Focus Character: Ren
Ren didn't like buildings he couldn't see the exits of. And he didn't like walking into traps he couldn't disarm.
The rusted staircase leading down the cliff face was both.
It was a thousand steps of wet, oxidized iron bolted directly into the rock. The fog was so thick here, just twenty feet below the docks, that Ren couldn't see the rest of his "unit" ten feet ahead of him. He could only hear them.
He heard the girl with the makeup (Zara) curse as a heel snapped on the uneven grating. He heard the nervous kid (Ravi) trying to offer her a hand she didn't take. He heard the small, quiet whimpering of the one who was crying(Jules).
Ren just kept his hand on the freezing rail, his eyes scanning, his senses on fire.
The sound of the ocean below was a roar. The sea spray hit his face, stinging the fresh bruise on his jaw.
This whole setup was designed to break them before they even got inside. The "Pigs" weren't just given the worst dorm; they were given the most lethal commute. One slip in the dark, one loose bolt, and you were just a fifty-point "Terminal Redaction" for the ocean.
"This is insane!" Ravi called out over the wind, his voice high with panic. "There's no way this is up to code!"
Ren scoffed. "Code is for people the school doesn't want to die, golden boy."
After an agonizing ten minute descent, they reached the bottom. A narrow, muddy path led to a single, looming structure.
Deathpig Hall was a tactical nightmare, very befitting of the name.
It was a towering slab of blackened Victorian stone shoved into the far edge of the island's cliffs, constantly battered by sea spray. It smelled like wet animals and structural neglect.
While the other dorms up on Torre Umbra with polarized infrared scanners and biomorphic security scanners, very well taken care of, Deathpig Hall just was there, barely standing, screaming stay away, its gargoyles missing chunks of their faces.
And it only had one entrance.
Fatal funnel, Ren's mind took in every detail no matter how small as they rushed through the single, narrow oak entryway. One way in, one way out. If this place burns, we all cook.
He kept his back to the damp stone wall as the other Pigs shuffled into the lobby. He wasn't looking at the vaulted ceiling or the peeling crimped wallpaper. He was counting.
Six other students in his designated "unit." Four visible security cameras (three active, one with a severed wire—interesting). Zero visible staff members.
Ren's eyes swept over his new liabilities. This was his unit. He had to assess them before they got him killed.
Ravi Dasa (Rank 455): Looked like a nervous puppy. Too soft. Too eager to please. He'd be the first to break under interrogation, trying to make everyone "happy." Liability.
Zara (Rank 430): Dangerous. She was already assessing the room for its aesthetic flaws, not its tactical ones. She'd sell them all for a warmer room. Threat/Liability.
Sia (Rank 485):Still in her hoodie, staring at a patch of mold on the wall. Might as well already be dead. Useless.
Mina (Rank 500): Currently trying to hide behind Ravi. Looked like she was two seconds from fainting. Extreme Liability.
Jules (Rank 490): Already crying. Sniffling quietly by the door. Absolute Liability.
Nyx (Rank 495): She was the only other one in the room who wasn't staring at the peeling paint. She was watching the staircase, her hand resting on the heavy Kinetic baton strapped to her thigh. Competition.
Seven of them. A collection of broken toys and emotional train wrecks.
Ren tugged at the collar of his uniform. It felt like a string tied tightly around his neck. He'd spent eighteen years learning how to survive small rooms with angry men, and his instincts were screaming that this entire island was just a bigger, prettier cage.
"Welcome home, Pigs."
The voice was smooth, cultured, and instantly made Ren want to break something.
He looked up toward the grand staircase. Standing there, looking down at them like they were something he'd scraped off his boot.Damian. Ren knew the name because it was currently glowing in faint, holographic blue text on the sleek black ID card clipped to the guy's chest. Above the name was his Horacatein Rank: 001.
Ren looked down at his own chest. His rank was a sullen, flickering red: 498. almost Dead last.
"I am your designated Horacatein Leader for induction," Damian said, descending the stairs with practiced, fluid grace. He didn't walk; he glided. His expensive leather shoes didn't make a sound on the stone steps.
"Deathpig Hall is reserved for those students Vara Rose has deemed... statistically improbable to succeed. You are here because you are flawed trash who couldn't even get to any other level. How befitting."
Ren felt the familiar, corrosive heat spread through his chest. It was the same feeling he got when his stepfather used to lecture him about "gratitude" before locking him in the basement for breaking a rule.
Don't let him see it, Ren reminded himself. He wants the fear. Fear is currency here.
He leaned back against the cold wall, crossing his arms, deliberately bored. He caught Nyx's eye. She was standing perfectly still too, her eyes tracking Damian's movement like a turret gun.
"Your suite is on Sub Level 4," Damian continued. He stopped just inches from Ren. He hadn't looked at the others at all, just skimmed over them like they were furniture. He only looked at Ren.
Predators always recognized each other.
"Try not to enhance the already potent aroma of failure down there," Damian said.
Ren didn't move. He didn't even blink. He could already tell he wasn't going to like him. He knew guys like Damian. They were born with power, so they never learned how to earn it. They needed you to flinch. They needed you to be impressed by the shiny suit and the perfect hair.
"Cute speech," Ren said, his voice rough, quiet. "Did your daddy write it for you, or did you buy it with the rest of your personality?"
A collective, terrified inhale from the other Pigs. Jules actually took a step back.
You didn't talk to Tier 1s like that. Especially not on Day One.
Damian's face didn't change, but his gray eyes tightened by a fraction of a millimeter. A micro expression of genuine annoyance.
Gotcha, Ren thought, a savage rush of adrenaline spiking his pulse. He's not a machine. He just plays one on TV.
"Disruptive behavior will negatively impact your Horacatein score before classes even begin, Mr. Pluto," Damian said softly, his voice sounding like a threat. "Your rank is 498. It is very hard to fall further, but I assure you, there is a 500, and it has a lovely view of the incinerator."
"Let it drop to 600," Ren said, pushing off the wall so he was right in Damian's personal space. He was close enough to see the tiny, perfect pores on Damian's skin. "See if I care. I'm not here to play your little video game."
It was a lie. He had to be here. If he got kicked out, he was dead or worse, back in Boston under his stepfather's thumb. But guys like Damian couldn't know you needed anything. Need was a handle they could grab you by.
Damian held his gaze for a second longer, the air crackling between them.
Then he smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of someone deciding where to bury a body.
"Enjoy the basement, Ren," Damian said, stepping aside with a theatrical flourish of dismissal. "I'm sure you'll fit right in with the rest of the vermin."
He walked away, his entourage of glossy, high-ranked students including the girl, Phina Kroyx, following him like ducklings.
Ren let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His hands were shaking slightly, hidden in his jacket pockets. He hated that.
He turned to his "unit." They were all staring at him with a mix of terror and awe.
Ravi looked horrified. "He... he could have had us all Purged for that."
Zara, however, looked mildly impressed. "Well. At least it won't be boring."
"Great," Nyx, muttered, hefting her duffel bag. "Five minutes in, and you already painted a target on all our backs. Good tactical work, genius."
"Better a target than a doormat," Ren shot back, grabbing his own battered suitcase.
He headed for the stairs down to Sub Level 4. He didn't wait for them. He needed to find their room. He needed to find the exits. He needed to make sure the locks worked, because he knew one thing for sure now:
The dangers weren't just outside the gates. They were running the place.