AMERICA:2008
(New York)
Azreal's scream ripped from his throat, raw and jagged, leaving it burning like fire. He gasped for air, every breath scraping against the dryness inside him.
The girl's knife plunged into his leg with a sickening thud. His vision went white, his body convulsing against the ropes that bound him. Before he could even process the pain, she raised her other blade, angling it for his head.
But then—the siren.
It shrieked from somewhere beyond the walls, long and metallic, cutting through the tension. The girl froze mid-strike. Her hand shot forward, pressing hard over Azreal's mouth, smothering the sound of his cries.
"Quiet," she hissed. Her voice trembled—not with mercy, but with panic.
Another scream echoed outside. Not his this time. Someone else's. High-pitched, terrified.
The girl's eyes darted toward the door. With a violent pull, she ripped the knife from his leg. Azreal's body arched in agony, a muffled roar trapped beneath her palm.
Then she was gone—running to the door, flinging it open.
Azreal managed to lift his head just enough to see through the gap. The world outside had collapsed into madness. Men and women tore at each other in the Hallway.
guns fiering, Blood sprayed, blades flashed, and fists pounded against flesh. They weren't fighting like soldiers. They were butchering like animals.
The girl didn't hesitate. She leapt into the fray, knives swinging, joining the chaos as if she belonged to it.
Azreal's strength gave out. Darkness surged, swallowing him whole.
He drifted in and out, voices pulling at him through the haze. A deep one, calm and weathered with age. Another, sharper, filled with authority.
"Doctor, do something!" a woman's voice demanded. Blond hair framed her face when his eyes flickered open briefly—stern, watchful.
"I'll try," the doctor replied, steady and tired. His hands were rough but careful as they worked on Azreal's leg. "But who did this? Who put a hole in him?"
"I don't know," the blond woman said quickly, too quickly. Her gaze flicked toward the door. "But we'll find out."
The doctor muttered under his breath as he patched the wound, tying bandages tight. His expression was grave, but his hands never faltered.
"Can I free his lags from the ropes?" the doctor asked at last, glancing up.
The blond's lips thinned. "I don't know."
"Ask the upper-ups," the doctor suggested.
She gave a curt nod and strode out.
The silence left in her wake pressed down heavy. The doctor leaned close, his voice dropping low. "Hey, kid. I know you're awake."
Azreal swallowed, his throat burning with each movement. "W… water," he rasped.
The doctor's brow furrowed. He lifted a cup to Azreal's lips. "Careful now."
The first drop was ecstasy. Azreal drank like a man dying, gulping and choking, the water spilling down his chin.
"Slow down," the doctor said, steadying the cup.
Azreal forced himself to stop, gasping for breath. "Thank you."
The doctor's lined face softened. "It's alright, kid. You're safe. For now."
The door creaked open. The blond woman returned, her boots striking the floor with purpose. Her gaze locked on Azreal.
"So," she said coolly, "you're awake."
"He just came to," the doctor replied.
"Good." Her voice was iron. "Free him."
The ropes fell away. Azreal's arms dropped to his sides, numb and trembling.
"They gave him a room," she continued. "Take him there. He walks on his own feet."
The doctor helped Azreal sit up. His leg throbbed violently, every nerve screaming, but the doctor's grip was firm and grounding.
"Slow down," the old man said. "One step at a time. You can do it."
Azreal pushed himself upright, swaying as the world tilted around him. His first step was shaky, but it was his.
Azreal's stomach sank. Whatever he'd been delivered into, it was worse than anything he'd imagined.
as They moved down a hallway pocked with bullet holes, the air Filld with the scent of gunpowder and dust.
"Are you feeling good?" The blond woman's voice was soft, her eyes heavy with something like pity.
"Yes," Azreal said, though the word caught awkwardly in his throat.
"Good." Relief flickered across her face.
"Why did they give me a room?" he asked, frowning.
She hesitated. "You killed one of us. That makes you a wolf."
"You're joining us, kid," the blond women said
Azreal's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "No," he said, the word sharp and low, his anger barely contained.
The blond woman walked ahead of him, her boots clicking softly, her shoulders squared. She didn't look back until they reached the end of the corridor, where a door hung crooked on its hinges.
She turned then, her eyes catching the dim light — calm, but unyielding.
"You don't have a choiace," the boy said, her tone flat. "It's us… or the grave."