The afternoon sky was a bruised shade of grey, hanging low over the city of New York like a dirty ceiling. A thin, unnatural mist clung to the pavement, making the air feel heavy and sticky against the skin.
Ash sprinted through the damp alleyway, his breath tearing out of his throat in ragged gasps. He wasn't a fighter, if the world was an RPG, he'd have put zero points into Strength and dumped everything into Agility. But right now, even his maxed-out Agility stat was barely keeping him alive.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The footsteps behind him sounded like a stampede. Micheal Shane and Adam Longthrow. Two guys who definitely skipped leg day but made up for it by having skulls thick enough to stop a bullet.
"Get back here, you little rat!" Micheal screamed, his voice cracking. "I'm gonna wreck you!"
Ash didn't waste breath roasting him back. He just focused on the terrain. He knew this alley better than he knew his own phone number. There was a rusted chain-link fence coming up. If he hit it at full speed, he could clear it.
He pushed harder, his white Nike sneakers splashing through a puddle of questionable brown liquid. He planted his left foot and launched himself.
He cleared the top bar. It was a decent jump. But gravity, it seemed, had a personal vendetta against him today.
Snap.
The sound was sickeningly crisp, like a dry branch stepping on a landmine. As Ash landed on the muddy ground of the construction site, his right ankle rolled completely sideways.
"Ah, sh—!"
Pain exploded up his leg, white-hot and instant. He hit the mud hard, rolling onto his back, clutching his shin. His combat shorts were instantly soaked in grime. He tried to scramble backward, dragging his useless leg.
Shadows lengthened over him.
Adam and Micheal slowed to a walk. They weren't even out of breath. Adam cracked his knuckles, a sound like pistol shots in the quiet alley. A grin spread across his face, the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse right before playing with it.
"Nowhere to run, genius," Adam sneered, looming over him. "You think you're so smart? Let's see you talk your way out of this."
Ash reached for his belt loop. His fingers curled around the cold, jagged brass of his key bunch. It was a pathetic weapon, but it was all he had.
Great, Ash thought, the sarcasm rising in his mind as a defense mechanism. I'm about to get curb-stomped in a mud puddle by a guy who probably still eats glue.
"Look," Ash said, holding his hands up, voice shaking. "We can talk about this, right? I can do your math homework for a month. Two months?"
"I don't do homework," Adam grunted. He raised a fist the size of a lunchbox.
Ash flinched, bracing for the impact.
It never came.
The air temperature dropped. The ambient noise of the city—the distant sirens, the cars—just cut out. Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the adjacent building.
He wore a pristine black suit beneath a heavy, dark trench coat that seemed to absorb the dim light.
He didn't look like a teacher. He didn't look like a cop. He looked like death on a business trip.
"That's enough," the man said. His voice was calm, flat, and chillingly devoid of emotion.
Adam froze. He spun around, annoyed. "Who the hell are you? Beat it, old man. This is private."
The man in the coat didn't roast him back. He didn't even blink. He just moved.
It was a blur. One second he was standing by the wall, the next he was inside Adam's personal space. It was like a glitch in a video game.
Thud.
A short, compact punch to the gut.
Adam's eyes bugged out. He folded instantly, dropping to his knees and wheezing silently, clutching his stomach.
Micheal, proving that bravery and stupidity are often the same thing, swung a wild haymaker. "You freak !"
The man sidestepped effortlessly. He caught Micheal's wrist, twisted it with casual ease, and shoved him backward. Micheal flew three feet, landing in the mud with a wet slap. He didn't get up.
Ash stared, his mouth hanging open. The pain in his ankle was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a deep, primal fear. This wasn't a normal fight. That speed... that wasn't human.
"Yo," Ash stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Thanks. Seriously. Those guys were about to kill me."
The man turned his head. Beneath the shadow of his hood, his face was pale and smooth. His eyes were dark, unreadable pits.
"Don't thank me," the man said. "You're just raw material."
"Excuse me?" Ash scooted back, mud scraping his elbows. "Raw what?"
Two more men stepped out from the darkness behind the first. Same black suits. Same dead expressions. Same creepy vibe.
"Secure the target," the first man said. Ash's stomach dropped. Oh, hell no.
The two new suits surged forward. Ash shouted, trying to twist away, but his sprained ankle screamed in protest, anchoring him to the spot.
They grabbed him by the arms, lifting him effortlessly. His feet dangled off the ground.
"Hey! Let me go!" Ash yelled, thrashing. "This is kidnapping! People will look for me!"
He swung his hand, trying to use the keys as a flail. The jagged metal raked across one of the suits, but the man didn't even flinch.
He just clamped a hand over Ash's wrist, pinning it to his side.
"Subject is resisting," one of the suits muttered
Ash saw a flash of silver. A syringe.
"Wait, don't—"
He felt a sharp pinch in his neck.
Cold liquid spread through his veins instantly. It felt like ice water replacing his blood. His struggles became weak. His limbs turned to lead. The alleyway blurred into a smear of grey fog.
Well, Ash thought sluggishly as his consciousness faded, this is definitely worse than getting beat up.
