Are the nameless allowed to dream? It was a question Sledge had asked himself his entire life. He had been orphaned shortly after the beginning of the war and had found himself in a really shitty situation shortly thereafter. He had no family name anyone would care about, a fact which had made him an outcast and landed him in the not-so-wonderful city of Arentas. It was in a forsaken region seen as worthless to the rest of humanity. The city itself was home to others like Sledge, as far as the world was concerned, they were nameless in name.

Arentas was a city boasting only three things: commonplace crime, failing infrastructure, and sand set ablaze by the intense sun. It was hell on earth. Over the years the city had managed to catch the riffraff and scum of humanity. Some saw it as a safe-haven from the conflict, others saw it as it was, a prison. It was so far detached from the rest of the world that most inhabitants would never make the money to pay for transportation out. Sledge hated everything about it.

Despite the name Sledge making him sound like a hulking brute, he was in fact the opposite. Years of odd jobs and running from trouble had made him agile beyond words and desperation had personally taught him how to pickpocket over many painful years. He walked down the street with his hands in his frayed pockets and a ragged hood over his orange hair. His feet crunched on the occasional pile of shattered glass and a pair of goggles kept the windblown sand out of his eyes. The sun hung high in the late afternoon heat which was keeping reasonable people indoors, still, there were a few out and about. Every time Sledge passed someone he would silently add to a count in his head. Three hundred and twenty-seven, he thought as he passed a man in ragged attire. The number represented how many he had stolen from, without getting noticed. It wasn't that he had never been caught, he had the scars and marks from countless beatings to prove he had been many times over. He knew it was wrong to steal, but money was money and few bothered enforced law here so the risk was worth it more often than not.

He kept on walking without a second glance as he wrinkled his nose at the foul smell of the street. He wasn't without aim, nor was he simply out to steal beneath the ruined towers and buildings. He had made his way around the city like usual, taking just enough and not a coin more, and was heading to the less than pleasant place he had found himself calling home. It was an old bank building gone to age and neglect, but it gave him privacy and was generally out of the way of malicious activity. He wasn't the only one there either; a handful of people roughly as young as himself had drifted in over the years. They didn't necessarily consider each other friends or family, but they did trust each other, and in a pit like this that went a long way.

The bank sat amidst the graves of what was once probably a collection of shining silver needles reaching for the sky but was now no more than piles of concrete and metal. Sledge vaulted over the long-since-crumbled outer wall which served as a sort of fence and continued on to what remained of the beige building. He opened the only door they hadn't barricaded with rubble and slipped through. Inside was a spacious room with cracked walls and a dusty floor that was littered with personal belongings and smelled of body odor. "Was it a good day?" asked a soft voice from across the room. Sledge looked up to see Lillian, a small eighteen-ish-year-old girl with unnaturally purple hair sitting against the wall in a brown tee and rough-looking skirt.

"I got enough," he said with a sigh. Lillian had been here the longest and was the only one he, under the right circumstances, might consider a friend.  "Do we still have any food?"

"Randal ate the last this afternoon," she explained. Sledge scowled.

"I suppose I should go pick something up at least."

"Leave it for now; you look tired," Lillian pointed out. "It's not like we aren't used to missing meals anyways." As bad as it was to hear this, Sledge found her voice calming and let out a noise that seemed to be a sigh and yawn at the same time.

"Fine," he conceded and walked over to the rusty lockbox in which they kept their little money. Producing a key from his sock, he opened it and dumped a small bag of clinking coins inside before closing and locking it again. On his hand was a little red crown mark, highly blocky and without explanation. It had been there as long as he had remembered, his parents had thought it was just a unique birthmark, but when he had met Lillian he had begun to think otherwise. On her right hand was a matching crown in a shade of violet. The odd coincidence had been their ice breaker when they had met and she too had no clue as to the origin. Everyone wore gloves to keep their hands from drying in the sand so their marks were rarely shown. It had sort of becoming their secret leading them to view each other differently than the other residents, still, friends would be a stretch. "Have you been here all day?" he asked.

"I… couldn't sleep and I was too tired to head out," Lillian explained. "Night terrors again." Sledge nodded in silent acknowledgment. She had told him long ago about how she had been there on the day the war had truly begun, her home city had turned into a warzone in a matter of moments as fire like blood had rained down on them. Apparently, two opposed families had clashed over the city, however, the destruction caused had left no victor. She had also mentioned how her hair had changed color shortly after, an odd detail but it was sufficient explanation for the purple. As weird as it was, Sledge had no reason to doubt her; it would've been inconsiderate anyway, especially if she was telling the truth. In all honesty, he knew he had little concept of her trauma but understood her loss. For that, they had a shared empathy.

