"Hey! You two! Get up! Now!" the soldier demanded.

Junior woke with a jolt, his eyes snapping open to the sight of an armed man pointing a weapon directly at him.

In an instant, memories of his violent encounter with the Brute flooded his mind, followed by a massive wave of pain that coursed through his entire body.

His hands and arms were smeared with blood, and his head spun with disorientation. As he slowly regained his senses, he noticed the motorcyclist who had fought alongside him was still by his side. It seemed they had survived the furious onslaught of the horde that had attacked them mercilessly.

A device resembling a handheld thermometer landed at Junior's feet. He had a pretty good idea of what it was for, but the soldier’s commanding tone made it crystal clear. Following the instructions, he pressed the device against his wrist. Relief washed over him as the screen lit up green instead of red. Red was always bad. He handed the device to the motorcyclist, who followed suit.

The result was the same. Neither of them was infected.

"You!" the man barked at Junior, his patience long gone. "How did you get past the gate? Answer me!"

"Gate…?" Junior echoed, his voice tinged with confusion as his eyes darted around. Sure enough, there was a steel gate behind him, but he had no idea how he’d ended up there. Almost involuntarily, he shifted his weight onto his hands, planting them firmly on the ground. His palm brushed against something flat, and curiosity got the better of him. Picking it up, he examined the object. "What’s this…?"

It was a small rectangular card, about the size of a credit card, gleaming in a brilliant golden hue. On its front, a unique identification number was printed in bold black. Turning it over, he noticed a thin magnetic strip running across the back. The entire card was encased in a protective plastic sheath to guard against scratches.

It was the card Samantha had given him. The moment he recognized it, the soldier’s expression shifted from frustration to stunned disbelief.

“Damn it,” the man muttered, his shoulders sagging as he turned away. “Now I’m gonna have to wake him up…” He mumbled under his breath, his tone laden with irritation. “Just my luck… Don’t move from there! Got it?”

“Hey… Wait, please!” the motorcyclist called out, still sitting beside Junior. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” the soldier snapped.

“Hold on. I just want to know… Is this Áurea? Is this the Áurea Nation?”

“What do you think?” the soldier retorted, walking briskly without sparing them another glance. “Stay put!”

That’s when the two of them finally lifted their heads and took in the sight of the refuge standing tall and majestic before them.

From their position, the view was nothing short of awe-inspiring: an enormous concrete wall loomed ahead, its surface an architectural marvel in muted gray, adorned with a broad golden stripe running horizontally across its upper section.

The wall stretched across the width of the street, enclosing a perimeter of roughly six city blocks. At its center stood a colossal metal gate, reinforced and towering over ten meters high, which slid open to grant access to the streets beyond.

In addition to the grand entrance, the refuge featured several secondary gates, discreetly integrated into the surrounding buildings and houses along the perimeter.

The gate slid shut behind the soldier with a heavy, resonant thud.

Behind Junior and the motorcyclist, near the end of the street, stood the steel fence—the final link in the protective chain keeping the outside world’s dangers at bay.

But this was no ordinary barrier. Each thick, solid steel bar was crafted to withstand attacks from peculiar zombies like the Brute, as well as the relentless onslaught of feral hordes. Above the fence, an electrified system was ever-ready to deliver a deadly shock to anyone foolish enough to try climbing over.

Junior stared at every detail in silent amazement. Finally, after braving the depths of their own personal hell—though he had no clear idea how—they had made it to the Áurea Nation. A refuge that promised a new path forward in this perilous world. At last, they could take a moment to breathe, free from the looming specter of death that haunted every corner of the outside world.

Slowly, the two began to rise to their feet. Their bodies still bore the weight and pain of the injuries sustained on their harrowing journey to this point.

Their faces, initially etched with the exhaustion and wear of survival, gradually brightened. A tiny flicker of triumph ignited in their eyes, spreading to their lips, which curved into weary but genuine smiles.

They raised their hands, and with a loud clap, their palms met mid-air, their fingers intertwining in a firm grip. A primal roar of triumph erupted from deep within their chests, releasing all the tension and fear that had built up during their recent ordeal.

