The sun hung low over August Town, bleeding gold through the smog.
Heat rippled off the broken court where Rashad Myles stood, his sneakers half-buried in dust and bottle caps.
The chain-link fence rattled with every breeze, and the faded lines of the basketball court looked more like scars than paint.
A ball hit the backboard — clang.
"Yuh slippin', Starboy," someone shouted from the sideline. "Da shot deh weak, mi bredda!"
Laughter echoed, but Rashad only smiled faintly, spinning the ball between his hands.
He hadn't played in a real match for months. Not since the incident downtown — the one that burned his name off the circuit. The one that made him swear he'd never use "it" again.
But now, the weight in his chest was returning. The air around him felt… restless.
Like something deep in his blood was stirring.
Talia jogged up, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her braids caught the sun like threads of fire.
"Rashad, yuh zoning out again," she said. "You good?"
"Mi good," he muttered, bouncing the ball once more. "Just thinking."
"About what? Or who?" she teased.
He didn't answer. Because he couldn't tell her — not about the visions in his dreams, not about the burning symbols on his palms every time he touched something alive.
That was the curse of the Anointed. The world saw them as miracles — but Rashad knew better. Miracles came with prices.
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Everyone on the court dropped.
"Down! Down!"
From the corner of the block, a black van screeched to a stop. Men in tactical armor jumped out — Division 7, the government's anti-Anointed task force. Their vests bore the white triangle insignia.
"By order of the Crown Council," a voice barked through a megaphone, "all known Anointed in the area must surrender immediately!"
Rashad's heartbeat thundered.
He looked at Talia — fear wide in her eyes.
"Rashad," she whispered. "They can't be here for you, right?"
But deep down, he knew they were.
Someone had tipped them off.
The air started to hum — low, like a storm gathering. The dust on the ground lifted, swirling in a faint spiral around his shoes.
His veins pulsed light beneath his skin — gold like molten fire.
He clenched his fists, forcing it down.
Not here. Not again.
The Division 7 soldiers raised their rifles.
"Last warning!"
Talia grabbed his arm. "Rashad, don't—"
But the world exploded.
A shockwave of heat and light burst from Rashad's body, tossing the soldiers back like rag dolls. The fence tore free from its posts, flames licking across the court.
He stood at the center, eyes blazing, every breath like thunder.
Talia stared at him in horror and awe.
"…You said it was gone," she whispered.
Rashad looked at his hands — the same symbols glowing on his palms.
The same ones he thought he buried years ago.
"Mi did lie," he said quietly. "It never left."
Far away, inside a dark office overlooking Kingston Harbour…
A figure watched the explosion's aftermath on a flickering screen.
"Subject 014 has resurfaced," the woman said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes sharp as glass.
"Shall we move, ma'am?" a soldier asked beside her.
She smiled faintly.
"Yes. Bring him in alive."
The sun hung low over August Town, bleeding gold through the smog.
Heat rippled off the broken court where Rashad Myles stood, his sneakers half-buried in dust and bottle caps.
The chain-link fence rattled with every breeze, and the faded lines of the basketball court looked more like scars than paint.
A ball hit the backboard — clang.
"Yuh slippin', Starboy," someone shouted from the sideline. "Da shot deh weak, mi bredda!"
Laughter echoed, but Rashad only smiled faintly, spinning the ball between his hands.
He hadn't played in a real match for months. Not since the incident downtown — the one that burned his name off the circuit. The one that made him swear he'd never use "it" again.
But now, the weight in his chest was returning. The air around him felt… restless.
Like something deep in his blood was stirring.
Talia jogged up, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her braids caught the sun like threads of fire.
"Rashad, yuh zoning out again," she said. "You good?"
"Mi good," he muttered, bouncing the ball once more. "Just thinking."
"About what? Or who?" she teased.
He didn't answer. Because he couldn't tell her — not about the visions in his dreams, not about the burning symbols on his palms every time he touched something alive.
That was the curse of the Anointed. The world saw them as miracles — but Rashad knew better. Miracles came with prices.
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Everyone on the court dropped.
"Down! Down!"
From the corner of the block, a black van screeched to a stop. Men in tactical armor jumped out — Division 7, the government's anti-Anointed task force. Their vests bore the white triangle insignia.
"By order of the Crown Council," a voice barked through a megaphone, "all known Anointed in the area must surrender immediately!"
Rashad's heartbeat thundered.
He looked at Talia — fear wide in her eyes.
"Rashad," she whispered. "They can't be here for you, right?"
But deep down, he knew they were.
Someone had tipped them off.
The air started to hum — low, like a storm gathering. The dust on the ground lifted, swirling in a faint spiral around his shoes.
His veins pulsed light beneath his skin — gold like molten fire.
He clenched his fists, forcing it down.
Not here. Not again.
The Division 7 soldiers raised their rifles.
"Last warning!"
Talia grabbed his arm. "Rashad, don't—"
But the world exploded.
A shockwave of heat and light burst from Rashad's body, tossing the soldiers back like rag dolls. The fence tore free from its posts, flames licking across the court.
He stood at the center, eyes blazing, every breath like thunder.
Talia stared at him in horror and awe.
"…You said it was gone," she whispered.
Rashad looked at his hands — the same symbols glowing on his palms.
The same ones he thought he buried years ago.
"Mi did lie," he said quietly. "It never left."
Far away, inside a dark office overlooking Kingston Harbour…
A figure watched the explosion's aftermath on a flickering screen.
"Subject 014 has resurfaced," the woman said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes sharp as glass.
"Shall we move, ma'am?" a soldier asked beside her.
She smiled faintly.
"Yes. Bring him in alive."