The late afternoon sun leaned low over Charlestown, the light soft and gold, spilling across the cracked sidewalks and the side of the convenience store where Leon and Shake had claimed their usual spot; the curb by the busted vending machine that hadn't worked since winter. Smells of fried food drifted faintly from the takeout window next door, blending with the gasoline tang of passing cars and the faint salt off the river.
Shake stretched his long, stubby legs out and let out a lazy yawn that rattled in his chest. "Man," he said, rubbing his stomach, "I'm starving."
Leon looked up from his half-eaten Jamaican patty, brows lifting. "Then why didn't you buy something? You literally walked into the store with me."
Shake gave a long-suffering sigh, leaning back against the wall. "I'm working on a new weight loss strategy, dawg."
Leon snorted, the sound dry. "By starving yourself?"
"It's called loyalty," Shake said, patting his stomach with mock solemnity. "Besides, I'm saving room for when my summer era starts."
Leon chewed, not looking up. "Your what?"
"My summer era," Shake said, gesturing vaguely like he was unveiling a masterpiece. "I swear, once school's out, I'm gonna get babes left and right… just to reject them all."
Leon laughed under his breath—no real humor, just the sound of air pushed through disbelief. "Yeah, sure. I'm sure Pri's gonna love that."
Shake's grin faltered for a half-second, his face tightening. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that, man! You know that!"
Leon shrugged, still chewing, gaze fixed on the slow-moving cars at the intersection. "Didn't say you did."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward, exactly, just heavy, filled with the dull hum of passing life. A woman walked by pushing a stroller, the plastic wheels clicking unevenly over the sidewalk cracks. Across the street, someone's radio played a grainy version of "Sweet Caroline," half-drowned by the hiss of a bus's brakes.
The city had been quieter since the announcement two days ago. Posters of the Valor Nine hung in store windows, Captain Gray's face now framed in black trim, candles and flowers piled beneath one outside a laundromat down the block. Leon had passed it on his way here, where he saw people stopping to take photos, a woman crying quietly into her scarf. The city felt muted, as if everyone was speaking a little softer out of respect, or fear, or both.
Leon hadn't said it out loud, but the idea of someone like Captain Gray dying of something so… normal… it didn't sit right. Heroes were supposed to die fighting monsters, not from diseases people couldn't even see.
He took another bite of his patty and tried not to think about it.
Then, from across the street, came the unmistakable sound of someone shouting his name.
"LEON! SHAKE! My brothers, my companions!"
Leon winced and let out a groan through his teeth. "Oh, God…"
Shake tilted his head lazily to the side. "And there it is."
Striding toward them with all the subtlety of a marching band was Amir. His jacket was half-zipped, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, and his grin was wide enough to catch sunlight. His curly black hair bounced with each step, and his braces flashed every time he spoke which, unfortunately, was every other second.
"Why is he so loud lately?" Shake muttered under his breath. "He's gonna get us jumped by Cesar or Christianna's crew one of these days. Hell, even both at this point…"
Leon leaned back on his hands. "Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out why he follows us around. He doesn't even live in this neighborhood."
Amir reached them just as Leon finished, panting lightly, his sneakers scuffing on the curb. "What's up, Leon? Big Fella?" he said between breaths, grinning like he'd just won something. "You two hiding out here like old men?"
Leon didn't bother responding. Shake just raised a lazy hand in half-greeting.
Amir's grin didn't fade. "Oh, come on, y'all look half-dead. I got something to show you." He waggled his eyebrows, lowering his voice theatrically. "Something crazy. You gotta come with me."
Leon groaned softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Amir, last time you said that, we ended up getting chased off the soccer field by seniors."
"Details," Amir said, waving a hand. "This time it's different."
Shake groaned again, tilting his head back against the wall. "Man, my legs are killing me."
Leon turned to him, deadpan. "That must be awful."
It took Shake a moment to realize what he'd said. His eyes widened slightly, then darted to Leon's prosthetic leg. "Oh, shoot– wait, I didn't mean–"
Leon waved him off, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "Relax, dude, you're cool."
Shake cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… still. My bad."
Amir, oblivious as ever, clapped his hands once. "Alright, come on! You two coming or what?"
Leon glanced at Shake. Shake sighed, closing his eyes for a second before pushing himself to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, fine. But this better not end with you running your mouth to the wrong people again."
Amir smirked. "No promises."
Leon finished the last bite of his patty, crumpled the wrapper, and tossed it into the trash can beside them. The paper hit the rim and bounced back onto the ground. He stared at it for a second, then picked it up anyway.
And, knowing Amir, whatever they were about to see probably wasn't going to help.
The three of them walked past the corner store, the cracked windows reflecting the pale gold of the afternoon. The sky hung high and clear, a few thin clouds stretched across it like fading brushstrokes. The air smelled faintly of fried dough and warm asphalt, that particular city blend that always arrived this time of year when spring started giving way to summer.
Leon trailed half a step behind Amir, finishing the last of his drink from the store's paper cup. The ice had melted into watery sweetness. He crushed the cup and dropped it into a recycling bin as they turned the corner onto Bunker Hill Street. Traffic rolled by in slow intervals, engines humming and brakes hissing as cars idled at the light.
"Alright," Leon said finally, his voice carrying over the noise of the street. "So where exactly are we going? You said you had something to show us, but that was, what—ten blocks ago?"
Amir turned, walking backward for a few steps with that familiar grin plastered across his face. "You ever heard of patience, my guy? It's like ten more minutes."
"Ten more minutes my ass," Shake muttered, tugging at the strap of his backpack. "Feels like we've been hiking."
"Maybe if you walked more than once a day, it wouldn't," Amir shot back.
