Kai Langford - May 2114
They say your name is the first gift your parents give you.
I guess ours were her final ones.
Noah Langford. Kai Langford.
Two names, scribbled in fading ink on plastic labels taped outside a pair of identical incubators. She must've known she wouldn't make it. But even in her final moments, she gave us something to carry into the world. A name each.
That's all she left us with. A pair of names and a man who didn't want both of us.
Our father made it clear he only needed one son.
He just didn't say which. Not out loud, anyway. He didn't have to.
Like a scientist checking off boxes on a successful experiment, exact, satisfied. Not with love, but approval. Noah fit into his world of logic and results like a puzzle piece. And as we grew, and Noah's brilliance sharpened, that cold curiosity started to turn into something resembling pride. Maybe even love.
And me?
I was just… there. The other half. The unwanted variable in the control group. A shadow clinging to the edge of Noah's light.
You'd think I'd hate him for it, for being the chosen one, for making me feel like an afterthought. But I never could. It wasn't Noah's fault he was first. And he never made me feel like I mattered less.
Noah's brilliant. Everyone says so. Reads journals thicker than my arm, builds machines out of scraps, solves problems grown adults break their teeth on. Father brings him to the GenX lab sometimes. Lets him sit in on meetings I'm not even allowed to know about and even lets him provide an input in their projects. At sixteen, Noah already speaks the language of genetics and molecular chemistry like he was born fluent.
But he doesn't always understand people.
Especially not our father.
He thinks it's normal, the way we're raised, structured, scheduled, used when useful and ignored when not. He mimics our father sometimes without meaning to. Thinks like him. Talks in scientific terms like him that I can never understand. But Noah still tries. He sees me, even when I'm invisible to everyone else.
He hides extra snacks in my coat pocket when no one's looking. Talks to me about satellites and distant galaxies. Helps with my homework when I pretend it's already done. When Father looks through me, Noah meets my eyes instead.
He loves me. I know that.
And maybe that's why, if I have nothing else to give my life to, I'll use it to protect him.
____________________
Uncle Owen's the only adult who's ever really seen me.
He's our mum's brother. The only piece of her we got to keep.
He showed up on our tenth birthday with an awkward smile and a beat-up denium jacket that smelled like smoke. He never really left after that. Father didn't like him, but he didn't tell him to leave, either. Maybe because Owen made for a convenient babysitter, someone who could raise the leftover son while he focused on the "important" one.
Owen laughed loudly, cursed casually, and treated me like I was someone worth talking to, not a tagalong to Noah's genius.
"You're not your brother's shadow, you know," he said once, gently bandaging my knuckles after I'd punched a wall I probably shouldn't have. "Just cause Noah's great with all that science mumbo jumbo doesn't mean you can't be great at something too. You just need to find something you like. A hobby, maybe?"
I didn't know how to answer. No one had ever asked me what I liked before.
Then I remembered this one day in Year Four at school, Noah curled up in a classroom corner, tears in his eyes while some bastard shoved him around. Noah's smart. But he's not strong. Not in that way.
"I want to… I want learn to fight," I said, barely above a whisper.
Owen blinked. Then he laughed. Loud and unexpected.
I thought I'd said something stupid.
But when he stopped, he grinned at me like I'd said something right for once. "Then let's teach you how to fight."
That's how it started. Out in the woods behind the estate, Owen showed me how to throw a punch that wouldn't break my own hand. How to breathe, how to stay on my feet. How to stop flinching.
______________________
Now I'm standing in the sparring studio, sweat trickling down my temple, fists raised in quiet readiness. My breath is steady. Focused. My knuckles are raw beneath the wraps, worn from contact but I welcome the sting. The burn reminds me I'm here. Awake.
The room's seen better days.
The ceiling lights hum unevenly, one of them flickering in protest every few seconds. The air smells like old sweat and mat foam, stale but familiar. Sunlight filters in through cracked blinds along one wall, casting narrow beams that catch floating dust. The floor mats beneath our feet are a patchwork of scuffs and tape, frayed at the corners, some squares sunken in from too many hard landings.
Duct tape holds down one edge near the wall like a battlefield scar. The place is beat up. Functional. Real. My kind of space.
Owen leans against the wall, arms crossed, towel slung over one shoulder. His voice cuts through the haze.
"Friendly spar, boys. Keep your teeth in."
Across from me, Finn Lennoy rolls his shoulders, mouth tilted into that trademark smirk.
He's all sharp angles, lean muscle, blonde hair clipped short, posture too precise to be anything but the militray's dream soldier. He fights like a machine that's been fine-tuned and field-tested. Efficient. Calculated. Always watching, even when he looks relaxed.
He raises his fists and nods once. I do the same. No words. Just movement.
