Max couldn't sleep that night.
Not because of nightmares.
Not because of pain.
But because something inside him wouldn't stop burning.
The green flame — his curse — pulsed with every question that ran through his mind.
If his body could barely withstand this power, how could he possibly survive against a Pure Vice?
What if this was all he'd ever be — a prisoner in this place, slowly being molded into a living weapon?
Would he ever be free?
He didn't have the answer.
But the more he thought, the hotter the fire in his chest became.
Eventually, he climbed out of bed, ignoring the cold floor on his bare feet. He saw the faint glow of green in the mirror as one of his eyes flickered.
Still unstable. Still cursed.
Max wandered into the dorm's lounge — a sterile but quiet space shared by Unit Twelve. A few couches. A shelf of unread books. A fridge stocked with exactly enough rations to keep them alive.
He collapsed onto one of the sofas, lying flat, throwing his arm over his eyes.
"Am I just a weapon?" he whispered aloud, unsure if he wanted an answer.
"Yep," came a voice behind him. "We both are."
Max sat up halfway.
Ava strolled in, her oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, a protein bar hanging loosely from her fingers.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked casually, unwrapping the bar with her teeth.
Max rubbed his temple. "Do you think we'll ever be free?"
That made her pause.
She didn't look at him at first — just chewed quietly for a second, thoughtful.
Then:
"I don't know."
She sat down across from him, folding her legs under her.
"I've been here longer than the rest of you. Long enough to know there are a lot of things they don't tell us. But I also know one thing — this place doesn't want you to believe in freedom. You gotta fight for it. Tear it outta their hands."
Max stared at her.
Her tone wasn't angry.
Just tired. Real.
"I believe killing a Pure Vice is possible," she added. "But we'd have to get hella strong to pull it off. Like… suicidal levels of strong."
The flame inside Max flickered again — this time, it didn't burn.
It waited.
Like it was listening.
"...You said you've been here the longest," Max said after a pause. "So tell me — how come the world doesn't know about this?"
Ava blinked at him. Then let out a dry chuckle.
"Yeah. Good question."
Max leaned forward. "I mean… Vices, Virtues, this whole facility — how the hell is it all hidden? No news coverage, no whispers online… nothing?"
A new voice joined in.
"Maybe they cover it up with something else."
Samira stepped into the room, her long hair swaying slightly with each step.
She didn't look tired. She looked like she hadn't even tried to sleep.
She reached for the miniature fridge — grabbing a drink.
"Military accidents. Environmental disasters. 'Gas leaks.' Take your pick. Humanity believes what's convenient. The government probably works with the Virtues to keep it all quiet."
Ava raised a brow. "You're saying the world's just okay with people disappearing?"
Samira gave a cold smile. "They don't know they're disappearing. That's the point."
Max looked between the two girls.
"So… we're ghosts."
"Not even," Samira gave a sassy grin. "We're shadows. And shadows don't get remembered."
Max stood up and walked to the far side of the room. He placed a hand against the wall, staring at nothing.
"There has to be another way out," he muttered. "Some way to leave this place."
The room went quiet.
Ava and Samira exchanged a glance.
Then Ava said it, like it was a fact.
"I don't think there's another other way out."
Max turned his head towards her.
Ava looked him dead in the eyes with a tired grin.
"Like Loyalty said, to leave we have to kill our Pure Vices."
Max already knew that but the green flame inside Max's chest suddenly flared. He staggered slightly, catching himself on the wall.
Kill our Pure Vices.
That was the price of freedom.
He looked at the girls — at Ava's tired grin, at Samira's unflinching calm — and for the first time since he arrived...
He didn't feel entirely alone.
But the fire inside him?
It burned hotter than ever.
One week later.
Max hit the floor again, the impact rattling through his spine.
"Up," Kaz barked. "You think a Vice is gonna wait for you to breathe?"
Max pushed himself up, sweat stinging his eyes. His arms trembled, his chest burned, but he refused to stay down. The fire inside him — that cursed green spark — pulsed with every heartbeat.
Kaz lunged. Max barely dodged, spinning low and countering with a burst of flame. The emerald flare missed by inches, searing a line across the floor.
Kaz grunted, "Why are you still holding back?!"
Max wiped blood from his lip and glared. "I'm not holding back. I'm learning how to aim."
Kaz's grin sharpened. "Then aim better."
Max's hand lit up again. The heat roared through his veins — wild, demanding. For a moment, he let it take him. He struck forward, and when Kaz blocked, the air between them exploded in a flash of green.
When the smoke cleared, both were panting. Kaz smirked. "Better."
From the sidelines, Ava clapped slowly. "Finally hit him without setting yourself on fire. Progress."
Max shot her a look. "Barely."
"Barely still counts." She tossed him a bottle of water, then nodded at the faint scorch on Kaz's sleeve. "You're getting used to it — controlling the heat, not letting it control you."
Samira walked by, stretching lazily. "He just likes showing off."
"Shut up," Max muttered.
She smiled. "Or maybe he just likes when I'm watching."
Ava rolled her eyes. "She flirts with everyone."
Samira winked. " And not everyone fights back."
The tension broke into quiet chatter between the others, but Max stayed silent — still staring at his hands. His skin was red, his fingers trembling slightly, faint trails of smoke rising between them.
Even when the fire obeyed, it didn't feel like his.
He glanced at the others — Kaz focused, Ava calm, Samira confident. Each of them had learned to live with their curses.
He was still learning not to drown in his.
"I'll get it under control," Max said quietly.
Kaz nodded. "You'd better. Out there, hesitation kills."
The words lingered. Max didn't answer.
When the others left, he stayed behind.
The training hall was quiet now, only the hum of the vents and the faint echo of his breathing. He stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection.
One eye green.
One eye human.
"I'm going to get out of here," he told his reflection.
Not a whisper. Not a hope. A promise.
"I'm going to kill the thing that cursed me."
Behind his words, the green flame inside him pulsed once — not in pain.
But in agreement.