She watched as Jack and his little crew disappeared around the corner of a tall, steel-clad building, their voices fading into the mechanical hum of the city. The hover tracks above rattled faintly as a cargo drone zipped past, and for a moment the late afternoon sun burned bright—until a massive cloud drifted over, dimming everything to a shadowed haze.
Tee tilted her head back, following the layered lattice of tracks, ladders, and power lines that crisscrossed the sky. The world there was never quiet, never still. Every inch of airspace carried noise—engines, boots on steel, shouted orders. And yet, despite the chaos around her, her eyes searched only one place: upward. Toward the sky, toward the cloud, toward anything that wasn't that place.
Jack.
Her stomach tightened at the thought of him. He had been her anchor once, the boy who grew up down the street, who laughed at the same foolish pranks in Second-level Academy. They'd shared whole Free Weeks sneaking into the market stalls, racing each other along back alleys until they were breathless.
To think he could look at her and see nothing—like they had never existed in the same world—was something she still hadn't learned to forgive. It had started a year ago, right after they both got into the Mid-Guard program. That was when he really changed.
Jack acted like they were strangers, like she was something to avoid. As if he had to prove to everyone else that he was nothing like her. But he was wrong. He was exactly like her. He just hadn't accepted it yet.
A monster waiting to unleash.
The thought was cold, sharp, and familiar.
"Why do you keep stalking that poor guy?"
The voice came from behind, deep and dripping with mockery.
Tee froze, then turned. Emerging from the shadows was a group of Mid-Guard troopers in their standard-issue blue jackets. They moved with an arrogant ease, boots thudding in rhythm as if the entire walkway belonged to them. Boys and girls, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, every one of them carried that same look—the kind that promised trouble.
At the front of them was a boy with spiky black hair and hazel eyes, lazily chewing on a candy stick. He smirked as he stepped closer.
"We haven't finalized our relationship yet," he said, voice playful but edged, "but you're here admiring other people?"
Denzel. The leader of this little pack.
Tee kept her face unreadable, though inside her blood simmered.
"He doesn't even see her," one of the girls scoffed, thrusting her chest forward with arms akimbo, her voice cutting through the noise of the street. "What does she even see in him?"
Tee swallowed the spit building in her mouth and refused to give them the satisfaction of spitting in anyone's face. That would be too easy, too low. They weren't worth her time. She had already decided: she was not going to join their group, no matter how many times they circled her like vultures.
Denzel popped the candy stick from his lips and stepped into her space, his shadow falling across her. "I heard how you tripped an MG official to near death last Tuesday. That was pretty harsh."
"I simply bounced into him," Tee replied coolly. "It's not my fault he fell."
Her lips twitched into a smile as the memory replayed in her head—the guard's shocked expression, the way his arms flailed as he rolled like a wiener down the stairs. She felt no pity. Not after what he had tried to do to her.
Denzel's grin widened. "I like you."
His hand rose, reaching for her face. Tee's reflexes flared instantly. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the sword strapped across her back, her muscles taut. The metallic weight of the weapon grounded her.
Denzel paused, then drew his hand back with a laugh. The crowd of blue-jacketed troopers shifted, disappointed there wouldn't be a fight, but no one dared say a word. Everyone knew the rules: it was strictly prohibited to use weapons against another human. But even so, Tee's hand on the sword had spoken louder than words.
She had made it clear she wasn't afraid.
"You really are dangerous," Denzel said, his smirk never fading. Then, with a short chuckle, he added, "This is why you don't have any friends."
He turned on his heel, waving casually for his crew to follow. Their laughter trailed after them as they disappeared into the bustle of the street, leaving Tee standing alone.
And he was right. She had no friends. Not there. Not in the year she had been stationed at the Mid-Guard.
Her dorm partner didn't count—they barely spoke, separated by a drawn curtain and silence. And Jack? He had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. The only friend she had ever truly trusted, back at Second-level Academy, had cut her off once the truth surfaced. Once he realized what she really was.
So Tee walked the streets by herself, patrolling in silence.
By the time her shift broke for lunch, the sun had shifted behind the steel towers. She entered the designated diner along with a scatter of other troopers, sliding into a bench seat. The room was noisy—trays clattering, voices rising, footsteps echoing on metal floors—but Tee moved as though she were a ghost. She collected her tray, stared at the food for a long moment, then began to eat in silence.
The chicken was glazed in something sweet, the skin crisped just enough to crackle under her teeth. The rice was light and fluffy, almost melting on her tongue. It was good. Too good for a scum.
All around her, troopers swapped jokes, argued over DGS, teased one another. The noise was constant, but Tee tuned it all out. Her thoughts always drifted back to the same place.
Jack.
How had things turned out that way?
She pressed her fork into the rice, her mind spiraling. Oh yes. She remembered clearly. It was the day he found out her secret. The day she stopped being just Tee in his eyes, and became something else—something wrong.
It was ironic, since like her he also never wore the crests that all X-victims were mandated to wear to reduce the inevitable bloodshed. It was illegal to kill a human and so only in their mutated monstrous form was any harm to be inflicted. To the outside person, they were both normal, which was far from the truth.