The Backyard wasn’t a place for dreams. It wasn’t a place for much, really. Survival consumed the minds of the people who lived here, gnawed at them, wore them down until all that remained was the dull, ceaseless struggle of existence.

But some still dared to dream.

In this dreary place that snuffed out the light from anything and everything, some stubbornly let their embers burn. Au’Mas was one of them.

He knew there was a life beyond this—the towering, radiant cities of Corona, where the sun shone freely and streets weren’t choked with rust and ruin. A world where people didn’t wake up wondering if they’d eat that day, where the rich didn’t dangle opportunities like bait, watching the poor kill each other for a chance at something better.

Au’Mas wanted that life.

For his people.

For his friends.

For his dead parents.

For his younger brother.

And most of all, for himself.

Why?

Why not?

The Backyard was the lowest rung of Corona, a place wedged between civilization and oblivion. If the city was a machine, then the Backyard was the pile of discarded scrap at its base.

Yet, even here, there were remnants of industry—old, worn-out facilities left to rot. Buildings once filled with promise, now skeletal husks of metal and rust. The people of the Backyard had long since learned that no one would help them. So they helped themselves.

They repurposed, scavenged, built, and rebuilt. They took what was abandoned and made it their own.

And in one such makeshift garage, seventeen-year-old Au’Mas sat hunched over a mechanical contraption, tinkering.

The dim glow of a cracked work lamp illuminated his workspace, casting jagged shadows across the walls. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and burnt metal. A half-disassembled engine lay before him—the beating heart of a bike he was building from salvaged parts.

The tightening of bolts.

The clanging of metal.

The soft whir of gears turning as he adjusted the inner mechanisms.

It was all calming in a way.

But there was no time to relax. Only a few weeks remained before Au could enter The Game.

His only way out.

“Still working on that hunk of junk, huh?”

The voice was familiar—calm, soft and mildly teasing. Kiel.

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Au smirked but didn’t look up. “It’s not junk.”

A low chuckle. Footsteps echoed in the space as Kiel walked over, leaning against the workbench. The dim light revealed a tall, lean figure wrapped in layers of neat good clothes, keil refused to be seen as a street rat so he pulled every fabric he found thread by thread and wove his clothes back. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” Kiel muttered.

Au didn’t stop working. “Always have been.”

Kiel exhaled, crossing his arms. “You do realize the odds, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realize what happens if you lose?”

Au tightened a bolt with a final click and set the wrench down. Then, finally, he looked up. “What happens if I don’t play?”

Kiel fell silent.

There was no need for an answer. They both knew it.

If you didn’t play, you stayed in the Backyard. If you stayed in the Backyard, you rotted here. You died here.

At least The Game gave a chance.

Kiel sighed. “Guess that’s why I’m coming with you.”

Au blinked. “What?”

“I mean, what the hell else am I gonna do?” Kiel grinned, though there was something tired in his expression. “Someone’s gotta keep your ass alive.”

Au chuckled, shaking his head. “Then I guess we better start training.”

A big toothy grin spread across his face.

The Backyard scaffolding dump were their training ground.

Beneath them, the world was a labyrinth of decay—cracked streets, rusted stairwells, skeletal remains of once-thriving infrastructure. But above?

Above was freedom.

Or at least, a taste of it.

Au and Kiel stood at the edge of a whining scaffold in their makeshift gear, the city stretching out before them in jagged steel, crisscrossing scaffold and blocks and neon haze. Night had fallen, but Corona never slept—the distant glow of the upper districts painted the sky in eerie gold and violet.

Up there, people lived in luxury.

Down here, people ran.

“Alright,” Kiel exhaled. “Rules are simple. You fall, you die.”

“Good pep talk,” Au muttered.

Kiel grinned. “Just don’t mess up.”

And then, without hesitation, they ran.

Feet pounded against concrete. The wind howled in Au's ears. His muscles tensed and released as he leaped, vaulted, and twisted through the air, flipping over an obstacle ducking below another, keil at his side also weaving, flipping and bobbing through the obstacles with finesse. The world blurred around him—a rush of adrenaline, movement, momentum.

A rooftop edge. A split-second decision. Jump.

Airborne.

For a brief, fleeting moment—weightless.

Then—impact. A roll. Fluid.

He was already moving again.

Ahead, Kiel spun mid-air, catching the edge of a rusted scaffold before swinging onto the next platform.

Au smirked. Good, they were doing thud far.

He pushed harder.

A tighter jump. A sharper turn. A steeper slide. A faster roll. Cutting corners, pushing and pushing.

And then—a misstep.

His foot barely clipped the edge of a ledge. His body lurched a moment of wrong weightlessness.

Shit.

His fingers snapped out, grasping for something—anything— thunk.

A rusted pipe. His body slammed against the wall violently his arm straining as he dangled over the drop. The darkness below yawned, deep and endless. A second slower, and he’d be dead.

Kiel’s face appeared above him, grinning. “Little sloppy, 'mas”

Au gritted his teeth. "Noted".

With a grunt, he swung his legs up, using his core strength to flip over the ledge. Landing in a crouch, he exhaled, his heart pounding.

Kiel patted his back. “Be gentler, you do better when you flow, don't rush"

Au wiped sweat from his brow. “Then we go again.”

The hours passed in a blur.

Training. Running. Fighting.

Preparing for The Game.

The world of the Rich wasn’t built for them. It never had been. But Au’Mas wasn’t looking for permission.

He would take what was his.

And he would run until the city had no choice but to watch.

Because this time, the Backyard wasn’t just sending another desperate player into The Game.

This time, it was sending a boy hungry for his due, and he would take what belonged to ceasear.