Mateo woke to searing pain across his raw knuckles. The skin flared an angry red—untreated and teetering on the brink of infection. He exhaled tiredly, realizing he'd forgotten to eat again. No time for cooking now; he'd have to grab something on the way out.
He wrapped a dirty rag around his hand, wincing at the contact. His gaze drifted to the boxing gloves Arx had handed him yesterday—rugged and worn thin with age, but thick enough to hide his wounds. He slipped them on carefully. Better to wait for treatment in the Capital, where they had actual doctors, maybe even healers with regenerative quirks.
The predawn light filtered through his cracked window, revealing Ashdrift in its true colors—peeling paint on collapsing storefronts, streets littered with debris from last night's distant shelling, and the metallic tang of dust and rust that never left the air.
Mateo counted the money again: the envelope containing 100 dollars, plus the 300 he'd saved. Four hundred dollars total. In Ashdrift, it could last a month, but in the Capital? Everything cost triple there. Hopefully, the hero course would provide food and accommodation.
If I actually get in.
The thought surfaced unbidden. He knocked his fist against his temple. Of course he would get in. They'd lowered the qualifications to the bare minimum. He wouldn't need his useless quirk to apply.
He stepped out of his coffin-sized room, descending three flights of creaking stairs and emerging into the cool morning air. Looking up, he took in the Cemetery one last time—five floors of decades-old concrete, tin, and rust. Paint-flaked walls that groaned in the wind like they had bones.
They called it the Cemetery for a reason. Rooms the size of coffins, residents shuffling about with such lifeless expressions you'd mistake them for actual zombies. He wouldn't be surprised if there was an actual corpse forgotten in one of those rooms.
Mateo wiped his feet on the tattered doormat and left, silently promising himself he'd never return.
Arx's truck sat outside the gym, its once-blue paint oxidized to a sickly gray. The vehicle rested low on its axles, loaded with crates and suitcases secured by fraying rope. Arx leaned against the driver's side, arms crossed, expression like he'd swallowed something sharp.
"Didn't sleep, huh?" Arx asked, his gravelly voice cutting through the morning stillness.
"Barely. Did you?"
"Nope." Arx checked his watch. "Come on, we're going to miss the train."
Mateo glanced at his cracked wristwatch: 7:06 am. The trains usually departed at seven-thirty. They needed to move.
"Took you long enough," came a voice from behind them. Alex emerged from the building carrying red and green suitcases. She wore a sleeveless top that accentuated her toned muscles and baggy jeans that somehow still managed to look purposeful on her. Everything about her—from her confident stride to her squared shoulders—radiated an intimidating energy that made Mateo shrink inward.
"Want a sandwich?" She grinned, perfect white teeth flashing. "Nal made it."
"Nal?" The name sounded vaguely familiar.
"Over here!" a high-pitched voice called from inside the truck. Mateo hadn't noticed through the tinted windows, but people were already inside.
"Get a move on," Arx grunted, opening the driver's door. The hinges protested with a rusty squeal. Mateo took the right passenger side while Alex claimed the left.
The interior smelled of old upholstery and engine oil—exactly what Mateo expected from anything Arx owned. Inside sat three people: a wiry woman with the same sharp nose as Alex and iron-gray braids who must be Arx's wife, and two children about the same age—perhaps eleven or twelve—a girl with long braids and a boy with badly dyed brown highlights.
They adjusted themselves, the girl settling onto Alex's lap while the boy scooted to the middle, leaving Mateo pressed against the door. After three attempts, the engine spluttered reluctantly to life, and they pulled away from the Cemetery.
Mateo's stomach growled loudly as they left the driveway. He opened the sealed ziplock bag containing the sandwich, a peculiar scent wafting from between the bread slices. Just as he raised it to his mouth—
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," warned the boy in a nasally voice that grated against Mateo's ears.
"Why not?"
"Let's just say that's one of Nal's 'special recipes.'"
Mateo shrugged. Hunger trumped caution. He took a bite as Nal leaned forward eagerly.
"I hope you like it!" she chirped, fidgeting with her braids. "It's a new recipe with only five ingredients: pickles, turmeric, boiled eggs, sardines, and bread!"
The flavor hit Mateo's taste buds like a slap. The sharp tang of turmeric overwhelmed his senses, followed by the unsavory blandness of boiled eggs. The fishy taste of sardines mixed with soft pickles crawled down his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. He forced himself to keep chewing. He'd had worse.
Alex's expression cycled through disgust, mortification, and fascination. "Why the hell did you think that would be a good combination, Nal?"
