaked with gray and a heavy Russian accent that clung to every word, Viktor Brokaw didn't look like a bartender—he looked like a man who'd broken bones for a living. A shotgun leaned casually against the shelves behind him.
Beside him, drying glasses with a rag, was a woman with sharp eyes and black hair tied back in a messy knot. Eliza. Her gaze lingered on Kaelian the way a hawk might study a rabbit—cautious, calculating.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Viktor's deep voice rumbled:
"You walk into my place, dripping rain and blood, carrying a half-dead girl…" His dark eyes narrowed. "…and you don't say a word?"
Kaelian swallowed, tightening his grip on Elara. "Please. She's sick. She's—she needs help. I'll pay, I'll do anything—just don't throw us back out."
The big man's brows furrowed. "Pay? With what? Inside currency?" He spat the word like it was poison. "Worth less than ash out here."
Eliza tilted her head, eyes darting to Elara. "She's… flickering."
Kaelian stiffened. "She's not… she's not like the others. Just help her."
Eliza set down the glass. "That's not normal sickness, boy. That looks like code bleeding through flesh."
Kaelian's lips parted, but no words came. His heart hammered. How could they see it so easily?
Viktor leaned forward, resting his huge hands on the counter. "You an Insider?"
Kaelian hesitated. He could lie. But his clothes, his posture, even the faint clean cut of his features screamed Wall-born.
"…Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
The silence grew heavy.
Viktor's jaw worked. "You've got guts walking in here. Or stupidity."
Kaelian's knees almost buckled. "Please—I don't have anywhere else to go."
For a long moment, Viktor just studied him. Then he sighed, heavy and irritated, and jerked his chin toward the back. "Put her down in the spare room. Eliza, get water. We'll see if she lasts the night."
Relief nearly knocked Kaelian to his knees. "Thank you."
He carried Elara to the back, laid her gently on a narrow cot, and brushed damp hair from her face. She flickered faintly, as though she were only half-rendered.
Kaelian whispered, "I'll fix this. I swear it."
He turned back toward the bar—only to freeze.
Someone else was there now.
Leaning lazily against the doorway was a boy around Elara's age, maybe thirteen. But there was nothing childish about him.
Leo Brokaw had sharp, delicate features, almost pretty, with long lashes and soft lips curled into a smirk. His clothes were loose but stylish in a patched, daring way, his nails painted black. A thin silver knife twirled between his fingers like a toy.
And his eyes—mischief and danger danced in them.
"Well, well," Leo purred, sauntering forward. "Father never brings home stray Insiders. Did the Walls finally spit one out?"
"Leo." Viktor's voice was a warning.
But Leo ignored him. He slid onto the bar counter, legs crossed, resting his chin in his palm as he looked Kaelian up and down shamelessly.
"You're cute," he said with a grin. "A little too clean for out here, but cute. Soft hands, soft face. Mmm… I bet you've never even killed someone, have you?"
Kaelian bristled, heat rising to his cheeks. "That's—none of your business."
Leo laughed, bright and sharp. "Oh, he blushes! Adorable."
Eliza rolled her eyes. "Leo. Stop tormenting him."
"But he likes it," Leo teased, leaning closer. "Don't you, Insider?"
Kaelian's lips parted, but no words came. He wasn't used to this—someone so forward, so openly taunting. And there was something unsettling beneath Leo's playfulness. A glint of coldness.
"Leo," Viktor barked.
The boy sighed dramatically, sliding back off the counter. "Fine, fine. I'll behave." He winked at Kaelian. "For now."
Kaelian exhaled shakily, unsure if he should feel relieved or more on edge.
And that was when the door creaked open again.
A figure stepped in from the storm.
Tall, lean, movements fluid like a shadow. A hood hung low over his face, but when he pushed it back, damp black hair clung to sharp cheekbones. His eyes, a piercing steel-gray, locked instantly onto Kaelian.
Zephir.
The room's air shifted.
"Well," he drawled, voice low and biting. "What do we have here?" His gaze flicked from Kaelian to Elara's unconscious form, then back. "An Insider. Of course."
Kaelian tensed, instinctively stepping in front of his sister.
Zephir smirked, but it wasn't friendly. "Your perfect little dollhouse crumbles, so you run to us filthy Outsiders for help? Pathetic."
Kaelian flushed with anger. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't cause the Collapse!"
"Didn't you?" Zephir's tone was razor-sharp. "Every bit of tech out here, every monster, every broken sky—it all came from your world. From your Mother AI. You sit inside your fake heaven while we rot in the ruins. And now you come crawling back, begging." He took a slow step closer, eyes hard. "Disgusting."
The words cut deeper than Kaelian expected.
But before he could reply, Leo slid between them with a grin, resting an arm over Zephir's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Zeph, don't be so mean," Leo crooned. "Look at him—he's trembling. It's cute." He glanced at Kaelian, lips curling. "I like this one. Can we keep him?"
"Leo," Zephir said flatly.
"What? I'm serious." Leo's grin widened. "He's prettier than half the men I've had."
Kaelian choked, face burning. "W-What—"
Eliza slapped a hand to her forehead. "Gods save us."
Viktor's glare darkened. "Enough. This is not a playground. That girl's dying. Focus."
The room fell into a tense silence.
Zephir's eyes lingered on Kaelian, sharp and unreadable. "If she's tied to the AI, she's dangerous. You're asking us to risk everything by keeping her here."
"She's my sister!" Kaelian snapped, desperation breaking through. "She's not dangerous, she's just—she's just a kid!"
For a moment, Zephir said nothing. Then his smirk returned, sharp as a blade.
"Then prove it."
The storm outside howled louder, wind rattling the bar's walls.
And in the distance—faint but growing—came the sound of marching boots.
The Enforcers.
Kaelian's heart froze. His brother was already here.
Viktor's hand went to the shotgun. Eliza cursed under her breath. Leo tilted his head, lips curling into a dangerous smile.
Zephir's gray eyes flicked to Kaelian, the faintest spark of something—challenge, interest—glinting there.
"Well, Insider," Zephir murmured, drawing a blade from his belt. "Looks like we'll see if you're worth saving after all."