“Yes!” Junior shouted, his smile stretching wide. “Hell yeah! We did it! I don’t even know how, and I don’t care!”

“Me neither!” Sheep cheered, giving Junior a friendly but rather hard slap on the shoulder.

“Ah! Ouch…” Junior winced, clutching his left arm.

“Oh, damn! Sorry! You okay?”

“Yeah, worth the pain,” Junior said, brushing it off with a big grin. “We did it, man! We made it to Áurea!”

“Yeah!” Sheep echoed, his grin infectious as he took another look around. Despite being alone, the imposing gates and steel bars gave him a sense of security he hadn’t felt in ages. “What do you think the guard went to do?”

“No idea. Guess we’ll find out soon enough…” Junior replied. He tore a sleeve off his shirt to wipe the blood from his hands. Noticing Sheep looked even dirtier than him, he ripped off the other sleeve and handed it over. “Need a rag?”

“Thanks. Do you always use your clothes as makeshift rags?”

“Didn’t you see how easy it was to rip them off? This shirt’s been a rag for years,” Junior joked.

Both of them laughed.

“By the way, I’m Renzo Xiobani,” Sheep said, wiping the blood off his neck. “What about you?”

Junior turned to clean his knees… and avoid eye contact.

“Call me Junior.”

“Huh?”

Junior turned back and shrugged. “I don’t remember my name. I have no idea what my real name is. My last group gave me this nickname. It’s a crap nickname, if you ask me, but, well, I don’t have another.”

“Wow… Really?” Renzo asked. “How did that happen? I mean… how’d you lose your name?”

“I don’t know,” Junior replied, looking down and scratching the back of his neck. “That’s why I’m here. I made a promise to someone that I’d figure out my identity in this place. So yeah, just call me Junior.”

Renzo nodded thoughtfully. “Looks like there are two of us.”

“What?”

“I came here with a purpose too,” Renzo admitted. “I had a gang… Not a music band, I’ll save you the joke. It was a biker gang.”

“Huh. How did I not guess that?” Junior quipped.

“And I made them a promise too: that I’d travel here to Áurea and get myself cured.”

“Cured?”

“Yeah, they say I’ve got something called ‘PTSD.’”

“Oh, post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Renzo’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know what that is?”

“I know a bit about it…”

“Good. Yeah, that’s what I have. There’s… something that happens to me,” he said, falling silent. “Something I urgently need to fix.”

“I get it. Is it bad?”

“It is—for me and for the people around me,” Renzo replied evasively, his gaze shifting away.

It was clear the topic made him uncomfortable. Fortunately, the gates of the nation groaned and opened again. This time, it wasn’t just one soldier returning, but over a dozen.

Each wore imposing military armor that gleamed under the direct sunlight. The polished metal panels shimmered with a warm, deep gold, accented by matte black segments arranged in an asymmetrical pattern across the suit. The edges of the armor were lined with golden trim, emphasizing the silhouette of each figure.

The soldiers’ weapons weren’t drawn but were visibly sheathed, and all of them marched behind a single man leading the way.

He was tall and lean, with smooth, dark brown skin. His features were sharp and striking—a straight nose, full, defined lips framed by a neatly trimmed but slightly unkempt beard. His rigid gaze carried an undeniable aura of authority as it remained fixed on Junior and Renzo without faltering for even a second.

“Good morning, survivors,” the man said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he raised his chin. Both Junior and Renzo returned the greeting. “I am the president of the Nation Áurea. Chaudry Malik.”

"‘Chau...dry?’ And what’s the name?" Junior asked.

Renzo let out a sharp hiss, and if Junior had been closer, he probably would’ve elbowed him in the ribs.

"Excuse him, Mr. President," Renzo said.

"It’s fine. You can call me Malik," said the man, fixing his gaze on Junior. "That’s my name."

"I’m Renzo Xiobani. My companion here… is…"

"It’s fine. I’ll explain," Junior interjected. "I don’t remember my name, President Malik," he admitted again. "Selective amnesia. Just call me Junior."

