Chapter 1 - Target Acquired
A new city was supposed to mean a fresh start... but some shadows don't wait for you to settle in.
Ever heard that saying, "New city, new life"?
Yeah, that's a scam.
Name's Noah Reign. Age: 17. Former mercenary, part-time survivor, full-time bad decision maker.
And today, I'm stepping off a crowded station platform into a place I've never been before.
First thing I notice? The smell.
A mix of rain-soaked concrete, street food, and something that definitely died somewhere nearby.
Second thing? People here walk like they've got a target on their back - eyes forward, shoulders hunched. My kind of place.
You might be wondering why a guy like me is here.
Short version: I'm "retired." Long version: Someone in a suit decided I need to "integrate into society." Their words, not mine. Apparently, putting a teenager with a mercenary record in a city full of gangs, awakened freaks, and corrupt cops is great rehabilitation.
The train behind me screeches off, and I'm left standing with one duffel bag - my entire life stuffed inside. The bag's heavier than it looks. Not because of clothes, but because I don't travel anywhere without my tools.
You know... the kind of "tools" that make people reconsider robbing you.
I take my first step into the city, and something inside me clicks.
Not nerves. Not excitement.
It's the same feeling I used to get before a mission - the one that whispers, This place is going to be trouble.
And me?
I've never been good at staying away from trouble.
I keep my head low as I push through the crowd. Not because I'm scared - I've just learned the hard way that staring too long at strangers can get you a knife in the ribs.
The city is alive in that overwhelming way: screeching brakes, half-shouted phone calls, street vendors yelling over each other. It's a lot for most people. For me, it's background noise.
I catch sight of a guy in a suit sprinting across the platform, moving so fast it's like he skips a frame. My brain tells me it's just adrenaline. Must've been late for his train.
But something about the way he moved sticks with me.
Then there's a girl leaning against a vending machine, eyes glowing faintly under her hood. I chalk it up to bad lighting. I've seen stranger in war zones - neon-lit alleys, tracer rounds painting the night sky.
Thing is... I'm not the paranoid type. But my instincts - the ones that kept me alive in jungles, deserts, and cities that don't exist on maps - keep whispering: This place is different.
I grip my duffel tighter and push toward the exit. I've got an address to find, and I'm not here to make friends.
Or enemies.
Yet.
Rain.
Not the peaceful, movie-scene kind - the kind that turns the whole city into a grey, dripping mess. The kind that makes people rush, heads down, pretending they don't see each other.
I was on my way to my new apartment - or whatever "temporary housing" the people handling me thought would keep me out of trouble. Just me, a duffel bag, and a mental list of ways this day could go wrong.
The station smelled like wet metal and too many bodies in too small a space. The train had just dumped another wave of commuters onto the platform. I was moving with the crowd when-
Thud.
Someone bumped into me hard enough to jolt my bag.
I looked down - hood up, shoulders tense, couldn't see her face. The girl muttered something that could've been an apology... or an insult. Couldn't tell over the noise.
Normally I'd let it slide. People bump into you in the city all the time. But old habits die hard. My eyes did a quick sweep - and caught a shape pressing against the inside of her hoodie pocket.
Small rectangle - probably a phone.
Next to it, something metal. Cylindrical at first glance, but the weight distribution in her pocket made me think otherwise. Pepper spray? Maybe. But more likely... a knuckle duster.
That wasn't normal "just-got-off-the-train" equipment.
She moved fast, blending into the crowd like she'd been doing it her whole life.
I tightened my grip on my duffel and kept walking.
I wasn't here to get involved. Not today.
Still... the way she looked over her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs?
It was the kind of look people give when they know someone's about to follow them.
I stepped out of the station and into the rain.
Not a drizzle - a proper downpour, the kind that soaks you through in seconds. My hoodie was already clinging to my neck, and the city's streets gleamed under the flickering streetlights.
I had my mind on the apartment, on getting out of the cold, when a sound cut through the hiss of rain.
Shouting.
Not the casual kind you hear from vendors or couples arguing. This had weight to it - sharp, mocking tones, followed by the dull thump of something hitting flesh.
I slowed. The noise was coming from an alley just ahead.
