Herro stood alone in the common room.
The door had slammed shut behind Hilda maybe thirty seconds ago. Maybe a minute. Time felt weird when you'd just barely survived attempted murder via flying kick.
His cap was still on the floor where it had landed after Hilda's attack. He bent down slowly, picked it up, examined it for damage. No tears. No scuffs. Just lucky, he supposed.
(Or unlucky, depending on how you looked at things. If the cap had been destroyed, maybe I could've used that as an excuse to leave. "Sorry, can't join your murder squad, my lucky hat got kicked off my head, clearly this isn't meant to be—")
He placed the cap back on his head. Brim forward. Never backward. That was just asking for trouble.
The building creaked around him. Footsteps somewhere above—second floor, maybe third. The faint sound of music drifted from a distant room, something with a heavy beat that made the walls vibrate slightly.
Herro looked around the common room properly for the first time since the ambush.
The ruined coffee table with its duct-taped hole. The sagging couch that had clearly given up on structural integrity years ago. The walls covered in photos of people he didn't know, doing things he couldn't identify, smiling like they belonged somewhere.
The massive tactical map with its color-coded pins and cryptic notes.
The kitchen doorway where Rosa had disappeared, still radiating the smell of something cooking.
(This is my life now. This is where I live. With people who either tried to kill me, ignored me, or haven't met me yet.)
(Nate. Where the hell are you? You said you'd be here. You said this would be fine. You didn't say your teammates were insane—)
A cheerful voice cut through his spiral of anxiety.
"Oh! Hi! You must be the delivery guy!"
Herro turned.
A girl emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with drinks—cups in various sizes and colors, all balanced with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she'd done this a thousand times before. She was about his age, maybe slightly older, with long dark brown hair styled in matching buns, loose locks falling to her waist, and deep navy-blue eyes that seemed to sparkle with perpetual enthusiasm.
She spotted Herro, and her entire face lit up.
"Finally! I've been waiting forever—well, not forever, like twenty minutes maybe, but it feels like forever when you're thirsty, you know? Here—"
Before Herro could process what was happening, she shoved the tray into his hands.
The weight was immediate and precarious. Herro's arms instinctively came up to stabilize it, his brain screaming that he was about to drop everything and make the worst first impression possible.
"—just set those on the table, the big one not the small one, the small one is Dean's personal table and he gets really particular about people touching his stuff, not like ANGRY particular but like quiet disappointed particular which is somehow way worse, trust me I learned that the hard way—"
She paused for breath. Herro tried to interject.
"I'm not—"
"—and the blue cup is Dean's too actually, so don't mix them up, he can tell if you mix them up I don't know how but he can, it's like a superpower except not actually a Gear just regular weird terran perception—oh! Did Hilda let you in? That's so weird, she usually scares delivery people away, she has this face—"
The girl made an exaggerated angry expression, scrunching her features into something that was probably meant to look intimidating but mostly just looked like she'd bitten into a lemon.
"—like that! But meaner! You must've caught her in a good mood. Or she didn't notice you. Actually that's more likely. Anyway—"
"I'm not the delivery guy," Herro managed to squeeze in during her quarter-second pause.
The girl blinked. Stared at him. Processed.
"...You're not?"
"No."
"Oh." A beat. "Then who are you?"
"I'm Herro. Herro Touya. I'm the new member. Nate's cousin."
Silence.
The girl's eyes went wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. And then—
"OHMYGOSH YOU'RE HERRO!"
Herro flinched. The tray wobbled dangerously. He was still holding the drinks. Why was he still holding the drinks.
The girl talked at such a speed it was hard to keep up with her, not to mention how she was constantly moving
"Nate's been talking about you for WEEKS! Well, not weeks, like a week and a half maybe, but he's been super excited and also super nervous which is how you know he really cares about something because Nate doesn't get nervous about anything except when he really REALLY cares—"
She was circling him now, examining him from different angles like he was a piece of art she was evaluating.
"—and you're from South Terra right? South Valor specifically? That's where Hilda and I are from! Well, not the exact same part probably, South Valor's huge, but still the same general area which is so cool because not many people from South Terra end up in North Valor, most people stay where they're born you know—"
"Wait," Herro's brain finally caught up. "You and Hilda are from the same place?"