"Fair enough," Malik nodded. "Now, congratulations on finding our nation. It’s always a pleasure to welcome newcomers. One of my men informed me that you have access cards. Is that true?"

"You mean this?" Junior said, holding up the card.

"Exactly. I need to know—how did you come by this card?"

All eyes turned to Junior after the question. Even Renzo seemed intrigued by the answer.

Junior figured it would be better to lie for now… he didn’t know why, but he wanted to avoid putting the girl who had shown up in his RV in any potential trouble.

"I found it lying around."

"And why did you pick it up?"

"You know, I ask myself that sometimes," Junior replied with a wry grin. "I guess it was the right call, wasn’t it? Is this card important to you? To your… laws?" He curled his lip into a mischievous smirk. "Laws that, correct me if I’m wrong, apply from the perimeter fence behind me and onward. Or am I mistaken?"

Malik’s expression shifted ever so slightly, a subtle tightening of the muscles in his face. But he returned Junior’s smirk with one of his own.

"It seems you know someone. Very well…" Malik said, clicking his tongue. "It’s true. The laws apply to everyone within the perimeter. As such, that identity card entitles its holder to be a member of the Nation Áurea. Specifically, it grants them the position of the previous cardholder. Since I know you aren’t them, I’m going to assume the original owner is deceased."

That revelation surprised Junior. Was that girl the card’s original owner?

"May I see the card?" Malik asked.

Junior hesitated but eventually handed it over. The man took it and slid it into a device handed to him by one of his soldiers—a small apparatus with a screen. Malik inserted the card into a slot, and the previous holder’s details lit up on the display.

"Who is it?" the president asked.

The soldier who had initially found Junior and Renzo near the inner gate inspected the screen.

"Yes… Samuel, I remember him. He lived in Consortium Twelve. He died about a week and a half ago inside the nation. It was a workplace accident. He was working on renovations."

"Does that rule out the possibility that these two killed him to gain entry?" Malik pressed.

"Yes, Mr. President," the soldier replied, though his tone lacked conviction. "That rules out that possibility."

Malik nodded. "Very well," he said, turning back to the duo. "This means we’ll simply need to hold an extraordinary hearing to determine if both of you are fit to become part of the Nation Áurea."

Junior and Renzo exchanged uncertain glances.

"Does that mean we can stay?" Renzo asked.

"I don’t see any problem with that. May I see your identification card?" Malik asked, now addressing Renzo.

Renzo’s face shifted as the weight of the question hit him. He didn’t even need to answer; his reaction and the hesitation written across his face made it clear he didn’t have a card.

For his part, Malik gave a faint smile of satisfaction. "You don’t have one?" the man pressed. Renzo shook his head silently. "I’m sorry. In this case, only one of you can gain entry to the Nation Áurea."

The silence that followed was deafening. Renzo felt a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, difficult to swallow. He cleared his throat.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"What does that mean…?" Renzo muttered, his voice trembling. He looked back at the outside world, the jaws of death waiting for him. "Do I have to leave?"

"What? Of course not," the president said, his tone sharp. "I don’t think you’re understanding. We’re not going to leave either of you to fend for yourselves. The only difference this card makes is determining which nation you belong to. Am I clear?"

Junior and Renzo shared identical expressions of confusion. No. Nothing was clear.

"What do you mean by ‘which nation’?" Junior asked. "How many are there?"

"Ramírez, would you explain?" Malik said, gesturing to one of his men.

"Yes, Mr. President!" The soldier from earlier stepped forward, addressing both men with a stern tone. "Listen to me carefully, please. We currently have two thriving nations. The one behind me now, which I assume you're already familiar with, is the Nation Áurea. It consists of over 600 residences, ranging from houses to apartments, where you can live and sleep comfortably. We have jobs and our own unique monetary system to ensure a modern, revitalized life, as close to the old world as you’ll find in this region.

"We have two hospitals and various emergency rooms distributed throughout the city. Security, as you can see, is well-maintained. Sentinels like us work to ensure that all inhabitants within the walls are safe and can sleep soundly at night. Schools, dining halls, recreational areas, clubs, and state-of-the-art technology provided by Syna. In summary, we have it all. It’s an organized, unyielding system. Being part of a nation is the only way to truly thrive in this world today."

