[TENT CITY, SOUTHERN THIRD DISTRICT]
I stretched and heaved a breath as white mist trailed from my lips.
By the time I got some semblance of clarity, a week had already passed.
The city was no longer full of screams and howls.
People still groaned now and then. Ocassionally there would be a low rumble as the street lights buckled or a wall collapsed in. Everything still wasn't perfect, but the constant raw terror of that first night was gone, forgotten at the earliest convenience.
What replaced it was quieter, and somehow heavier.
Relief trucks. Portable ward emitters. Field generators humming under tarps. The soft murmur of too many people trying to make a temporary space feel like anything except what it was.
After the demon attack had devastated a quarter of the city, hundreds of people had nowhere to go. Knowing that they couldn't just camp out in the harsh cold, the authorities had sent out aid in large quantities.
'Displaced Relief Region'
That's what they called it.
I called it the tent city.
It sprawled across what used to be a commuter park on the edge of the blast zone. The shockwave had knocked out half the windows on the surrounding blocks and turned a couple of older buildings into leaning stacks of rubble.
A sigh escaped my lips.
Though the attack was disastrous, and many had lost their lives, it had all somehow turned out fine for me. Luckily, once the incident was resolved, the rescue squads found me half unconscious, hiding out in a collapsed building.
Before I knew it, I was on a stretcher and thoroughly examined from head to toe. And only when they were sure I was fine was I let go.
Heck, seeing as I had no one to stay with, I'd even got one of the smaller tents near the edge of the camp, tucked under the shadow of a half-collapsed office block.
Apparently, if you were fifteen, had no band, no registration, and no clear district tag, they filed you under "unaccompanied minor" and stuck you near the medical tents where people could keep an eye on you.
Well, I couldn't complain, it beat freezing alone.
I groggily got out of my makeshift sleeping bag and put on a new pair of gloves and shoes. After I had bundled up the best I could, I slowly opened the tent's zipper.
A gust of cold air brushed past my face as I looked up; the sun was still rising. A golden hue slowly crept up the horizon.
Just then, my stomach grumbled.
'Guess I know where my first stop is.'
But before I could indulge, there was one thing I had to do. I bent down and tied my shoes into a stronger knot, then I stretched side to side to warm up what I could.
I stepped out of the tent and zipped it back up as I left towards the centre of the camp.
"Morning, Noah!"
I jogged past the soup line and raised a hand, trying not to suck in too much air at once.
"Morning," I managed.
My breath fogged in front of me.
A few heads turned as I ran by.
Someone whistled. "He's at it again. Kid's going to wear a groove in the pavement."
"It's good energy," an older woman said, adjusting her scarf. "Better than sitting and thinking."
I pretended I didn't hear the word kid and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
The perimeter of the camp made a decent track for a morning run. Past the soup tables. Around the cluster of medical tents with their white tarps and green crosses. Along the fence, where city drones hovered above and watched the ruined blocks beyond with a quiet, tireless patience.
Insight pulsed.
-
[CONDITION]
OVERALL: 89%
ELEVATED HEART RATE
MUSCLE FATIGUE: MILD
COLD STRESS: NEGLIGIBLE
-
Then another line snapped in, clean and simple.
[SKILL UPDATED]
+ ENDURANCE: RANK F
"About time," I muttered between breaths. It had been insanely difficult to even get started on this skill. Though I knew it wasn't something I could neglect.
I had done a week of this.
Every morning before the soup line got too long, before the tent city woke properly, I dragged myself out of the thin camp cot, stretched, and ran until my vision blurred.
Day one, I almost threw up halfway through the first lap.
Day three, I managed two laps without stopping.
Day seven, I hit three and only felt like my legs were going to detach and walk away without me. In the end, it was all worth it.
[ENDURANCE] was a skill I could not live without. Not when I needed everything I could get my hands on to survive.
I slowed to a jog, then a walk, hands on my head, breathing deep until the burn eased.
The tent city moved around me, waking up.
