The finish area was nothing special.

Just another flat rooftop, cracked and weathered by time, with the distant neon lights of Corona’s upper districts flickering in the background. But up here, the view stretched far, giving them a rare moment of stillness after the relentless sprint.

Au’Mas collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto the warm concrete. His lungs burned, his breath stung, and his muscles ached. But despite it all, he smiled.

Kiel dropped down beside him, equally exhausted. “We’re improving,” he muttered between ragged breaths.

Au let out a dry chuckle. “Yes we are, not much of a choice there."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply watched.

And then—it happened.

The sunlight broke through the mesh of rust, fog, and haze.

It was fleeting, just a few minutes at most, but it was precious. A soft golden glow spilled into the Backyard, stretching over the rusted rooftops and shattered windows, painting the ruins in brief, fragile beauty.

It didn’t belong here. The Backyard wasn’t meant for light. But sometimes, just sometimes, the sky forgot that.

Kiel exhaled. “You ever think about what it must be like? Living up there?”

Au tilted his head, following his friend’s gaze toward the distant skyline—where the rich lived, where the city was still whole.

“I guess? It’s more like I imagine the freedom they must have. It’s enviable. It must be nice.”

Kiel smirked. “Guess we’ll find out soon.”

The light faded. The sky shifted back to its usual dull haze.

And just like that, bleak, dreary reality returned.

“Let’s go,” Au muttered, pushing himself up.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Kiel groaned but followed. “Back to the garage?”

“Yeah. We need to close up.”

They started the walk back, weaving through narrow alleys and rusted stairwells, their boots crunching against old debris.

As they walked, the conversation shifted—naturally—to The Game.

“So,” Kiel started, stretching his arms, “what’s your plan? What class do you plan on choosing?”

Au didn’t hesitate. “Sprinter.”

Kiel chuckled. “Figured. Fast, sharp, direct—makes sense for you. You’ll be the one making the runs.”

"And you?"

Kiel scratched his head. “Not sure yet. Scout, probably. I’m good at spotting paths, keeping pace, and adapting to terrain.”

Au nodded. Kiel had quick reflexes, an eye for movement, and instincts sharp enough to find the best routes mid-run. It made sense.

In The Game, every player had a role. Choosing the right one meant the difference between victory and failure.

Every team needed a balance of roles. A team with no Goliath had no frontline presence. A team without an Ichcor lacked battlefield control. And without a Sprinter, there was no one to score.

Kiel glanced at Au. “You sure? Sprinter’s the hardest role. You’ll be a target every single game.”

Au smirked. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Kiel shook his head, laughing. “Of course you’d say that"

“What about weapons?” Kiel asked.

Au thought for a moment. “Something light but strong. A pair of tonfas, maybe. Easy to carry, fast to strike, good for close combat.”

Kiel raised an eyebrow. “Tonfas, huh? Didn’t take you for a martial arts type.”

Au shrugged. “I’ll adapt.”

“And support gear?”

“A grappling line—for sure. Can’t be a Sprinter without one. Maybe shock traps to slow down pursuers. Something to disrupt, to create openings.”

Kiel nodded. “Not bad. I’m thinking daggers for me. Lightweight, fast, easy to throw. For support… probably holo-masks. Could be useful for distractions and quick escapes.”

They kept talking, refining their ideas.

Team composition. Suit designs. Battle strategies.

Their suits needed to be flexible, lightweight, and reinforced for high-speed movement.

Something sleek—like a fusion of carbon-fiber bodysuits and combat-ready gear. Streamlined plating over vital areas. A suit built for endurance and adaptability.

No flashy designs. No unnecessary bulk. Just efficiency.

“We’re gonna kill it out there,” Kiel grinned as they neared the garage.

Au smirked. “Damn right we are.”

They split up a few blocks later.

Kiel headed toward his place, while Au took the long way home. Not because he needed to—but because he wanted to take it in.

The Backyard. His home. His grave, if he failed.

The air was thick with the scent of damp rust and mildew. Moss crawled through the cracks of crumbling buildings, water dripped from broken pipes, and distant figures moved like ghosts through the alleyways.

People survived here.

Not lived. Survived.

Everything in the Backyard had weight. The weight of crushed dreams. The weight of a city that had turned its back on them.

Au stopped on a broken bridge, looking out over the sprawl of decay.

One day, I’ll leave this place behind.

Not just for himself. But for everyone else who couldn’t.

With that thought, he turned and continued walking.

Home was a small, one-room shack built into the side of an old factory. Barely enough space, but it was theirs.

Inside, a boy sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a tattered book.

Taro. Au’s younger brother.

At thirteen, Taro was small for his age, with sharp green eyes and an even sharper mind.

“You’re late,” Taro muttered without looking up.

“Training,” Au replied, setting his bag down.

Taro rolled his eyes. “You mean running across rooftops until you break your legs?”

Au smirked. “Something like that.”

He walked over to the tiny, barely-functioning stove and started preparing food. A simple meal—boiled rice, scavenged vegetables, and a bit of dried meat.

Taro closed his book. “So… are you really entering The Game?”

Au glanced at him. “You already know the answer.”

Taro was silent for a moment. Then—"You could die."

Au didn’t respond immediately.

He knew that. He understood that.

But staying here? Living this half-life in the Backyard? That was already dying.

“I have to,” he finally said.

Taro clenched his fists. “Why?”

Au placed a bowl in front of his brother, then sat down across from him. He met Taro’s gaze.

“For us. For you.”

Taro hesitated, then picked up his bowl.

They ate in silence.