Shake chuckled, deep and easy. "Alright, talk to me again when you can jog without wheezing."
Leon half-smiled, shaking his head. The rhythm between them was so familiar it barely needed words anymore. Even with the sting of the week hanging over the city, Amir's energy filled every empty space like light through cracked blinds.
They crossed the street at a slow pace, the heat of the pavement rising against Leon's shoes. The smell of gasoline mingled with the faint sweetness of a bakery up the block, where someone had just propped open their door to let the smell drift out.
Behind them, something small brushed against Leon's heel. He turned slightly, expecting trash—or maybe a pigeon—but it was a cat. A thin, ginger one with a nicked ear and bright, half-curious eyes. It trotted a few steps behind, tail swaying lazily as if it had already decided it belonged to their group.
"Looks like we picked up a follower," Leon murmured.
Amir glanced back and laughed. "Yo, that thing's probably starving. Bet it thinks you're gonna feed it."
Shake squinted over his shoulder. "If it makes it all the way to where we're going, we're naming it. No debate."
Leon didn't answer. He watched the cat weave between the sidewalk cracks and the shadow of a lamppost. It didn't meow, didn't rush—just followed, patient and sure.
The three passed under a string of old telephone wires that whined faintly in the wind. A church bell rang somewhere deeper in Charlestown, the sound bouncing between the narrow brick buildings. It was bright enough that Leon had to squint, sunlight glancing off windows and car hoods, leaving sharp patches of glare that blurred the edges of things.
The city felt alive but subdued—like it was breathing quietly, still carrying the weight of the news that no one wanted to talk about anymore. The memorials had grown thicker on every block: candles, photos, flowers arranged below posters of Captain Gray's face. The one they passed now was propped against a bench by a bus stop. Someone had scrawled Boston remembers you across the bottom in marker.
Leon's stomach tightened a little. He didn't know why he kept noticing them. Maybe because they were everywhere now, or maybe because it made him think of how fragile the world felt—how a person could go from saving the city to being a name on a poster in a week.
He caught himself staring too long, and Amir's voice snapped him back.
"C'mon, Bramante! You slowing down for the dead?"
Leon blinked, shaking his head once. "Just wondering if you even know where you're going."
"Have a little faith, bro." Amir waved him off and kept walking, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "This is gonna blow. your. mind!"
Leon rolled his shoulders, falling back into step beside Shake.
The three of them walked past the corner store, the cracked windows reflecting the pale gold of the afternoon. The sky hung high and clear, a few thin clouds stretched across it like fading brushstrokes. The air smelled faintly of fried dough and warm asphalt, that particular city blend that always arrived this time of year when spring started giving way to summer.
Leon trailed half a step behind Amir, finishing the last of his drink from the store's paper cup. The ice had melted into watery sweetness. He crushed the cup and dropped it into a recycling bin as they turned the corner onto Bunker Hill Street. Traffic rolled by in slow intervals, engines humming and brakes hissing as cars idled at the light.
"Alright," Leon said finally, his voice carrying over the noise of the street. "So where exactly are we going? You said you had something to show us, but that was, what—ten blocks ago?"
Amir turned, walking backward for a few steps with that familiar grin plastered across his face. "You ever heard of patience, my guy? It's like ten more minutes."
"Ten more minutes my ass," Shake muttered, tugging at the strap of his backpack. "Feels like we've been hiking."
"Maybe if you walked more than once a day, it wouldn't," Amir shot back.
Shake chuckled, deep and easy. "Alright, talk to me again when you can jog without wheezing."
Leon half-smiled, shaking his head. The rhythm between them was so familiar it barely needed words anymore. Even with the sting of the week hanging over the city, Amir's energy filled every empty space like light through cracked blinds.
They crossed the street at a slow pace, the heat of the pavement rising against Leon's shoes. The smell of gasoline mingled with the faint sweetness of a bakery up the block, where someone had just propped open their door to let the smell drift out.
Behind them, something small brushed against Leon's heel. He turned slightly, expecting trash—or maybe a pigeon—but it was a cat. A thin, ginger one with a nicked ear and bright, half-curious eyes. It trotted a few steps behind, tail swaying lazily as if it had already decided it belonged to their group.
"Looks like we picked up a follower," Leon murmured.
Amir glanced back and laughed. "Yo, that thing's probably starving. Bet it thinks you're gonna feed it."
Shake squinted over his shoulder. "If it makes it all the way to where we're going, we're naming it. No debate."
Leon didn't answer. He watched the cat weave between the sidewalk cracks and the shadow of a lamppost. It didn't meow, didn't rush—just followed, patient and sure.
The three passed under a string of old telephone wires that whined faintly in the wind. A church bell rang somewhere deeper in Charlestown, the sound bouncing between the narrow brick buildings. It was bright enough that Leon had to squint, sunlight glancing off windows and car hoods, leaving sharp patches of glare that blurred the edges of things.
The city felt alive but subdued—like it was breathing quietly, still carrying the weight of the news that no one wanted to talk about anymore. The memorials had grown thicker on every block: candles, photos, flowers arranged below posters of Captain Gray's face. The one they passed now was propped against a bench by a bus stop. Someone had scrawled Boston remembers you across the bottom in marker.
Leon's stomach tightened a little. He didn't know why he kept noticing them. Maybe because they were everywhere now, or maybe because it made him think of how fragile the world felt—how a person could go from saving the city to being a name on a poster in a week.
He caught himself staring too long, and Amir's voice snapped him back.
"C'mon, Bramante! You slowing down for the dead?"
Leon blinked, shaking his head once. "Just wondering if you even know where you're going."
"Have a little faith, bro." Amir waved him off and kept walking, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "This is gonna blow your mind."