Kids chased each other between guy lines. Tired adults queued for food, holding mismatched cups and bowls. Volunteers in city vests hauled crates from supply trucks. Somewhere close by, someone cursed as they tripped over a pallet edge.
Awakened patrol squads walked the perimeter in pairs, bands on their wrists glowing faintly when they passed under the pylons. Same uniform cut, same posture, just less bloodstained than the first pair I'd met.
I never saw those two who had saved me again. Part of me hoped that meant they'd made it through their breach.
The soup kitchen was a cluster of collapsible tables under a tarp. Big vats sat on heaters, steaming clouds of warmth into the air. The smell hit me as I passed. Barley, vegetables, a hint of meat.
My stomach, which had apparently decided to forgive me for running like an idiot, growled.
I cut back into the camp and joined the end of the line.
"Rough one today?" the guy in front of me asked without turning around.
Late twenties. Hair shaved close. Band on his wrist. The band's light flickered faintly as he shifted.
"Less rough than last week," I said.
"That's the spirit."
We shuffled forward together.
Insight hovered quietly in the background. No panels this time. Just the low hum of something that had stopped feeling like a stranger in my skull.
"Kid, you're going to outrun the rations if you keep burning through calories like that," someone said behind me.
I glanced back.
An old woman. Two tents down. Wrapped in three blankets and a coat that might have been older than I was. She'd given me a cracked mug on day two when she saw me staring at the soup with empty hands.
I cut in quickly. "Just trying to keep warm."
She snorted. "You could try sitting by a heater like a normal person." But despite her words, I saw her lips curl into a smile. There was a strange kindness in her eyes.
I gave her a wry smile back. "I will try it next time. Save me a spot."
"Hm? No one's saving you a spot, boy." The woman chuckled.
You could tell a lot about a place by how it handled boredom.
Some people sat and stared. Some argued. Some found petty things to fight over. Most here filled the gaps with little rituals. Card games. Shared stories. Watching the patrols come and go like it was a show.
They folded me into it without asking too many questions.
No one pushed too hard about my missing band. Even the medics only ever cared about my health and nothing more.
In hindsight, it was a useless concern.
"Next!" a volunteer called.
I took a dented tin bowl and held it out. The woman ladling soup into it smiled automatically, a professional smile frayed around the edges.
"Morning, Noah," she said. "Still running?"
"Doing what I can." I smiled in response.
"Ambitious," she said, filling the bowl. "Don't pass out on our flooring. We only have so many medics."
"I'll do my best."
I stepped aside and found a spot on an overturned crate near one of the heaters. Warmth licked at my legs, making the skin under my soaked socks prickle. The soup tasted better than anything I'd eaten in days, even if it was mostly water and root vegetables.
Around me, conversations overlapped.
"...the Academy admissions are opening this fall. I heard they're already hiring workers to prepare the testing grounds.."
"...my cousin's band glitched during the blast, they had to re-print it..."
"...demons that far inside Third District, can you imagine..."
The word Academy came up more often than I'd expected.
One of the academy's outer facilities was close enough that their medical cadets had been among the first on scene.
I hadn't seen them that first night. I hadn't seen much of anything beyond the inside of the camp. The tent city filled in the rest with stories.
I stayed quiet, soup cooling in my hands. As time passed, I finished the last of the soup and stood, stretching until my ribs complained.
The stim's effects had worn off days ago. The bruise was still there, a purple inkblot when I stripped in the wash tents at night. Insight insisted it was healing properly. No nasty surprises. No quiet infections. No internal bleeding.
Just pain, fading slowly.
[CONDITION]
OVERALL: 91%
BRUISING: RESOLVING
MUSCLE FATIGUE: SUBSIDING
SLEEP DEBT: MODERATE
Sleep had been inconsistent.
Every time I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes, my brain tried to sink back into delusion. That it was all just a bad nightmare. If I was tired enough, it skipped all that and even hallucinated a dream that I was back in my room.
Some nights, those dreams didn't let me sleep at all. Like a veiled regret gnawing at my subconscious.
When the bowl was empty, I licked the last film of soup from the edge, dropped it into the collection crate, and headed toward the far side of the tent city.