CHAPTER 1
Chirp. Chirp
The birds sang their morning song outside the window, oblivious to the world below. Sunlight crept through the thin curtains, warm and insistent against Redacted's closed eyelids. She groaned softly, her mind still tangled in the remnants of a dream she couldn't quite remember. The light grew brighter, more intrusive, until she finally blinked
once..twice
her vision swimming in a haze of gold and shadow.
A figure loomed above her, dark against the brightness.
"Re...ted—ne," the voice was soft. "We're gonna be late."
The words sounded distant, muffled, like they were traveling through water. Redacted's brain was still half-asleep, trying to piece together where she was, what day it was, why someone was bothering her.
"RE-NE!"
Her eyes snapped open like shutters torn from their hinges. The girl standing over her jumped back, startled by the sudden movement. Redacted stared at her with a blank, spaced-out expression, her octopus-like features still slack with sleep. Her tentacle-like appendages hung limply at her sides.
Oh. Right. School.
She sat up slowly, the mattress creaking beneath her weight, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver up her spine. Still half in a daze, she stumbled toward the window, catching herself on the dresser when her foot tangled in the blanket trailing behind her.
When she finally reached the window, she pushed it open with both hands. The morning air rushed in, cool and crisp, carrying with it the smell of dew and distant flowers. She placed one foot on the windowsill, testing her balance.
"Let's go," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
"I KNEW IT!"
Before Redacted could drop down to the ground below, two arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her backwards. They both tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs and tangled sheets, Redacted's tentacles flailing in surprise.
"Ow—"
"This always happens, you f—" The girl caught herself mid-curse, her tone shifting abruptly to something sweet and innocent. "sleepy head."
Redacted groaned as she was unceremoniously dragged across the floor, her back scraping against the wood. "Uhh, you wanted to curse, didn't you?"
The girl's astronaut helmet tilted slightly as she turned her head, the morning light catching on the scratched and worn visor. It was an old thing, something she'd had for years—dented on one side, the paint chipped and faded. But she never took it off. Not at home. Not at school. Not anywhere.
"No, dearest sister," she said primly. "I said no such thing."
"Buffy, you bastard."
"Tehe, MF." Buffy's voice was bright with mischief beneath the helmet. "My friend."
They both burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the small room. For a moment, everything felt normal. Light. Easy.
Buffy finally let go, and Redacted sat up, rubbing the back of her head. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Takes one to know one," Buffy shot back, already heading toward the door. "Now come on, we're seriously late."
Redacted sighed, pulling herself to her feet. Her body ached from being dragged, but she didn't complain. This was their routine. This was normal.
Ding dong, di dong.
The school bell echoed through the hallway. Buffy walked alone, her footsteps soft against the linoleum floor. She clutched a bag of food in both hands rice balls, a few pieces of fruit, some cookies she'd managed to scrape together from what little they had. Her astronaut helmet reflected the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, turning her into a walking mirror. The visor completely covered her face.
I wonder if I bought too much, she thought, glancing down at the bag. Re-ne doesn't eat that much in the morning…
Then she felt it.
A hand. Slow. Deliberate. Creeping toward the side of her helmet, fingers reaching for the clasps that held it in place.
Her entire body went rigid. Her eyes widened beneath the visor. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to move, to react, to run.
She spun around in an instant, her grip tightening on the bag until her knuckles turned white.
"Ohhh, you don't even let your guard down, haha!"
Jiro Saki's smile was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those were cold. Calculating. Predatory.
The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something darker. "I'm getting tired of this, you know. Even when I beat you up so bad you can barely stand, you still won't take it off." He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "What are you hiding under there, huh? What's so special that you'd rather bleed than show your face?"
Buffy's breath quickened beneath the helmet. She noticed movement in her peripheral vision—five people closing in from all sides.
Jiro's eyes gleamed. "You see, I'm very curious. And I won't stop until I get what I want."
Buffy bolted.
She didn't make it three steps before someone slammed her to the ground. Her stomach hit the floor hard, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a single violent gasp. Pain exploded across her chest, her stomach, her ribs.
Hands grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides. Fingers clawed at her helmet, trying to find purchase on the smooth surface.
And then the fists came.
One after another, relentless, methodical. They pounded into her back, her sides, her ribs. She felt something crack. Tasted copper on her tongue.
"Hold her still!"
"I'm trying! Why the hell is her grip so strong?!"
Two of them were at her head now, pulling at the helmet with all their strength. But Buffy's hands were locked around it, her fingers digging into the metal like her life depended on it.
Because it did.
The blows kept coming. Her skin tore. Blood smeared across the floor, warm and sticky. She could feel it soaking through her uniform, spreading like ink on paper.
But she didn't let go.
Instead, she screamed.
Not a scream of pain though there was pain, more than she'd ever felt before. No, this was something deeper. Something primal. A scream of pure, unfiltered rage. It tore from her throat like a living thing, raw and jagged, loud enough to rattle the windows, loud enough to shake the walls.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"Jesus—shut up, you bitch!" Jiro's voice cut through the noise. His foot connected with her stomach, and Buffy's body curled inward involuntarily, her scream choked off into a strangled gasp.
