Bunker quiet when I step in. Everybody posted up on they bunks—some sharpenin’ knives, others playin’ cards. The ones that saw what went down the other day—the ones that watched Korin get stomped out—stare hard.

  They don’t like me.

  Ain’t even ‘bout me losin’. It’s ‘bout how Korin ain’t complain when Ritcher laid him out after.

  They respect that.

  I ain’t look at ‘em. Ain’t care neither.

  I got one person I’m here for.

  I stop in front of Korin. Room get real still. He tilt his head a lil’, waitin’.

  “Yes?” He smirk. “This wasn’t how you pictured it, huh?” He chuckle, shakin’ his head.

  I click my tongue, here I was thinking about saying sorry.

  He notices that and the taps my arm, “Appreciate you weren't the one to do it, though.”

  My fists loosen.

  Then his eyes go cold. “But honestly, you should’ve, Vortex. Would’ve hurt less.”

  Laughter pop off around me. Some dudes slap they knees. Others just smirk.

  I don’t move.

  “Just watch your back out there, Vortex,” he says.

  Somethin’ inside me twist up.

  Lanny tap my hand, seein’ my fists clenchin’ again. “Come on,” he mutter. “We’re leaving.”

  Leavin’ don’t change nothin’.

  Ritcher made an example outta the ones that stepped in. Beat ‘em senseless. Kicked ‘em out.

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  Not Korin.

  ‘Cause he just stood there and took it.

  And I know, deep down, that this whole thing foul from the jump. That Ritcher ain’t never set this up to be fair.

  But that don’t matter.

  I need somebody to blame.

  And Korin the only one here.

  When night come, I don’t sleep.

  The others knocked out, but my eyes stay open, starin’ at the ceiling.

  Ain’t no point layin’ here.

  I slide outta bed, step out the bunker, past the tents, the watchtowers, the dim blue lights glowin’ overhead. Night air crisp as hell. My breath curl up in the cold.

  I keep walkin’ ‘til I reach it—

  A ship. Blacked out, big as a beast, eatin’ up the starlight.

  I step forward, drag my fingers along the hull. Cold metal bite back at me, sharp on my skin. And with it—

  The past hit me.

  My father, laid out on the floor. Blood creepin’ out from under him.

  My mother’s screams.

  The feelin’ of bein’ ten years old, too weak to do nothin’. Then gettin’ thrown in a truck like property. Like I ain’t even a person.

  But he ain't let that be my end.

  A shadow in the dark. A crimson cloak, cuttin’ through the night.

  Alzumo. The Red Nova.

  The man who saved me.

  The man I swore I’d become.

  I saw him, movin’ faster than my eyes could catch. Saw him rip through them like a storm.

  And when he looked at me after? He ain’t need to say nothin’.

  I got it.

  A real hero.

  I grip the ship, my breath steadin’.

  I ain’t stoppin’.

  Not Korin.

  Not this military.

  Not nobody.

  A shift in the air.

  I feel it before I hear it.

  Somethin’ comin’ fast.

  I duck—

  A bat swing past my head. A blur of movement.

  Some trainee standin’ there, breathin’ hard, eyes wild. Another one step up behind him. Tall, dark-skinned dude, voice deep as hell.

  “Where to, little guy?”

  He shove me.

  I don’t move.

  Not this time.

  I pivot—slam my heel straight into his face. His head snap back. He hit the ground.

  The one with the bat recover, swingin’ again.

  It connect. Smash into my back.

  Pain light me up.

  But I don’t drop.

  I twist, dodge the next one, snatch the bat mid-air.

  Rip it out his grip. Chuck it to the side.

  His hand go straight to his belt.

  Knife.

  Blade flash—

  I barely feel the sting when it slice my cheek.

  Then more of ‘em step up. Three others.

  Circle me.

  One against four.

  I don’t wait.

  I move.

  Duck. Twist. Counter.

  But it’s too many.

  A kick slam into my ribs.

  I hit my knees.

  They grab me. Pin my arms.

  Knife press up against my throat.

  This guy comes forth from behind em’.

  Korin.

  “You think you are a soldier?” he mutters, chuckling as he bends on his knees to be at my level. “You got good men kicked out for you. Because of you.”

  Blade press harder.

  Hell, didn't expect him joining in on this shit.

  “You don’t belong here. And if we see you in the military tomorrow, you won’t be breathing, you got that?”

  They shove me down. Turn to leave.

  Then they freeze.

  A shadow in the dark. Cigar smoke curlin’ up in the cold air.

  Klaus Ritcher.

  Trainees stiffen.

  They know what time it is.

  Hands tighten. Knife grip harder.

  Then they charge him.

  I don’t hesitate.

  I charge too.

  Ritcher move first.

  Boot obliterate the first dude. Drop him straight to the dirt.

  I grab one from behind, twist his arm—slam him down.

  Ritcher knock the teeth outta another.

  I headbutt one. Spin. Drop-kick him straight to the ground.

  They lay there, groanin’, curled up in the dirt.

  I breathe heavy.

  Ritcher exhale, flickin’ ash from his cigar. “Hmph.”

  He glance at me. At the blood on my face. At the bodies in the dirt.

  Then he step past ‘em without another look.

  “At least you are finally learning.”

  I wipe my cheek, stand tall.

  I made my choice.

  Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me.

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