"I'm so bored!" I stretch with a groan. "Now we just have to wait, I guess. We've done everything."
"Yes. Now comes the hard part," I mutter.
"No kidding. If only this computer had a card game or something, that wouldn't be so bad…"
"Well, well," says my watch suddenly, making me jump. "I suppose I could be of use… for once. Just plug me into the CPU."
I don't really trust this thing, but what do I have to lose? I'm already in hell. I move my wrist closer to the computer, and a tiny cable extends from the watch and connects to the port. After a moment, a game launches.
"A racing game?"
"Yes. Dull, repetitive, and flashy. Just what you meatbags love. And look! Three-player mode."
"Um… alright then. By the way, can you get off my wrist?"
"No. But I can shapeshift," it replies with way too much enthusiasm.
"Ugh. Fine. Just turn into something less obnoxious. Like a bracelet."
It does. And now it looks like one of those generic rubber wristbands.
After that, my cellmate and I take turns playing the game to kill time. And I guess we kill way too much of it. We end up spending the rest of our punishment playing.
A long time passes. Then Solares shows up and catches us in the act. She looks mildly irritated—but way calmer than before. More composed. Serious, for sure.
"The Commander will be giving a public address. She requires every recruit's attention," she says. "So move it."
The look of disappointment she gives me when I crack a joke at Onyx's expense is kind of amusing. What did she expect? That he'd be locked in here with me for hours and not end up liking me? Yeah, right.
[DORMITORY]
The dorms stay quiet thanks to Commander Negra's big speech to the new recruits in the mess hall.
But in one corner, three young trainees are huddled together, exchanging every awful opinion under the sun. Not a single vile thought seemed to escape them. They could've been mistaken for siblings—they shared the same triangular faces, hooked noses, tanned skin, and scruffy brown hair.
The best-looking one sat on the bottom bunk. In front of him stood a tall, lanky boy, looking down at his friend while leaning on a bedframe. Next to him stood a girl with dry hair and a few pimples across her face.
The good-looking one—the clear ringleader—was named Ermo. He laughed, tossing out half-baked jokes while the Commander's speech droned on in the background.
"For the love of the King, this is the thousandth time that old crone says the same thing," Ermo scoffed. "'Blah, blah, blah. You must destroy the Conductors. Blah, blah, blah.'"
They laughed at the impression, complete with a raspy voice and an exaggerated serious pose. Anyone else would've thought it the lamest joke ever made, but this group? Of course they cracked up.
"Stop it," said the girl—Parca—wiping away tears of laughter. "She's not gonna say Conductors need to die. I mean, she brought one here, didn't she?"
"Oh! That's right!" Ermo slapped his forehead. "Did you see how that lump of coal actually believed everything I said and went after the other guy?"
More laughter. But just theirs.
Calling someone from District 1 a "lump of coal" wasn't considered offensive to most—at worst, it was like mixing up someone's name. Like calling José "Paulo." No big deal.
But for folks from District 5? That phrase was the worst insult imaginable.
"I saw it," said Parca, arms crossed after nearly bursting into more laughter. "Good thing that Conductor can fight, or he'd have been charcoal dust."
More laughter.
"Hurum," muttered the tall boy—Saibro—who never said anything besides that. He could talk, sure. He just usually chose not to.
"Oh, what a shame the Conductor didn't use his powers," Ermo said. "I should've told that lump of coal he'd murdered some old lady or something. Didn't know he'd take it all so seriously. Just thinking about that pathetic look on his face makes me wanna laugh."
"Hey." Parca gave him a light smack on the shoulder. "Don't laugh in front of him, Ermo. You'll just end up getting yourself in trouble."
"Parca, that guy doesn't scare me," he replied, oozing cynicism. "What's he gonna do if Saibro's nearby?"
Saibro gave a low, throat-deep chuckle.
A short silence settled over them—just long enough to catch a part of the Commander's ongoing speech. She was talking about how a new era was coming—an age of change and, eventually, peace.
She said new talents were among them—not naming names, but she didn't have to. Everyone knew she was talking about the Head of Recruits, Solares. The girl Negra had raised since her parents died in an attack—an attack led by a Conductor.
However, some people—namely the three in the dorm—knew she was also talking about the new Conductor. The Class S's shiny new toy.
"So what about the Conductor?" Parca asked, stepping closer. "What do you wanna do with him?"