"Yep! We're twins actually!"
(WHAT.)
(HOW.)
(They're NOTHING alike. Hilda tried to cave my skull in and this girl is—is—)
the girl seemingly, genuinely entered the flow state on her talking speed
"—which is funny because people always assume we're super similar but we're totally different, like complete opposites actually, Hilda's all serious and aggressive and I'm more—well, I guess I'm pretty cheerful? People say I'm cheerful. Some people say I'm annoying but I think they're just having a bad day—"
"and honestly, it goes way deeper than just the attitude, you know?"
The girl didn't even stop to breathe; she just inhaled the concept of oxygen and kept talking.
"Like, take the clothes! I love cute things, right? Pastels, skirts, cardigans—I want to look nice when I'm saving people because it boosts morale! But Hilda? She wears black. Only black. Maybe dark gray if she's feeling 'adventurous,' which is basically never. I tried to buy her a pink scrunchie once for her birthday and she looked at it like it was a live grenade. She literally poked it with a stick, Herro. A stick! Who does that to a hair accessory?"
(She poked it with a stick?) Herro thought, staring at the girl's beaming face. (Actually... yeah, I can see Hilda doing that, which is insanse considering I just met her.)
"And don't even get me started on the food situation," she continued, emphasizing her point with a flurry of hand gestures that looked vaguely like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. "I survive on sugar, pastries, and good vibes. My metabolism is powered by joy and strawberry tarts! But Hilda? She eats like a wolf that hasn't seen a deer in three weeks. Just chomp chomp and it's gone. She says eating is for 'fuel' and flavor is 'inefficient.' Inefficient! Can you believe that? Who calls a donut inefficient?!"
"I—uh—" Herro tried to interject, but the wall of words was impenetrable.
"Plus, and this is the most important part," she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was still somehow incredibly loud. "I'm technically the big sister. I was born seventeen minutes before her! Seventeen whole minutes! That basically makes me her mother in twin-years. I should have seniority, right? I should be the one giving the orders! But does she listen? Noooo. She just growls at me. Literally growls! Like a tiger that learned how to walk on two legs and developed a complex about authority!"
(Seventeen minutes...) Herro's mind reeled. (There is a version of reality where Hilda Tanya calls this girl 'Big Sister'... and I'm pretty sure if I ever saw it, the world would end.)
The girl finally leaned back, beaming as if she hadn't just unloaded an entire biography in thirty seconds. "So yeah! We're totally different. She's the 'punch you in the face' type and I'm the 'hug you until you feel better' type! Though Hilda says my hugs are suffocating, but she just has trust issues. Anyway, isn't that wild? Twins! Who would've guessed?"
Herro blinked, his brain feeling like it had just been put through a blender set to 'puree.'
"Yeah," he managed to squeak out, terrified of provoking another paragraph. "Wild."
She finally stopped circling and beamed at him with a smile so genuine it made Herro's chest hurt slightly.
"I'm Rosa! Rosa Tanya! It's SO nice to meet you! Nate said you'd fit right in and I believe him because Nate's basically never wrong about people stuff, well except that one time with the guy who turned out to be a spy but that wasn't really Nate's fault—"
"Rosa," Herro tried again. "The drinks—"
"Oh right!" She looked down at the tray he was still holding, then back at his face, then at the tray again. "You can just set those down anywhere. Well, not anywhere, the coffee table's good. Just avoid the hole."
"The hole."
"Yeah there's a hole. Someone punched through it. We don't talk about it."
(Of course there's a hole. Of course someone punched through the table. Why wouldn't there be a hole.)
Herro carefully navigated to the coffee table and set the tray down, making absolutely sure to avoid the duct-taped section. The drinks settled with barely a wobble. Small victories.
When he turned back, Rosa was already talking again.
"So you have a Gear right? Nate mentioned you have one but he didn't say what it does, is it cool? I bet it's cool. Mine's technically wind manipulation which sounds basic but it's actually super versatile, I can do all kinds of stuff with it, mobility support, offensive pressure, defensive barriers kind of except not really barriers more like redirecting attacks—"
She demonstrated by making a swooshing gesture with her hands.