Leon rolled his shoulders, falling back into step beside Shake. The cat followed, tail flicking, as if it knew something none of them did.
They turned down an alley off Medford Street, the sound of traffic dulling into the steady drip of a leaking gutter. The air cooled noticeably there, shaded by the tall brick rowhouses that boxed them in on either side. Paint peeled from the back doors, vines crawled up the mortar lines, and a faint smell of rain-soaked trash and detergent drifted from an open window somewhere above.
Leon slowed as they moved deeper in. The place was familiar and a little shiver of recognition hit him, that quiet shock of memory you didn't expect to sting.
He looked up at the window two stories above, blinds half-drawn. "Hold on," he said, voice tightening. "This… this is Zumi's block."
Shake squinted upward. "Yeah, you're right. The red trim. Her dad painted that himself, right?"
Leon nodded, still staring. "Last time we were here was the fifth anniversary for Téo." His throat felt heavier than it should have. The memory of that night came back—rain, candles, a backyard that smelled like wet grass and smoke. "Her folks aren't gonna be happy if they see us here."
Amir just clicked his tongue and waved a dismissive hand, already stepping ahead. "Bro, the gang's been split up for too long. This is overdue."
Leon frowned. "They grounded her for months the last time she snuck out."
"Yeah," Amir said, grinning as he planted a sneaker on a rusted pipe. "But she didn't sneak out with me last time."
Shake groaned, dragging a palm over his face. "Oh God, here we go."
Before either of them could stop him, Amir bent his knees and jumped, catching the pipe with both hands. The metal creaked in protest, but somehow held as he hauled himself up with more enthusiasm than skill.
"Amir, you're out of your mind," Leon said, voice low but firm. His stomach twisted at the sound of scraping sneakers on rust. "Get down before you break your neck."
"Relax," Amir called, already climbing higher. "I've been doing cardio."
"Since when?" Shake muttered. "Chasing girls doesn't count as cardio."
A bark of laughter echoed from somewhere deeper in the alley. Amir ignored them, clambering up another few feet before balancing on the narrow ledge below Zumi's window. The cat from earlier sat at the mouth of the alley, tail flicking as it watched the spectacle like an unimpressed spectator.
Amir pressed his face close to the window, peering in. The blinds inside glowed softly from the light of a desk lamp. Zumi sat there, her hair loose around her shoulders, scribbling furiously in a notebook. A pair of white earbuds hung from her ears, head bobbing faintly to whatever she was listening to. The walls were covered in posters—some of old hero teams, some of music acts Leon half-recognized.
Amir tapped the glass lightly. When she didn't react, he knocked harder, then waved both hands like an idiot.
Inside, Zumi flinched, spinning around. Her eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing into fury. She muttered something Leon couldn't hear—probably a string of curses—and pushed her chair back so fast it nearly toppled.
She yanked open the window, cold air spilling into the alley. "What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, voice sharp as broken glass.
Amir's grin didn't waver. "Hey! Long time no see. Thought you might wanna come hang out. Got something cool to show you."
Her brows furrowed. "You thought?" Then, suspicious: "Wait, what do you mean 'you'?"
Amir gestured down. "Them."
Zumi leaned out the window, strands of her dark hair brushing her cheeks, and looked down. Leon raised a hesitant hand, feeling caught in a bad sitcom. "Hey, Zumi."
Shake lifted his chin. "¿Qué tal, chica?"
Zumi blinked twice, her anger melting briefly into surprise before she sighed, rubbing her temples. "Oh my God. You two too?"
Shake shrugged with a half-smile. "Wasn't our idea. Blame the man climbing your house."
Amir grinned proudly. "I'm an agent of destiny."
"You're an idiot," Zumi shot back. "You know I can't be seen with you guys."
Her tone softened for half a second before she glanced over her shoulder—probably making sure her parents weren't nearby—then looked back down, whispering, "If my mom sees you, she'll have a stroke."
Leon spoke up gently. "We'll keep it quick. Promise."
Amir leaned one elbow against the sill. "See? Even Bramante's in. Five minutes tops."
Zumi folded her arms, squinting at him. "Your 'five minutes' always turns into an hour, and usually ends with someone running from security."
Shake muttered under his breath, "Facts."
Leon watched her closely. The irritation in her eyes looked practiced, but beneath it was something else—a kind of exhaustion he recognized too well. She wasn't angry because of them. She was angry because she missed this, and hating that she did.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint smell of detergent and warm paper from inside her room. Her desk lamp flickered once, its light brushing the edge of Amir's grin.
Zumi exhaled slowly, crossing her arms tighter. "If we get caught," she said, "I'm blaming all of you."
Amir's grin widened, triumphant. "That's my girl."
"Don't you ever call me that again."
Shake leaned against the alley wall, smiling faintly. "Ahh, this feels just like old times!"
Leon didn't say it, but he felt it too, that strange blend of comfort and danger, the thrill of being where they shouldn't be. For a moment, the world outside the alley, the grief, the Hero's Day posters, the quiet heaviness over the city—felt far away.
But deep down, Leon knew the feeling wouldn't last.
It never did.
Zumi lingered at the window longer than she should have, her eyes darting between Amir's smug grin and the two faces waiting below. Her jaw tightened as if she were arguing with herself, her fingers drumming the sill. The late afternoon light pooled over her shoulders, making the edges of her hair look coppery against the lamplight of her room.
Then, with a sharp exhale that sounded like defeat, she muttered, "Give me five minutes."
Before Amir could celebrate, she shut the window with a firm snap.
Shake lifted his brows, watching the blinds settle. "Well, I'll be damned. She's really doing it."
Amir wiped imaginary dust off his hands. "Told you. The gang's back together!"