Ermo glanced at the bunk in front of him, and for a few seconds, he seemed to drift into a bubble where only he and his thoughts existed. His vision blurred—not from what was in front of him, but from what his mind conjured. From what his heart desired.
He imagined home. That vast, twisted, endless sea of sand he considered the worst hell imaginable. He had studied his whole life for this moment—for a chance at a better life, to escape that hell. Living there wasn't easy—not even for the strongest. The desert was his hell.
Then, a slow, cold, malevolent smile crept across his face.
"I'm going to show him…" he muttered. And without even looking at Parca, he answered her question in a long, deliberate tone:
"I'm going to show him what it's like to live in the desert."
[LATER]
I wake to the sound of the morning siren. Second time I've heard it, and I still haven't gotten used to it. Everyone jumps up, full of energy, ready for their duties. Me? I feel like jelly. Sore, dark-eyed, drained.
Before climbing down from the top bunk, I check if my bat's still there. It's the only thing I have left that reminds me of home. I won't let it get far—it's what keeps me grounded in all this chaos. Keeps me moving forward, even though none of this was ever my choice… but I'll save that thought for later.
I slip on my shoes, toss on a long-sleeved black shirt—of course it's black, like everyone else's—and follow Noan to the mess hall. I always trail behind him like a shadow. I don't know why, but lately, I've been too tired to think straight, like I need someone to guide me.
I was never this lazy before. Maybe it's some side effect of these damn electric powers.
Or maybe it's her—the AI embedded in my wrist. Draining me just for fun. I wouldn't be surprised.
At least after eating I'll get some strength back. It'd be easier if Noan didn't speak in riddles sometimes, like a monk who grew up beside a tide.
After grabbing what they call breakfast—which is basically a rock disguised as food—I sit next to my bunkmate.
I glance around. Onyx sits with his group across the hall. He's got his people now. Fair enough. At least things are good between us.
Noan, quiet as always, watches the other side of the room for a while. When he speaks, it's almost like a ripple in still water—soft, calm, but deliberate.
"There's this girl," he says. "Paler than most. Hair like cotton candy. Always by the window."
"Oh yeah?" I bite into the stone-cake. Dust and disappointment. "And?"
"She's... different." He looks down, then back toward her without turning his head. "Feels like the ocean stops when she walks into a room."
I pause mid-chew. "Poetic."
"I don't know her name," he adds. "But... maybe I don't need to. Some things, you just feel."
I squint at him. "That a fisherman thing? District 7 wisdom?"
He half-smiles, brushing his dark hair behind one ear. "Maybe."
"Then what's stopping you from talking to her?"
He gives a faint shrug, like a wave pulling back without reaching shore.
Suddenly, she speaks—my AI. From my wrist. A dry, amused tone that slices right through the sleepy haze.
"Adorable. The sea boy's drowning in feelings and you're over here eating bricks. Maybe I should run this show."
I flinch a little. I'd almost forgotten she was still active. Noan doesn't notice—of course he doesn't. She only talks to me.
"Can you not do that?" I mutter under my breath, pretending to wipe crumbs from my mouth.
"What, interrupt your deep bonding moment? Please. I've seen puddles with more tension."
Noan takes a sip of his drink—barely flavored water—and exhales slowly.
"She's always with a friend," he says. "It's not easy to walk up when someone's guarding the shore."
"Sounds like you need a wavebreaker," I smirk. "Come on, what's the worst that could happen?"
He hesitates. "I don't know. Maybe it's better if she never hears me."
"He's sweet. Depressingly passive, but sweet," the AI whispers. "Still, better than the walking brick you punched last week."
I ignore her. Focus on Noan.
"You know, my dad used to say the first step to knowing someone is just saying 'hi.' Why not try it?"
Noan smiles softly. "That sounds like something a father from the mainland would say."
"And he was right."
"You saying that like you've ever taken your own advice," she snorts.
Noan glances sideways. "...Would you go with me?"
"Would I—? No, Noan. I'm not going to hold your hand."
He laughs under his breath.
"Go on, ocean boy," she purrs in my ear. "I'm dying to see you sink or swim."
I wipe my mouth and stand up.
"Where are you going?" Noan asks, brows rising.
"Creating an opportunity."
And with that, I head straight toward the girl with pink hair.