Campus orientation is a scam.
It starts in the cafeteria, which is not a cafeteria but a sunless atrium the size of a football field, its glass roof smeared with energy shields instead of pigeon shit. Rollo stands with his new squad—meaning the only three people in the entire place whose social credit scores are lower than his—and watches the morning "welcoming address" scroll by on a floating hex display. The text flickers: Welcome, Initiates! Level Up Your Potential! In the crowd below, a hundred teenagers jostle for position. Some stand on the light-up floor tiles, flexing for drone cameras. Others push closer to the holographic food stations, faces hungry and feral.
Above it all, Rollo's Power Level: 1 hovers over his chest like a digital herpes sore.
He isn't the only one. There are other "ones"—the remedials, the weak, the scholarship cases—clustered on the perimeter, pretending not to look up at their own humiliation. The higher levels, double digits and up, strut down the center aisle in their custom jackets and expensive haircuts. Rollo clocks them all: the tall one with the gold grill and rippling tattoos; the girl with blue skin and a smile like a shark; the triplets who wear their numbers in neon pink, synchronized steps like a marketing campaign.
Nobody talks to him. Except for laughs.
Kami's voice cuts in, acid and sugar. "I told you, kid. Power Level One is the new black. Hides blood stains better."
Rollo grins, just barely. He can feel the eyes on him—half hate, half curiosity, all malice. He tugs his hoodie higher, hiding the new lines of his face, the mohawk that's gone more frost than black overnight. The necklace thrums at his throat, the red slit in the obsidian gem pulsing like a kill switch. He scratches at it, but the thing's fused to his skin. The pain keeps him awake.
The orientation leader takes the stage: an actual cyborg, with gold-plated arms and a face rebuilt so many times it barely looks real. He says words about unity, achievement, and "the legacy of this institution." Rollo lets the words slide over him, cataloging escape routes, security weaknesses, the five places in the room where someone could stash a shiv or bomb. It's an old habit. Never trust the script.
After the speech, squads are called up one at a time. Rollo's is dead last.
"Squad Seven-Delta," says the cyborg, voice bouncing off the walls. "Support class."
A few scattered snickers.
"Report to corridor thirteen for placement."
The squad moves as a clump. First up is a girl whose arms are wrapped in actual, living vines—thick, trembling cords that squeeze her wrists and fingers like they're afraid she'll fall apart. Her eyes flicker green, and she doesn't meet Rollo's gaze. He's seen her type in every home and halfway house: shy, twitchy, never fights back.
The next is a redhead who never stops moving. She's not a redhead, technically, but every strand of hair is a different cartoon color—hot pink, lemon, toxic blue—like she fell through a candy store on her way here. She bounces on her heels, mouth open and shut a dozen times before a word gets out. She smells like cotton candy and raw panic.
Then there's Ember.
He knows her from the dossier he was forced to read on the bus: "Holloway, Ember. 5'6". Tier One: Heat Kinetics. Expelled from two prep academies. Disciplinary record: sealed." What the file doesn't say is how she walks—like every step is a dare to the floor not to burn away under her feet. Her skin is pale, but her eyes are even paler, pupils gold-flecked and sharp as laser sights. Black hair with a matte oil-slick finish, streaked rainbow at the undercut. Twin katanas on her back, because fuck subtlety. Her badge says Power Level: 1, but nobody believes it.
She looks at Rollo with a surgeon's interest.
"You don't look like a support class," Ember says.
"You don't look like a follower," he answers.
She smirks and walks past him, slow, like she's already seen his stat sheet. The katanas cross and uncross as she moves, the scabbards taped with warning labels in three languages.
Kami's voice snickers in his head. "If she doesn't ride you by chapter ten, I'll eat my own code."
Rollo ignores it. Sort of.
Corridor thirteen is worse than the dorms—nothing but cold steel, energy doors, and glass cubes that serve as classrooms. There's a haze of recycled air and ozone that makes every breath sting. Their squad is herded by a TA in a ratty tracksuit and a plastic face shield. He hands them badges, assigns lockers, and points them at a map projection with all the caring of a minimum-wage drone.
