"This marks the seventieth anniversary of the man who accepted death live on the news," the anchor said, her voice crackling through the old radio speakers, "and the seventieth anniversary of World Convergence, the day humanity was reborn."
Orion reached over and twisted the volume knob down, pulling his mother's attention away from the static-laced broadcast.
"Alright, Ma. I'm heading to work." He forced his lips into something resembling a smile. "I'm already running late. I'll be back on time."
His mother lay propped against thin pillows, blankets pulled up to her chest. The afternoon light through the curtains made her skin look paper-thin, but when she smiled back at him, his forced smile became real.
"Be safe."
The words were simple, but her smile was rare. Orion nodded, turning the volume knob back up before she could say anything else that might make leaving harder. He rushed out the front door and twisted the lock until it clicked.
His rusty bicycle leaned against the railing. He swung his leg over and pushed off hard, the chain grinding in protest.
This was the second time he'd been late this week. He needed the manager to be running late too, just this once.
He cut through narrow alleyways where weeds pushed through cracked pavement, then burst onto the main road. Cars rushed past in blurs of color and sound. He pedaled harder, legs burning, lungs screaming, racing vehicles he had no chance of beating.
By the time he skidded to a stop outside Quick Burger, sweat plastered his shirt to his back.
He locked his bike to the streetlight and slipped through the back door, moving past the sizzle and smoke of the kitchen toward the front counters.
The manager stood at the register. A thin man with slicked-back hair that caught the fluorescent lights. He didn't look up as Orion stopped beside him. Just kept scanning orders with the same flat expression he always wore, fingers moving mechanically across the screen.
Orion waited, chest still heaving.
Finally, the man glanced sideways. He scribbled something on a scrap of receipt paper and pressed it into Orion's palm without a word.
Fired.
Orion stared at the letters. No. This was the only place within biking distance that had hired him. He'd skipped school for this job. He couldn't let it slip away.
He waited as customers thinned, until only the hum of fryers filled the silence.
"I really need this job," he said quietly.
The manager finally looked at him like he was actually there.
"What's the name of this place?"
"Quick Burger."
The man leaned in close enough that Orion could smell coffee on his breath.
"Exactly. Something you're not."
He straightened, adjusting his glasses. "Besides, I already found your replacement. Starts tomorrow. And guess what? He's actually fast."
Orion's jaw tightened. Before he could think it through, his knees hit the tiled floor.
"Please." The word scraped out of him. His arms wrapped around the manager's leg. "My mom's sick. I need the money for her treatment. Please."
"Get off me." The manager jerked his leg back, his face twisting in disgust. "John! Get him out of here."
John appeared from the kitchen, looking apologetic as his hands closed around Orion's arms firmly, hauling him to his feet.
"Sorry, man," John muttered as he guided him toward the back door. "It was nice having you."
The door swung shut.
Orion sat on the concrete step, staring at the grease stains on the asphalt. He pushed himself up and walked around to the front entrance.
Through the glass, John stood just inside, already shaking his head.
Orion's hands curled into fists at his sides, then slowly loosened. There was nothing left to fight for here.
He unlocked his bike and rode toward the mall, hoping the job board had something new.
Three years back in this neighborhood, and he still hadn't found a stable job.
The board stood near the entrance, cork surface layered with flyers.
He scanned each one. Warehouse work: ability users only. Delivery driver: must have vehicle. Security guard: combat certification required.
None of them applied to him.
His hand curled into a fist against the board. Ability users only. The words were everywhere, stamped across half the listings like a barrier he'd never cross. Everyone else was born with something. Strength, speed, enhanced senses, something.
And him? Nothing.
He ripped a flyer off the board and threw it. The papers separated mid-air, two sheets that had been stuck together, and fluttered to the ground.
Bold letters on the pavement caught his eye.
BECOME A HUNTER
EARN WHAT YOU'RE WORTH
He bent down and picked it up. Hunters in gleaming armor stared back at him, weapons raised against massive creatures.
Orion had thought about it before, but the same thought of his mother would stop him.
If I die… what happens to Ma?
Then the pay rates at the bottom caught his eye.
Better than Quick Burger. For the lowest-tier monsters.
Maybe, if he worked long enough, he could actually afford the cure.
Still afternoon. He had time.
He folded the flyer, shoved it in his pocket, and pedaled across town.
The hunter office sat on the edge of the containment zone. A squat building with narrow windows and concrete walls. Inside, the air smelled of disinfectant and metal.
The reception area was empty except for a woman behind the counter. Tablets lined the wall to his left beneath a sign.
HUNTER REGISTRATION
SELF SERVICE
Orion took one.
The screen lit up immediately, camera activating.
SCAN FACE. PLACE THUMB ON SENSOR.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED.
Name: Orion Vale
Age: 17
Ability: Undeclared
The first page asked him to declare his ability.
