The end of the old earth had shattered families like glass, scattering the pieces across the broken new world. I had spent the biggest part of my life in school dormitories, not by choice, but because the government said that there was no safe place for people like us.
This was our reality now: attend classes, return to dorms, eat in the cafeteria, sleep in assigned beds. Rinse and repeat until twenty-five, when they either promoted you to Upper if your abilities had developed, or shipped you South to whatever fate awaited the "unsuccessful."
School Central housed both male and female dormitories, separated by a hundred yards of concrete and an ocean of strict regulations. Not that distance had ever stopped anyone from trying to bridge the gap.
I shared room 007 with three other guys who'd become my family over the years. Derrick had been my closest friend since we were both dumped here at age eight—tall, lanky, with dark skin and an infectious grin that appeared whenever he was worried, which was often. Clinton was my actual younger brother at sixteen, still naive enough to believe the world might improve someday. Then there was James, decent enough and the oldest of the four of us.
Derrick was a level 2 shape-shifter the last time they'd tested him. Clinton showed promising development as a technopath, his abilities growing stronger each month. James was what we called "stuck". Supposedly telepathic, but with no measurable progress and running out of time for School Central.
What am I now?
The question circled my mind like a vulture as I stood before our shared mirror, scrubbing grave dirt from my face with a damp towel. The golden flicker in my eyes was fading, but that strange electricity still hummed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. Whatever those cradlewalkers had done to me wasn't going away.
I was still trying to process the impossible when footsteps echoed in the hallway, my roommates returning from dinner. I scrubbed faster, desperate to appear normal, but they burst through the door balancing plates and chattering over each other in their usual chaotic symphony.
"Sweet mother of Goth," Derrick nearly dropped his food when he spotted me. "Look who's back from his mysterious adventure."
His trademark grin appeared, but I could see the worry lines around his eyes. He'd been covering for me all day, I could tell.
"Ernest!" Clinton abandoned his plate and rushed over, genuine concern radiating from his face. "What happened, man? You look like you crawled through a battlefield."
More accurate than you know, lil bro. But as I looked at Clinton's worried expression, something else caught my attention that momentarily eclipsed my own crisis.
"What happened to your hair?" I stared at his head in shock. Clinton's hair was pure black now, no trace of the electric blue that had marked him as a Mela since birth. "Did you actually beat the curse?"
Clinton's face lit up as he ran fingers through his transformed locks. "It's been like this for two days. "Someone's been so distracted he didn't even notice his own brother's transformation."
The Mela curse. That's what we called our family's genetic disorder, the brilliant blue hair that made us stand out like beacons in a world where blending in meant survival. It marked us as different when different was dangerous and that's how the government caught us.
"How?" I asked, genuinely fascinated. "I've tried every black dye known to humanity. Mine always fights back within hours."
"I'm not entirely sure," Clinton shrugged. "Marvel hooked me up with some staff. Said it was cutting-edge stuff."
Marvel was one of the students, level 5 hypnosis with connections to supplies that weren't supposed to exist within Central's walls.
"Join us, Nesto," James called from across the room, arranging food on his bed with methodical precision. "We brought enough rice for everyone."
James occupied that uncomfortable middle ground between friend and acquaintance. He was closer to Derrick and Clinton than to me. Dark-haired, serious-eyed, with a talent of asking questions that made me uncomfortable.
I settled onto my bottom bunk, but food held no appeal. My body craved something else entirely, something I couldn't identify. It was like needing... energy?
"So," James said, folding himself cross-legged on his bed with his plate, "how's that Maureen situation working out?"
Derrick, you absolute traitor. I fired a look at my best friend that could have melted titanium. I'd only mentioned wanting to explore beyond Central. I definitely hadn't said anything specific about Maureen.
"James, come on," Derrick said, guilt written across his features. "Can't you just—"
"It's fine," I lied through gritted teeth. "Actually I was within."
"Right," James's tone dripped skepticism. "You just happened to disappear for an entire day and return looking like you've been buried alive, but you never left the campus."
If only you knew how literally accurate that assessment is.
Clinton swung up to his top bunk and peered down with brotherly concern. "Come on, Ernest. We're family here. You can tell us anything."
Family. He was right, after eight years together, we'd transcended mere roommates to become something closer to brothers. But how could I explain what had actually happened? How could I tell them that I managed to escape the walls and I was leaving for good following a voice of a girl I've never met in person?
"Speaking of family changes," Derrick said suddenly, obviously trying to redirect the conversation, "tomorrow's James's twenty-fifth birthday. Graduation day."
The South. They made it sound like a promotion, a reward for unsuccessful students who aged out. But we all knew better. None of us understood what actually happened in the South, they called it "graduation" and "real-world preparation," but graduates never returned to share their experiences.
Advanced Students wore watches that displayed their progress levels. They didn't need constant monitoring. James's watch had been stuck at level 1 for years.
"Don't remind me," James muttered, prodding at his rice without enthusiasm. "I'm not ready. But I suppose this is what I've been working toward. The next level."
"Absolutely," I said, though the word felt plain.
"You were outside the walls today, weren't you?" James pressed, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. "I can tell. That's not standard Central dirt, Nesto. That's red clay from the outer zone."
How the hell do you know what outer zone soil looks like?
[SYSTEM ALERT: Mind Drain trying to be activated against you | Blocked.]
The system notification flashed behind my eyes.
"I was helping in the agricultural sector," I said quickly. "They brought in new soil from—"
"The gardens don't use red clay," James interrupted. "And they definitely don't carry whatever that chemical smell is."
I glanced down at my clothes. Despite my cleaning efforts, I probably still reeked of smoke, gunpowder, and whatever exotic compounds powered those electric weapons.
"Look," Derrick interjected, coming to my rescue, "maybe Nesto doesn't want to discuss it right now. We're all stressed about you leaving tomorrow, James."
But James wasn't backing down. He set aside his plate and leaned forward like a predator sensing weakness. "Nesto, if you're getting involved with something dangerous beyond the walls, we need to know. We can help."
Help? You want to help?
Something stirred inside me, responding to my frustration and fear. You have no idea what kind of help I need.
"I'm fine," I said, the words coming out sharper than intended. "Everything's perfectly fine."
But even as I spoke, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.