Old me would've kept walking. New me... was supposed to keep walking. Blend in. Ignore the noise.
But the thing about habits? They're worse than bad tattoos.
I stepped to the alley's mouth and took in the scene.
Four teenagers - older than me by a year or two - had a skinny boy backed against a wall. His clothes were soaked, his arms up in a pathetic shield. One of the bigger guys shoved him hard enough to make his head smack brick.
The leader was talking, voice dripping with confidence. "Hand it over, and maybe we won't break anything important."
I didn't see a weapon, but the way they moved told me they'd done this before.
The smart move? Call it in, keep moving.
Instead, I set my duffel down against the wall, rolled my shoulders, and stepped into the rain-slick alley.
"Here's a thought," I said, my voice steady. "How about you let the kid walk, and I let you keep your teeth?"
Four sets of eyes turned to me. Four of them.
One was built like a fridge, two were wiry but quick, and the leader had that cocky street swagger - the kind that usually comes with a knife in the pocket.
The skinny kid against the wall looked half-conscious. His lip was bleeding, and his hands were trembling.
"Walk away, stranger," the leader said, grinning. "This ain't your business."
"I'm making it my business," I replied.
They laughed - big mistake.
I've seen the same laugh on men in warzones, seconds before they lost teeth
The leader's voice carried over the rain.
"You've got three seconds to walk away."
I didn't move. "Three's too generous."
Fridge Guy stepped up first, all muscle and momentum. He swung a heavy right. I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted sharply, and used his own weight to pull him forward. My shoulder slammed into his chest - the air left him in a gasp - and I swept his leg, sending him down into the puddled concrete with a splash.
The wiry pair tried a pincer move, one charging in front, the other circling behind.
The first came in fast with a jab - I parried it aside, hooked my arm under his, and spun him into his friend. They collided with a grunt, stumbling. I stepped in and delivered two quick open-palm strikes - one to the chest, one to the shoulder - knocking them both backward to the ground.
The leader flicked a folding knife open, lunging forward. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and guided his momentum past me. His feet slipped on the wet ground, and I gave him a light shove to send him into the wall - hard enough to rattle, but not break. The knife dropped, clattering into the water.
Before he could recover, I placed my hand on his shoulder and pushed him back a step.
"Fight's over," I said, calm but firm.
The wiry pair helped Fridge Guy up, all three glaring but keeping their distance.
"Pick up your boss," I added. "And walk."
They didn't argue. In seconds, they were retreating down the alley, muttering under their breath, the rain swallowing their words.
The boy they'd been cornering stayed frozen against the wall, eyes wide.
"You okay?" I asked.
He nodded quickly. "Y-yeah... thanks."
I just nodded back, grabbed my duffel, and stepped into the street.
That's when I noticed her again - across the road, hood up, still as stone.
The same girl from the station.
Watching me.
A bus roared past, and when it cleared... she was gone.
I stepped out of the alley, the rain running down my hood, streetlights casting broken halos in the puddles.
The city was still alive around me - cars splashing past, shop signs flickering, the low hum of voices from somewhere I couldn't see.
But under all that... there it was.
That feeling.
The faint, invisible weight of eyes on my back.
It wasn't paranoia - I'd lived too long in places where hesitation got you killed. Footsteps were there, light and measured, always keeping the same distance no matter how my pace changed.
Whoever it was, they knew how to follow without being noticed.
I didn't turn. Didn't tense.
Didn't even slow down.
A good tail feeds off reaction - a look over the shoulder, a change in step. Give them nothing, and they have to work harder.
So I kept walking, letting the rain mask my breathing, scanning reflections in the darkened shop windows as I passed. Once, I thought I caught the edge of a hood in the glass - but the next step and it was gone.
I reached the crosswalk, the light changing to green.
Still didn't look back.
If someone wanted to find me, they'd try again.
And when they did, I'd be ready.
By the time I reached the building, the rain had settled into a steady drizzle. The place was nothing special - a five-story brick block with peeling paint, a flickering lobby light, and the faint smell of instant noodles wafting from somewhere above.
Perfect.
