TWO HOURS BEFORE THE EXPLOSION
DISTRICT 2, Hydro City (Sector E)
"I already said I'm not taking it," I mutter, trying to back away from the doorway, but Mr. Nicolas grabs my arm. Being short doesn't stop him from being strong.
"Just take it, boy!" He shoves a small money pouch into my chest so hard it actually hurts. "I spent months saving this!"
"That's exactly why I won't take it, man!" I protest, trying to free my arm. "This is what? Six weeks' pay?"
"It is!"
"Damn…"
"Watch your mouth!" says a woman's voice from inside the house. That's Cassia.
Cassia, Nicolas's wife—the one who keeps begging me to take 1,200 units—shows up at the door wearing her usual ragged apron, a cloth tied around her gray hair, and another kitchen towel tossed over her shoulder.
"Can you two stop fighting on my doorstep? What do you think the neighbors are gonna say?"
"The neighbors can go to hell!" Nicolas snaps, spitting the words.
"Nicolas!"
"What? I'm right! I'd love to see if they'd help Kaiki as much as they love gossiping about everyone else's life."
I take advantage of their distraction and shove the money pouch back into Nicolas's hands.
"Guys, I appreciate it, but it's my sister who needs the help—not me. You can give this to her directly."
They glance at each other, and I already sense something's off.
"You can't?"
"We can't go to Sector C, dear," says Cassia.
"And why not?"
"You haven't heard the news?" Nicolas cuts in. "People from E can't go there unless they've got a trade permit. And it's a nightmare to get one of those damn things."
"Don't exaggerate, Nicolas!" She smacks him with the towel, making him flinch. "It only takes like, three days. But still," she turns to me, "your sister's case is urgent. And you're one of the few people—well, that we know of—who can actually get over there. Plus, she's your sister. So just take it already."
She grabs the pouch from her husband a bit roughly and holds it out to me.
"Alright, alright." I take it and tuck it into my backpack. "Thank you. This is really going to help."
They don't know it, but I don't have a trade permit either. Doesn't matter—I don't need some slip of paper to go where I want.
Waving goodbye, I head toward my bike, locked to a crooked pole next to Mr. Nicolas's narrow house.
I check if the battery's still in place. It is—good. It charges while I pedal, and I can either sell the power for coins or use it to light up the house. Both options are solid, though sometimes I have to choose one or the other.
Just as I'm about to leave, Nicolas approaches, looking like a guilty puppy.
"Kaiki..."
I gently pat his shoulder and straddle the bike in a way that makes it clear I'm in a rush—and not in the mood to talk about this again.
"Mr. Nicolas," I say, serious, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You got the chance to live. With your family. You don't owe me anything. You owe my father. And if you want to honor that debt, you need to keep living—for the chance he gave you. Got it?"
He looks down, his shoulders sinking. He seems even smaller now. I try to lighten the mood. I flash a big smile—the biggest and most honest one I can give.
"Relax, man." I squeeze his shoulder. "Life's good. Enjoy it."
I push the bike with one foot and start pedaling toward the bakery before heading to Sector C. On the way, I can't help but feel a little worried about Mr. Nicolas. I'm pretty sure I saw tears welling up in his eyes. Did I say something wrong?
I coast downhill and stop in front of a bakery. The owner's a top-notch cook. I buy my lunch here.
I have to rearrange my backpack to fit everything, but there's no way I'm leaving behind my metal bat. I strap it to the side of the bag, tight.
Once I'm back on the bike, I pedal toward C. I don't take the main road—no trade permit. I'd definitely get stopped at the crossing. Or maybe not... but I'd rather not risk it. I'll take a shortcut.
I turn a corner and enter a cracked, pothole-filled street. It narrows the farther I go. Eventually, I squeeze into an alley barely wide enough for my bike—but I'm skilled enough to make it work.
I pass by piles of trash, scruffy mustached men drinking black water dripping from pipes, and a few people sleeping on the ground. Hard to tell if they're drunk or if they live here. I'd bet on the second option.