"She thinks that's how good food is made," Arx's wife explained in her soft, throaty voice. "Says you need to experiment to make something new and delicious, otherwise everything goes bland. We endure this once a week."
"I think I'm getting better though." Nal tapped her index finger against her chin, presumably cataloging her culinary disasters. Her eyes brightened as she turned to Mateo. "It tasted good, right?"
For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to crush her enthusiasm. "I've had worse."
She beamed while her brother shook his head. "That's practically a compliment in our family."
Arx adjusted the rearview mirror, his meaty fingers dwarfing the plastic frame. "She says she's going to start an experimental restaurant after college. You'll try it out, right?"
Mateo nodded weakly, swallowing the last of the sandwich. His stomach churned in protest, but he'd gone too long without food to be picky now.
The truck rumbled past Ashdrift's dying landscape. Crumbling fences. Scavenged homes. Long-dead factories that now hosted squatters or just collected rust. Most windows were broken or boarded up. Every wall was layered with graffiti—some angry, some just desperate for acknowledgment.
The vehicle rattled through the town's corpse, passing hollow-eyed families hauling suitcases toward the station. Children huddled around a burning barrel, roasting something that didn't look like food. A lone man pushed a cart piled with scrap metal, sweat carving clean streaks through the grime on his back. The truck bounced over a pothole the size of a grave.
They reached the transit hub—the intermediate city bridging Ashdrift and the Capital. A drone buzzed overhead, its red scanning light sweeping over a group of soldiers herding civilians into orderly lines.
"This is where we stop," Arx muttered, shifting into park as his family began gathering their bags.
The trains were like giant metal serpents, each the length of five school buses linked in series. Mateo stared openly at the machinery. Growing up in the poorer districts meant the most advanced technology he regularly saw were rickety cars and occasional surveillance drones.
One of the trains groaned under the weight of passengers—others fleeing from the nation's edges, like them. It began moving with a screech, sparks flying as metal wheels ground against rails. It accelerated until it vanished from sight.
"Snap out of it," Alex nudged him harder than necessary. "We need to get to the platform. Why are you staring like you've never seen a train before?"
Mateo nearly admitted he hadn't, but swallowed the words. He didn't want Alex thinking less of him than she already did.
The parking lot was a graveyard of abandoned vehicles—cars that looked like they'd given every mile they had left in them to reach this point. Their owners had fled to the Capital, seeking safety from the escalating conflict.
Mateo glanced down. Here, the pebbles didn't vibrate occasionally as they did back in Ashdrift. They were too far from the war zones to feel the residual tremors of artillery.
The station platform was chaos incarnate—mud-spattered children clinging to mothers, merchants hawking overpriced water bottles, and the persistent hum of security drones. Arx shouldered through the crowd, his bulk creating a path until they reached Platform 3.
The train gleamed like a knife amidst the surrounding decay, its silver hull emblazoned with the Atlas insignia. Armed guards flanked the steps, checking documentation with bored efficiency.
"Next," barked one guard as the family ahead was waved through.
"Papers," he demanded. Papers? Mateo's stomach dropped. He didn't have any documentation. Arx's family remained unmoving as Alex confidently stepped forward. Was she the only one with papers? Would they be turned away before even reaching AA?
Alex approached the guard, reached into her pocket, and presented a card. The guard's eyes widened slightly before he stepped aside.
Alex strode through, and the guard resumed his position like an impenetrable wall.
"Relax, big guy, they're with me," Alex called over her shoulder, giving the guard one of her signature back pats.
He sighed and motioned for the rest of them to pass.
Mateo finally understood why Alex had visited Arx right before departure. Arx and his family didn't have official papers—just like him. They weren't legal citizens—just like him. Alex or her family must hold significant influence for the soldier to yield so easily. No wonder she carried herself with such confidence.
They boarded the train, which stood in stark contrast to everything else they'd seen that day. Sleek seats. Working lights. Clean floors. Mateo kept his hands in his lap, hiding his raw knuckles.
With a pneumatic hiss, the train pulled away from the station.
For four hours, Mateo stared at the blur of passing landscape. Everything outside melted into a smear of gray. For a while, there was nothing but wasteland: broken roads, power lines snapped like ribs, forests reduced to charred stumps.
Then, gradually, color began to return.
Green appeared first—fields sectioned into perfect grids. Then white wind turbines spinning lazily against blue sky. Solar panels glinted in the sun. Fences stood straight and bright. No ash here. No decay.
By the time they arrived at the Capital station, it seemed like another world entirely. Marble spires. Hovercars gliding silently. A massive glass dome arched over the station, with security drones patrolling in geometric patterns overhead.