I unlocked the front door with the key I'd been given, the old metal groaning in the lock. The lobby was empty, except for a single folding chair leaning against the wall. No cameras I could see, which suited me fine.
My boots echoed on the cracked tile floor as I headed for the stairwell. The elevator in the corner had an "Out of Service" sign taped to it in crooked handwriting. Figures.
Third floor, apartment 3B.
The lock clicked open easily. Inside: bare walls, single bed, tiny kitchen, and a bathroom that looked like it had seen better decades. No furniture besides the essentials. No personality. Just the way I liked it.
I tossed my duffel onto the bed, did a quick sweep - checking corners, windows, even under the sink. Old habits. Everything seemed clear.
Or almost.
That feeling hadn't left. The one from the alley.
Across the street, hidden under the shadow of a bus stop awning, a man stood watching. Mid-twenties, tall, lean frame under a dark coat. His hair stuck slightly from the damp, and his eyes didn't blink as they tracked me through the rain.
To me, he was just another curious stranger in a city full of them.
But if I'd been closer... maybe I would've heard the faint hum in the air around him. Seen the tiny arcs of light dancing between his fingers as they flexed in his coat pocket.
His lips curled into the faintest smile.
Not tonight, his eyes seemed to say.
But soon.
I'd just finished locking the apartment door when a faint pop sounded somewhere behind me - like a light bulb blowing out. Then another. The hallway outside flickered, and the hum of the old building's wiring stuttered.
Great. Power issues already.
I was halfway to tossing my jacket on the bed when the door handle rattled.
I turned, quiet, controlled. No knock. No voice.
Just the slow, deliberate twist of the handle.
A second later, the lock gave with a sharp click.
The man from the street stepped in like he owned the place. Up close, he was taller than I'd thought, maybe mid-twenties, sharp jawline, and eyes that looked too calm for someone breaking into an apartment.
"Can I help you?" I asked flatly.
"You could," he said, closing the door behind him. His voice had that slow, confident edge - like someone already certain of the outcome. "But you won't."
Then I saw it - a faint blue shimmer crawling across his knuckles before fading, like static dancing under the skin.
I told myself it was a trick of the light.
He stepped forward.
I moved first.
Low stance, forward drive - my shoulder slammed into his chest, pushing him toward the wall. He didn't resist much at first... until a sharp jolt like grabbing a live wire shot through my arm. My muscles twitched, making me lose grip.
What the hell-?
He smiled faintly. "Fast... but not fast enough."
I shook off the tingle and circled, keeping my distance now. He reached out with one hand - and a snap of blue light arced from his fingertips to the metal doorknob beside me. The smell of ozone filled the room.
So... not a trick of the light.
I darted in again, staying inside his arm's reach this time. Hooked his wrist, twisted, drove my knee into his thigh. He grunted, but his other hand caught my shoulder - another flash, another jolt. My vision flared white for a second.
I dropped low, sweeping his leg. He hit the floor hard, but rolled away with an agility that didn't match his size. His palm slapped the wall, and the light switch panel sparked violently.
The room went dark.
All I could see was the faint blue glow pulsing from his hands.
"Interesting," he murmured, like I was a lab specimen. "Let's see how long you last."
The hallway lights were gone now, the only illumination the faint, predatory glow from his fingertips. It crawled and jumped between them like tiny, hungry serpents.
I'd fought guys with knives, bats, and worse - but never someone who could turn a room into a live wire.
The trick was simple: don't fight his strength, fight his limits.
If he needed to touch me, I couldn't let him.
He stepped forward, fast. I feinted right, then drove left, my foot hooking behind his ankle. He stumbled, but his hand caught the wall, sending a sharp crack of electricity into the plaster. The shockwave made me flinch.
"Slippery," he said, almost amused.
I grabbed the duffel on the bed, swinging it like a bat. It connected with his side - not enough to hurt, but enough to break his balance. I followed up with a straight kick to the chest.
He staggered, sparks flaring. The air smelled like burnt dust.
"Good reflexes," he said, "for someone asleep."
Before I could question it, he lunged, hand outstretched. I ducked under, I tackled with my shoulder into his ribs, and used my momentum to drive him into the kitchenette counter. His hand sparked against the metal sink - blue-white light exploding outward with a violent pop.
