In Neon City, the rain never stopped.
It hissed against the steel towers, ran down neon splashed billboards, and drummed against the cracked pavement in a rhythm that seemed eternal. The rain soaked everything alleys, rooftops, clothes, and bones.until it felt less like weather and more like a curse.
For Jack West, the rain was life itself: endless, cold, suffocating.
From the night his parents died, it never let him breathe.
Jack was seven when his world burned.
His father had promised him a trip to the turbine district, to see the colossal machines that powered the city's glowing skyline. Jack remembered the warmth of his father's hand around his own, the way the man spoke of invention and sacrifice with eyes that burned brighter than any neon light.
"You'll see, Jack," his father had said with a grin. "All this brilliance this city of light it isn't magic. It's work. It's blood. It's the dream of people who refused to stay small. And one day, maybe you'll build something even greater."
His mother had been there too, walking close beside them. Her laughter carried even through the storm, her hand brushing the wet hair from Jack's face with that tender touch he would never forget. She was warmth. She was safety.
And then came the explosion.
A blast split the night, tearing through rain and steel. Fire roared from the turbines, blooming against the skyline. The ground shook; the air screamed.
Jack remembered his father's shove, the desperate order to run. He remembered clawing at his mother's arms, begging her not to let go as fire consumed everything. Then came the second blast debris flying like blades, heat swallowing breath, smoke choking vision.
When it cleared, his father was gone, lost to flame and ruin. His mother shielded him with her body until the fire stole even her breath.
Jack's screams broke into the storm, but the rain only washed her blood into the gutter.
By dawn, black suited officials zipped their bodies into bags and loaded them into a van. No ceremony. No comfort. Just efficiency.
Seven years old. Alone. Watching the only light in his world vanish into the endless rain.
That was the day Jack learned the truth.
Life was hell.
The orphanage didn't save him. It broke him.
The building stank of mildew and hopelessness, overcrowded with kids who had lost too much and caretakers who didn't care enough. Jack was small, frail, and hollow-eyed,a perfect target.
"Trash."
That was his name now.
Every day they called him that. They shoved him in the mud, stole the little food he had, tore the few books he clung to. Fists struck him until his ribs ached, boots ground his face into the wet pavement.
Even the adults mocked him. One caretaker, drunk on cheap liquor, once sneered, "If you'd burned with your parents, boy, the world would've been better off."
Jack stopped fighting back. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't. His body was weak. His spirit, weaker.
At night, lying in a bunk that reeked of mold, he whispered his parents' names, clung to the memory of their warmth. And always, always, the rain tapped against the glass, steady and cruel, reminding him that he was still here. Still suffering.
Every day was a repetition of pain. Every night, he made himself a promise. Endure. Survive. One day, prove them wrong.
But deep down, he knew hell wasn't something you escaped. It was something that consumed you.
By sixteen, Jack had stopped dreaming.
He worked odd jobs to scrape together credits, delivering packages, scrubbing stalls, anything that kept him alive. The rain never left him it soaked his clothes, chilled his bones, and followed him like a curse.
And then came her.
She was warmth in the storm. A smile in the endless gray. She laughed at his awkward jokes, held his hand when he felt invisible. For the first time since his parents' death, Jack thought maybe just maybe he wasn't destined to drown in misery.
He saved every spare credit for months, skipping meals, grinding his body raw, just to buy her a necklace. It wasn't expensive, but it sparkled under the neon glow, and in his mind, it was proof: proof that he could give her something beautiful, something lasting.
That dream shattered in an instant.
The rain was coming down hard the night he walked to her apartment, gift box clenched tight in his hand. His heart hammered with nerves, but also hope. For once, he wanted to believe life wasn't all cruelty.
He pushed the door open.
And froze.
She was there. In Marcus's arms.
Marcus,the boy who had tormented him for years. Marcus, whose fists had painted Jack's skin in bruises, who had laughed every time Jack bled.
Now he held her, lips on hers, their laughter cutting through the rain.
The box slipped from Jack's hand. The necklace shattered against the floor.
She didn't look ashamed. She didn't even flinch. She just gave him a cold, almost disgusted look.
"Jack," she said flatly, "you'll always be a loser. Marcus is a real man. You? You're nothing but trash."
Marcus smirked, his arm tightening around her. "Even she knows it now, West. You were born a failure. You'll die one."
Their laughter followed Jack back into the storm.
Hours later, he sat on the orphanage steps, drenched, fists bloodied from pounding the concrete until his skin split.
The broken necklace dug into his thigh through his pocket, cutting deep with every shift. Each stab was a reminder of everything he had lost or maybe everything he never truly had.
His parents. His dignity. His chance at love. His will to keep going.
Hell had taken it all.
And for the first time, Jack considered giving up completely.
The road stretched before him, wet and shining with reflected neon. Hovercars raced past, leaving trails of light. One step forward, and it would all end. The rain. The laughter. The humiliation.
Trash would finally disappear.
Jack stood, swaying. His body was light, almost numb. His eyes locked on the blur of headlights. One step. Just one.
Then,
A voice cracked through the storm.
Cold. Mechanical. Mocking.
[System Initialization Complete.]
Target: Jack West.]
Status: Orphan. Beaten. Humiliated. Betrayed. Failure of society.]
Assessment: Trash.]
Jack froze. His breath caught.
"…What…?"
The voice pulsed again, cutting through the rain like thunder.
[Do you wish to remain trash?]
Y/N]
He spun, searching the street. No one. Nothing but rain and neon.
His hands clutched his head. "I've finally lost it. I've gone insane."
Then came the words glowing, impossible, right in front of his eyes.
[First Task Generated.]
Task: Stand.]
Reward: Power.]
Jack let out a bitter laugh. "Stand? I've been standing my whole damn life. And it's never gotten me anywhere."
But his body moved anyway. His legs straightened. His spine lifted. He stood.
The voice purred with satisfaction.
[Task Complete.]
Reward Unlocked: Teleportation.]
The world folded. The rain bent like glass.
And suddenly, Jack wasn't where he had been. He was across the street, staring back at the orphanage steps where he'd stood seconds ago.
His breath tore from him in ragged bursts. "I… I moved?"
The neon glared brighter. The storm hissed sharper. For the first time, the rain didn't feel suffocating. It felt alive.
The voice spoke once more, cold and final.
[Congratulations, Jack West.]
For the first time in your life, you are no longer trash.]
From this night forward, your hell becomes their nightmare.]
Jack trembled in the storm. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smile.
Hell had forged him.
Now, he would burn it down.He would take revenge on those that had wronged him and crush his enemies.