He opens with a jab, fast and direct. I slip left, pivoting on the balls of my feet. Easy. He knows I'm faster and I know he's stronger. That's always been the rhythm between us.
We've been sparring partners since Owen introduced us a few years back. Said I was too used to fighting shadows and needed someone real to fight against.
Finn grinned at me that first day and said, "You're Kai, right? The quiet one. I'll try not to break your nose."
I thought he was cocky. Turned out he just liked the sound of his own voice. He's better than most.
But I'm better still.
He feints a low kick. I don't take the bait. He steps in, aiming high with a hook. I duck under, feeling the wind pass above my shoulder. My elbow flicks toward his ribs but he catches it on his forearm and counters with a sharp knee to my side. I absorb the hit, twist, and shove him back with my shoulder.
The mat squeaks beneath our feet as we reset. Circling. Measuring.
Noah's perched off to the side, just beyond the edge of the mats. He's sitting cross-legged on an old equipment bench, a thick book balanced across his knee, one thumb tucked between the pages. He looks up now and then, watching with quiet interest. Not quite comfortable in this world of fists and flying dirt, but still present.
Back on the mat, Finn and I clash again, faster this time.
He drives forward with a tight combo, jab, jab, elbow. I parry the first, block the second, lean back just enough to let the third pass in front of my face. I retaliate with a sharp kick to the inside of his thigh. He grunts and sidesteps, grin widening.
We trade blows. Dodge, strike, counter. The rhythm is there, almost like music. Our bodies know the steps now, rehearsed through sweat and repetition. My heartbeat settles into the tempo of the fight.
Then I see it.
A hesitation.
Half a second of hesitation in his left footwork. Could be fatigue. Could be overconfidence.
I pivot low and sweep. His legs go out from under him, and he hits the mat with a satisfying thud. I step over him, fist cocked back and strike forward, stopping just an inch from his jaw.
He doesn't flinch. Never does.
"Making progress," I say, offering him a hand.
He grins up at me. "Noah might be the brains, but you hit like a truck."
I smirk as I haul him to his feet. "That's the idea."
Finn dusts off the mat burn on his elbow and stretches out his shoulder with a wince. Across the room, Noah flips a page in his book but glances up again, eyebrows slightly raised.
He may not say much in moments like this, but his presence anchors me.
The studio is quiet now, the hum of tired lights above us and the sound of breath slowly evening out. Another round will come soon, but for now, the fight is over.
And I'm still standing.
Finn catches Noah watching and smiles. Not his usual grin, something smaller. Warmer.
Noah just looks back at his book. Not paying as much attention now that the training has finished.
I pretend that I am not paying attention as Finn continues to watch Noah. A look in his eyes, similar to others who admire him, but there is something more.
Finn mutters, just loud enough for Noah to hear, "Maybe I should start sparring with him."
From the corner, Noah calls out, "Statistically, based on your muscle mass and striking speed, the odds of me winning are close to zero. I prefer not to waste energy."
Finn laughs. "Then I'll just keep beating up your brother."
I smack the back of his head. Lightly. "You wish."
"If I had one of those Lunex vials, you wouldn't stand a chance. Can your dad set me up?" He jokes.
Noah smirks, brief and uncertain, like he's not sure he's allowed to enjoy himself here. But he does. Especially when Finn's around.
I just roll my eyes, but also catch myself smiling. The three of us have been a weird little unit for a while now. And when I introduced Finn to Noah, they clicked. Fast. I wasn't jealous. If anything, it gave me peace. Knowing someone else would look out for him when I couldn't.
Later, when we're packing up, Owen walks over. He's wearing that stupid look on his face again, something he once said was called proudness.
"You're getting better," he says, voice low and warm.
I nod.
He raises a brow. "Y'know, it's okay to be proud of something."
The words sit heavy in my chest. Like a weight I didn't know I was carrying.
I want to be proud. I know I am good at this. It's the one thing I've carved out that's mine. But pride feels like something I'm not allowed to touch.
"Yeah, sure," I mumble.
Owen sighs, but doesn't push. Just gives my shoulder a pat and leans in a little.
"You gonna tell Noah about the tournament?"
My eyes flick to where Noah sits, then quickly back. "He's presenting his GenX project that day. It's important."
"Pretty sure he'd want to be there for you, y'know."
"That's why I'm not telling him."
Owen watches me for a moment. There's sadness in his eyes.
Then Finn walks over, Noah trailing behind.
"Same time tomorrow?" Finn asks, nudging me.
I nod.
He glances at Noah. "You coming?"
Noah hesitates, fingers still curled around his book. "Maybe."
Finn's face shifts, just slightly. Like flicker of hope behind his eyes. But he just nods.
I pretend I didn't notice.
We all pretend a lot of things.