Jiro reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.
The blade caught the light, gleaming silver and sharp.
One of his subordinates hesitated, his face going pale. "A knife? Jiro, don't you think that's a bit—"
Jiro's eyes slid toward him, cold and dead. The boy's mouth snapped shut.
"A bit what?" Jiro asked softly. Dangerously.
No one answered.
Jiro knelt down beside Buffy, grabbing her struggling arm and wrenching it away from her helmet. He pressed the blade against her exposed skin, just above her wrist. "Last chance," he whispered. "Take it off, or I start cutting."
Buffy's breath came in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from her mouth. Her vision swam.
The knife pressed harder.
Just as the blade was about to break skin...
THUNK .
A hand shot out of nowhere, blocking the knife. Blood dripped from a fresh wound, pooling on the floor in thick, dark drops.
Redacted stood there, her arm still raised, her face utterly blank. Her eyes were stone cold, empty of emotion, empty of mercy.
She didn't flinch. Didn't waver.
She just looked down at Buffy—covered in blood, covered in bruises, barely conscious—and without a word, scooped her up like she weighed nothing at all.
And then she ran.
"AFTER THEM!" Jiro's voice exploded through the hallway, venomous and furious. "NOW! What are you waiting for, fuckers?!"
MOMENTS LATER
Redacted turned a sharp corner and set Buffy down gently against the wall, her hands surprisingly tender despite the violence still echoing in the air behind them. Buffy slumped against the bricks, her helmet tilted at an odd angle, her breathing shallow and uneven.
"I was strong, right?" Buffy's voice was barely a whisper, muffled by the helmet. "Re-ne... I was strong, wasn't I?"
Her uniform was torn. Blood seeped through the fabric in dark patches. Her hands trembled.
Redacted stared at her for a long moment, pain flickering across her face like a candle in the wind. Her jaw tightened. Her fists clenched.
Then she turned and walked away in silence.
"Where did they go?" Jiro's voice echoed from somewhere nearby, frustrated and searching. "They couldn't have gotten far. Spread out!"
Then he saw her.
Redacted was walking toward them, slow and deliberate. Her eyes were empty, emotionless. Jiro felt a chill run down his spine, but he shook it off, forcing a sneer onto his face.
"What have you come here for?" he called out, trying to sound confident. "Just hand her over while I'm asking nicely."
His entourage surrounded her, forming a loose circle. Six against one.
Redacted said nothing. She didn't even acknowledge them.
Jiro's eyes narrowed. She's surrounded by six people, myself included. But she isn't scared. Why isn't she scared?
"Nonsense." He thrust his arm forward, signaling the attack. "Get her."
Less than three minutes later, all six of them were on the ground.
Jiro tried to crawl away, his legs scrambling uselessly against the blood-slick floor. He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face. When he looked up, Redacted's shadow loomed over him, impossibly large, impossibly dark.
His face twisted in despair. A warm wetness spread across his pants, and he realized with horror that he'd pissed himself.
Redacted reached down and lifted him by the throat with one hand, her grip iron-tight.
"Keuk" Jiro's voice was strangled, his face turning red. "With a single arm ?!"
"RE-NE!"
Redacted turned. Buffy stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. Her helmet was cracked on one side. Blood dripped from beneath it. Her voice was breaking.
"Please..." Buffy's hand reached out, trembling. "Don't."
Redacted looked at her. Then at Jiro, still struggling weakly in her grip. Her expression didn't change.
She opened her hand.
Thud.
Jiro collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping, clutching at his bruised throat.
Redacted walked past him without a second glance, her footsteps echoing in the silence. She took Buffy by the hand, gentle despite the violence still radiating from her body, and led her away.
They walked in silence, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. The city moved around them—cars honking, people talking, the distant sound of a radio playing jazz—but it all felt far away, muted, like they were walking through a dream.
When they reached a crosswalk, they stopped and waited for the light.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," Redacted finally said, her voice barely audible. She stared straight ahead, her Expression cold.
Buffy's helmet turned toward her. "Re-ne..."
"It was because I'm weak," Buffy said quickly, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "You don't need to say that. Haha. It's not your fault. It's mine. It's always mine."
Redacted's jaw tightened. "It's my responsibility to protect you. And I"
"Shut it, you fucking fool." Buffy's voice turned sweet and playful, cutting her off mid-sentence.
There was a pause.
"I said it's fine."
The light turned green, the mechanical beep beep beep signaling it was safe to cross.
Buffy ran ahead, her footsteps light despite the pain. She spun around to face her sister, her arms spread wide. The sunset light caught her helmet, turning the scratched metal into something almost beautiful, almost majestic.
"Come on, let's go!"
Redacted's eyes widened slightly, just a fraction. The cold mask slipped, just for a moment, and something soft appeared beneath it. A smile. Small. Fragile. Real.
"Okay ... lets go home "