"—and Hilda's is body transmutation into metal which is why she's basically indestructible and also why she hits like a freight train, and Nate has this shield thing that absorbs kinetic energy and then he can throw it like a weapon, and Dean—well, Dean's is complicated, and JJ doesn't really fight but his Gear is super useful for other stuff—"
"Rosa."
She stopped. Blinked. "Yeah?"
"I... don't know what most of those words mean."
A pause. Then Rosa's expression shifted into something gentler, more understanding.
"Oh. Right. You just got here. Sorry! I do that sometimes. Talk too much. Assume people know things they don't. Hilda yells at me about it." She smiled sheepishly. "Okay. Clean slate. What do you want to know?"
Herro Touya spent a total of 5 months within the juvenile detention center
but prior to this he.....except for the incident that got him in JUVIE, he had never been in a fight, sure he studied boxing with his dad.....but he never used those skills on people
so he was fairly uninformed about Gears
Herro opened his mouth to ask where Nate was, where he was supposed to sleep, what he was supposed to do, literally any practical information—
Rosa's eyes suddenly went wide with panic.
"Oh no. OH NO. The stove!"
She bolted back toward the kitchen without another word, leaving Herro standing alone in the common room once again.
The smell of burning reached his nose approximately two seconds later.
(I've been here twenty minutes and I've already survived a murder attempt and witnessed a kitchen fire.)
(This is fine. This is totally fine. Everything is fine.)
Herro stood there for a long moment, processing.
Rosa and Hilda were twins. Actual twins. The cheerful tornado who'd just talked at him for five straight minutes and the terrifying girl who'd tried to kick his head off were genetically identical.
(How. How is that possible. They're nothing alike. NOTHING.)
He looked around the common room again. The photos on the walls showed the same faces repeatedly—candid shots, mission photos, group pictures where people were making stupid faces or caught mid-laugh. He recognized Hilda in a few of them, looking just as mean as she had in person. Rosa appeared in others, always smiling, always bright.
And there—in the background of one photo—a tall woman with short dark hair and an adamantine arm, cigarette in her mouth, looking exhausted and vaguely annoyed.
(That must be the leader. Lyra Ironside. The one Nate mentioned.)
He should probably find Nate. Get actual answers. Figure out where he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do, how to avoid getting murdered by his new teammates.
But the headquarters was a maze. Doors everywhere. Hallways branching in multiple directions. No helpful signs saying "NEW MEMBERS START HERE" or "NATE TOUYA'S OFFICE THIS WAY."
(I could just... wait here. Wait for Nate to find me. That's reasonable, right? Just stay in one place, don't touch anything, don't make it worse—)
Footsteps above. The music from earlier had stopped.
Someone was moving around up there.
(Maybe that's Nate. Maybe I should go check.)
(Or maybe it's another person who'll try to kill me.)
(50/50 odds at this point.)
Herro made a decision. He'd explore a little. Just a little. Find Nate, or at least find someone who could point him toward Nate, and then—
The smell of cooking from the kitchen was getting stronger. Less burning now. More... intentional. Garlic, maybe. Something savory.
His stomach growled. He'd eaten the detention center's excuse for breakfast at 6 AM, and it was now—he checked his cheap phone—almost 2 PM.
(The kitchen probably has Nate. Or Rosa. Or food. All three would be ideal.)
He headed toward the kitchen doorway, following the smell.
And immediately walked past it, because the hallway to his left looked more promising and his sense of direction had apparently died the moment he entered this building.
Three doors lined the hallway. Two were closed. One was slightly ajar.
(Don't open random doors. That's rule number one of not dying in an unfamiliar place. Just turn around, find the kitchen, find Nate, don't—)
He opened the door.
--
The room was small. Quiet. Noticeably cleaner than the chaos of the common area.
In the center, sitting perfectly still on a simple cushion, was a young man Herro had never seen before.
He had snow-white hair—not gray, not platinum blonde, but pure white like fresh snow. It fell to his shoulders in straight, neat strands. His eyes were closed. His posture was perfect. His breathing was so controlled it barely moved his chest.
Meditation, probably. Or sleep. Or death.
(Don't stare. Don't make noise. Just back away slowly—)
The floor creaked.
Herro froze.
The young man's eyes opened.
They were light gray. Almost silver. And they fixed on Herro with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
(Oh no.)