"Impressive…" Renzo muttered, clearly amazed.

"As you can understand, gentlemen," the President continued, "being part of either nation will grant you these benefits. I won’t lie; it’s common knowledge among our members that Áurea, being the first to rise, enjoys some exclusive advantages that the second nation does not yet have. We’re talking about numbers here—fewer residences, perhaps slightly lower quality in certain services—but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible to prosper there. You absolutely can, and I can assure you that there will never be a shortage of opportunities in the new nation."

"And where is this second nation located?" Renzo asked.

"It’s right here, alongside Áurea," the President replied. "However, I must clarify, and this is a policy that goes beyond my authority as President, so I have no control over it: Members of Áurea remain within Áurea’s limits, and vice versa. You cannot move from one nation to the other without exclusive permission. That’s the only fine print here. I don’t think it will be an issue."

Junior raised an eyebrow. "So, I can’t visit him?"

"Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. Assuming you’re a member of Áurea, you could get some daily permits to visit your companion or anyone else in the other nation. However, for him to set foot in Áurea, it becomes a bit more complicated. As I said, these are policies beyond my control."

"Oh…" Renzo murmured, glancing at Junior. "Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s better than being out there."

Junior, however, seemed unsettled, as if something wasn’t adding up. "Can I ask you one last question, Malik?"

"Go ahead."

"Alright. Correct me if I’m wrong, but so far, at every opportunity, you and your little soldier here have spoken about Áurea with stars in your eyes and puffed-out chests of pride. And that’s great!" he said with a grin. "But you’ve never even mentioned the name of the other nation. I’m almost sensing some reluctance whenever it’s brought up, but I can let that slide. Now, you said people from the other nation can’t even set foot on Áurea’s precious ground… I’m not going to touch on the topic of 'social classes'; I think the simple existence of two nations speaks for itself. I just want to know. Is Áurea more advanced in every way? Even in healthcare?"

"Especially in healthcare—"

"Silence, soldier!" the President snapped, glaring sharply. Then, he turned to Junior. "Yes, as you say, Áurea is more advanced in various aspects. And if you don’t recall what I mentioned earlier, I have no problem repeating it: This is purely a matter of numbers. We are not exploiters. We are not animals. We don’t abandon our peers. Everyone has access to an excellent healthcare system. Áurea excels, yes, but only because it was the first to stand. I have no doubt it will soon be matched. On another note, I apologize. You’re absolutely right, Junior. The name of our dear and valuable sister community is none other than the Nation Scarlet."

Junior smiled. "That’s all I wanted to know," the young man said. He extended his hand toward Renzo, the card in his grasp gleaming under the sun. "Then I’d rather you go to Áurea."

Renzo was stunned. Not just him—the soldiers around them wore unguarded expressions of astonishment.

"What? Why? It’s yours—"

"No, man. Don’t worry about it. I want you to have it. You came here to fulfill a purpose. You told me that. So, consider this payment for the ride you gave me on the highway."

"I don’t want payment for anything."

"Listen, it’s fine," Junior said, a serene smile on his face. "Health always comes first. Whatever it is you said you have, I don’t know the details, but I know enough. It’s not something simple you can just 'heal' like that. You need the best professionals. I’ll be fine; I can fulfill my purpose in the Nation Scarlet." Junior grabbed Renzo’s hand and pressed the card into it. "Visit me when you can. We’ll stay in touch."

"I… I don’t know what to say," Renzo stammered, overwhelmed by the opportunity being handed to him. "This is too much for just a thank you."

"Nah, a simple thanks is enough for me," Junior said, grinning.

"Alright then. In that case, there’s nothing more to say, gentlemen," the President said, addressing Renzo. "If I were you, I’d take the opportunity he’s giving you. This is a train that may only pass once in a lifetime. I’ll take my leave now, gentlemen." The President turned to his soldier. "Ramírez, escort this man to his nation."

"Yes, Mr. President!" the soldier replied forcefully. "This way. Let’s go."