Leon leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You know if she gets caught, it's on us, right?"
Amir just shrugged. "Then we run faster."
Then came the faint squeak of a window.
Leon looked up just as Zumi swung one leg out. Her jeans brushed the windowsill as she lowered herself onto the small pipe Amir had used. She wasn't dressed for sneaking—bright sneakers, a hoodie too clean for climbing—but she moved carefully, testing her footing as she went.
"Careful!" Shake hissed, shifting instinctively as if he could catch her from two stories down.
Amir spread his arms like a circus ringmaster. "Look at that form. Natural-born athlete."
"Shut up," she hissed down at him. "You're lucky I'm not setting you on fire right now."
She took the last stretch fast, hopping down the final few feet and landing in a crouch that sent up a puff of dust. The cat darted back, offended, before circling in again to sniff her shoes.
Zumi brushed her palms on her jeans and straightened, glaring at Amir. "If my parents find out, you're dead."
Amir grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's said that to me."
Leon couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth. "You sure this is a good idea?"
"No," Zumi said flatly. Then, softer, "But I needed to get out."
The admission hung between them for a moment, quiet but heavier than anything else she'd said. The light caught on her earring when she turned, the faint glint matching the watch on her wrist—both little reminders of the life her parents were building for her, safe and planned and spotless.
Shake tilted his head toward the street. "So what's this big reveal, Amir? You drag us across half of Charlestown, wake Sleeping Beauty here, and for what?"
Amir's grin widened, eyes glinting with that dangerous spark that always preceded something stupid or spectacular. "Patience, my friends. All will be revealed."
Zumi groaned under her breath. "You sound like a magician who flunked out of summer camp."
Leon laughed, a quiet one that shook some of the tension loose. It felt strange and good all at once—just hearing their voices together again, even if it was wrapped in trouble.
They started walking toward the street. The light had shifted to that golden hour hue that made every brick glow warmer, every window catch fire. A breeze brushed through, carrying the faint sound of a television from one of the houses, a sports game maybe, voices cheering in another world.
Zumi walked beside Leon, hands in her hoodie pocket. "You heard about Captain Gray?" she asked after a long silence.
Leon nodded. "Hard not to."
She looked straight ahead, eyes narrowing. "My dad says the city's still planning the Hero's Day parade. Like nothing happened."
He didn't know what to say to that. The air between them felt heavier again. He could see her jaw tighten, the little crease forming between her brows. She looked like someone trying not to care about something that still got under her skin.
Amir walked ahead of them, humming some tune under his breath. Shake followed behind, stretching his shoulders. For a moment, they all seemed like kids again—just a mismatched group sneaking around before sunset, pretending the world wasn't changing.
Leon glanced back once at the window Zumi had come from. The blinds were shut tight now, her room hidden behind the reflection of the afternoon sky. He wondered how long it would take before her parents realized she was gone.
He also wondered if they were still the same four friends who'd lit candles for Téo years ago in that backyard, or if this sneaking through alleys and chasing whatever Amir had planned was just them trying to pretend they were.
Either way, he wasn't ready to turn back.
The sun had dipped lower by the time they reached the edge of the junkyard, its orange light spilling through gaps in the fence and painting long bars of shadow over the cracked concrete. The air smelled like rust and oil, sharp enough to sting the back of Leon's throat. A wind rolled through, carrying the dry rattle of loose metal and the faint hum of the highway somewhere beyond.
Leon stopped short just outside the fence, the soles of his sneakers crunching on gravel. "Amir," he said, voice flat, "tell me this isn't your big surprise."
Amir turned to face him, grinning wide as if they'd just stumbled into a carnival. "What? You don't see the potential here?"
Zumi crossed her arms, hoodie pulled tight around her. "It's a junkyard. It smells like burnt rubber and broken dreams."
Shake let out a low groan, rubbing his stomach. "Man, I could've been home watching TV, not catching tetanus with you."
Amir clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "You people got no imagination. You're too impatient."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "We've been walking for an hour."
"Adventure takes time, my guy," Amir said, pushing the gate open. It gave a tired screech that echoed through the yard.
They followed him in, reluctantly, the dirt uneven under their shoes. Old car shells leaned against each other in silent decay, their glass long gone, their insides gutted. The metal glowed faintly under the setting sun—muted reds, orange, and dull silver—while flies hummed around open oil drums. Somewhere deeper in, something banged.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The sound came again—rhythmic, deliberate, metal striking metal.
Zumi froze mid-step. "What is that?"
Shake squinted into the narrow lanes between stacked scrap. "Sounds like someone working. Or fighting."
Leon felt his pulse quicken, curiosity mixing with unease. "No one's supposed to be here at this hour."
Amir's grin faltered slightly, though he didn't slow down. "Guess we're not the only ones who appreciate the aesthetic."
They crept forward, weaving through the maze of junk. The clangs grew sharper, closer, until they could make out the sound of quick, angry breathing between each strike. Then they saw her.
A small figure stood in the clearing between two rusted cranes, bathed in the orange light of dusk. Her pink hair—brighter than memory—caught the light and shimmered faintly. She was swinging a metal rod against the side of an old car door, every hit ringing through the air like a warning.
"Come on, come on!" she muttered under her breath, voice breaking between gritted teeth. "Why won't you just—"
She raised the rod again, but halfway through the motion her gaze snapped up.
The four froze.
Menci's eyes widened as she blinked against the light. For a second she just stared, the recognition slow to settle. Then her expression softened, her grip loosening until the rod slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground.
"Leon?" she said quietly, then glanced at each of them in turn. "Zumi. Shake. Amir."
Her voice was smaller than Leon remembered—hoarse, raw around the edges.