Silence.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Neither of them moved. The young man just... stared. Not angry. Not surprised. Just watching. Observing. Taking in every detail of Herro's existence with quiet, terrifying focus.
Herro's brain was screaming. His survival instincts were firing on all cylinders. Everything about this moment felt wrong in a way he couldn't articulate.
(Say something. Apologize. Explain. Do ANYTHING except stand here like an idiot—)
The young man spoke.
His voice was soft. Measured. Almost apologetic.
"...The common room is at the end of the hall. Turn left."
That was it. That was the entire sentence.
Herro blinked. "I... what?"
"You're lost." Not a question. A statement. "The common room is at the end of the hall. Turn left."
"Oh. Uh. Thanks."
The young man's eyes closed again. Conversation over. Dismissed.
Herro stood there for another few seconds, waiting for something else to happen. An explanation. An introduction. Literally anything.
Nothing.
(Okay. So we have a violent one, a hyperactive one, and one who might actually be a ghost.)
(This is fine. This is all completely normal. People sit in empty rooms and give directions to strangers. That's a thing people do.)
Herro backed out of the room slowly, carefully, like he was retreating from a wild animal that might charge if he moved too fast. He closed the door as quietly as physically possible.
The hallway felt too bright after the dim stillness of that room.
(What was that. Who was that. Why did that feel like the most intense conversation I've had all day. He said twelve words.)
He followed the white-haired boy's directions. End of the hall. Turn left.
And there—finally—was the common room again.
Herro had somehow made a complete circle.
(I hate this building. I hate everything about this building.)
Electronic sounds reached his ears. Music, maybe. Or a video game. Coming from somewhere nearby—another room, another hallway, another mystery.
(Find Nate. Just find Nate. He said he'd be here. He promised.)
Herro followed the sounds.
The next room was less a room and more a converted storage space that someone had crammed full of electronics.
Multiple monitors covered one wall, each displaying different feeds—city maps, security cameras, scrolling data that Herro couldn't begin to interpret. Cables snaked everywhere like mechanical vines, connecting towers of servers, backup drives, routers, and equipment Herro didn't recognize. The whole setup looked wildly out of place in the dilapidated building, like someone had transplanted a high-tech command center into a condemned warehouse.
In the middle of the chaos sat a hunched figure wearing massive over-ear headphones, completely absorbed in whatever was on his central monitor.
The figure was small. Slight build. Dark hair falling over rectangular glasses. His fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced speed, typing something that made zero sense to Herro's untrained eyes.
(This must be... JJ? Nate mentioned a tech guy. Said he doesn't go on missions but handles all the digital stuff.)
Herro cleared his throat. "Uh. Excuse me?"
No response.
The figure kept typing.
Herro tried again, louder. "Hello?"
Still nothing. The headphones were noise-canceling. The guy was completely locked in.
(Okay. So. Option one: stand here like an idiot. Option two: leave and try to find someone else. Option three...)
Herro reached out and tapped the guy on the shoulder.
The reaction was immediate and extreme.
The figure screamed—actually screamed—and jerked backward so violently he fell out of his chair. Cables tangled around his legs. His headphones went flying. He hit the ground in a heap of limbs and wires and pure panic.
"WHO—WHAT—YOU CAN'T JUST TOUCH PEOPLE!"
Herro jumped back, hands raised defensively. "I'm sorry! I just—"
"THERE ARE PROTOCOLS! SOCIAL CONTRACTS! PERSONAL SPACE EXISTS FOR A REASON!"
The figure was trying to untangle himself from the cables but only making it worse, wrapping himself tighter like a panicked cat in a yarn ball.
"DID LYRA SEND YOU? IS THIS A TEST? I KNEW SHE'D TRY SOMETHING LIKE THIS EVENTUALLY—"
"No!" Herro waved his hands frantically. "No, I'm not—I didn't mean to—I'm the new member! Herro! Herro Touya!"
The panic paused. The figure stopped struggling against the cables and stared up at Herro from the floor, eyes wide behind smudged glasses.
"...What?"
"I'm the new member. Nate's cousin. I just... I was trying to introduce myself."
Silence. The figure's breathing gradually slowed from hyperventilating to merely rapid.
"Oh." A pause. "You're the juvie kid."
(Why does everyone lead with that.)
"...Yes?"
"The one who punches things."
