The wind howled through the skeletal ruins of Sector 7, rattling loose wires and forgotten memories. Towering above the fractured cityscape, a lone boy sat on the edge of a crumbling overpass, legs dangling dangerously over the void. Below him, shattered buildings lay like corpses of a bygone era—rusted steel bones and moss-covered stone.
Kael Vire stared into the horizon, where the orange sun bled through gray smog like a dying ember. His eyes were sharp—too sharp for someone his age. They weren't the eyes of a dreamer, or even a survivor. They were the eyes of someone who had already accepted that the world was broken.
Sixteen years. That was how long he'd lived in Sector 7's orphanage—if the rusting birth record they found with him was to be believed. He had no memories before the age of six. No parents. No home. Just a name, a room, and the weight of questions no one could answer.
He clenched his fists absently. The skin was scarred, the knuckles calloused. His body was lean and strong, honed from years of defending himself in back alleys and illegal sparring rings. He didn't know how or why, but fighting came naturally to him—like breathing.
Still, no matter how strong he was, he remained an Unranked.
Down in the streets, he heard shouts—another scuffle between enforcers and looters. Sector 7 had no real law anymore, just UGA drones and roving gangs pretending to enforce order. He turned his head as a thud echoed up to him: another gang fight. It barely caught his interest anymore.
"Kael!"
The voice came from behind him, shrill and scolding.
He turned slightly as a wiry girl clambered up the broken stairs toward him. She wore a patched gray tunic and a satchel slung across one shoulder.
"Mae's been looking for you," she panted. "Dinner's ready."
"I wasn't hungry," Kael said without moving.
"You never are."
She stood beside him, arms crossed. Her name was Sil, one of the younger orphans. She was twelve, scrappy, and annoyingly persistent.
"You're gonna fall off one day, sitting up here," she muttered.
"Maybe," Kael replied.
Sil huffed. "You're weird, you know that?"
He didn't answer.
After a long silence, Sil sat down beside him, legs swinging. They both watched as a column of smoke rose from somewhere far off.
"I heard the recruiters are coming next week," she said suddenly. "From Regis."
Kael stiffened. Regis Institute. The most prestigious military school on Earth. It was where ranked ability users were trained and molded into weapons for the United Global Authority. Every seventeen-year-old had to attend some branch of the Institute—but only the elite were selected for the main campus.
"They're not here for me," Kael said flatly.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Sil glanced sideways. "Because of the ranking?"
Kael nodded. "Unranked. That's all they see. That's all anyone sees."
"But you're stronger than half the enforcers," she said. "And faster than that plasma-arm guy. You beat him, remember?"
"Doesn't matter. No rank, no future."
The silence settled in again like a heavy fog.
Finally, Sil stood up and dusted off her pants. "Mae said if you don't show up for dinner, she's making you do morning chores all week."
Kael smirked faintly. "Guess I'd better eat, then."
He rose in one smooth motion and followed her back down the cracked staircase, leaving behind the ghost of a world long gone.
Hidden in the distance, behind a satellite dish covered in ivy, a figure crouched with a digital scope. His visor flashed blue as it scanned Kael's retreating form.
Target confirmed: Anomaly detected. No ability signature. Yet physicals exceed standard baseline. Potential candidate for Project V.
He tapped his comm.
"This is Watchpoint Echo. Initiating report on Subject Vire."
Then, without a sound, he vanished into the smoke.