He stared at the dropdown menu. He tried swiping to the next page, but the tablet refused.
He had to choose something.
He tapped Sensory, then scrolled until he found Visual Enhancement: Hyperacuity.
No verification request appeared.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
The screen shifted to a waiver. Walls of text in small print.
The Hunter's Guild assumes no responsibility for injury, permanent disability, psychological damage, or death incurred during sanctioned or unsanctioned dungeon activities. By proceeding, the applicant acknowledges full understanding of inherent risks and waives all claims against...
Orion didn't read the rest. He pressed his thumb against the scanner.
CONSENT RECORDED.
PROCEED TO COUNTER 3.
The receptionist barely looked up when he slid the tablet across the desk. Her fingers moved quickly, scanning his information.
Moments later, a plastic card slid back toward him.
"This is your hunter license," she said, already reaching under the counter. "New hunters are advised to attend the academy. Medical treatment is free for registered hunters at guild-affiliated hospitals."
"I don't have money for—"
A thick book landed on the desk with a heavy thud, followed by a small mechanical sphere about the size of a baseball.
"Hunter Academy training is free for registered hunters. Course duration is three months. Your session begins in two days." She tapped the book. "The manual contains information on all recorded monster species, categorized by threat level."
Then she pushed the sphere toward him. "Standard-issue hunting drone. Mandatory for all dungeon entries. Failure to activate will result in fines and possible suspension."
She sat back down, eyes already returning to her tablet.
"Welcome to the guild."
Orion stood there, staring at the ID card in his hand. "What about equipment?"
"Hunters are responsible for obtaining their own combat gear," she replied without looking up. "The guild does not provide protective suits, weapons, or medical supplies."
Orion nodded slowly.
Everything had happened so fast he didn't know what else to ask.
Outside, the sun was still bright. He climbed onto his bike, placing the book and drone carefully in the front basket. Every bump in the road made them rattle.
For a while, he didn't think about monsters or the academy.
He thought about his mother, about her smile this morning.
He wanted to see that smile every day.
By the time he unlocked the front door, the sun was sinking below the rooftops. He dropped the manual on the kitchen table, the drone clattering beside it.
He went to the kitchen and pulled out the largest knife, a chef's knife with a handle worn smooth from years of use.
It was the only thing he had close enough to a weapon. He put it in his backpack.
He didn't need the manual. He'd learned enough from watching hunter streams every day.
I can handle this, he told himself.
He stepped quietly into his mother's room. She was asleep, her breathing soft and steady. He knelt beside the bed and gently lifted her hand, resting his forehead against it.
"I love you," he whispered.
The words mattered more to him than to anyone else in the world.
He stayed there for a moment, then carefully set her hand back down and slipped out.
The sky had gone dark. He grabbed the drone from the kitchen table, tucked it into his backpack, and locked the door behind him.
He climbed onto his bike and pedaled into the dark alleyways.
----
The roads grew rougher as he neared the containment zone. Buildings stood empty, windows shattered, walls marked with faded warnings.
A chill crept up his spine despite the evening warmth.
Up ahead, metal fencing stretched across the road in both directions, topped with coils of razor wire that glinted under the streetlights.
DANGER
CONTAINMENT ZONE
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Beyond the fence stood a massive structure. A reinforced gateway built from steel and concrete. Soldiers in tactical gear stood near the entrance.
Orion slowed to a stop and climbed off his bike. He locked it to the fence, fingers fumbling slightly with the chain, then slung his backpack over one shoulder.
He pulled out his hunter ID, holding it ready.
None of the soldiers asked for it.
"Hey, kid." One of them stepped forward. A large man with a scar running along his jawline. His eyes scanned Orion's worn clothes and the backpack that clearly wasn't designed for combat. "You got equipment?"
"Yeah." Orion shifted his bag slightly, trying to look more confident than he felt.
"Drone?"
Orion reached into his bag and pulled out the small sphere. He found the activation switch and pressed it.
The drone hummed to life with a soft whir, rising into the air beside his head. Its lens rotated, focusing with mechanical precision.
The soldier nodded slowly.
"Alright. You understand the consequences, then?"
Orion wasn't sure if he meant the consequences of entering without proper gear, or the consequences of what waited inside. Either way, he nodded.
The soldier pressed a button on a control panel mounted to the fence.
The massive gate shuddered, then began to slide open with a grinding metallic screech.
Orion walked forward into the dimly lit passage. His footsteps echoed against the metal floor, each step louder in the enclosed space. The drone's whirring intensified overhead.
His eyes caught graffiti spray-painted above the entrance in neon red:
NOT FOR THE WEAK
His grip tightened on his backpack strap.
Behind him, the gate slammed shut with a heavy thud that reverberated through his chest.
He could only move forward now.