Ryan Hayes sat on the hard plastic chair in the school infirmary, staring at the white wall while the physician dabbed antiseptic on the cut above his eyebrow. The sting was familiar, like an old friend who never left. This was the fifth time this week he'd ended up here. The doctor didn't ask how it happened. He never did.
Riverside High was full of kids from rich families... kids who drove sports cars to school and whose parents donated enough money to keep questions from being asked.
The physician finished taping the gauze and stepped back. "You're done. Try not to come back tomorrow."
Ryan nodded without looking up. "Thanks."
He slid off the chair, wincing as his ribs protested. His school bag lay in the corner like trash. His zipper had been ripped open, and the fabric was sliced with blades. His books were worse: pages were torn out, and the covers were crumpled. This was the third set ruined this semester.
He needed new ones. Exams were only a month away. But telling his father would just earn him a lecture about being "careless" and "ungrateful." His mother couldn't afford them either. She barely had money for food on some days.
Ryan picked up the bag carefully, avoiding the sharp edges. He looked at the ruined math textbook and muttered under his breath, "I guess I just have to manage. One more month."
He pushed his broken glasses up his nose... the left lens cracked in a spiderweb pattern... and walked out. The school halls were empty. The closing hour had passed thirty minutes ago. The janitors were already locking doors.
Outside, the evening air felt cold against his bruises. He adjusted his bag on one shoulder and started the long walk home. Every step hurt, but he kept his head down and moved.
When he reached the tall iron gates of the Hayes mansion, the lights were already on in the main house. He slipped through the side entrance, the one the staff used, so he wouldn't track dirt through the front hall.
He barely made it past the kitchen when a black designer purse flew at his head.
It hit his shoulder hard. The metal clasp cut into his arm.
"You're late again!" Elena Hayes stood in the doorway, arms crossed, lips tight with anger. Her blonde hair was perfect, makeup flawless even at home. "Let me guess, you were out drinking with your lowlife friends at some bar? Is that the reason you're coming home smelling like smoke and failure?"
Ryan flinched but kept his voice low. "I wasn't at a bar. I was at school."
Elena laughed, sharp and mean. "Don't lie to me, boy. Lila saw you."
Lila Hayes, his stepsister, leaned against the wall behind her mother, with her phone in hand, smirking. She was in her cheer uniform, hair in a high ponytail.
"Yeah, Mom. I saw him outside that sketchy place downtown. He was busy hanging out with a bunch of guys covered in tattoos. That's probably why he looks like that." She pointed at his bandaged face. "He got what he deserved."
Ryan's stomach twisted. "That's not true. I was beaten up at school. In the old building. Lila was there,"
Victor Hayes appeared at the top of the stairs, loosening his tie after a long day at the office. He looked down at Ryan like he was looking at a stain on the carpet.
"Beaten up? And what did you do about it? Nothing, right? I can tell you just stood there and took it like always."
Ryan opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Of course, he hadn't fought back. He never did. They were bigger, stronger, and there were more of them. What was the point?
Victor shook his head. "Useless as always. Completely useless." He turned and walked back to his study without another word.
Elena pointed at the purse on the floor. "Pick that up and throw it away. It's touched filth now. I don't want it anymore."
Ryan bent down slowly to pick up the purse as his ribs screamed in pain. He carried it to the trash bin in the kitchen and dropped it in. Then he headed to the small room at the end of the staff wing, his room.
His mother, Clara, was inside folding laundry. She wore an old grey dress that had once been nice but was now thin and patched. Her hands were red from hot water and soap. When she saw him, the basket fell from her arms.
"Ryan!" She rushed over and gently touched his face. Her fingers trembled. "What happened this time?"
"Same as always," he said quietly. "They dragged me to the old building after class. Victor Kane and his friends. Lila was there too. She was the one who made them do it."
Clara's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry I can't protect you. I'm useless. I can't even stand up to them. If I say anything, Victor will throw us both out."
Ryan hugged her carefully. "It's not your fault, Mom. So don't say you're useless."
She wiped her eyes. "You deserve better, Ryan. You do."
He forced a small smile. "I'll be okay. Just need to get through exams and it'll be all over."
Clara nodded, but the worry didn't leave her face. She picked up the laundry basket again and went back to work. Ryan lay on his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling every bruise.
The next morning came too soon.
Ryan woke with pain in every muscle. His face was swollen, the cut on his eyebrow scabbed over. He put on his wrinkled uniform with one sleeve torn, and pushed his broken glasses up again. He ate a piece of bread in the kitchen while the maids pretended not to see him.
At school, he kept his head down and walked toward the main building. He almost made it through. He almost stepped in but... He didn't.
Hands grabbed his arms from behind.
"Not so fast, loser."
Victor Kane and three of his friends dragged him around the side of the school, past the sports fields, to the abandoned east wing. An old building that was sealed off after a fire years ago. The doors were broken open now, used by kids who wanted privacy.
Inside, the air smelled like ash and mould. Lila was already there, leaning against a wall, cigarette between her fingers. She exhaled smoke and smiled.
"Look who it is," she said. "The snitch. You almost exposed us last night, Ryan. Telling Mom you got beaten up in school while I was there? Trying to make me look bad?"
Ryan shook his head fast. "I didn't... I just said—"
"Shut up." Victor cracked his knuckles. "Lila says you need to learn to keep your mouth closed. So we're helping."
They pushed him to the ground. Punches came fast from all directions... stomach, ribs, face. Ryan curled up, arms over his head.
"Please," he gasped. "Stop. I won't say anything."
No one listened.
Lila walked over, crouched, and pressed the burning cigarette butt into the back of his left hand. The pain was hot as he screamed.
No one could hear his voice no matter what.
She laughed and stood up. "That should remind you. Come on, let's go."
The group left, still laughing, boots echoing down the hall.
Ryan lay on the cold floor with blood in his mouth. Even breathing became difficult. His vision blurred. He couldn't move his legs properly. Something felt broken inside.
'This is it,' he thought. 'I'm going to die here.'
His eyes started to close. He could feel darkness pulling him. Maybe it was death.
Then a cold and mechanical voice spoke inside his head.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
[Soul Binding: 87%]
[Detecting Host Soul: Confirmed.]
[Mortality: Confirmed.]
[Critical Damage Detected. Searching for Compatible Vessel...]
[Vessel Found: Ryan Hayes — F-Class.]
[Injecting Core Protocols...]
[Warning: Karma Threshold Reached. Forcing Activation.]
[Forcibly Uploading Consciousness... 5%... 23%... 47%... 89%... 100%.]
Everything around Ryan shifted. The pain didn't disappear, but it felt distant, almost like it belonged to someone else.
He wasn't dead. Not exactly. But he wasn't the same either.
The voice came again, quieter now, almost amused.
[Welcome back, Ryan Hayes.]
[Let's rule this fucking world.]