"I'll chew Randal over later for eating the last of o-," he muttered before he was cut off by a violent banging on the door. "The others wouldn't knock, would they?" he asked apprehensively. "Well I guess I shouldn't act surprised, someone was bound to notice me eventually," he said with a sigh.

"Suppose so," Lillian sprang up to her feet and rubbed her tired eyes. "Come on, they're not door-to-door salesmen." She was right. No one would come to this place without it being the result of Sledge's income. It had become common knowledge that Sledge was a pickpocket that couldn't be trusted. However, none had realized how good he was and nobody had put together that over half of the cities theft was his doing. Still, the fact that the misconception couldn't last forever was solidified by a yell from outside.

"Give us the damn pickpocket and we'll leave ya alone," demanded a raspy voice.

"They haven't realized the door doesn't lock have they," Sledge pointed out.

"Guess not," Lillian replied with a shrug. With a combined effort and a few grunts, they moved the concrete chunk away from the back door and hastily made their way out into the late day's sun. They took off running towards the cities edge without so much as a glance towards their pursuers who had not yet noticed their escape. Sledge was thankful she wasn't mad at him for getting caught, it was their odd relation that had kept him in the old bank in the first place.

__________

Outside of Arentas two men in black trench coats and gloves dashed towards the city on silver Ki-tech bikes. Kinuon had been the cause of war. Shortly after an abrupt discovery in the northwest nations began finding it in places all over the world. This was odd beyond belief as by all logic humanity should have been able to discover it years prior. Overcome by greed and possibility this was of course ignored, and people spent their efforts fighting over it instead. The weaponry developed from the metal had caused unspeakable devastation. Incidents like what happened to Lillian's home city were often caused by just a few people if not a single person being unaware of their own power.

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The bikes the pair rode were shaped somewhat like elongated stingrays, having the rider almost laying belly down on them as they zipped across the sand. The dry wind slamming into their faces as they flew up and down the dunes. They didn't actually touch the ground; instead, they hovered about a foot and a half above. Dropping to just a single foot as they slowed down. They stopped not too far outside the city and stepped off onto a ridge in the sand. "It seems we might be a bit late," said the shorter.

"But not too late yet," replied the taller. There was a head and a half of difference in height, aside from that they were nearly identical in appearance with black hair and chiseled faces. "Either way we have no choice but to guarantee their safety if we want the Kiyene's trust."

"You don't have to remind me."

"Apparently one has a red mark while the others is something never seen before," explained the taller.

"Violet. Realistically we should be thankful Kiyene has their heads so far up their asses. There's no way they would pass this job off to us otherwise."

"Actually I think they're trying to get us killed, we are a wrench in their ideology after all," reasoned the taller.

"So you're saying they know Kysor won't pass this up and sent us expecting there to be someone strong enough to kill us?" The taller nodded, " their priorities are messed up then, no wonder they've become so small. Passing up candidates like these is basically asking to be wiped out,"  the shorter muttered as he jumped back on his bike and took off with the taller following close behind. They blasted down the streets, barely avoiding rubble and people. The pair only just managed to halt before hitting a group of men in front of what appeared to be a crumbling old bank building. Hopping off they took a quick inventory of the group. Three were sketchy bearded men holding poles or shivs, but the fourth was cloaked and hooded in velvet cloth that looked far too expensive to be found in this city. "What's happening here, gentlemen?" asked the shorter.

"This man says he can prove a guy here is the one who's been pickpocketing us," explained one in a raspy voice as he pointed to the man in velvet. The taller leaned down and whispered something to which the shorter nodded. A wind began to pick up blowing sand into the curly black hair of the shorter as he grinned.

"You there!" he called, "can you remove your hood?" The man took up a fighting stance, ignoring the request. "Oh? Do you recognize us?" he asked. "That saves introductions." The man dashed towards them brandishing a grey baton with a blueish tint towards the tip in his right hand.

"Watch yourself; that's Kinuon," warned the taller.

"No problem." As the man was not quite nearly on top of them he swung the baton from far too far away for it to hit. Unfortunately, it wasn't as it seemed; at the last second, the shorter felt a strong wind and jumped back. Still, an unseen force left a shallow cut on his chest.

