Starless moved through the dark, narrow tunnel, water dripping from the cracked concrete ceiling. The sewer was familiar—his path, his refuge, the way he returned each night without thought.
The faint hum of the city above faded into muffled echoes. His boots splashed through shallow, grimy water, carrying him toward the edge of the dump.
He stepped out. The air hit him like a wall. Rot. Decay. Metal and mold and something fouling the breath of the night. He coughed, forcing himself forward.
A small shape lay ahead, half-buried in torn cardboard and wet trash. Starless froze.
A child. Lifeless. The body slumped unnaturally, the smell thick and sharp.
He knelt, grimacing, tugging at his stomach to steady himself. He hesitated, then did what needed to be done. Carefully, he slid the body onto a nearby sack, ignoring the gag in his throat.
A faint white line ran along the child's shirt—just a flicker in the dark, almost nothing.
Starless adjusted the body, covering it with scraps of cardboard and mud-stained boxes. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Then he turned. His hands stung. His lungs burned. The smell clung to him.
He walked back into the shadows, the dump swallowing him again.
Starless trudged through the wet piles, the smell of decay clinging to his clothes and hair. His hands were sticky, fingers stiff from the night's labor, but his mind drifted.
A laugh. Soft. High. Somewhere in the memory, warm and bright, untouched by mud or rot.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep it close, to hold the echo. Sweet. Carefree. A moment that felt impossible in this world.
He reached into his coat pocket, brushing his fingers over a small, tattered keepsake—a scrap of paper folded neatly, edges worn. He paused, letting the memory settle, then slid it back.
The tent waited. The thin mat, the damp rags. Starless lowered himself carefully, muscles aching, stomach growling, and let himself sink into it.
Six hours passed unnoticed. The world moved on outside, indifferent, while he slept, deep and heavy, though hunger gnawed at him.
When he stirred, the sky had shifted to evening. Shadows stretched long across the mountains of refuse. He rose slowly, brushing mud from his coat, his shoes sinking into wet ground.
The sewer path called. Familiar. Necessary. He flipped on a small flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness, illuminating walls slick with grime. Water trickled along the concrete, reflecting the weak light like tiny stars.
Halfway through the tunnel, the hum of life above was pierced by a sharp voice.
"Intruder! Wild Zone breach!"
A police officer appeared at the mouth of the sewer, flashlight sweeping across Starless' face. The beam caught his eyes, sharp and alert.
The officer raised a hand, weapon ready, every movement crisp, practiced.
Starless froze. Heart pounding, shadows of the dump pressing close. The world held its breath.
He didn't speak. He simply stared, the glow of his own resolve faint against the harsh light.
Above, the city seemed distant. Around him, the dump was alive with silence, waiting.
The officer's voice cut through, sharp and commanding:
"Step forward! You're trespassing. You're entering restricted territory!"
Starless shifted slightly, hands visible, the flashlight trembling in his grip. Every step, every breath, the moment stretched, cinematic and taut.
The air felt electric. Something more awaited beyond this confrontation—something larger than hunger, larger than the smell, larger than the streets he had known.
The dump, the wild zone, the city above—they were all pieces of a world that would demand more from him. And Starless, silent and steady, was about to walk into it.
Starless froze as the officer's voice cut through the sewer tunnel.
"Kneel. Now," the guard commanded, blue eyes faintly glowing in the dim light.
Starless' chest tightened. His hands shook. His vision narrowed. And then—he turned.
He ran.
The echo of his boots against wet concrete, the slick walls, the dripping water—every step screamed life and death. His heart thundered in his ears. He couldn't breathe fast enough. His legs burned. Fear wrapped him like chains, heavy and suffocating.
Even the guards paused for a moment, watching him disappear into the darkness.
"What… why is he this scared?" one guard muttered under his breath, head tilting, watching the boy stumble.
The other guard smirked, shaking his head. "I've seen kids run before. He's running like… like he thinks death is behind every corner."
A flash of blue from the officer's eyes caught him as he skidded on wet mud. Starless' legs gave out. He fell hard, sliding into a shallow puddle, water mixing with grime.
The guards' laughter rang out, hollow and cruel.
"A measly little rat," one said, amusement curling his lips. "Thought he could escape?"
The other shrugged, eyes still scanning the boy. "Higher-ups are gonna lecture us for this one. They've been watching him too long."
"Yeah," the first guard replied. "CCTV shows him using this location… 244 to 500 times. Every path, every corner memorized. He's persistent… and hopelessly stupid."
A pause. Then the second guard muttered, darkly contemplative, "We could end him here. Like any other child."
The first shook his head. "Too messy. What about sending him to the Wild Zone Central Vinicity? Make him earn his keep—or not survive."
They glanced down at Starless, pale and trembling, but a flicker of… pity, almost, crossed their faces.
Before either could argue, a third figure stepped forward. Sharp suit, one-star badge gleaming on his uniform. Eyes cold. Voice sharper.
"Send him," he said. "No exceptions."
Both guards nodded, saluted briefly. They lifted Starless with ease, the boy unconscious, limp in their arms.
The car waited. Its back doors opened to reveal cages, hundreds of children packed tightly, pale faces staring at the dark, cramped interior.
As the vehicle rumbled to life, the two guards exchanged glances.
"Do you ever wonder why he's so terrified?" one whispered.
The other shook his head, voice low. "No. Not even fear like that… it's more than instinct. It's… survival instinct. Pure, unfiltered. Something tells me he knows what's coming… and he's right to fear it."
The car drove on, swallowing them into the night, the glow of the city above fading as the Wild Zone loomed ahead.
Starless stirred first. Eyes flicking open, hazy and heavy.
He sat up slowly, limbs stiff, and lowered himself into the corner of the cage. The metal bars pressed cold against his back, the smell of the others close and choking.
And then it came—the quiet, unbearable weight of it all.
He let his head drop, shoulders trembling. Soft, ragged sobs slipped out of him, barely audible over the hum of the vehicle.
Around him, the other children shivered in silence. Wide eyes, pale faces, some curling into themselves, hands clutching thin clothes. Fear clung to them like a second skin.
No one spoke. No one dared. Only soft, restrained sobbing echoed between the cages.
Starless pressed his face into his knees, letting the tears fall freely now, carving a path through the grime and exhaustion.
The vehicle rumbled on, carrying them deeper into the Wild Zone, and the cage was filled with quiet despair—soft, shared, inescapable.
Starless lifted his head slightly, letting the tears stain his cheeks. He whispered, voice low and ragged, almost to himself,
"I'm… tired."
His gaze drifted forward through the bars. The city lights, the neon glow he had known, shrank with each passing second, swallowed by the darkness as the truck carried them farther away.
He pressed his forehead against his knees, watching the skyline fade into nothing, leaving only the road ahead—and the wild, merciless unknown.