"I—that's not—I mean, technically—"
The figure finally succeeded in freeing one arm from the cable nest. He used it to adjust his glasses, still sprawled on the floor like he'd forgotten standing was an option.
"Whatever. I'm JJ. Don't touch me again. Don't talk to me unless it's mission-critical. And if you break any of my equipment, I will make your life a digital nightmare."
He made no move to get up.
Herro blinked. "...Are you going to stand up?"
"Eventually. Maybe. None of your business."
(He's threatening me. From the floor. While tangled in cables. This is my life now.)
"Right. Okay. I'll just... go."
"Good idea."
Herro backed out of the room slowly, leaving JJ still sprawled in his nest of wires, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.
Three people met. Three completely different reactions.
Rosa: overwhelming cheerfulness, talked at him for five minutes straight, assumed he was a delivery guy.
The white-haired boy: quiet intensity, gave directions, ended the conversation in twelve words.
JJ: screamed, fell down, threatened him from the floor.
(Is this normal. Is this what family units are like. Did Nate just... not mention that everyone here is insane.)
Herro wandered back to the common room for the third time, feeling like he'd failed a maze that was specifically designed to make him look stupid.
He was about to give up and just text Nate again when the front door opened.
Heavy footsteps. The smell of cigarette smoke. A presence that made the air feel heavier.
Herro turned.
A woman entered the headquarters.
Tall—taller than him, easily six-foot-Five. Heavily muscled in a way that made it clear she didn't just work out, she lived in her body like a weapon. Short dark hair, messy and practical. An unfiltered cigarette dangling from her lips. And her right arm—
It wasn't flesh.
It was metal. Adamantine, from the look of it. Military-grade. The kind of prosthetic that cost more than most people made in a year. It gleamed dully in the light, all exposed mechanisms and reinforced joints, extending from her shoulder down to articulated fingers that could probably crush steel.
The woman had an aura about her was suffocating, like her body was crafted for the specific purpose of combat and warfare
-
She was carrying a case of beer in her flesh hand, looking like she'd just walked out of a war zone and decided to stop for groceries on the way home.
Her eyes swept the room, landed on Herro.
They were gray. Slate gray. Dead gray. Not emotionless—just tired in a way that went deeper than sleep could fix.
She looked at him for exactly two seconds, took a drag of her cigarette, and said:
"Whatever you're selling, we can't afford it. Whatever you're looking for, it's not here. Door's behind you."
She walked past him toward the kitchen without waiting for a response.
Herro stood there, frozen.
(That's her. That's the leader. Lyra Ironside. She just... dismissed me. Like I was a door-to-door salesman.)
Rosa's voice rang out from somewhere deeper in the building.
"Lyra! That's Herro! The new member! Nate's cousin!"
Lyra stopped mid-step.
Turned slowly.
Looked at Herro with new eyes—assessing, calculating, suddenly interested in a way that made him want to hide.
"...This is him?"
She took another long drag of her cigarette. Exhaled smoke through her nose. Studied him like he was a piece of equipment she was evaluating for purchase.
"You're the one from the juvenile incident. The one who put four kids in the hospital."
Herro flinched. He couldn't help it.
This was the moment. The judgment. The fear. The rejection. The part where she decided he was too dangerous, too broken, too much of a liability—
"Huh."
Lyra's expression didn't change. She just kept looking at him, unreadable.
"You don't look like much."
Herro's brain short-circuited. "I—"
"That's not an insult." She gestured vaguely with the beer case. "Looking like 'not much' is useful. People underestimate you."
She set the beer down on the ruined coffee table—directly on the duct-taped hole, because apparently she didn't care—and faced him properly.
"Alright. Welcome to Ironhide. I'm Lyra Ironside. I run this Unit...though I would say its a disaster."
"You're... the leader?"
A ghost of dark humor crossed her face. "Don't sound so surprised. I know I don't look like military material." She tapped ash off her cigarette onto the floor. "Then again, neither does anyone here. That's kind of the point."
She moved closer. Not threatening, exactly. Just... present. Occupying space in a way that made it clear she was the most dangerous person in any room she entered.
"Hilda give you trouble?"
Herro hesitated. "She... tried to punch me."
"And?"
"I dodged. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"...I caught one."
Lyra's eyebrow rose. Just slightly. New information. Interesting information.