The surge burned a hole clean through the faucet head.
Nope. Not normal.
I backed up, circling, watching his breathing. His smile hadn't faded.
"You're fun," he said, I noticed electricity dancing across his knuckles again.
The first swing came fast - faster than a normal man. I dodg under, sliding sideways, and his palm hits into the wall where my head had been. The plaster exploded outward, leaving a black scorch mark.
I drove in low, aiming for his legs, but a pulse of electricity burst from his knee, throwing me back a step. My muscles twitched from the shock, Actually "it hurts" but I stayed standing.
He grinned. "Tougher than you look."
He threw another strike - open palm, loaded with power. I caught his wrist, pivoted, and used his momentum to send him over my shoulder. He hit the floor hard, but before I could follow up, a shockwave burst from his back, breaking the tiles beneath him.
I rolled aside just as a bolt arced across the kitchenette, shattering the cheap cupboard doors.
The space was too tight - so I made it wider. I tackled him through the doorway, both of us crashing into the hallway. The impact rattled the walls, flakes of old paint drifting down.
He swung wide, a haymaker laced with lightning. I leaned back just enough for it to whistle past, then slammed a kick into his ribs. He slid back, boots squealing against the tile, until his shoulder hit the concrete support beam. The sound of cracking cement echoed down the hall.
For the first time, his smile faltered.
I didn't give him a second to recover. I rushed in, staying just inside his reach - too close for him to fully charge an attack without frying himself. I landed a jab to his chin, then a hook to the gut, driving him back again.
But then he stomped down. Hard.
Blue light spiderwebbed across the floor beneath us. A heartbeat later, the ground exploded upward, throwing me off balance. He lunged, both hands glowing like miniature suns -
I caught his wrists mid-strike, sparks crawling up my arms. My teeth clenched, every muscle screaming - but I pushed back, forcing him a step... then another...
And then, he stopped.
Eyes narrowed.
Smile returning.
Sliding to the side, I closed the distance fast - but he was quicker than expected, pivoting and smashing his palm toward me. It hit the wall where I'd been a breath before, blowing a hole straight through the plaster and into the hallway.
Dust and bits of drywall rained down.
I swept low for his legs. He jumped - too high for a normal man - landing just far enough to launch another palm strike. The burst of electricity tore through the air, scorching the cheap laminate table in half.
The apartment smelled like burnt metal and ozone.
"Still standing?" he said, a half-smile curling on his face. "Good. Makes this interesting."
He stepped in, fists swinging like hammers. I caught one wrist, twisted I felt the shock climb my arm instantly. My muscles tensed hard, but I bit through it, pulling him off balance and slamming him chest-first into the counter.
The wood splintered, the surface caving under the force.
He growled low, a crackle of energy surging across his back. I let go just before the shock burst, watching blue arcs tear through the broken countertop instead of my ribs.
We circled again.
He launched a straight punch - the floor beneath him blackened and cracked from the power channeling through his legs. I drove my knee toward his midsection. He twisted, letting it graze him, then caught my jacket and flung me across the room like I weighed nothing.
I rolled, came up on one knee, and yanked the metal chair in front of me.
He fired a blast - the electricity ran through the chair frame, superheating it until it bent and split. I tossed it aside before the heat could burn through my palms.
This wasn't a fight I could win trading blows - so I pushed the pace.
I rushed in, weaving under his swings, using the narrow space to my advantage. Every step forward was a block, a redirect, a shove - forcing him back toward the hallway.
But he stomped down hard, a shockwave rippling outward. The floor split open, tiles flipping like cards, and I stumbled.
He pounced, both hands glowing like lightning in a storm cloud. I caught his wrists mid-strike - the current ripped through me, my vision fl.ashing white, teeth grinding from the force -I had. my mind screaming this fight I can't win
He skidded, boots scraping, until his back slammed into the concrete beam outside the apartment.
The crack in the wall spread like spiderwebs.
For the first time, he looked... curious.
"You don't break easy," he said, electricity dancing lazily between his fingers. "But you're still asleep."