They stand in awkward silence, four strangers in a fish tank. The plant girl (Miri, according to her badge) keeps twisting her vines tighter, fingers going red. The color-hair girl (Daisy) hums under her breath, then stops when Ember shoots her a glare.
Ember scans the room, unimpressed. "What's your ability, Hartmann?"
He wants to say "none of your business," but the system wants what the system wants. "Shadow stuff. Defensive. Might be broken." He looks down at his hands, flexes. The tattoos under his skin ripple in time with the necklace. "Haven't figured it out yet."
Miri finally looks up. "Is it… dangerous?"
"Only if you try to jump me in my sleep," Rollo says, deadpan.
Daisy giggles, then instantly regrets it.
Ember looks him up and down, the way a pitbull sizes up a new cage mate. "Can you hide a whole person?"
"I've never tried."
She shrugs. "We'll find out."
The PA system cracks. "All support squads report to gymnasium delta for exercise assessment."
Daisy squeals. "Ohmigod, we get to see the flying platforms!"
Ember says nothing. Miri wilts.
They walk in formation. Rollo follows, hands in his pockets, eyes up. He feels the stares from every other group—high-level kids, the elites, even the teachers. They all know who he is, or think they do. The orphan. The abduction case. The kid who woke up with a Level One badge and a custom obsidian collar.
He can't blame them for being curious. He'd want to see the freak too.
The gym is an insult to all other gyms. There are no weights, no racks, no sweaty mats or rusting pull-up bars. Instead: floating obstacle courses, glowing energy rings, and a suspended track where gravity barely works. The place is alive with students—some flying, some phasing, a few sparring with enough force to leave scorch marks on the walls. Rollo wants to hate it, but it's the first time he's felt even a little excited since waking up here.
Their squad is herded onto a platform, which levitates up to the second level. A proctor in mirrored shades reads off a tablet.
"Seven-Delta: Miri, Daisy, Ember, Rollo. You will attempt three courses. Failure results in deduction of privileges. Complaints will be ignored. Begin."
The platform jolts forward. Daisy nearly eats it, but Rollo grabs her by the hoodie and pulls her back.
The first course is a sprint down a zero-g hallway, with random gravity reversals. Miri stumbles immediately, but the vines on her arms shoot out and grab a handrail, yanking her upright. Daisy flutters along, her back suddenly sprouting two wings made of live butterflies. She's screaming the whole time, but it works.
Rollo keeps pace with Ember. She's faster than she looks, the rainbow hair streaming out like a corona. At the midpoint, the gravity flips, and they're thrown onto the ceiling. Ember sticks the landing, rolls, and comes up smiling.
He tries to copy her, but his shoes have no grip. He starts to slide, then something in his chest flares. The world gets blurry, and a shadow of himself lags behind, grabs his real body by the collar, and throws him back to the floor.
He lands hard, gasping. The shadow melts into his skin.
Ember whistles. "That's new."
Kami's voice is back, smug. "You just invented the Hartmann Shadow Doppel. Patent pending."
The next course is a team obstacle: the four of them have to climb a rotating wall while defending against "aggression units"—floating drones that shoot rubber darts at anything that moves. The wall is covered in slick, oozing moss, probably Miri's fault. She mutters something and the vines on her hands grow, wrapping the team together in a loose net. They move as one, awkwardly, but it works.
Daisy's butterflies swarm the drones, confusing their aim. Ember kicks off the wall, flips midair, and slices a drone in half with her bare hand. The two halves spark, then explode in confetti.
Rollo keeps his head down and moves the group upward, using the shadow trick to boost their jumps. Every time a drone gets close, he shifts—just a split second—and the darts pass through him.
By the time they reach the top, the proctor looks almost impressed.
Final course: combat. "Last test," says the proctor, voice flat. "Protect your squad. You have sixty seconds."
The field drops away, and suddenly they're in a pit with three upperclassmen, all grinning like they've just drawn the easiest assignment ever. The biggest one cracks his neck, flexes Power Level: 9 above his head.
Miri freezes. Daisy is on the verge of tears. Ember, of course, is smiling.