"Huh."
That single syllable carried weight. Assessment. Calculation. Filing away data for later use.
She didn't say anything else. Just stood there, smoking, watching him with those dead-tired eyes that seemed to see everything he was trying to hide.
Herro's hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.
(She knows. She knows what I did. She knows what I'm capable of. And she's not afraid.)
(Why isn't she afraid.)
"Lyra!"
The tension broke.
Nate appeared from a side hallway, carrying a stack of paperwork that threatened to achieve sentience through sheer volume. His face lit up when he saw Herro.
"Herro! You made it. I see you've already met everyone."
Relief flooded through Herro's chest so fast it almost hurt. Nate. Finally. The only person here he actually knew, actually trusted, actually believed wouldn't try to kill him.
"Nate." Herro's voice came out more desperate than he meant it to. "What is this place."
"This is the Ironhide Family. Your new home." Nate's expression softened. "Your second chance, remember? I told you I'd find something."
"You said it was a rehabilitation program. You didn't say it was... this."
"Would you have come if I'd described it accurately?"
"...Probably not."
"Exactly."
Lyra snorted. "Subtle, Nate."
"It worked, didn't it?" Nate set his paperwork down on the least-destroyed section of the coffee table. "Herro, I know this is overwhelming. But I promise—this unit, these people—they're good. They'll take care of you."
"Hilda tried to cave my skull in."
"That's her way of saying hello."
"That's insane."
"Welcome to Ironhide."
Lyra crushed her cigarette out against her metal palm—a gesture so casual it took Herro a second to process how wrong it was—and addressed the room at large.
then....Lyra froze and looked as if she was charging something up
"Alright, everyone get in here. Time for introductions."
when no one responded , lyra took a different approach
"HEY YOU LITTLE BASTARDS, GET IN HERE NOW!!!!!!!"
They appeared from different corners of the building like summoned ghosts.
Hilda emerged from a doorway Herro hadn't noticed, arms crossed, expression mean. She leaned against the wall and glared at nothing in particular.
Rosa bounded in from the kitchen, still carrying a dish towel, beaming.
The white-haired boy materialized silently from the hallway, moving so quietly Herro didn't notice him until he was already standing there.
JJ slouched in last, headphones around his neck, looking like he was being forced to attend his own execution.
For the first time, Herro saw the entire team assembled in one place.
Lyra stood at the center, arms crossed—one flesh, one metal. The cigarette might be gone but the smell lingered.
Nate stood beside her, organized and alert, notebook already in hand.
Hilda against the wall, radiating hostility.
Rosa on the couch arm, legs swinging.
The white-haired boy slightly apart from everyone, perfectly still.
JJ hunched over a tablet, only half paying attention.
"Alright." Lyra's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Listen up."
Everyone looked at her. Even JJ glanced up from his screen.
"This is Herro Touya. He's our newest member, transferred here through the Rehabilitation Mandate after an incident in South Valor. He's Nate's cousin, which means he's got one person here who'll vouch for him."
She paused. Let that sink in.
"The rest of us will figure out what we think once we've seen him in action."
Herro's stomach dropped. In action. Right. Because this was a combat unit. Because he was expected to fight.
(I can't fight. I can barely control my Gear. I put four boys in the hospital because I lost control—)
Lyra continued. "Herro, this is the Ironhide Family. We're asanctioned peacekeeping unit operating out of North Valor City. On paper, we handle threats the regular military can't or won't touch. In practice..."
She gestured vaguely at their surroundings—the ruined furniture, the peeling paint, the photos covering every surface.
"...we take whatever jobs we can get and try not to starve."
Rosa waved cheerfully. Hilda's glare intensified. The white-haired boy said nothing.
"We're not prestigious. We're not powerful, besides me of-course. Half the Empire thinks we're a joke, and the other half doesn't know we exist." Lyra's expression didn't change. "But we get the job done. And as of today, you're part of that."
She looked at Herro. "Anything you want to say?"
Public speaking. Great. His favorite thing. Right up there with surprise attacks and existential dread.
"I'm Herro. Herro Touya. I'm seventeen. I'm from South Valor."
His throat felt tight. The team was staring. Waiting.
"I have a Gear—" He hesitated. "—but I don't... I mean, I'm still learning to... I'll try not to be a burden."