The man's eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, electricity dancing across his knuckles again like living things eager to bite. That very moment I thought"Is he holding back?"
He didn't posture.
He just moved.
A flash - he was already in front of me.
I leaned back, feeling the wind of his strike graze my jaw before it obliterated the wall behind me, showering us in plaster dust.
But he didn't stay down.
His boot caught me in the ribs, sending me skidding across the floor. Sparks leapt between his fingers, brighter now.
"I could end this in one hit," he said. "But where's the fun in that?"
He lunged, faster this time. I sidestepped, sweeping low to hook his ankle. He flipped - not falling, but twisting mid-air to slam his hand down. Lightning exploded outward, the burst tearing through scorching the ceiling black.
I rolled under the kitchen table, yanked it sideways, and rammed it into him like a battering ram. He staggered, but the table legs snapped as if they'd hit stone.
I didn't wait.
I drove forward, using elbows and knees, forcing him into the hallway. Every block he made sparked, little arcs burning tiny holes in my jacket.
Then he changed tactics.
One hand slammed into the ground - blue veins of electricity raced across the tiles, trapping me in a cage of sparking arcs. Each step I took forward was met with a jolt that numbed my feet.
I scanned the floor, then dove forward, sliding between his legs before he could react. My shoulder hit the back of his knee - he buckled, and I grabbed his jacket collar, yanking him down into a knee strike that cracked the tile beneath his head.
He rolled with it, using the momentum to spring up and deliver a spinning kick. The impact caught my forearm - even through the block, my arm went numb from the voltage.
I backed up, breathing hard. He grinned.
"You really are fun."
That was the first time, "I fear am I scared? But why am I not strong enough?"
Lightning coiled in his hands like a living whip. He lashed out - I dodged left, the whip carving a burning groove into the wall. He swung again - I stepped in, letting it graze my shoulder, pain sparking through me as I closed the gap.
We locked eyes.
He smirked again, but this one was different. "Not bad for someone still asleep."
Before I could move, a bright flash consumed the hall. My vision blurred, and when it cleared, the man was gone - leaving only the faint hum of residual electricity and the cracked remains of my apartment entrance.
I stood there, fists still clenched, every muscle trembling - not from fear, but from the jolt still running through me.
I leaned against what was left of the doorframe, chest still heaving.
The hallway looked like a war zone - cracked tiles, splintered counters, a hole in the wall big enough to fit a fridge through.
What the hell kind of human does this?
My breathing slowed, but the buzzing in the air didn't stop. Every nerve in my body felt like it was still plugged into a socket. My forearms throbbed where I'd blocked his strikes, skin prickling from leftover static.
Normal people didn't move like that.
Normal people didn't glow.
I glanced at the busted sink, the burn marks on the floor, the split concrete beam.
No blade. No gun. Just... lightning.
And he called me "asleep."
I didn't know what that meant - but I knew one thing:
If there were more like him out there... this city was a lot more dangerous than I'd been told.
After all these years of training I realized that I until this very moment I was a fish in a pond
It reminded me of his words. He used to said that "if you think you got everything look at sky you are still beneath this very sky, In this world out there you will find someone better then you someone who can beat you"
Later That Night
The alley was narrow, lit by the weak flicker of a streetlamp. Rain pooled in broken patches along the cracked pavement.
The man leaned against the wall, rolling his shoulder where Noah's strike had landed. Little arcs of electricity still crawled over his knuckles before fading.
"You took your time," the girl said, stepping out from the shadows. The hood was still up, hands tucked into her pocket - the same pocket with that suspicious metallic bulge.
"I had to make sure I wasn't followed," she added.
The man smirked. "You think he could follow you?"
Her tone was flat. "You're underestimating him. I checked his background - or at least tried to."
That got his attention. "And?"
"He entered the city today," she said. "No records before that. And here's the strange part... his file's locked with five-star privacy clearance. Government-level encryption. Not something you see on an ordinary guy."
A spark danced across the man's fingers as he grinned. "Now that is interesting."
"You don't find that suspicious?" she pressed.
"I find it... promising," he replied. "Most people break after the first hit. He didn't. He adapted mid-fight."
The girl's gaze darkened. "That makes him dangerous."
