The bell rang for the final period at St. Jude's Academy, but for Alex, the sound wasn't an invitation to go home; it was the starting gun for a heist. To his teachers, Alex was the perfect 8th grader—quiet, polite, and possessing a brain that operated with the predatory precision of a cheetah. He solved complex equations before the chalk had even left the blackboard, maintaining a GPA that made him a ghost in the system. But the "Alex" who sat in the front row was merely a shell. Within him lived two other shadows: the Detective, a master of disguise who had infiltrated the school's high-security database, and the "Badshah of Murder," a cold tactician who had spent three years planning the perfect disappearance.
Two rows back sat David. To Alex, David was a non-entity, a classmate who was perhaps a bit too observant but ultimately harmless. It was the only time Alex's genius-level intellect had failed him. He didn't know that David was a "Saver," a member of an underground network dedicated to stopping brilliant minds from falling into darkness. While Alex spent his nights studying the school's blueprints, David spent his nights studying Alex.
The target was Principal Thorne. Alex remembered the day of his admission interview with a clarity that burned like acid. His father, smelling of industrial soap and wearing a patched-up shirt, had stood proudly beside him. Thorne hadn't even looked at Alex's test scores. He had looked at his father's calloused hands and the cleaning rag tucked into his pocket and sneered. "We have a reputation to uphold," Thorne had whispered, a subtle but devastating insult that suggested people of their "kind" were a stain on the floor. They were kicked out, forced to find another way. Alex had returned years later, his face altered by the "Detective's" subtle prosthetics and his identity scrubbed clean, all for one purpose: Revenge.
As the sun began to set, casting three long, distorted shadows behind Alex as he walked the empty halls, he moved toward the Principal's office. He had bypassed the laser grid and disabled the silent alarms with a handheld frequency jammer. He was seconds away from executing the kidnapping that would ruin Thorne's life and legacy. He reached for the handle, his pulse steady at sixty beats per minute, the Badshah of Murder fully in control.
"The ventilation shaft in the north wing is a better exit, but I've already blocked it," a voice said calmly from the darkness of the corridor.
Alex spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for a concealed stun-baton. David was leaning against a locker, looking bored. "You've been sloppy, Alex. Or should I call you Badshah?"
Alex's eyes narrowed. "How long?"
"Since the second week of school," David replied, walking into the moonlight. "You're sharp, but you're blinded by hate. You think you're here for justice, but you're just a hurt kid trying to break a man who isn't the villain you think he is."
"He insulted my father! He threw us out like trash because we were poor!" Alex hissed, the mask of the quiet student finally cracking.
"He threw you out to save you," David said, tossing a folder at Alex's feet. "Check the internal files. Your father was sick, Alex. Thorne knew the school's insurance wouldn't cover a cleaner's terminal illness, so he staged that 'insult' to trigger a legal settlement that paid for your father's surgery in secret. He played the bad guy so your family could have the money without the shame of charity."
Alex froze, his "cheetah" brain reeling as it tried to compute this new data. The plan, the revenge, the years of anger—it was all built on a foundation of smoke. He looked at the door to the office and then back at David. The Saver wasn't there to fight him; he was there to catch him before he fell. The three shadows of Alex flickered in the dim light, and for the first time in years, the boy in the middle was the only one left standing.