Renzo watched as Junior walked away, accompanied by soldier Ramírez, through a small side door next to the imposing wall.

Junior’s figure faded from sight, leaving Renzo alone with his thoughts. He glanced down at the card in his hand, wondering how his life would unfold now that he was in a place like the one spreading out before him.

As he walked, escorted by another soldier, glimpses of the city began to emerge through the opening of the enormous gates. It was just as he remembered from the old world.

He smiled.

His mind raced with possibilities. This was his chance to start fresh, to become someone new, and to heal from the "illness" that had plagued him and caused so many problems during his days with the biker gang.

This opportunity was everything he needed.

As he crossed the threshold of the gate, the atmosphere changed dramatically. His gaze lifted, and his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what his bright, crystalline blue eyes were seeing.

He raised his head higher, determined to make the most of every opportunity life offered him, and stepped forward into the future.

*****

The sound of footsteps echoed heavily through the narrow hallways as Junior and the soldier walked. Ramírez led the way briskly, illuminating the path with his flashlight, while Junior trailed behind, struggling to keep up.

Junior remained silent, taking in the maze of corridors and stairways that seemed to branch off endlessly, leading to different sections of the shelter.

The smell of damp earth and dirt dominated the air, making it feel like they were underground, though that wasn’t the case. The only light came from Ramírez’s flashlight and the occasional faint streaks of sunlight filtering through patched windows, casting strange shadows inside.

The corridors were lined with doors, some wooden, some metal. All were either locked with heavy chains and bolts or blocked by rubble.

As they advanced, the labyrinth became more complex and narrow. They descended steep staircases, squeezed through tight passageways, and navigated sharp turns, only to climb back up again.

“I bet you think you’re some sort of saint after what you did, huh?” Ramírez broke the silence as he pushed open another door. “You’re just an idiot. You never should’ve handed over that card. Do you think he’ll remember you? Visit you? I give it a week. You’ll never hear from him again.”

“Wow…” Junior replied. “Classist much?”

“This isn’t about status, moron. You have no idea what’s coming. Either he forgets you, or you die. Whichever happens first.”

“I thought the only difference between the nations was ‘numerical.’”

“That’s what the president always says. Want the truth? In Nation Áurea, we’re self-sufficient. We don’t need to go outside for supplies. We already have everything. Things are very different in Scarlet Nation…”

“Well, thanks for the concern, but I think I’ll manage.”

“Yeah…” the soldier sneered. “That’s what the last corpse I buried yesterday said.”

After several minutes, they reached a better-lit section of the maze. Ramírez stopped in front of a rusted metal door with a panel on the side. He slid his ID card through the slot, and the door unlocked with a metallic click.

“All set. Go straight ahead, and you’ll find the nation’s entrance.”

Junior stepped through the threshold, the word “thanks” poised on his lips. But the soldier slammed the door shut behind him before he could say it.

Stepping outside, Junior found himself on a street similar to the one at Nation Áurea’s gate.

To his right, at the end of the street, was the same kind of fence marking the boundary. To his left, built against another wall resembling Áurea’s but more modest, with a wide red stripe painted across the top, was the entrance to the refuge that would now be his home…

Scarlet Nation.

The access gate was much smaller than that of its sister nation but appeared sturdy, made of dark reddish iron that gave it a strong, functional look. The structure was practical, with intricate details but no unnecessary embellishments.

Two guards in red-and-black-plated armor flanked the entrance, watching Junior intently as he stepped out from the side door and onto the street. Above the gate, a small watchtower barely rose above the wall, with another soldier stationed there.

The sight struck Junior as peculiar since he hadn’t seen such a tower in Nation Áurea. Perhaps they didn’t need it. Above the gate, a graffiti-painted sign displayed the name of the settlement in bold, gleaming black letters: Scarlet Nation.

"Your arrival has been notified," one of the soldiers said. His armor was identical to that of the Nation Áurea soldiers, except, of course, for the secondary color of its details. The soldier, in tone, attitude, and even gestures, was much kinder than the one who had escorted him. "You may pass."

