"What's going on?"
At the sound of the commotion, Allen immediately pulled himself out of his academic stupor. His head swiveled around, all thoughts of studying forgotten.
Bryan set down his book and rose slowly, following the noise to the window. He could tell the disturbance was coming from outside the library.
He pushed the window open. The muffled sounds suddenly became clear and loud. In the small courtyard outside the library entrance, a crowd of students had formed a circle, jeering and calling out. Something was happening at the center.
Bryan's lip curled. He didn't need to guess—the crude language drifting up told him everything. This was a case of school violence.
But he had no interest in getting involved. As long as nobody was messing with him or his people, he wasn't about to waste time playing hero. Better to spend that energy improving himself.
He turned away from the window, ready to return to his seat and his book—only to find three empty chairs where his companions had been sitting.
His expression darkened immediately.
...
Thud!
Amir crashed hard to the ground. His face burned with pain, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out. He curled into himself, arms wrapped protectively around his head, not daring to resist.
He knew from experience: the more he fought back, the harder they'd hit him. All he could do was hide the hatred burning in his eyes behind his arms, enduring silently. But in his heart, he memorized every detail of this moment. He swore he would pay them back someday.
Across from him stood a white teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with long brown hair. His lip was slightly swollen, and he glared down at the Black boy on the ground with undisguised malice.
He raised a hand to touch his injured mouth. He couldn't believe it—the weakling he'd been pushing around had actually fought back. Had actually hurt him.
"Come on, True, you're slipping! Getting tagged by this guy?"
"Yeah, mess him up!"
"..."
Behind the brown-haired teen stood seven or eight boys of similar age, lounging with sneering arrogance. They radiated contempt for everything around them, the kind of swagger that said they answered to no one.
They showed no anger that one of their own had been hurt. Instead, they jeered and goaded, stoking his temper, clearly hoping for more entertainment.
The mocking undertone in their words made True's fists clench. The thought that a Black kid had actually managed to hit him was humiliating beyond words. Combined with the taunting from his crew, the rage in his eyes intensified.
True's father was a hardcore racist who believed in white supremacy—that all other races living in America were inherently inferior, with particular hatred reserved for Black people, whom he associated with the historical slave class.
Growing up with that influence, True had absorbed some of those prejudices. But he was clever enough to know that open racism was socially unacceptable, so he'd always kept his views hidden.
If the apocalypse had never happened, he might have gone his whole life concealing those beliefs, quietly avoiding contact with Black people whenever possible.
But life in this quarantine zone university—nothing but endless studying and training with no entertainment—was unbearable for someone like True, who craved freedom. He couldn't fight the system, so he suffered in silence.
Then he'd found others like himself—fellow racists who shared his resentment of everything about school life and wanted to find some way to amuse themselves. They'd put their heads together and turned their attention to the other minorities on campus.
They were careful never to attack anyone explicitly for racial reasons. Instead, they'd provoke their targets into throwing the first punch, which gave the whole group justification to gang up on them.
To cover their tracks, their victims included people of all races—they'd even beaten up some white kids. And they always chose isolated, timid loners, always in spots without surveillance cameras, always with stern warnings to keep quiet or face worse next time. That's why, despite all this time, no school authorities had ever confronted them.
If Bryan had known their reasoning, he would have laughed. There was nothing in this school that the administration didn't know about. They simply didn't care enough to intervene.
But now, while tormenting this same Black kid he'd been "disciplining" recently, the target had done the unthinkable—fought back and actually landed a punch.
Perhaps it was fury turning to twisted amusement. True's face split into a smile as he approached the boy curled on the ground. Looking down at that shrimp-like form, he slowly crouched, speaking in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"You worthless n****r. I remember your parents died saving your sorry ass... Ha! Must've been real hard for them, rescuing a piece of trash like you. They got what they deserved. If they could see you now, they'd wish they'd strangled you in the womb."
"Hahahaha—!"
He stood abruptly and burst into wild laughter. His voice had been so low that no one else heard what he'd said.
The crowd exchanged confused glances, wondering what was so funny. Only the boys behind him seemed to understand, exchanging knowing looks before joining in the laughter.
"I'll kill—ugh!"
The words True had whispered ignited something in Amir. His eyes flooded with crimson rage. He couldn't suppress his fury any longer. With a roar, he surged up, fist cocked back to smash into his tormentor's face.
But though True was laughing, his eyes never left Amir. The moment he saw movement, he stomped down hard on Amir's head, driving him back to the ground.
The crowd watched coldly. Not one person stepped forward to stop it. Nobody was foolish enough to risk themselves for a stranger who meant nothing to them.
A few Black students in the crowd looked uncomfortable, anger flickering across their faces at seeing one of their own brutalized by a white kid. One of them rolled up his sleeves, ready to intervene.
But they were still just kids. When they saw how many people backed that white teenager, instinctive fear took hold. With no one willing to stand beside them, they hesitated—and ultimately stayed put.
"Ha! Trash like you actually thinks you can—"
Looking down at Amir struggling beneath his foot, True felt a rush of dominance—the thrill of the strong crushing the weak. It was intoxicating. He ground his heel against Amir's head while continuing his verbal assault.
But before he could finish, Amir's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. With every ounce of strength he had, Amir yanked.
"Ah—!" True, caught completely off guard by the sudden force, lost his balance and toppled backward, crashing hard to the ground. Pain shot through his back as he cried out.
Seeing True fall, Amir scrambled up and threw himself on top of his tormentor. Eyes blazing crimson, he straddled the boy and raised his fist, raining savage blows down at his head. This time, he refused to endure. This time, he chose to fight back.
His parents' deaths had always been the wound he kept hidden, carefully buried where he didn't have to look at it. Today, someone had ripped that wound open with bloody fingers. Even knowing he was outnumbered, he was going to beat this bastard senseless.
The sudden reversal stunned the watching students. After a moment of shocked silence, excitement rippled through the crowd, erupting into eager shouts.
"Ahhh! You idiots, stop standing there—help me!"
With fists hammering his head, True instinctively covered up, looking for an opening to push his attacker off. But every time he dropped his guard to shove, the blows came even harder, forcing him to protect himself again.
After several brutal hits, he couldn't take it anymore. He started screaming for his friends, who stood frozen in shock.
"Son of a bitch! You're dead!"
True's shout snapped them out of their daze. The biggest of them cursed and stormed forward, delivering a vicious kick that sent Amir sprawling.
The rest followed, surrounding the defiant Black teenager in a tight circle. They raised their feet and began stomping.
"Beat his ass! Kill him!"
Once his friends pulled him free, True struggled to his feet. His face was a mess of bruises, utterly disheveled.
He pointed at Amir, now being stomped by the circle of attackers, feeling every throb of pain in his battered face. His eyes burned with hatred as he screamed his fury.
But just then, a girl's voice cut through the crowd, freezing everyone in place.
"That's enough! You people are going too far!"
...
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