In an old decrepit apartment in the desolate slums of a city,
Max glanced over his shoulder to where his sister, Charlotte, was sorting through a pile of broken circuit boards. The low, rusty hum of the ventilation system overhead was the only sound in the small, dimly lit room they called home. The walls, layered with decades of grime and covered in patches from failed repairs, seemed to close in on them, as though the whole Citadel was pressing down.
“You’re going to blow us up if you keep wiring like that,” Charlotte muttered, looking up with a teasing smirk as she adjusted the pile in her lap.
Max rolled his eyes, tugging on a thin wire until it clicked into place. He held up the small, hand-built energy cell, giving it a shake. “I’d be doing us a favor. This place couldn’t get any worse.”
Charlotte laughed softly. She had his eyes, bright blue and watchful, they held a warmth unlike Max's. She was only a few years younger than him, but somehow, she still managed to keep some of her innocence, despite the world they lived in. Despite the tiredness and sadness that had become their norm.
Max sighed, setting the energy cell down. “There. Done. If your instructions are right, it should keep us powered for a few days.”
“Thank you, Max.” Charlotte leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a quick hug before letting go. "And you know I'm always right." she chuckled.
"I know..." he laughed.
“You know, it's that time of year again…” She paused, biting her lip as she glanced away.
“Not this again.” Max’s voice was tight. He knew where this conversation was headed.
“Why don't you want to try again?” Charlotte asked, her voice small but insistent. “You hate the Krions more than anyone. You always talk about fighting them, about ending this war. This is your chance, isn't it?”
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, he looked out through the small, dirty window that gave a view of the sky above—the endless, muted gray that covered the world. It was a view of emptiness, but beyond it, he could almost imagine what lay below. The Earth, and everything they had lost.
“Charlie,” he began slowly, his voice rough, “you know why I can't try again. I ran the first time and I—”
“You aren't going to run again this time,” she finished for him. “I know.”
"How do you know that?"
"Because back then you were just a dumb 18-year-old way over his head. Now you're older and actually understanding what you're doing," she said.
Max ran a hand through his blonde hair, frustration bubbling under the surface. He remembered the day they’d lost their father, torn apart by the Krion’s zombie soldiers right in front of him, and the desperate look in his mother’s eyes after they ripped her into pieces. A look that had stayed until her last breath. The Krions had taken everything he loved, one piece at a time until all he had left was his sister—and even that felt like a fragile gift.
His hands shook, and he balled them into fists. “The Krions didn’t just kill people, Lila,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They took away everything we were, everything we could’ve been. They used the bodies of our loved ones against us. They ruined… everything.”
The memory made him grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The thought of joining the Sentinels, of finally getting the chance to face down a Krion, made his blood boil. But he couldn’t shake the fear of leaving Charlotte behind. She was all he had left, the last light in his life. If he died out there, who would protect her…
"I don't want to die out there like a rat and leave you alone. I don't want you to see my corpse wandering corpse one day just because of my revenge." he sighed.
Charlotte placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I know you’re afraid for me, Max. But I’m afraid for you, too. Every day you stay here, just scraping by, you’re getting angrier. And it’s eating you up.” She looked him straight in the eye, determination hardening her voice. “You need to fight, Max. For Mom. For Dad. For me and especially, for yourself.”
Max swallowed hard, looking down at her. She was right. He knew she was right. The Krions had left scars on his heart that would never fade, a hatred that ran deeper than anything he’d ever known. The only way he could survive was to channel that fury—to use it against the ones who had taken everything from him. Charlotte had made peace with the fact that she could lose him, but he’d never forgive himself if he stayed here, helpless and bitter, until that anger consumed him whole.
Taking a shaky breath, he nodded. “Fine. We will see what happens tomorrow.”
A spark of relief lit up Charlotte’s face, though it was tinged with sadness. She hugged him again, fiercely, and he hugged her back, hoping the embrace would make up for all the words he couldn’t say. Tomorrow, everything will change, hopefully.
Max shifted, eyeing her with a mix of pride and worry. “So what’re you gonna do after I try out for recruitment?” He crossed his arms, giving her a playful nudge. “You’re still a teenager, Charlie. Last time I checked, that’s way too young to be in a war.”
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Charlotte straightened her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly, but her smile softened. “I thought about that already,” she said confidently. “I’m going to apply as a mechanics officer. They don’t have a strict age limit for support roles, and, you know, I’m no good with guns and stuff. I much prefer working with machines”
Max let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s putting it lightly. You’ve always loved machines. I remember how instead of crushing on those handsome soldiers in the broadcasts like other girls, you crushed on their power armor. The Alliance would be lucky to have you.”
She shrugged, feigning modesty but clearly proud and excited. “And what does that matter? The ones really saving as are their armor, I mean have you seen the Behemoth armor?!”
"There you go again... And what do you mean, the suits are what is saving us? No soldier in there and it's just scrap metal."
"Keep telling yourself that..." she teased.
“Whatever.” Max wrapped an arm around her, giving her a quick squeeze. “Then good luck. Maybe in a few weeks, we’ll both be in the Alliance.”
