The rain fell from dark skies.

Even on good days, the acidic downpour would sting her skin wherever it landed, or paint grimy streaks across concrete walls or dusty courtyards. Now, however, as Myla lay there on her back, chest heaving and blinking away the water as she stared up into those churning clouds, she was brought back to that place – the feeling of drowning, confusion, chaos, and monsters moving around her.

Just that now, it wasn’t a bottomless lake that was making it hard for her to breathe, it was the noise smashing into her senses. Footsteps swarming all around her, palpitating hearts. Yells, screams, and creaking joints of a training yard filled with thousands of children. The impacts of small hands, the pained recoils of awkward kicks, mindless grappling, and biting.

Myla’s stomach ached from the knee one of the larger boys had hit her with, making it hard for her to breathe. She knew that if she cared to look, her UI would’ve already registered another -1 on her score, bringing her total down to a negative 21.

She was probably at the bottom that morning, too.

Before she could grit her teeth, however, before she could push herself to her feet with the promise of getting at least one good hit in, the horn that signaled the end of that morning’s simulated combat echoed across the yard.

It stole her last breath, leaving her heart to sink like a lead anchor.

Shortly after, thousands of footsteps, belonging to panting and whimpering children, began trailing off to the nearest lunch halls. Myla alone remained behind beneath that rain, fists clenched and tears burning with frustration.

Today, too, she hadn’t won a single point.

She was falling further and further behind.

Those first weeks after they arrived at Wochir-11 had been fine. While she hadn’t lasted long in the special classes, among her peers – commoners and normal children like herself – she’d kept up with everyone else.

She’d earned as many points as she’d lost, often more, in both obstacle courses, strength training, and simulated combat. But then, her peers started to earn their mods as well.

First to get them were the talented ones – those with the highest scores, getting the mods with the greatest potential – then came the average recruits, and finally the rest.

Never Myla.

Although they’d never told her why, she knew it was because of the one Nyamien had given her. They’d all been fussing about it at first, but now, it seemed they’d forgotten about it. Forgotten about her.

Even Celian had disappeared a few months back without a word, and any whispers coming her way had turned into snickering, condescending ones. Even the scrawny kids she’d never lost to before out here in the yards had eclipsed her in strength and speed.

These days, the only points she earned were inside the classrooms or the shooting range.

She was a failed U, they said. Nothing special. Proof that fancy mods didn’t mean anything. It was all about talent, and she was talentless. She was garbage, useless, and abandoned.

That’s what they said to her face and to her back alike, and Myla heard it all. Even the whispers that were not meant for her ears, she heard, along with hearts beating in fear and sniveling children who thought they were alone.

Even the bullies were terrified. Everyone was, of ending up at the bottom of the scoreboards when the culling came. The menial tasks, cleaning, and discrimination that were already pushed upon them would seem like a sweet dream compared to that. Or so they’d been told.

It was a dog-eat-dog world, where the only thing that mattered was to survive, and to catch the eyes of a good superior – be it a senior or instructor. You were rewarded for pushing down those weaker than yourself, as long as it distinguished yourself as strong.

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The boy whose knee had stolen Myla’s breath earlier was the same weeping child she’d tried to help during their first weeks here. He’d surpassed her as well now.

It hadn’t been long before Myla began to wish for the same mods as the other children had, tailored for the proud Soldier line. It had made them faster and stronger in ways she was not, but she also trusted Nyamien.

His gift wasn’t useless, it was just young like her. Where she could hear the creak and groan of the other children’s joints all the more often these days, their strained heartbeats, and damp coughs that were helped only by scary syringes, her body was only getting lighter.

Her mind was also clearer. At least in moments such as this one, when everyone had gone to eat lunch, and only the tattering rain surrounded her.

Pushing herself to her feet, Myla could see the message that’d just arrived on her UI. It was from Raven, and the girl had asked if she wanted to meet up for lunch.

“Tomorrow,” Myla sent back. Raven was strong. She could afford to eat lunch. Myla could not.

Wiping the frustrated tears from her eyes, she set off running around that empty yard, long after the others had left.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

“Myla.”

That whisper should’ve been imperceptible over the tattering rain and her ragged breaths, but it slammed into Myla’s senses with such force that she nearly fell over.

Tripping on her own weak legs, she barely caught herself as her confused eyes swept across the empty yard. Or what she’d thought was an empty yard, at least.

On the opposite side, nearly fifty meters away, an older girl with bright hair and a seniors’ uniform stood, looking straight at her through the rain. As their eyes met, the other girl’s sharp lips curled into a smile, and Myla could feel her heart sink.

‘She keeps looking at us as if she can hear us… weirdo… creep… what’s wrong with her…?’ She’d heard those whispers, too. Even before she could help it, Myla had learned things she’d rather not know, and so, she’d never told anyone about what her mod actually did.

It was better if they thought it was useless. It was better they thought she was useless, rather than suspect she knew about their quiet secrets. Eavesdropping was a bad thing, and Myla didn’t want to be a bad girl.

She really, really tried not to be, at least, but she’d always suspected there were two, maybe three, people who knew anyway. Celian probably did, and the other two were Raven and Ilyana Astera.

Now, Nyamien’s older sister waved for her to come over.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

Myla restlessly fiddled with the calorie bar she’d been given. It wasn’t like she didn’t want it — her stomach grumbled from a lunch she’d nearly skipped out on — but she also felt like she’d been caught doing something bad.

The rain still fell outside the slanted roof of the courtyard, but the space inside was completely dry. Some invisible barrier kept the droplets at bay, not that it mattered much to Myla.

She was already soaked through from coming over here, and her mind was busy worrying about the fact that Ilyana had yet to speak a word to her. They hadn’t interacted much since Myla arrived at Wochir-11, and part of her almost thought the Astera sisters had forgotten about her.

Now, however, Ilyana looked her over with those same curious eyes from that day. The words she spoke, however, caught Myla completely off guard, “I’m sorry that we’ve been avoiding you for all this time, but we thought it was best if the interest surrounding you died down before we reached out again.”

They had been avoiding her, and now, Ilyana even admitted to it? That confused Myla. Most people seemed to say the good things to your face, and the rest when they thought you weren’t listening. This was the opposite to that.

“I’m impressed you managed to keep the functions of your mod secret this long,” the Astera sister continued. “Or should I say I’m disappointed in our seniors for not realizing there’s more than one way to sharpen a knife.”

“Does your sister know as well?” Myla quietly asked, still not sure if she was about to get punished or not. Ilyana’s expression was nice enough, but Myla had also learned those were usually just masks people wore to seem nicer than they actually were.

She’d learned a lot over these past months.

“Viny has been busy elsewhere lately,” Ilyana began, not seeming too pleased about the fact. Myla could hear the ligaments in her hands briefly tighten as they were clenched into fists. “But we’ve had our suspicions. Now there’s just the question, does anyone else know and,” she snapped her fingers, causing Myla to involuntarily flinch at the sudden noise, “how good are you at controlling it?

“Sensory enhancement can be quite overwhelming before you learn to live with them – trust me, I know – but they can also be a blessing if you learn to live with them.”

“Can it help me become stronger?” Myla asked, causing the older girl to briefly pause. Then, she nodded, as if having finally found an answer she’d been looking for.

“I figured it was something like that, the reason you opted for soldier training instead of a more fitting branch. But that’s just as well.” She reached out her hand. “A helping hand goes a lot further than the one that tears you down, and I can help you in ways few others can.

“Because strength is what we seek as well. The strength not to have to live in fear.”