"Or entertaining," he countered, pushing off the wall. "If he wakes up... I want front row seats."
She stepped closer, voice low. "Don't get in my way."
He chuckled. "Says the one who bumped into him first."
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The rain between them was the only sound for a moment.
The man looked toward the direction of Noah's apartment.
"Five-star privacy, huh?" he murmured.
The lightning in his hands flared once
The man's grin faded just slightly. "If his records are locked that deep... higher-ups will want to know."
The girl nodded once. "Already sent the footage."
"You recorded it?" His voice was half amusement, half warning.
She shrugged. "Standard protocol. If someone like him shows up, HQ wants eyes on them immediately."
He glanced up at the dripping fire escape above them. "You think they'll send someone from the main branch?"
She smirked. "You know how they work. Out here, we're just marketing representatives for the city's biggest tech supplier. To the public, anyway."
The man's tone turned dry. "Right. Sell processors by day, hunt awakened anomalies by night."
Her hood shifted as she tilted her head. "It keeps people from asking questions. And we'd better keep it that way. If the world knew how many of us there were-"
"They'd burn the city down trying to control it," he finished for her.
They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of rain between them.
Finally, the girl said, "Orders are simple. Watch him. If he stirs the pond... we'll drag him in."
The man's eyes lit faintly blue. "Fine by me. But if he wakes up on his own..." He smirked. "...I call dibs."
"SOMWHERE IN A HUGE BUILDING TIME 3:46 AM"
From the street, the glass tower looked like any other corporate skyscraper - bright logo, spotless windows, and the faint hum of late-night servers.
But behind the mirrored boardroom glass, the air was colder.
A single man sat at the far end of a long table, dark suit pressed to perfection, a black ring glinting faintly on his left hand.
The hoodie girl stood with her hands in her pockets. The electric man leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded, arcs flickering lazily around his fingers.
"Report," the boss said, voice calm but sharp enough to cut.
The girl stepped forward. "Target entered the city today. No prior data. His record is locked under five-star privacy clearance. That's government-only."
The boss didn't react - but the subtle shift of his gaze made the temperature drop.
"Unawakened?"
"Yes," the man replied, his smirk audible in his tone. "But tougher than most. Adaptive in a fight. And he didn't break under pressure."
"Interesting," the boss murmured. His fingers drummed once against the table. "And you engaged him why?"
The man shrugged. "Curiosity."
The boss's eyes narrowed. "Curiosity gets people killed. And in this organization, it gets teams killed."
Silence. The hum of hidden machines filled the room.
"Observation only," the boss continued. "No contact unless ordered. If he wakes up, we move immediately. If the government has tagged him, he's not a random civilian."
The girl spoke carefully. "Understood. But... if he's a sleeper, someone had to put him here for a reason."
"That," the boss said, leaning back in his chair, "is exactly what I intend to find out. In the meantime-"
He pressed a button on the desk, and a digital display lit up behind him, showing Noah's blurred photo in the station.
"Keep your masks on," he ordered. "The world thinks we're just Aetherion Technologies. And we're going to keep it that way."
The lights in the room dimmed. The boss's eyes glinted in the dark.
"Dismissed."
The rain hadn't stopped all night. It tapped softly against the narrow window, the sound just enough to keep him from falling into real sleep.
Noah sat on the edge of his bed, damp hair falling over his eyes. His knuckles ached, his jacket was still drying on the chair, and his thoughts wouldn't stop circling.
He replayed the fight over and over.
Where did he mess up?
The guy was faster than anyone he'd faced before - not just fast, unnaturally fast. Noah's reflexes had always been sharp, but tonight... it felt like the man could see his moves before he made them. And that electric spark he saw once or twice... was that just his imagination?
Noah exhaled slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
No... no one moves like that. No one hits that hard.
Maybe he was just out of practice. Maybe the long train ride into the city had drained him more than he thought.
Still, deep down, a small part of him hated that excuse.
His eyes drifted to the corner of the room where his duffel bag sat, half-open. Inside was the same worn hoodie and gloves he'd carried for years - the same things that had seen him through a hundred scraps in back alleys and schoolyards.
