The van's engine growled through the night, its tinted windows shutting out the city lights. Luna sat on the cold metal floor, her wrists bound with plastic cuffs that dug into her skin. Every turn the vehicle took made her stomach twist, but she forced herself not to whimper. She had learned by now—weakness only brought more pain.
When the van finally stopped, the back doors swung open. The men yanked her out, and Luna stumbled onto cracked concrete. They had arrived at an abandoned industrial complex on the outskirts of the city. The old warehouse loomed tall, its windows shattered, its walls covered in graffiti and rust. But despite its decay, the building was alive—lights glowed faintly inside, and the air vibrated with sound.
She was pushed forward through the heavy doors. Inside, Luna's breath caught.
Rows of young men and women—most no older than her—were in training. Some fought in the ring, their fists colliding with brutal force under the harsh glare of fluorescent bulbs. Others practiced with knives and guns, the metallic crack of bullets echoing off steel beams. Computer screens lined one side of the room, flashing maps, surveillance footage, and coded messages. It was not chaos—it was order. A dark, precise order.
"This is where the strays are turned into shadows," one of the guards muttered. "If you survive here, you'll never be the same."
At the center of the warehouse stood a woman dressed in black tactical gear. Her hair was tied back in a sharp knot, her face marked with a scar that ran from her temple to her jawline. She radiated command without a word.
She looked at Luna with eyes that cut sharper than any blade.
"You," she said, her voice carrying across the floor. "You're the new recruit."
Luna swallowed hard. She wanted to scream no, to demand they let her go, but her voice stuck in her throat.
The woman strode closer, her boots echoing against the concrete. She tilted Luna's chin up with a gloved finger. "You have two choices," she said softly, but the silence in the warehouse made every syllable strike like thunder. "You either learn to fight… or you'll be thrown back onto the streets. And out there?" Her lips curved into something close to a smirk. "You'll last a week. Maybe."
Luna's heart pounded. Memories flashed—her mother's tired eyes, the sting of betrayal, the men who had broken her, the hopeless nights of hunger. She remembered, too, the mysterious man, the guardian who had told her she had the power to live.
"I'll learn," she whispered. The words trembled, but they were real.
The woman's eyes narrowed, then she gave a sharp nod. "Good. Cut her loose. She belongs to the program now."
The cuffs were sliced off, but Luna didn't feel free. Instead, it was as if invisible chains had been locked tighter around her.
Her first day passed in a blur. She was shoved into a dorm lined with bunks, handed a set of black training clothes, and given a tray of food that tasted metallic, almost clinical. Around her, the other recruits sized her up with predatory stares. Some smirked. Others looked through her, as if already imagining her body broken in the training ring.
No one spoke to her. She didn't speak either.
That night, lying on a thin mattress under the hum of flickering fluorescent lights, Luna stared at the cracked ceiling. She should have been terrified. She should have regretted her decision.
But she didn't.
Instead, she felt something else—something deep and dangerous stirring in her chest.
Not hope. Not courage.
Resolve.
Survive, her mind whispered. No matter what it takes… survive.