Leon felt the air catch in his throat. Menci hadn't changed much since middle school, at least not in ways that showed. She was still short, still sharp in every gesture, but there was something hollow in her face now, something that didn't belong to the girl who used to crack jokes at lunch or play goalkeeper barefoot.
Zumi stepped forward first, her tone uncertain. "Menci? What are you doing out here?"
Menci sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, glancing away. "Could ask you the same thing."
"We were following Amir's grand plan," Leon said dryly. "Still not sure what that is."
Amir put a hand to his chest, mock offended. "It led us to her, didn't it?"
Menci gave a quiet, breathy laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Lucky you."
Shake frowned, stepping closer. "You alright?"
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the dented car door she'd been hammering. "Yeah. Just… working through something."
Leon's gaze followed hers. The door was covered in shallow dents, each one a story of frustration pressed into steel. He didn't ask what she meant. He could see enough in the tremor of her hands, the way her shoulders didn't quite relax even now.
The junkyard was quiet again except for the far-off cry of gulls over the river and the distant thrum of passing traffic. The air felt heavier, carrying the faint taste of metal.
Zumi's voice broke the silence, softer this time. "You heard about Captain Gray, right?"
Menci's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Whole city has."
They stood there a moment longer, five kids in a graveyard of forgotten things, each carrying pieces of something they couldn't fix. The evening light slipped toward gold, then dimmed, shadows stretching over the junk and the tired faces that didn't quite fit the word "kids" anymore.
Amir finally shoved his hands in his pockets. "So," he said lightly, "we gonna talk, or are we just gonna stand around pretending we didn't just reunite in the middle of a trash heap?"
Menci cracked a smile, faint and weary. "You're still annoying, huh?"
"Consistently."
Leon exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching. The air smelled faintly of rust and dust and something almost familiar—the past sneaking back through the cracks of an afternoon that should've been ordinary.
He didn't know what Amir had expected them to find here.
But somehow, this felt like the start of something.
Something that wasn't going to leave them untouched.
They moved through the junkyard together, the light thinning into an amber haze that clung to the edges of everything. Rusted metal glimmered faintly as the sun sank lower, pooling in the hollow frames of cars and puddles of rainwater that smelled faintly of oil and earth. The air was close, the kind that stuck to skin, and every step crunched on gravel or snapped against stray glass.
Menci walked a little ahead of them, kicking at scraps as she went. The sound of her boots against metal broke the silence. "Didn't think I'd see you idiots again," she said, though her voice carried no bite.
Amir smirked. "You missed us."
She glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching. "Yeah, like a migraine."
Zumi rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. "You still at Eastpoint?"
"Not anymore," Menci said, dragging her foot against the dirt. "Transferred out last month."
Shake frowned. "What happened?"
She didn't answer at first. A crow called somewhere beyond the fence. Leon watched her shoulders tighten before she said, almost too quietly, "Got into it with someone."
Amir whistled softly. "Another fight?"
"Yeah." She stooped to pick up a handful of gravel, tossing a few pieces toward a dented truck door. The soft clinks echoed faintly. "Kid was running his mouth about someone he didn't know."
Leon's chest grew tight. "Who?"
Her eyes flicked toward him, then down again. "Tahar."
The name hung there, heavy as smoke.
Leon swallowed, his throat dry. It had been months since anyone said it out loud. Tahar Abadi. The boy who used to bring them snacks at the park. The boy who used to talk about building jetpacks out of soda bottles. The boy who vanished one morning and came back in the news with words like radical and terror cell stamped beside his face.
Shake shifted uneasily, breaking the quiet. "People still talk about that?"
Menci's laugh was sharp and hollow. "You'd be surprised how long folks remember when they think they're better than you."
Zumi's brows knit together. "Your parents didn't take that well."
"That's one way to put it." Menci flicked another pebble, this one bouncing off the tire of an old van. "They think it's embarrassing. That I can't just 'let things go.'" She said the last words in a mocking imitation of someone older, someone precise.
Leon looked at her, studying the edge in her voice, the way her jaw set when she talked about them. He remembered her parents well—sharp suits, sharper looks, people who treated every interaction like a test. They'd never liked Tahar or his family, not even before everything went wrong.
Amir kicked at a pile of metal scraps. "So that's why you've been out here, huh? Taking your anger out on innocent car doors?"
She gave him a sidelong look. "Better than people."
He held up both hands. "Fair point."
They walked in silence for a bit. The sound of their shoes over gravel, the low hum of wind threading through broken machinery, the distant barking of a dog somewhere outside the fence—it all settled into a rhythm that filled the space between their words.
Leon glanced at Menci again. There was something different in the way she carried herself now. She used to walk with a kind of defiant bounce, always looking for the next thing to laugh at. Now she just looked tired. Like someone who'd used up all her fight and hadn't figured out what to do with the quiet afterward.
"You heard what happened to Captain Gray?" Shake asked suddenly.
Menci nodded, not looking up. "Yeah. My dad had the news on. He liked him."
Amir sighed. "Everyone liked him."
"No," she said softly. "They liked the idea of him."
The words landed heavier than anyone expected. Even Zumi went quiet, looking down at the dirt as they stepped over a fallen metal beam.
Leon felt it too—that strange hollowness since the news broke. Captain Gray had been the kind of figure you didn't imagine could die. Seeing his face on TV, frozen mid-smile with that headline underneath, had felt unreal. Like the city had lost something it couldn't name.
Menci finally looked back at them, a faint smudge of grease on her cheek from earlier. "You really came all this way just to find me?"
Amir grinned. "Technically, I didn't know you'd be here. But hey, destiny works in mysterious ways."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "You're still a moron."
"And you still love me," he shot back.
"Sure," she said. "Like I love root canals."