Silence.
Hilda snorted. It wasn't kind.
Rosa gave an encouraging thumbs up that somehow made him feel worse.
The white-haired boy said nothing, but his silver eyes were watching.
JJ muttered something that sounded like "great, another liability."
Nate looked proud.
Lyra just nodded. "Alright. That's that. Everyone back to what you were doing. Herro, Nate'll handle your orientation."
And just like that, everyone dispersed.
Hilda pushed off the wall and disappeared down a hallway.
Rosa bounced toward the kitchen, humming.
The white-haired boy faded into the building's depths like smoke.
JJ shuffled back to his tech cave without a word.
Herro stood there, feeling like he'd just failed a test he didn't know he was taking.
"Don't worry about them," Nate said quietly. "They're always like this with new people."
"Hilda literally tried to kill me."
"If she'd actually wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't have been able to dodge." Nate smiled slightly. "The fact that you caught her punch means she's already impressed. She just won't admit it."
(That was impressed? What does unimpressed look like?)
-
Herro tried to ask questions.
The team was spectacularly unhelpful.
"What does a Family Unit actually do?"
Hilda, passing through the common room: "Fight. Hit things. Don't die."
Rosa, from the kitchen: "We help people! And sometimes fight bad guys! It's like being a superhero but with more paperwork and less money!"
JJ, not looking up from his screens: "I don't do the field stuff. Ask someone who cares."
The white-haired boy, when Herro finally tracked him down again: [long silence] "...You'll learn."
Lyra, already walking away: "Nate'll handle it."
"How does Gear combat work?"
Hilda: "You punch people. With your Gear. It's not complicated."
Rosa: "Oh, everyone's different! My wind is different from Hilda's metal which is different from—oh, that smells like burning, be right back!"
JJ: "Read a manual."
The white-haired boy: [already gone]
-
"What am I supposed to do?"
No one answered. They'd all disappeared again.
Herro stood alone in the common room for the fourth time that day, surrounded by strangers' photos and broken furniture and the faint smell of Rosa's cooking.
(This is insane. This is actually insane. How does anyone function here? Is this normal? Is this what all Family Units are like?)
(Nate. Where are you. I have questions. So many questions.)
Nate found him five minutes later, looking slightly apologetic.
"Sorry. I had to file some reports." He noticed Herro's expression. "They weren't helpful, were they."
"Your teammates are either trying to kill me, ignoring me, or speaking in riddles."
"That's about right." Nate gestured toward a quieter corner of the common room. "Come on. I'll explain properly."
They sat. Nate pulled out his ever-present notebook, flipped to a clean page, and began.
"Sorry about them. They're not trying to be difficult." A pause. "Well, Hilda might be. But the others—they've all been through things. Loss, trauma, rejection. This unit became their refuge, and strangers are... complicated."
"Hilda literally tried to kill me."
"That's her way of saying hello. Honestly, if she'd actually wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't have been able to dodge."
(Why does everyone keep saying that.)
"Give them time," Nate continued. "They'll warm up."
"And if they don't?"
"They will." Nate's expression was certain. "I know these people. They're good. They just... need to see that you're good too."
Herro looked down at his hands. The same hands that had caught Hilda's punch. That had put four boys in the hospital.
"What if I'm not."
"You are."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do." Nate met his eyes. "I've known you your whole life, Herro. I know what happened in juvenile detention wasn't malice. It was fear. It was self-defense. It was an accident."
"Four boys ended up in the hospital."
"Four boys who were going to kill someone." Nate's voice was quiet but firm. "You stopped them. That's what matters."
Herro didn't respond. Couldn't.
"Anyway." Nate flipped his notebook to a new page. "You had questions. Let me answer them properly."
--
"What does a Family Unit actually do?"
"Officially, Family Units are irregular peacekeeping squads sanctioned by the Empire. We handle threats in areas where the military presence is thin—organized crime, rogue Gear-users, that sort of thing."
Nate tapped his pen against the page.
"Unofficially... the system exists to manage people like us. Gear-bearers who don't fit neatly into the military hierarchy. People who are too powerful to ignore but too inconvenient to integrate. The Empire gives us a badge and a purpose so we're not out there causing problems on our own."
"So we're... babysitters?"
