The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a pale, ethereal glow over the cluttered rooftops of the undercity, when Ryan's phone erupted in a shrill trill. The sound pierced the veil of his slumber like a dagger through fog, pulling him reluctantly from the depths of a dreamless void. He cracked one eye open, squinting against the intrusive light filtering through the threadbare curtains, and fumbled for the device on his makeshift nightstand—a rickety crate that doubled as storage for his comics. The screen displayed Kai's name, blinking insistently. With a groan, Ryan answered, his voice thick with sleep. "What...?"
"Defense force forms are out!" Kai's voice blasted through the speaker, laced with urgency that bordered on panic. "Hurry up and get here, or they'll all be gone!"
The words took a moment to penetrate Ryan's groggy mind, swirling like mist before solidifying into meaning. Defense force? Forms? But those were supposed to be next year... He bolted upright, the blanket tangling around his legs like a snare. "Wait, what? They're for next year—"
"No, idiot!" Kai interrupted, his tone sharp as a blade. "Government's short on low-rank soldiers. Some crisis or whatever—they're doing two recruitments this year. Get your ass here now, or the forms will be finished!"
Ryan's heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging like a flood through his veins. "Give me thirty minutes. I'll be there." He ended the call and sprang into action, folding his bed with frantic precision—tucking the corners just so, as if the ritual could impose order on the chaos erupting in his life. The room, sparse and shadowed, seemed smaller in his haste, the air thick with the faint metallic tang of the city outside.
He dashed to the bathroom, the tiny enclosure echoing with his hurried footsteps. Grabbing the bucket of water—cold and unyielding from the night's chill—he upended it over himself in one swift motion. The icy cascade hit him like a shockwave, drenching his skin and making his body shiver uncontrollably, every pore contracting in protest. Water streamed down his face, mingling with the remnants of sleep, as he gasped, the sensation jolting him fully awake. No time for theatrics today; no quirky dialogues with the water. He shook himself off like a dog emerging from a river, droplets scattering across the tiled floor in a haphazard pattern.
Back in the room, he yanked open his meager wardrobe—a single shelf bolted to the wall—and pulled out his go-to outfit: the white T-shirt and blue hoodie, both gifts from Romi, carrying the faint, comforting scent of his brother's presence. He slipped them on, the fabric soft against his chilled skin, followed by black pants that hugged his athletic frame without restricting movement. No hesitation; every second counted.
Descending the five steps to the ground floor, he found breakfast already prepared on the small table—a simple spread of cold rice pudding and a piece of stale bread, left by Romi before his early departure. Ryan wolfed it down, barely tasting it, his mind racing ahead to the forms, the tests, the dream that suddenly felt tantalizingly close. He locked the door behind him, the key turning with a familiar click, but as he stepped out, his gaze caught on the cupboard across the narrow hall. There, on the shelf, sat two bottles where only one had been the night before. Romi must have brought another one home yesterday, he thought, a flicker of curiosity brushing his mind like a whisper. But there was no time to ponder; he shoved the thought aside and bolted into the street.
He dialed Kai back as he moved. "Where do I meet you?"
"Sector 7," Kai replied, his voice muffled by the ambient noise of a crowd. "I'm already here. Long line—hurry!"
Ryan fastened his mask over his face, the fabric settling snugly from forehead to chin, the yellow film tinting his vision with a subtle haze. He pulled up the map on his borrowed phone, inputting the location, and activated the boot command—a low-tech gadget strapped to his shoes that enhanced stride efficiency without crossing into high-tech territory. With a deep breath, he broke into a run, the map displaying Sector 7 as a fifteen-minute journey at a brisk pace. The twisted alleys blurred around him, the polluted air biting at his lungs despite the mask, but his training kicked in—steady breaths, controlled speed. He arrived in under fifteen minutes, his chest heaving but his stamina holding firm.
From a distance, Kai spotted him and waved energetically, his black-and-red jacket standing out against the drab crowd. His green hair was slicked back, catching the light in erratic glints, and he'd swapped his mask for a red one that matched the jacket's accents, giving him a roguish, almost defiant appearance. "Here!" Kai thrust a form into Ryan's hands. "I grabbed these for us. Fill it out quick—we need to get in that line."