Zumi laughed quietly, shaking her head. "You two haven't changed."
Leon smiled faintly but didn't join in. His eyes traced the way Menci's hand brushed against a rusted fence as they walked, fingertips grazing it like she needed to feel something solid. He wondered if she came here often, to hit things that couldn't talk back.
A chill crept in with the wind. The scent of rain lingered faintly in the air, though the clouds above had already burned orange and pink.
Menci kicked at a can, sending it rattling ahead. "So, what now?"
"Now," Amir said after a long pause, dragging the word like it was the start of a joke, "we venture forward."
His voice carried lazily through the yard, half-mocking and half-dramatic. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking again, kicking at scraps of metal along the way. The clangs echoed across the hollow space, bouncing off the ribcages of old cars and gutted trucks.
Menci sighed. "You sound like you're narrating a bad adventure movie."
Amir grinned back over his shoulder. "And yet, you're still following me."
Zumi muttered something in Spanish that made Shake snort. Leon didn't catch the words, but he understood the tone, equal parts disbelief and resignation. He followed anyway. Something in Amir's walk, that hint of real anticipation beneath the clowning, kept them all moving.
The deeper they went, the quieter it got. The wind that had carried through the junkyard earlier faded, replaced by a stillness that felt strange. The smell changed too—less of oil and metal now, more of something faintly chemical, sharp enough to sting Leon's nose.
"Where are we even going?" Zumi asked.
"You'll see," Amir said, though his grin looked a little thinner this time.
They turned a corner, stepping into a narrow corridor between stacked car frames. The light here came filtered through rusted holes and cracks, a dull amber glow that painted everything in half-shadow. Water dripped from somewhere unseen, steady as a clock.
Leon's prosthetic clicked against the concrete, the sound too loud in the hush. He slowed a little, glancing around. Something about this part of the yard felt different—emptier, but not abandoned. Like someone had been here recently.
Shake frowned. "Yo, you smell that?"
"Yeah," Menci said. "Like burnt plastic."
Amir stopped ahead of them, one hand lifting slightly as if to say wait. He glanced back, his expression no longer playful. "Okay," he said quietly. "Don't freak out."
Leon's stomach tightened. "What did you do, Amir?"
"Nothing," Amir said quickly, turning back around. "Just found something weird yesterday. Wanted you to see."
Zumi crossed her arms. "Define weird."
Amir didn't answer. He pushed aside a tilted doorframe and stepped through. The others followed, though slower, their shoes crunching on debris.
The smell hit first… heavier now, sharp and sweet in a way that turned Leon's stomach. The kind of scent that didn't belong anywhere near sunlight.
Then he saw it.
Between two overturned vehicles, in a small pocket of open dirt, lay a body.
The man, or what was left of him, was sprawled against the ground, one arm bent at an unnatural angle, his clothes soaked through with something dark. His skin looked gray under the fading light, the texture waxy. A matte black suitcase was still clutched in his right hand, fingers stiff around the handle.
No one spoke.
Leon felt his breath stick somewhere between his chest and throat. The air seemed to fold inward, the silence ringing in his ears louder than any sound.
Zumi's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god," she whispered.
Shake stepped back instinctively, his shoe scraping against metal. "Amir," he said, voice trembling at the edges. "What the hell, man?"
Amir didn't respond right away. His grin had vanished completely. He stared at the body with the kind of detached disbelief that looked almost rehearsed. "I told you it was weird."
Menci crouched slightly, her voice low but steady. "Did you touch it?"
Amir shook his head. "No. I just… saw the case. Thought maybe it was dumped or something."
Leon's heart hammered in his chest. The smell was worse now, thick and metallic, and every part of him screamed to turn around and walk away. But his eyes were fixed on the suitcase—its surface clean, almost new, like it didn't belong here at all. No markings, no scratches. Just matte black, seamless, untouched by the rust and grime that swallowed everything else around it.
Zumi swallowed hard. "We… we should call someone."
"Who?" Amir asked quietly. "The cops? You think they'll believe we just stumbled on this?"
"They'll believe what's in the case," Menci said.
Leon tore his gaze away from the body long enough to look at her. "You think it's safe to even open that?"
Menci's eyes flicked toward him. "You think it's safe to leave it here?"
The silence stretched. Somewhere behind them, the cat yowled, a thin sound that cut through the air before fading again. The sun was nearly gone now, the sky turning violet, and the shadows from the junk piles crawled longer across the dirt.
Leon's mouth felt dry. "What if whoever did this comes back?"
No one had an answer for that.
The five of them stood there, frozen between the rusted bones of the yard, the air thick with the smell of iron and rain-soaked dust. Leon could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.
Amir finally exhaled, breaking the silence. "So," he said softly, eyes flicking between the suitcase and the body, "who's brave enough to find out what's inside?"
The question hung in the cooling air, and somewhere deep in Leon's gut, a cold dread began to take root.
He already knew they wouldn't walk away.
Not now.
They lingered around the body, the smell thick in the air, no one wanting to stand too close but none of them stepping away either. The suitcase sat in the dirt like it was daring them to do something about it. The only sounds were the soft rattle of wind through hollow metal and the occasional hiss of shifting gravel under their shoes.
Menci was the first to speak, her voice a low whisper. "We should call it in."
Amir rubbed the back of his neck. "And tell them what? That we were just hanging out at a junkyard and found a corpse? We'll get blamed before they even check for prints."
Zumi folded her arms tight against her chest. "We can't just leave it here either."
Shake squinted down at the case. "For all we know, this is mob stuff. You see that man's suit? Looks too clean for some random homeless guy!"
