Four days before the Selection

The ladder rung lands on what I presume is a rat's head. There is a loud squelch, followed by a piercing screech of the injured rodent.

The two other glowing eyes lurch towards me. I continue swinging at where I think the rats are, occasionally hitting them, but mostly swinging at air. Even as my eyes adjust to the dark, I cannot see much beyond the rats' eyes.

"Tell me! Where to! Hit! Sánchez!" I yell, swinging the rung at every exclamation.

"At your nine o'clock!"

I twist around to plant a hard blow on a rat. A resounding crack reverberates throughout the void.

"Behind you!" Sánchez cries out again.

I spin around and lift the rung—but I'm too slow. Sharp teeth sink into my right arm, and agony explodes through my body.

"Argh!" I shove the metal rung into the rodent's mouth—I know exactly where that is now that it is biting me—causing it to gag and release me. Then, I kick it away.

"Lorensky!" Sánchez's unstable footsteps shuffle toward me.

"Stay where you are, Sánchez! I can't see anything, so you need to keep being my eyes!"

"But— At your three o'clock!"

I whack in the direction with my good arm. My bitten arm still throbs with pain, but this is nothing compared to when I was impaled by a rod a while ago. I survived that, so I'm sure I can survive this too.

Sánchez continues to tell me where to hit, and I continue to whack at the rats with all my strength. It's not a perfect strategy—there are more rats than me, so I can't always get to them before another one bites me. But I ignore my pain and focus on giving these rodents more injuries than they gave me.

After ten minutes of bludgeoning, the rats give up and scurry away. I take a moment to catch my breath, finally registering the severity of agony that is coursing through my body. My body is covered in bites, blood, and sweat, and my pink sweatshirt is ripped apart so much that only a few pieces of fabric cling onto me.

But at least the rats are gone.

I trudge to where Sánchez is. My vision is still not great here, but I've heard from them enough to know where they are. Slumping against the wall next to them, I lean my head back and heave a sigh of relief.

Something soft and warm lands on my lap.

"Wear this," Sánchez whispers.

Heat rushes to my face. Oh, right. With my top shredded up by the rats, I am half-naked right now. I didn't think too much of it because I can't see myself in the dark, but Sánchez can.

"Thanks," I mutter, draping their hoodie over my shoulders. I'm in too much pain to wear it properly.

"Your injuries..." they remind me in a strained voice.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I didn't have to lie. It has only been a minute of peace, but my body is no longer aching. The pain from the rod and the bites from the rats are but a faint buzz at the back of my mind. My only complaints now are the stickiness on my skin and the chilly breeze from the air.

Sánchez's hoodie makes it all better, though.

I lean into the fabric. This underground void still stinks of the rats and their putrid breaths, but if I snuggle up to the hoodie, Sánchez's familiar cardamom scent takes over. Calmness floods through me.

A thought strikes me. "Oh, Ryan's tracking device!" I dig into my pocket—the rats were kind enough to not tear my pants apart—and grasp the device I'd forgotten all about. The Piranhas took our weapons away, but they thankfully left this alone. "We should get Ryan to help us get out of here!"

"I already clicked on it a while ago," Sánchez says, "but maybe he'll respond to you quicker."

I click on the device and wait. And wait. And wait.

Nothing happens.

I roll my eyes and stuff it back into my pocket. "Argh, I don't know why I expect anything from him. I'm too exhausted to even feel disappointed at this."

"These underground tunnels used to be fallout shelters during the Last World War, so maybe there's no signal here.

"Some fallout shelter it is, with rats mutated to be that big."

"They might have been driven underground when humans repopulated Ground Earth."

"Oh. So they used to roam Ground Earth back when it was a nuclear wasteland?" I shudder.

"That's my guess." Sánchez let out a long, shaky breath. "God, Lorensky, I still can't believe you fought the rats when you can't even see them."

"You can see them, so that's good enough. If you fight them, I won't know if they're coming at me and I won't be able to defend myself, so I don't know, I thought this was the best solution."

"We could've gone back up."

"And be killed by the Piranhas?"

"I could've tried to talk to them or something."

"Well, I don't want you to. Screw them. They were the ones who attacked us yesterday, you know? They destroyed your cyberarm. And that Big Papi guy was gloating about it too, smiling about people dying and everything. He didn't even care that his people died." I pause, glancing at Sánchez. I remember their strange, pensive expression as they stared at the fallen attackers yesterday."Hey, did you... know it was them?"

There is a long moment of silence before Sánchez says, "I didn't know, but I'm... not surprised. I mean, I was part of the Piranhas my entire childhood and, well," —they sigh— "I took part in a similar attack."