They shared a quiet smile, and the room felt warmer for a moment. Soon after, they lay down on their thin mattresses on opposite sides of the room, the only sound the quiet hum of the ventilation and the distant clanging of machinery.
As sleep took him, the anticipation of what lay ahead swirled with memories he had buried deep—of the Krions, the Rising, and the horrors they had brought with them. The walls of their tiny room faded away, and Max felt himself slipping into darkness.
In his dream, he was somewhere unfamiliar yet hauntingly vivid. A gray mist covered the ground, swirling around his feet as he stood in the ruins of a village, charred buildings, and broken walls scattered like tombstones. The air was cold, and silence pressed down on him, thick and heavy.
In the haze of his dream, Max found himself in the past, yet everything felt as vivid as if it were happening now. He looked down at his hands, smaller, softer, and unscarred. He was fourteen again, in the narrow, crumbling apartment his family had lived in, deep within the slums of the Citadel. Faint memories bubbled up, things he had tried hard to bury: the stale air, peeling walls, the flickering overhead light that buzzed like an insect.
“Max, hurry up! Mom’s got dinner ready!” His sister, Charlotte, poked her head around the corner, her ten-year-old face beaming as she flashed a smile full of crooked teeth.
He felt a strange pang as he took in her youthful grin. She looked so small, her blue eyes bright, innocent.
Their father’s gruff voice carried from the tiny kitchen. “You two, get washed up. Don’t make your mother wait.”
Max stepped through the narrow doorway, where his parents bustled over a small stove. His mother, weary but gentle-eyed, handed their father a plate of some kind of mashed vegetable. The smell was faintly charred, but it was warm, familiar. She smiled at him, a tired but loving smile, her eyes full of a strength he never quite understood as a child.
But before they could even sit, a distant, chilling moan reached them. Then came the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps, growing louder by the second.
“Everyone, get down!” His father’s voice was a rough whisper, his body tensing as he glanced at the flimsy front door.
The moaning grew louder, and suddenly, the door shook, rattling against its frame. It crashed open, and a group of twisted, shambling figures stumbled inside. Their faces were familiar, but their eyes were empty and clouded. Max felt his stomach twist as he recognized one of them as a neighbor—a woman who used to give Charlotte candy when they passed her on the narrow street.
“Stay back!” his father shouted, grabbing a chair and wielding it like a weapon.
Max could only watch, frozen, as his father fought. He swung the chair, cracking it over one of the zombies, shoving another back with a shove of his shoulder. But there were too many of them, and the small room seemed to shrink with every breath.
“Dad, how—how did they get in here? We live in a Citadel!” Max cried, his young voice full of confusion and terror.
“They shouldn’t be here,” his father muttered, sweat pouring down his brow. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
And then he made a mistake. He swung the chair a second too late, and the nearest zombie clamped its rotting jaws around his arm. He gasped, shoving the creature away, but the bite was already swelling, dark and sickly. Within seconds, more zombies swarmed him, and his father’s anguished face disappeared under their weight.
“No!” Max screamed, but his mother’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back. Tears filled her eyes, but her face remained calm and resolute.
“Come with me. We have to go, Max.”
She turned and grabbed Charlotte’s hand, pulling them both out through the back door. They ran through the narrow corridors, their footsteps echoing, but the moans followed them. Each corner they turned, each narrow alleyway they passed, was filled with more of the dead, clawing and stumbling, their hands outstretched.
They skidded to a stop as a wall of zombies blocked their path. The dead were closing in, eyes lifeless, hands outstretched, mouths gaping open in silent hunger.
His mother turned, her gaze soft but firm. “I need you to take care of your sister, Max,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. She kissed the top of his head, lingering just a moment too long.
But before they could move, one of the zombies reached them. Their mother shoved Charlotte back, her eyes widening in shock as she looked into the face of the zombie. It was an old man with gray hair and hollow eyes, dressed in tattered clothes, pieces of flesh missing from his face and torso—but there was something familiar in his features.
“Dad…” his mother whispered, her voice breaking. Her father’s twisted, undead face stared back at her for a single, terrible moment before his rotting teeth sank into her shoulder.
She gasped, her eyes filling with tears, but there was no time to grieve. The undead surged forward, and just as they were closing in, a brilliant, blinding white light erupted around them. The explosion’s force threw Max and Lila backward, and everything faded into a searing white.
----------------------------------------
Max’s eyes flew open, his heart pounding as he bolted upright in bed. His skin was clammy with sweat, and he took shallow breaths, grounding himself back in the present. Across the room, Lila was still asleep, curled up peacefully, her face bathed in the faint glow of the Citadel lights filtering in through the window.
He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing, but the rage he’d felt in the dream stayed with him, burning brighter than ever.
The Krions. The ones who had brought the Rising, who had turned the dead into their puppets, their soldiers. The ones who had taken their parents and the simple life they knew. He squeezed his fists so tightly his knuckles ached, his jaw clenched with fury.
“Someday,” he whispered his voice barely a breath. “I’m going to make them pay.”