Leon crouched a little, eyes fixed on the black surface. It didn't belong here. Everything around it was old and worn, eaten by rust and weather, but that case looked… new. The matte finish caught the dim light in an odd way, absorbing it instead of reflecting it. He could see the broken lock at the clasp, a jagged line of metal like a scar.
"Maybe we should at least look," Amir said. "Could be something important."
"Or something dangerous," Zumi countered.
Menci sighed. "We don't even know what's in there!"
"Exactly," Leon muttered. "That's the problem."
They all went quiet again. The air hung heavy, the faint hum of far-off traffic sounding miles away. Leon's stomach twisted. Every instinct told him this wasn't theirs to touch, that nothing good ever started with a black case and a dead man.
Then Shake huffed loudly and rolled his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, you're all acting like old ladies!"
Zumi's head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying," he said, stepping forward. "You're all overthinking it. It's probably just cash or drugs or something stupid."
"Shake, don't—" Leon started, but he was already kneeling.
The dirt crunched under his knee as he reached out, gripping the broken lock. The suitcase gave a faint creak as he pulled it open.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Inside, nestled in black foam lining, were three glass vials. They glowed faintly even in the dim light, the liquid inside a deep, almost luminous red. Each was capped with a metal seal and marked with a tiny symbol Leon didn't recognize—something geometric and precise, like a logo half-scraped away.
Shake leaned in. "Huh."
Amir crouched beside him, his grin gone but his eyes wide. "That's… not what I expected."
Zumi took a step closer, the faint scent of metal and alcohol stinging her nose. "What is that?"
Menci's hand hovered near one of the vials but didn't touch. "Looks like… some kind of serum?"
Leon felt his pulse climb. "Don't touch it."
"It's just liquid," Shake said, squinting. "Probably food dye or something."
"Yeah, because criminals always risk their lives for red Kool-Aid," Zumi muttered.
Amir nudged one of the vials with his finger, careful not to touch the glass itself. "They look sealed. Military grade or something."
Leon stared at the case, his mind running too fast. The glow wasn't natural. It wasn't just the color—it almost pulsed, like there was something alive in there, faintly shifting with each second. His gut tightened.
"Guys," he said quietly. "We shouldn't be here."
The air felt heavier now, as if the junkyard itself had started listening. Even the cat that had followed them earlier was gone. The only sound was the soft drip of rain starting to gather on the metal roofs above, slow and rhythmic.
Menci straightened up, arms crossed. "So what do we do?"
No one answered. Amir stared at the vials, then at the dead man beside them, his mouth parting slightly like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
Leon kept his eyes on the case. His skin prickled. Whatever those things were, they didn't belong in a place like this—and neither did they.
He had the sickening sense that something had been waiting for someone to open that lid.
The five of them stood in a circle around the suitcase, the vials gleaming faintly in the fading light. The air felt damp and close now, the smell of rust and rain creeping heavier into their lungs. No one seemed to know what to say next.
Then Amir, crouched nearest to the open case, turned to Shake with that lopsided grin he wore whenever he was about to say something stupid. "Fifty bucks if you drink it."
Zumi's head snapped toward him. "What?"
Leon blinked. "You're joking."
Amir shrugged, grin widening. "Fifty. Easy money. You always say you'll try anything once."
"Bro," Shake said, half-laughing but uneasy. "You're insane."
"So are you," Amir countered. "Come on, big guy. Just one sip. You could say you did something badass today."
Zumi's jaw dropped. "He's not drinking that! You don't even know what's in it!"
"Exactly," Amir said with mock seriousness. "Scientific curiosity."
Menci groaned under her breath. "You two are idiots."
Leon stepped forward, voice tight. "Amir, stop screwing around. That's not something to play with."
The tension between them thickened, the air humming faintly with the patter of rain hitting the junkyard roof panels. Amir only leaned closer, tapping the case with two fingers. "Come on, Shake. You know you wanna outshine us for once."
Shake looked from Amir to the vials. His face twisted into that mix of uncertainty and pride Leon recognized all too well. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Fifty bucks?"
"Cash. Tomorrow. I swear on my mother's minivan."
Zumi threw up her hands. "You two are unbelievable."
"Don't do it," Leon said quietly, watching Shake's eyes linger too long on the red liquid. "You don't know what it'll do."
Shake let out a nervous laugh and rubbed his neck. "Man, it's probably just water with dye or something."
"Then why's it in a case next to a corpse?" Menci snapped.
But Shake wasn't listening anymore. He knelt down, his large hands fumbling with one of the vials. The glass felt slick from the mist in the air, cool against his fingers. For a second, it seemed to pulse faintly, the red glow deepening like a heartbeat.
"Shake," Leon said, his stomach tightening. "Put it down."
Shake glanced up at him, his grin weak but defiant. "Relax, I'll just take a sip."
Zumi took a step forward, panic rising in her voice. "Don't—"
But the sound of the seal twisting cut her off. The cap came loose with a faint hiss, and a whiff of something chemical and metallic hit the air. It smelled faintly of burnt sugar and iron.
Leon froze, his breath catching in his chest.
Shake sniffed it once and grimaced. "Smells like blood."
"Then don't drink it!" Zumi shouted.
Amir, still crouched, raised his phone half-heartedly as if to record. "For the record, I didn't force him."
Shake rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man." He lifted the vial to his lips.
Leon's heart pounded in his ears. The world seemed to narrow to that small red-glowing cylinder and the sound of rain drumming faintly overhead.
"Shake," he said again, quieter this time. "Don't."
But Shake already tilted the vial back.
The liquid slid down fast, thicker than water, the red gleam catching the light as it poured. He gagged once, coughed, and pulled the vial away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Ugh. Tastes like pennies."
For a second, no one moved.
