The wind, like a dreadful scavenger, persistently tugged at the torn clothes of a pale young child. His dark hair, streaked with silver, ruffled and danced in the soft violence of the night's chill.
His body was bathed in the flickering neon green glow of a damaged shop sign.
The cloth shop—whose roof he currently stood on—had been looted, just like many other businesses in these parts.
It was foolish to pursue any kind of honest trade in a slum like this.
Here, honesty gets you robbed and killed.
'Robbing and killing—now that's profitable work,' he thought.
The boy turned and looked into the distance, where skyscrapers rose toward the foggy sky.
These structures were a consistent black, interrupted only by the stale neon that seemed glued to everything.
It was vastly different from the crumbling buildings and gutters that surrounded him. That was the better part of Namek City. If a business was going to survive, it would be there—uptown. After all, that place was for the richer, the less hungry, and the less desperate.
But in truth, even the ones in those buildings in the clouds were only slightly wealthier peasants—peasants nonetheless. As long as they were citizens of this type-F world, they could never be more than human filth.
And today, this particular human filth had a plan to make some money.
Crouching down on the roof, the pale child began to hear the struggle and screams of a girl.
The sound of footsteps, and the repeated bark of "Shut up, bitch," echoed closer and closer. He knew it would soon be time to act.
A puddle splashed from the alleyway below. He crept closer to the edge of the roof and watched.
The height offered a sense of safety from the madness beneath, but what point was being safe if he just died of hunger?
The boy's bright grey eyes fell upon the source of the noise—his target.
Three men were gripping tightly onto a young girl about his age, forcing her through the street. It was a clear kidnapping, and he was most definitely not the first to see it. But in the slums of Namek, minding one's business was an important trait needed for survival—and most had it.
However, today, the dark-haired boy would act differently. After all, this wasn't just a simple kidnapping. That was rare. Ransoms were never paid. The only reason they could have for taking the girl… was because she was a Chosen.
A rare type of human—one picked by the gods to fight against the constant onslaught of demons.
There was a long list of reasons why the world was as broken as it was, but most would say the nightmare began after the Rapture, a thousand years ago. The words of scripture had manifested, and the gates of hell swung open. From them, demons began to flood the Earth.
At first, humans had no choice but to die—horribly. Families watched their loved ones get slaughtered by all types of beasts, only for their souls to be dragged into hell with them. It was an inescapable nightmare.
All anyone could do was scramble to shelters, only to prolong an inevitable end. The guns and weapons of that age proved utterly useless against the satanic beasts.
However, just when all of society seemed to have crumbled and died, a spark of hope lit the darkness—a show of pity from the celestials above.
A small number of humans were bestowed abilities by the gods—gifts that let them not just survive, but push back the demonic tide. From there, humanity picked up the shattered pieces of civilization and has struggled to rebuild ever since.
Normally, thugs like these would be no match for a Chosen. But the girl was completely ignorant of her capabilities.
The pale boy clenched his fist as he watched them turn into another alleyway. He was pissed that these men could take advantage of someone so much more than them—simply because she was naïve.
"What a pity," the boy muttered as he pulled out a pocket knife.
With steps swift but silent, he ran to the other side of the roof, making sure he stood directly above the group.
Then, with a leap, he dove off the one-story building, his knife gripped tightly in hand as it cut through the air. With a sickening crack, the blade of reinforced steel found purchase in the skull of one of the thugs.
Wiggling the knife free, the boy tumbled away, creating distance. The thugs were still processing what had happened as their companion collapsed, brain leaking onto the alley floor.
They stared at the corpse, then looked toward the pale boy. His body was frail with hunger, his clothes torn and tattered. He looked like an average kid from the slums—except this one fell from the sky and killed their man in one blow.
"Are you lost, kid?" one of the thugs muttered, fear creeping into his tone.
"Listen," the boy said. "You can leave the girl and walk away… or stay and die. I'm fine with either."
His voice didn't match his form—he spoke like no child.
The men exchanged glances. Looking at his frail body seemed to boost their confidence.
"Listen, boy, you'll get killed playing stupid games here," the man barked.
The boy sighed. He rubbed his forehead, then glanced back at the thug and tossed his knife with blinding speed.
With inhuman accuracy, the blade sank into the thug's throat.
Crimson slithered down his mouth. His hands clutched his face in confusion as he choked on his own blood, then dropped.
The last thug looked at the bodies of his companions—then turned and ran.
'Seems they're not very strong against a Chosen with even a bit of skill,' the boy thought.
He turned to the girl. Her hair was roughed up, hanging over her tear-filled eyes. She looked at him, then slowly managed to stand and approach.
With a bow, she said, "Thank you. You're my hero."
She raised her head and locked eyes with the boy, who offered her a warm smile.
"When I crawled out of the filthy hole I call home this morning… do you know what I was feeling?" he asked.
She blinked, then smiled faintly. "Heroic?"
He let out a dry chuckle.
"No... Hungry."
He slammed his hand into the side of her neck. She dropped unconscious.
"You should've run the moment you had the chance. Why do people keep forgetting where they are?" he muttered bitterly, hoisting the girl over his shoulder.
---
The fog was so dense, the boy couldn't tell if it was night or day. Not that it mattered—but every now and then, it helped for reality to not feel so bleak.
Still carrying the unconscious girl, he stepped into the NPF outpost. He usually avoided places like this—but they insisted it was the only way to deliver their goods.
The Namek Police Force R31 unit was assigned here. As far as preventing crime went, they were as useless as possible—massive contributors to it, even.
The police were like any other gang in Namek, and to this frail boy, they were the only ones he knew who bought Chosens.
Few people traded in naive Chosens; in a world like this, a decade could go by without ever seeing one. But he had learned the NPF had connections who paid well for them. And he was here to collect.
Inside the small building, he laid the girl on a nearby chair.
"Here's the Chosen, like we discussed."
A man in a dark uniform stepped forward. He checked the back of the girl's neck—there, the star symbol confirmed her status.
"Good job. I didn't think you'd pull it off, kid."
"Great. Just pay me—I'm in a rush."
The man chuckled dryly. "Of course. But… Kasugu's men are no joke. I'm curious—how'd you get her off their hands?"
The boy clenched his fists. He'd been so focused on getting paid, he forgot the kind of people he was dealing with.
"Why does that matter?" he shot back.
"It doesn't?" The officer raised a brow. "Come to think of it… why is the back of your neck so sharply covered?"
'Shit.'
The boy's eyes darted to the exit—but the doors had already closed, manned by guards with advanced weaponry.
"Don't think of escaping. Did you forget where you are?" the officer grinned.
The boy let out a small laugh—those were *his* words, moments ago.
He pulled off his scarf, revealing the Chosen mark. It lit up. The concrete beneath him began to crack.
"It's fine… let's all die here then," he said, gripping his pocket knife.
But before he could move, a beam pierced his chest. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor.
Unlike the thugs he'd killed, these ones were armed.
"Are you crazy? Why'd you kill him? He could've made us a fortune!" one officer shouted.
"This one's skilled. If we let him live, he might end our lives," another replied.
The voices grew distant. The boy's vision blurred, and a bitter cold spread through him.
"Go dump his corpse on the street," an officer ordered.
'I was… too reckless,' the boy thought as darkness consumed him.