But tonight had been different.
"...Where did I go wrong?" he muttered to the empty room.
The city outside was waking up. Somewhere far above his little apartment, glass towers gleamed under the morning light. Somewhere, people in suits talked about him without him even knowing it.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. "Forget it. It's over."
"Damn it kitchen is a mess" I checked my wallet
Taking phone scrolling dialing a number
Call picked the voice can be heard clearly " MC BOBLLE HERE hello how can I help you sir"
"I want to place an order" I said in a calm voice
I order my breakfast until it come "I should get ready" I said to myself
Few minutes later I ate croissant and for drink latte old habit never changed
" all set bag is packed uniform cleaned coat cleand" I locked the door
I ran 3 km in 13 Minutes getting better still the growth is Impressive but strange
"So this is the place they call highschool" looking forward sun is shinning
Central High Academy, Mid-Morning]
The rain had thinned to a light drizzle by sun rays by the time Noah stood in front of the school gates. Central High Academy, the gold letters across the arch read, polished enough to reflect the grey clouds above.
Second-year transfer student.
The words still felt strange.
He tugged at the strap of his backpack, glancing at the uniform jacket they'd given him. It was crisp, clean, and didn't feel like his at all. But that was the point - blend in, keep your head down, start over.
Inside the main building, the faint smell of chalk and floor polish filled the hallways. Students moved in loose groups, some glancing at him briefly before returning to their conversations.
"Ah, you must be Noah Reign," a cheerful voice called.
The homeroom teacher - Ms. Han - smiled as she approached. "We don't get many mid-year transfers. Welcome."
He gave a small nod. "Thanks."
"Come on, I'll introduce you." She led him into a classroom buzzing with chatter.
As soon as the door slid open, every conversation stalled for just a second. Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward him. Some curious, some indifferent, and... one pair that lingered too long.
Noah didn't notice her - a girl near the window, chin resting on her palm, hood draped over her head despite school rules. Her gaze flickered with recognition before she looked away, scribbling something in the corner of her notebook.
"Class, this is Noah Reign, your new classmate," Ms. Han announced. "He's joining us as a second-year transfer. Treat him well."
Noah gave a polite bow. "Nice to meet you."
"Alright, Noah, you can take the seat by the window, third row," the teacher instructed.
He moved through the rows, the quiet hum of whispers behind him. He sat down, unpacked his notebook, and tried to ignore the feeling that someone was still watching.
Up in the faculty lounge, on a laptop screen nobody in class could see, a grainy image from a discreet hallway camera tagged his profile picture. The file name read:
[Noah Reign - Under Observation]
The day had been quiet - too quiet.
By the time the last bell rang, Noah almost believed his move to the city might actually be normal.
He left the gates, the sound of chattering students fading behind him. The sky was a dull silver, mist curling low around the streets.
Halfway down the block, it hit him - that same weight in the air from last night. A presence.
Slow. Deliberate. Watching.
He didn't turn his head, just caught the faint reflection in a dark shop window.
The hoodie girl.
Hands in her pockets, posture relaxed - too relaxed. Like she'd been there for a while.
Why is she following me again?
Before he could decide whether to confront her, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, smiled faintly, and took a step back into the mist.
Then Noah heard it - a low hum.
At first it sounded like a streetlamp flickering... but then the smell of ozone hit him.
The mist around the far end of the street shimmered, faint blue sparks dancing in the air. A tall figure emerged - the same man from last night. His eyes locked on Noah's.
A car passed between them, and when it cleared, the man was gone.
Noah's pulse kicked up. Did I imagine that-
A sudden crack split the air. Behind him, a lamppost light popped, showering sparks onto the wet pavement. Students nearby screamed and scattered, their shouts echoing down the block.
The girl was gone. The crowd was gone. And in the middle of the empty street, Noah stood alone - the smell of electricity growing stronger. Goosebumps running on his spin to shoulder then arm and the whole body shivering
Somewhere in the distance, a voice spoke faintly, almost like a whisper carried by static:
"...Phase two begins now." After the word A maniacal laugh echoed he turned around in a rush to look who is behind but.
Then the lights on the street flickered and went out.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]