The second soldier stepped forward to open the gate for him, sharing a smile with the newcomer. That gesture was, by far, the most welcoming, gentle, and kind interaction Junior had experienced in recent days.

"Thanks."

As he crossed the threshold, the street stretched on behind the wall; the soldier escorted him a few meters and pointed out that the first thing he needed to do was head to the building next to the wall to register as a resident.

Although Junior was tempted to take in the breathtaking sights of a bustling city just beginning its daily routine, he headed to the designated building without deviating.

It was a small, two-story building, modest but with a cozy appearance. Its brick facade was well-maintained and painted in a soft yellow hue. On either side of the main entrance, two large pots with colorful flowers added a touch of life and cheer to the place.

The door was already open, and Junior peeked in timidly. Above the frame, a sign read, "True peace begins with a simple smile."

Inside, a small reception area welcomed visitors. Junior walked straight to a dark wooden counter, which held a computer at one end, a pile of papers, folders, a deck of cards, blister packs, and many boxes competing for space along its length.

Suddenly, a chair slid back as someone noticed his presence, and a sweet and gentle gaze landed on Junior.

A young woman with purple-dyed hair greeted him with a broad smile. She was on a call at that moment and gestured for him to wait. The simple scene completely threw him off.

A phone? A computer? A girl with purple hair who smelled of shampoo, perfume, and was impeccably clean? Where had he suddenly teleported?

"Don’t tell me! Did he really say that? That’s incredible! What courage!" she exclaimed, returning to her call. "Hey! Speaking of that, guess who’s standing in front of me? Yes, he just arrived!" The woman pulled away from the phone to address Junior. "It’s Ramírez! He sends his regards!"

"Uh... thanks?"

She returned to her call.

"He says thanks! Seems like he liked you! And who wouldn’t? You’re always so kind!"

Was she talking about that Ramírez? And why was she shouting so much?

"Yeah, totally!" the woman continued, engrossed in her conversation. "Visit me here sometime! You know where to find me. Anyway, I have to work now. Talk later. Bye!" She hung up and focused her large, expressive brown eyes on Junior. She held his gaze for a moment until a smile spread across her face. "Blows your mind to see someone talking on the phone, huh?"

"It’s... a bit surreal, yeah."

"Right? Very well, judging by your appearance, you look dead… tired. So let’s keep this brief!" she said, clapping her hands to punctuate her already highly animated words. "My name is Evelyn O’Hara, and I’ll be your guide during your first days here. As you can see…" She gestured toward her desk. "This is a mess. I have a lot to do whenever a new resident arrives. So for now, let’s start with the basics." Suddenly, the childlike aura she exuded shifted to a more serious tone. "I’ll need to fill out some details in the computer so we can issue your access card. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," Junior replied.

"Great! Since this is chaos right now, I’ll just ask for your name and surname so I can register you and show you the available rooms—that’s the fun part!" She winked. "We’ll fill out the rest later, okay? So, what’s your name and surname?"

"Uh… well. I don’t know."

The girl’s eyes widened as she locked eyes with Junior. One of her eyebrows arched, and a mischievous grin appeared on her face.

"No, really. I’m not joking," he clarified. "I don’t remember my name."

"Seriously? Wow!" Her expression suddenly froze. "I don’t know what to do... How about we use a nickname?" she suggested quickly. "Do you have a nickname we can use to identify you?"

Junior sighed, clearly exhausted.

"Yeah, it’s a bit silly, but—"

"How about we pick a new one?" a voice interrupted from behind.

Junior turned. He recognized that voice; they hadn’t spent much time together, but he had already memorized its tone and cadence perfectly.

Renzo entered with an amused expression and leaned against the counter.

"Fantastic! That was fast!" Evelyn said, clapping her hands again.

"Yeah, when I told them I’d changed my mind and wouldn’t be joining their nation, they floored the gas pedal," Renzo explained, observing his companion’s astonished face with amusement. He shrugged. "What can I say? I don’t like shortcuts in life. I appreciate what you did by giving me that opportunity, but as soon as I set foot in that nation... I just felt like I didn’t belong there."

Junior smiled.