Rollo steps forward.
The first upperclassman moves fast, a blur of fists and elbows. Rollo meets him head-on, lets the hit land, then slides out of his own skin. The punch passes through a shadow, and Rollo is behind the guy in a blink. He grabs his collar, yanks, and slams his face into the mat.
Second attacker is a girl with spines for hair. She launches a flurry of needle-sharp projectiles at Miri, who panics, shrieks, and accidentally wraps herself and Daisy in a cocoon of vines. Rollo lunges between the projectiles, catches a few in his arms (they hurt, but nothing like juvie), and throws his own shadow at the girl's face. It sticks there, blinding her, and she goes down cursing.
Third upperclassman doesn't even bother with the others. He goes for Ember.
Big mistake.
She meets him with both blades out, not slashing but using the flat to parry and shove. He swings a glowing baton, but Ember ducks under and lands a punch right to his kidney. Rollo doesn't know if she has powers, or just knows how to hurt people.
Probably both.
In the chaos, Daisy emerges from her cocoon, eyes wild. The butterflies swarm the pit, blinding everyone. Miri, peeking out, hurls a handful of vines at the first guy's ankles, tripping him again.
Rollo finishes the job. He flickers behind the first attacker, puts him in a choke, and rides him to the ground. The system in his head pops up:
[Kami Sync: 13%]
[Shadow Affinity: 13]
[Rizz: 9]
[Unlocked: Trait—Shadow Flicker]
He doesn't have time to celebrate. The final upperclassman, still fighting Ember, finally gets the drop. He pins her to the wall, forearm at her throat.
Rollo moves, faster than he's ever moved. The world goes black and white. His shadow bursts out, wraps around the attacker's leg, and yanks him off balance. Ember slips out, spins, and knees the guy in the nuts. He drops, whimpering.
The PA blares: "Time. Seven-Delta: Pass."
The crowd is silent, then a few in the stands actually clap.
Ember stands over the moaning upperclassman, wipes her knuckles on his shirt, and gives Rollo a look. "Nice trick," she says, breathing hard. "Bet you can do more."
He shrugs. "Maybe."
She spits out a blood thread, then walks away.
Kami's voice is thick with pride. "Look at you, little protector. I'm so fucking proud I could… well, you know."
Rollo glances at his hands, the tattoos glowing faintly. For the first time, he doesn't hate them.
After the test, the team is released for lunch. Miri is still shaking, Daisy won't shut up about "the butterflies," and Ember ignores everyone.
Rollo's about to leave when he hears it—a whimper from the hallway. He rounds the corner, finds Miri backed into a wall by two of the upperclassmen from the pit. The big one has her by the throat. The other is cutting at her vines with a folding knife.
"Heard your magic works better if you're scared," says the big one. "Let's test that."
Rollo steps in, quiet.
The big one turns. "What, you want some, freak?"
Rollo doesn't answer. He just walks forward.
The upperclassman sneers, then swings. Rollo catches the punch midair. For a second, nothing happens. Then the tattoos on his arm glow blue-black, and a web of shadow explodes from his knuckles, latching onto the guy's wrist, elbow, and neck. The upperclassman tries to scream, but the shadow crawls into his mouth, silencing him.
The knife-wielder drops the blade and bolts.
Rollo lets the shadow go. The big one falls, gasping.
Miri slides to the ground, clutching her own neck.
"You didn't have to—" she starts.
"I wanted to," Rollo says, jaw tight. "I've seen this shit before."
He helps her up. The vines relax, just a little.
The system in his head blares again:
[Kami Sync: 15%]
[Loyalty: 4]
[Trait: Shadow Flicker—Reflexive burst of shadow energy activates when defending a bonded target.]
His amulet flickers. For a second, it shows "???" instead of "1." Then it resets.
"Oops," Kami whispers. "Your real level's peeking through."
From down the hall, Ember is watching. She's chewing gum, arms folded, eyes locked on Rollo like she's running a million calculations. When he looks back, she doesn't flinch.
She smiles, just a little.
And Rollo knows that whatever this place wants from him, he's ready to give back double.