The last thing he felt was the cold metal of his keys digging into his palm. He refused to let go.
Then, the world went black.
The water was freezing.
Ash was floating in a dark, grey river. He wasn't breathing, but he wasn't drowning. The current was thick and oily, dragging him downstream.
Up ahead, he saw her.
A girl. She was drifting, her hair floating like a halo around her head. She was sinking deeper, toward the black abyss at the bottom of the river.
Ash tried to swim. He clawed at the water, desperate to reach her. He tried to yell, "Grab my hand!", but no sound came out. The silence was absolute.
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were sad. Accepting.
He reached out. His fingers brushed hers.
Cold. So cold it burned.
The current ripped them apart.
Ash gasped, sitting bolt upright.
The air smelled sharp—antiseptic and ozone.
He wasn't in the alley. He wasn't in the river.
He was sitting in a metal chair. He looked down at himself. His muddy combat shorts and shirt were gone.
He was wearing a thin, paper hospital gown that offered zero warmth. Wires were stuck to his chest, leading to a beeping monitor behind him. A clear tube ran into his arm, dripping something into his veins.
Panic flared, hot and sudden.
"Get this off me," he muttered, ripping the IV out of his arm. A drop of blood welled up, but he ignored it.
He stood up. His legs wobbled. He looked down at his ankle.
It was wrapped in a tight, high-tech bandage. He put weight on it. No pain. It felt... perfect. Like it had never happened.
He looked up, finally taking in his surroundings.
His jaw dropped.
It was a massive hangar. Walls of blinding white metal. And he wasn't alone.
There were hundreds of chairs. Hundreds of teenagers.
Rows and rows of them stretched out in every direction. Some were still unconscious. Others were waking up, looking around with the same terrified expression Ash wore.
A doctor in a white coat walked down the aisle, holding a clipboard.
"Hey!" Ash yelled, stepping into the guy's path. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? What did you do to me?"
The doctor stopped. He turned slowly.
Ash froze. The hair on his arms stood up.
He looked past the doctor. Ten feet away, another doctor was checking a girl's pulse. Twenty feet away, a third doctor was adjusting a monitor.
They all had the same face.
Not similar. Identical. Same nose, same dead brown eyes, same weird hairline.
Clones, Ash thought, a cold shiver running down his spine. Or robots? No way technology is this good.
"Sit down, Subject," the doctor said. His voice was flat. Artificial. It sounded like Siri trying to sound human.
"I'm not a subject," Ash snapped, backing away. "I'm leaving."
"Attention," a voice boomed from hidden speakers. It was loud, synthesized, and commanded total obedience. "All new students, proceed to the Assembly Hall immediately, Compliance is mandatory."
Around him, the other teenagers began to stand up. It was like a wave. They moved sluggishly, eyes glazed.
Ash grabbed the arm of a big guy next to him. "Dude, don't listen to them. Look at the doctors! They're copies! We need to rush the doors or something."
The guy pulled away, shivering. "I... I just want my mom."
"We can't just follow orders!" Ash hissed.
But the guy was already walking away, joining the herd shuffling toward the massive double doors at the end of the room.
Ash looked around frantically. No windows. No fire escapes. Just white walls and the army of clones watching them with dead eyes.
He checked the sash of his gown. A hard lump.
The keys. They hadn't taken them.
Ash gripped the bunch tight. It was a small comfort, but it was something real in a world that suddenly felt fake. He lowered his head and joined the crowd.
Play along, he told himself. Survive first, escape later.
They walked down a long, sterile corridor. Ushers stood every ten feet. Every single one had the same face as the doctors.
Ash kept his head down, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
They poured into the Assembly Hall.
It was colossal. A theater that could hold thousands. But the ceiling... it wasn't a ceiling. It was a dome of glass, revealing a sky that was a deep, velvet purple. No stars. Just a void.
As soon as Ash stepped inside, the air rippled. He felt a static shock zap his whole body. He looked down.
The paper gown dissolved into motes of light. In its place, fabric wove itself from thin air.
A sharp black blazer with gold trim. Grey trousers. A white shirt.
"No way," Ash whispered, touching the sleeve. It felt real. "Actual magic? You have to be kidding me."
The cloned ushers pointed them to rows of velvet seats. Ash sat, gripping the armrests. The hall filled up with thousands of silent, terrified kids.
Then, the lights cut out. Darkness swallowed the room. A single spotlight snapped on, hitting the stage.
A figure walked out.
He wasn't a clone. He was definitely a student. But he carried himself like he owned the place.
He was tall, with golden-blonde hair that practically glowed under the spotlight. He wore a white version of their uniform, pristine and sharp, with a heavy crimson cape flowing from his shoulders.
And on his head sat a simple, golden crown. He walked to the center of the stage, looking out at the sea of frightened faces. He didn't use a mic. He didn't need one.
"Welcome," the boy said. His voice was smooth, charismatic, but cold as ice. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You guys are confused. You're scared. You're wondering if this is some kind of sick prank."
He paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.
"It's not. Your old lives are gone. Your parents don't remember you exist."
He spread his arms wide, the crimson cape billowing out.
"You belong to us now. Welcome to Apex Academy."