"Thank goodness!" Zeta blurted out, relieved. "The egomania in that place is suffocating…!"

"Exactly! I wasn’t even there for ten minutes, and all I heard was, 'my nation this,' 'Áurea that'… Oh, please!" Renzo exclaimed, slamming the table. "I’ve never even heard that word before, and now I hate it! What the hell does 'Áurea' even mean?"

"Exactly my thoughts! What the hell does Áurea mean?"

"No freaking clue!"

The three of them burst into laughter, taking a moment to mock the overinflated ego of the sister nation.

"It’s incredible," Evelyn added with amusement. "You’ve struck them where it hurts most. They’ve been rejected twice now. Boys… you’re my heroes!"

"Thanks," Zeta said.

"So, back to business. I still need a way to identify you," Evelyn said, twisting her lips in a mock attempt at a smile.

Renzo, once again, found himself staring at Zeta's arm. The scar etched there was intriguing and full of mystery.

"How about Zeta?" Renzo suggested, his expression lighting up with the spark of an epiphany. "It’s definitely better than Junior, and I think it fits you."

"Zeta?" Zeta repeated, considering it.

"I love it!" Evelyn exclaimed. "It’s the best nickname ever!"

"See? She likes it."

"Yeah… it’s not bad. If I could get used to Junior, I can get used to anything."

"You bet," Renzo added.

"Alright then! Zeta! I love it!" Evelyn declared, typing with a wide smile before turning to Renzo. "Now I need your name and surname. Or have you forgotten that too?"

Renzo smiled. "I’m Renzo Xiobani. Spelled with an 'X.'"

"Alright, pleasure to meet you, Renzo. And while we’re at it, do you have a nickname you’d like to share? Wanna know mine? It’s Maga! But I won’t tell you why they call me that…"

"Do you do magic tricks with cards?" Zeta joked, pointing to a corner of the desk. "There’s a deck of cards right there… and then there’s your tattoo," he added, gesturing to the side of her neck, where a small red heart, a black spade, a red diamond, and a black club were inked.

"Impressive!" she replied with delight. "Well played, Zeta!"

"Zeta…" he murmured, testing how it sounded. "Yeah, it’s got a nice ring to it."

"Speaking of nicknames," Renzo chimed in, "I had one back with the gang, but… it was awful."

"Worse than mine?"

"Worse than yours. They called me Sheep. Because of my wool hat… like a sheep."

"Sheep?" Zeta and Maga asked in unison.

"Yeah. Told you it was terrible," Renzo said with a grin.

"Why not change it?" Evelyn suggested. "All I have to do is type it here, and it’s official. Forget those awful nicknames and start fresh as two brand-new people."

"She’s right!" Zeta added. "You changed mine, so now I’ll pick one for you—"

"No need. Just call me Renz—"

"I’ve got it!" Zeta interrupted, clapping just like Evelyn. "An easy anagram. How about Rex?"

"Re for Renzo and the X!" Evelyn exclaimed enthusiastically. "I love it! Best nickname ever—second to Zeta’s, of course."

Renzo smiled. "Whatever you want, but I don’t think anyone will call me that…"

"Can you make sure everyone calls him that?" Zeta asked Evelyn.

"Consider it my mission from now on," she said, typing the new nickname into the computer. "Perfect!"

Once she finished, Evelyn pushed her chair back and stood, motioning for both of them to follow her outside. They obliged and were escorted back to the street.

"This is my favorite part," Evelyn began, turning to face them with a wide smile. "Alright, I hope you’re ready, because from this moment on, nothing in your lives will ever be the same…"

Both of them smiled, and the faint spark of determination they carried ignited into a roaring flame of hope.

"I can only wish you the best of luck on this new adventure," she said, walking backward as the vastness of a city loomed behind her.

The two exchanged a glance, their eyes no longer filled with tears but brimming with strength, courage, and a renewed sense of determination.

"Without further ado. Zeta, Rex…" She spread her arms wide. "Consider yourselves officially welcomed…"

They raised their fists and bumped them in midair with energy—not to fight anymore, but to celebrate.

"To the Scarlet Nation!"