Then Zumi exploded. "You absolute idiot! What if that was poison? What if you die?"
Shake chuckled weakly. "Then I get out of finals."
Leon didn't laugh. His eyes stayed on the vial in Shake's hand. The remaining drops clung to the glass like syrup. There was something wrong about how it caught the light—too vivid, like it wasn't reflecting but glowing on its own.
Amir broke the silence with a nervous laugh. "See? He's fine. Big man's indestructible."
Shake shrugged, rubbing his throat. "Feels weird, though. Kind of hot."
Zumi's tone shifted immediately. "Hot how?"
He frowned, tapping his chest. "Like… spreading? It's probably just in my head."
Leon took a step closer. The air between them felt heavier now, the smell of rain replaced by something faintly metallic and sharp. He could see beads of sweat forming along Shake's temple, his breath quickening.
Menci moved to his side, worry cutting through her earlier sarcasm. "Shake, talk to us. You okay?"
Shake nodded once, then again, slower. His face was flushed now, eyes darting unfocused. "Yeah… yeah, just give me a sec."
He stumbled a little, catching himself on the hood of a car. The metal rang under his palm, the sound slicing through the growing silence.
Amir's grin faded entirely. "Shake?"
Leon could see it clearly now—the faint shimmer under Shake's skin, like light moving just beneath the surface. His heart dropped into his stomach.
"Something's wrong," Leon whispered.
And then Shake's knees buckled.
Shake's body hit the dirt hard. For one long second, no one moved. The only sound was the rain tapping faintly against twisted metal. His limbs twitched once, his chest heaving as a low groan slipped through his teeth.
"Shake!" Zumi dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder. "Hey, look at me!"
His eyes fluttered open, the pupils unfocused. His breathing came in sharp bursts, every inhale sounding like it scraped his throat.
"Holy shit," Amir muttered, stumbling back. "Oh my god, I didn't think—"
"Of course you didn't think!" Menci snapped, rounding on him. "You never think!"
Leon crouched beside Zumi, heart hammering in his ears. Shake's skin was slick with sweat, his pulse racing under his jaw. "We need to keep him awake," Leon said quietly, trying to sound steadier than he felt.
"I'm fine," Shake mumbled, his voice hoarse. His hand twitched toward the ground, then dropped again. "Just… dizzy."
Menci turned back toward him. "You're not fine, dumbass. You drank something out of a corpse's lunchbox."
Zumi shot her a glare. "Not helping."
"I wasn't trying to."
Amir paced in small circles, his sneakers scraping the dirt. "Okay, okay, we just need to wait it out. Maybe it's—"
"If you say fine one more time, I'm hitting you," Menci said.
Shake made a weak noise that might have been a laugh, then sat up suddenly and let out a sharp burp. It echoed faintly off the car doors. He blinked a few times, swaying slightly. "Ugh. Tastes like pennies and burnt toast."
The group froze.
Zumi leaned in cautiously. "You good?"
Shake rubbed his forehead and nodded. "Yeah. Woozy, but I'm not dying. I think."
The collective sigh that followed was loud enough to chase the tension back a few feet.
Amir, still standing a little too far from the group, tried to laugh. It came out shaky. "Okay, so… uh, lesson learned. No more mystery shots."
Menci gave him a slow, deathly look. "You think this is funny?"
"I—"
She kicked him square in the shin. The thud of her boot against his leg made him yelp. "Ow! Jesus, Menci!"
"Be glad I didn't grab the metal rod," she said.
Amir hopped back, rubbing his leg. "Alright, alright! Message received!"
Leon ignored them. He reached toward the open case and picked up one of the remaining vials. The glass was still cold, almost unnaturally so, and the red liquid shimmered faintly inside. He turned it over in his hand, watching how it caught the low light.
"What the hell is this?" he murmured.
No one answered right away. The air smelled faintly of wet dirt and something metallic that hadn't faded since the vial was opened.
Zumi straightened, brushing rain from her hair. "Whatever it is, it's way above our pay grade. We shouldn't even be touching that."
Menci let out a dry laugh. "So much for a reunion. We're gonna end up in prison."
Shake groaned as he got to his feet, wobbling once before steadying himself. His shirt was damp, streaked with dirt. "Next time," he said, brushing himself off, "remind me not to hang out with you psychos."
Amir muttered, "I didn't force you," earning another glare from Menci.
Leon stood slowly, still holding the vial. His fingers itched to drop it, but something about it kept him staring. The glow wasn't natural. It reminded him of blood under a microscope, alive and restless, like it didn't belong in glass.
Zumi pulled her hood up, glancing toward the exit. "If this turns out to be government crap, I'm done for. No Hero Agency's gonna want someone tied to a crime scene."
Leon frowned. "You think it's military?"
"It's sealed tech. Could be anything. Experiment, prototype, hell, even alien for all I know."
Amir grinned weakly. "Alien juice. Great. Maybe Shake's gonna turn green and start shooting lasers."
Shake held up a finger. "If I start glowing, I'm probing you, chico."
Zumi didn't smile. Her eyes lingered on the body slumped near them, rain now starting to patter lightly over the man's shoulder. "We should go."
Leon finally set the vial back into the case, careful not to touch the rim. The sound of glass against foam was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of wind through the yard.
He looked at his friends—Amir rubbing his shin, Menci glaring, Zumi anxious, Shake pale but standing—and realized the night had shifted in some quiet, irreversible way. They'd come here chasing nostalgia, and somehow, they'd stumbled into something else entirely.
The sky above had dimmed to a bruised violet. The air smelled of ozone and rain.
"Yeah," Leon said softly. "Let's get out of here."
But as they turned to leave, the faintest red flicker pulsed from inside the case.
None of them noticed.
Not yet.