Up ahead, the path splits—left or right. But—wait, what's that?
"Shit!" I duck just in time, narrowly avoiding a kite string that could've sliced my head clean off—or at least knocked me off the bike. I glance back and shout, "Who the hell left that crap hanging—?"
I turn forward too late. A group of six kids blocks the alley, all aiming slingshots at me. I don't even want to know what they're using for ammo. I leap off the bike and shove it into a pile of trash bags—better scratched than shattered. I need that bike for work.
The kids miss their shots. Beginners. That gives me time to grab my metal bat and charge. A few of them shoot again. I cover my face with the bat, and one projectile almost takes out my eye.
As I get close, most of them bolt. Oh no, not this time. I grab the collar of the slowest one—a girl. She's wearing what might be her only shirt. I hesitate. Damn, now I feel bad.
"Get back here!" I yell, pointing the bat at her face. "If any of you try something, I'll bust her nose in!"
They freeze for a moment. Then one kid steps forward, nervous as hell. Blonde hair, filthy clothes, one eye badly scarred. Makes me wonder what kind of person did that to him.
I scan the group. They're all dirty and beat up. Definitely not from around here—no thief hits their own turf. Sector F, for sure.
"Kid," I say, dead serious, pressing the bat against the girl's forehead, "you better throw that thing away."
His eyebrows shoot up. He sighs, reaches behind his back, and tosses a knife to the ground. Then he stands there, waiting for orders.
"What's your name?" I ask. He hesitates. "C'mon, kid, don't test my patience…"
"P-Pirate," he mutters, annoyed.
"That what you let your friends call you? Pirate?" I lower the bat slightly. "And what are you doing with them? Why aren't you home?"
"I don't have a home!" the kid snaps.
"Don't raise your voice at me!" I yell, pointing the bat at him while pulling the girl closer. Hope I didn't hurt her. She's being awfully quiet. Too quiet for my taste. "And who's this? What's she doing with you?"
"L-Leave her alone!"
"Answer me! What did you want from me? How'd you know I'd be in this alley?"
"We didn't! We were just gonna jump the first idiot that came by!"
"Liar!" I slam the bat into the ground, cracking the concrete. The girl's eyes go wide. "Tell me who sent you, kid! Or I swear I'll smash this—"
"We don't work for anyone… it's true! I swear!"
The girl stays totally silent. Still too quiet.
"Hmph." I let go of her. "Then get out of here." She runs off toward the group, a little too cheerful. Ah. I get it. I point the bat at Pirate.
"And you, kid! What's in that thick skull of yours, robbing people in this alley? You think anyone comes through here without packing heat?"
He stays silent. Doesn't move.
I turn to the rest of the kids, now huddled against the wall, staring at me and their friend. Well, whatever.
"Here." I pull off my backpack and hand him everything I bought from the bakery. His one good eye goes wide in disbelief. "That should last a few days. And stop stealing! Come back if you need more food, I'll get it for you. But if I hear you're still robbing people…"
He looks at me with suspicion, eyes the bread and cakes, then glances back up.
"No, it's not poisoned." I crack a small smile.
He gathers everything and takes it to the others. They cheer softly, then begin to walk away.
"Hey!" I call out. They stop and turn. I approach, reaching out toward the girl I'd grabbed earlier. "C'mon. Give it back."
She frowns, disappointed, and pulls out the money pouch Nicolas gave me from her waistband.
"Almost got me," I say. "But someone staying that quiet while being threatened? Yeah… not normal."
I check the pouch. Not full of rocks. Good—she doesn't know that trick yet. Hopefully she never will.
I wave them off and watch as they disappear into the distance, chatting in those high-pitched kid voices.
Only then do I go back to my bike—and find it untouched. Lucky me. I almost forgot about you. Just more proof they were amateurs. If this had been Sector F, my bike would be long gone.
I hop back on and keep riding toward C, thinking to myself:
Now what? What was I supposed to do again?
"Well... I guess all that's left is…"
ONE HOUR BEFORE THE EXPLOSION