"It's highly condensed air," the taller grinned, "I did warn you."

"Shut up," Ignoring the not-too-bloody cut, the shorter closed the distance while removing the glove of his left hand to reveal a white marking like a blocky crown. This time when the velvet man swung at him he simply raised his hand in response. When the blade of air should have hit him, nothing happened at all. For a moment, the man stared at him in confusion before letting out an urk as his whole body was severed in two horizontally spraying blood all over the sand and other men who took off in terror. The hand of the shorter was covered in a white circuit pattern that slowly receded as he put his glove back on.

"Your principle is still just as terrifying," the taller complemented.

"Not as much as yours," replied the shorter. The taller grinned.

"I know."

"Now, then," he muttered. "Where did our two candidates run off to?"

__________

Lillian and Sledge reached a sewage drain on the edge of town, the bars of which had fallen away from negligence. The toxic smell of human waste assaulted them at full force as they ducked inside. "It's not ideal but we'll be safe here," assured Sledge. Lillian went ahead of him. She was actually quite short, abnormally so for her age, he observed. As they went deeper in, it got darker and the round concrete walls began to appear to close in. Their eyes lost reliability and it was all they could do to keep from slipping on, well, they didn't want to know what they were walking on. It squelched under their feet as they continued until Lillian cried out as she slipped on something less than pleasant. Barely able to see her, Sledge reached forwards and caught Lillian while barely not slipping himself.

"T-thanks," she stammered.

"What is it?" he asked, wondering why she sounded so embarrassed.

"U-uh, it's n-nothing…"

Confused, Sledge set her upright before realizing where his hand was. He had caught her from behind with his right arm, and with his left, he thought he had grabbed her side to steady her as he braced himself on the slippery ground. However, his hand, conveniently aided by his lack of vision, had sought out her chest, which was, to his admittance, highly flat, although he could never say such a thing out loud. He also noticed a tiny object; likely a necklace under her shirt.

Hidden by the darkness was a flustered Lillian who in all honesty didn't know what to make of what had happened. Her face was cherry red and she silently adjusted her shirt and bra as Sledge looked away in sheepish shame.

"S-sorry." Sledge didn't know what to say but now found himself to be nearly as embarrassed.

"I-It's ok..." Lillian tried to be reassuring but only succeeded in making more awkward tension. For another minute the two continued in uneasy silence; they no longer could make out much of anything in the dark.

"We're probably far enough," decided Sledge.

"No, you're not," called a voice from behind them.

"Shit," they said simultaneously.

"Heh, don't worry; we're not here to hurt you, we even took care of some with intentions as such along the way." They looked back towards the entrance to see the silhouettes of two male figures, one notably taller than the other.

"What are you, then?" asked Sledge, not knowing what to make of the last thing he said.

"An opportunity." It was the shorter that was speaking, they noticed. In silhouette, he looked like a boy, maybe a young teen who still managed to be taller than Lillian. "To leave this godforsaken city."

"And what's the catch?"

"You're rightfully wary. If we get you out, you have to join our family," explained the short one. To a pair such as Lillian as Sledge, this wasn't a catch at all. Rather these were the words they had dreamt of hearing for the last ten years. Sledge, however, couldn't believe it was so simple.

"Why on earth would you want us in your family?"

"Sledge you have a little crown mark on your right hand, don't you? And you, Lillian, you have one on your left, right?" he asked.

"How do you know our n-" the short one cut him off.

"Doesn't matter; just answer the question," he sounded a tad exasperated.

"Y-yes," they both answered.

"You're candidates," he put bluntly as he turned around.

"Candidates?" queried Lillian.

"You know Kinuon?"

"Yeah," they replied.

"There’s more to it but the quick version is there's some in your body. In other words, you're a pair of wonderful human weapons. It sounds like a bad thing but the extent of the implications and to balance out. Not that it will matter much yet though. Come on," he gestured for them to follow and started walking, completely ignoring the weight of what he just told them. "And welcome to the Kiyene family."

"Wait, what?" asked Sledge after a moment. The shorted sighed and the taller shook his head.

"Damn it, you'll get a proper explanation outside of this shit hole," the shorter continued walking while the taller looked back at them.

"My brother feels you've ruined his awaited line," explained the taller in what sounded like amusement at the shorter's exasperation.