"More like controlled contingencies. The Empire gets useful operatives. We get a second chance and a paycheck." Nate smiled slightly. "It's a mutually beneficial exploitation."
"How does Gear combat work?"
"Every Gear is different, so there's no universal fighting style. But the basics are consistent: you have a limited pool of Terran Energy, and everything you do draws from it. Use too much, you burn out."
Nate sketched a simple diagram—a bucket, a faucet, water flowing.
"Think of your Terran Energy as a reservoir. The planet constantly replenishes it, but if you drain it faster than it refills, you'll collapse. The key is efficiency—knowing when to use your Gear and when to rely on conventional tactics."
"And if I lose control?"
Nate paused. His expression shifted—became more serious, more personal.
"Then you stop. You retreat. You let your teammates cover you until you've recovered." He met Herro's eyes. "Fear isn't a weakness, Herro. It means you understand how dangerous you can be. That understanding will keep you alive."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"For now? Watch. Learn. Don't try to be a hero..........get it?"
A beat. Nate's expression grew complicated.
"And Herro—I know you're afraid of your power. I know what happened scares you. But that power is also why you're valuable. Why you're here."
"I don't want to be valuable. I want to be normal."
"Normal people don't survive in this world." Nate closed his notebook. "Trust me. I tried being normal. It didn't work."
Before Herro could ask what that meant, JJ's voice rang out from his tech cave.
"ALERT! WE'VE GOT AN ALERT!"
The entire building seemed to shift. The casual atmosphere evaporated instantly.
Lyra appeared from nowhere, moving with purpose. "Talk to me."
"Jackals cargo truck spotted in the industrial district." JJ's voice was clipped, professional, completely different from his earlier panic. "Local authorities requesting Family Unit assistance—truck has confirmed Gear-user escorts. Trajectory suggests they're heading for the eastern highway."
Herro's confusion must have shown on his face, because Nate leaned over and whispered:
"Jackals. Criminal syndicate. Biggest on Terra. If they're moving cargo in broad daylight, it's either valuable or dangerous."
Lyra was already moving, pulling on a tactical vest that looked like it had survived at least three wars. "Everyone gear up. Standard intercept protocols."
The team mobilized with practiced efficiency.
Hilda cracked her knuckles, flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders.
Rosa appeared with a light jacket, still humming.
The white-haired boy emerged silently, carrying a small medkit.
JJ grabbed his portable terminal, still typing.
Nate retrieved his shield—a circular disc of golden-blue energy that materialized from nowhere, hovering near his forearm.
Lyra looked at Herro.
"You're coming with us. Stay in the vehicle. Watch. Learn. Don't engage unless you have no choice."
"I—"
"If things go wrong, run. You're no good to anyone dead."
She didn't wait for a response. Just turned and headed for the garage.
The team followed.
Herro stood there for a second, processing.
(This is happening. This is actually happening. I've been here for two hours and we're already going on a mission.)
Nate grabbed his arm gently. "Come on. Stay close to me. You'll be fine."
(I don't feel fine. I feel like I'm going to throw up.)
But he followed anyway.
Because what choice did he have.
END OF CHAPTER 2
----
CHAPTER 2: GLOSSARY
Family Unit
Officially sanctioned peacekeeping squads that handle threats in areas with thin military presence; unofficially, a system to control problematic Gear-bearers by giving them purpose under Imperial oversight.
Gear Offender Rehabilitation Mandate
A legal framework offering Gear-bearers convicted of crimes a choice: join a Family Unit or face harsher sentencing—technically voluntary, practically an ultimatum.
The White Lion Empire
The dominant hereditary monarchy governing Terra through Gear-bearer superiority and pragmatic control, viewing Family Units as expendable assets.
Gears
Unique personal powers derived from Terran Energy that appeared in 20% of the population starting in 2099, each drawing from limited energy reserves.
North Valor City
Capital of North Terra and the story's primary setting—a hub for Family Unit activity where clean skyscrapers meet industrial decay.
South Valor / South Terra
The poorest region of Terra characterized by rural poverty and high crime, but with dense natural Terran Energy that spawns unique Gears.
Industrial District
The worn-down section of North Valor where Ironhide's headquarters sits—rusted warehouses and cracked streets the Empire doesn't bother maintaining.