Ryan scanned the paper, his pen flying across the fields: name, age, background. He signed with a flourish, his signature a bold loop that betrayed his underlying excitement. They joined the shortest of the three lines snaking toward the recruitment center, a hulking building of weathered concrete and flickering holograms advertising the defense force's glory.
As they waited, Ryan's eyes wandered over the crowd, widening in shock at the diversity. Some looked barely twenty, with hardened faces and missing limbs—prosthetics glinting under the sun, scars telling tales of street brawls or accidents. One had a faint beard sprouting unevenly, his eyes sharp despite the youth. Then, his gaze landed on a girl in jeans, a top, and black pants, her arms adorned with a butterfly tattoo that seemed to shimmer and glow faintly in the sunlight, as if infused with some bioluminescent ink. Her hair was a masterpiece of artistry: braided in three shades—blue, red, green—layered so that from above, it appeared a normal red, but with every subtle movement, the underlying colors peeked through like hidden secrets.
In the first line, a boy stretched with a yawn, his arms rising high, muscles bulging under a simple black tank top and jeans. He was on the shorter side, perhaps 5'6", but his build screamed compact power. His eyes drooped with lingering sleep, as if he might nod off right there in the queue.
One by one, recruits were called inside. The interior opened to a vast ground, encircled by barriers—a testing arena under the open sky. The first challenge: ten laps in twenty-five minutes. A hundred candidates total, divided into four sets of twenty-five, with only five advancing per set. Bold signs warned: "No high-tech gadgets allowed—sensors active."
Three rounds in total: running for endurance, strength test, then IQ assessment. Only ten would be selected overall, based on cumulative performance.
They lined up as names were called. "Max Hoping! Nen Hawking!" Two were summoned aside and taken indoors. Ryan whispered to Kai, "Why them?"
Kai rolled his eyes. "Stupid, didn't you read the form? It asked if you have genetic evolution capability—yes or no."
Ryan blinked in surprise. "I thought that came after joining the force..."
Kai made a face, exasperated. "Do you know anything? Everyone has a bit of gene evolution potential—it's in our DNA. If it's over 10%, they can complete it with training and a pill. But the gene evolution pills are government-exclusive, limited supply. Only the capable get them. Not everyone. Don't overthink—they're already passed. Just eight slots left now."
Ryan nodded, a spark of hope flickering. "We might have it too."
Kai shrugged. "Yeah, but they'll check later in the force. Move up—line's moving."
The first batch ran; only five advanced. Ryan's turn was in the fourth, Kai's in the fifth. As the third finished, Ryan began warming up—jumping jacks, stretches—mirroring the others around him, the air buzzing with tension.
His batch was called. They positioned at the start. An official barked: "Any gadget use detected—immediate disqualification. Sensors everywhere."
A sharp whistle pierced the air. They surged forward. Some bolted ahead, but Ryan paced himself as Romi had taught: conserve energy at the start, ramp up gradually. This was speed and endurance intertwined.
By ten minutes, half had dropped, gasping or collapsed. Only seven kept up with Ryan as seventeen minutes ticked by. A long-haired boy led, his height giving him a stride advantage. Ryan pushed harder but couldn't close the gap, finishing second.
Kai, watching, had assumed Ryan unbeatable in speed—but he was wrong. Someone outpaced him.
Kai's turn came; he collapsed at five minutes, wheezing. "This is brutal. My 100 credits down the drain."
Ryan consoled, "No worries. Next is physical strength." There, Ryan placed fifth; Kai bombed out last. IQ test: Kai third, but without fitness, it meant nothing.
Finally, gene evolution tests for all, conducted in a sealed center to reveal hidden potentials. Max's was 15%. Nen's 17%. Of the hundred, only one or two hit 5-6%.
Ryan's turn: the scan revealed 0%. Kai burst out laughing. "Finally, something I'm ahead in!"
Kai entered next, still chuckling. Two injections pricked his arms, two at his neck— he screamed as green light flashed. Result: 12%.
Kai's mouth hung open in shock. Ryan stared, equally stunned, the room thick with unspoken implications, as if the mysteries of their bloodlines had just unraveled a thread in a larger tapestry.
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