I gasp. "What?"

"I told you I saw my parents die, right? That was during my first and only mission they sent me on. I was only eight, but they thought I was good enough and told me to follow my parents and learn from them. We were trying to bomb the thousandth floor of the Tower and... we failed. My parents managed to get me out, but they didn't make it. These missions... they're suicide missions. That's why I left. I had to."

My stomach lurches. I pull my knees up to my chest. "You were only eight."

"They send anybody they think is good, and you know me. I'm pretty dang good."

That draws a weak laugh from me. I bury my face in Sánchez's hoodie and let the smell envelop me. "The attackers at the Tower yesterday... they were young too." I shut my eyes, willing the images of their death out of my mind. "Big Papi told me the soldiers steal things. And kill people. I thought the soldiers maintained peace."

"I guess they have a warped definition of peace then," Sánchez says bitterly. "While I knew lots of people who died in the Piranhas' stupid suicide missions, I knew more people who died at the hands of the soldiers. So, take that as you will."

My fingers clasp the hoodie as if it was my lifeline. I don't know what to say. How much did I learn in the Tower that's wrong? Is this true for all the soldiers I know? Ryan, General Caelum, the other generals, the soldiers I see roaming around the Tower—are they all part of the problem?

Am I part of the problem?

"That's why I so desperately want to win the Selection," Sánchez continues. "Or, at least, do well enough so they have to let me ascend to any of the space stations. Because if I don't, I'll graduate from cadet training and become a NovaTopian soldier. If I'm lucky, I'll just be guarding the Tower, but if I'm not... I will be the very people threatening the lives of Ground Earth dwellers. The very people I used to hate. I wouldn't know how I'll live with myself."

Their voice gets softer as they speak, and my heart sinks lower. They have such a compelling motive for winning the Selection, while I want to win simply because I was told that it should be my goal to get to NovaTopia. It is a utopia in the sky that everyone should strive to get into—but what if that's wrong too?

I suddenly feel like an idiot. A blind idiot with no mind of my own.

"You'll win, Sánchez. You deserve it."

"That doesn't sound like you. You deserve it too, Lorensky."

Do I, though?

I take in a deep breath, inhaling the cardamom scent. My mind is a mess, I'm exhausted, and we're stuck in a dark underground cave with giant rats, but if there's anybody I'd want to be stuck here with, I'm glad it was with Sánchez.

After a long moment of silence, I take out the tracking device again and click on it a dozen times. "Argh, where on Earth is he? Do you think we should venture back up? It's been a while, so maybe the Piranhas are gone."

A long pause ensues.

"You should go," Sánchez says. "I'll stay here."

"What? I'm not going to leave you here."

"Lorensky, I..." They sigh. "My leg was shot."

"What?" I jolt up. I look in their direction, but I can only see a vague silhouette of their body. "Where? When?"

"While we were running from the Piranhas. It took everything out of me to keep running, and, well," —they chuckle— "it really did take everything out of me. I'm spent, Lorensky. I can't walk anymore. I'm not strong like you. I can't bounce back so quickly from my injuries." Their voice lowers even more. "I couldn't even help you fight the rats. Now you're covered with injuries, and it's... my fault."

"Shut up, it's not your fault!" Tears well up in my eyes as realization dawns on me. How did I not hear the weak, raspy way Sánchez speaks? The way their voice trembles? They're obviously hurt, but I was too absorbed in my thoughts to notice. If anything, everything was my fault. None of this would have happened if I weren't slow and they didn't have to save me from the Piranha's attack on the Tower.

"What can I do, Sánchez? If you tell me what to do and where everything is, I can- I can help you dress the wound or something..."

"I... don't know what to do, to be honest." They let out another weak chuckle. "I was planning to just stay put."

That doesn't sound like the best course of action to take, but I don't have a better solution either. "Okay, we'll both stay put then." I wipe my eyes dry. "Ryan is always late, anyway. Let's just wait till he gets here."

"No, Lorensky, you... you should get your injuries checked asap."

"My injuries are fine. I don't feel a thing."

"Please, Lorensky. More rats may show up later."

"All the more reason I should guard you here. You can't walk, let alone fight back."

Sánchez stops arguing. I hear them shifting around, groaning at every move. Guilt stabs me deeper into my heart. They must be in so much pain, and I don't know how to help them.

"Thank you for coming along, by the way," they mumble. "I know I was rude to you about it, but I... I appreciate it. I was... very scared coming here, and I'm... glad you're here. Thank you."

I blink my tears away. "Shut up, Sánchez. Don't speak as if you're ready to die or something."

They do not respond to that, which frightens me more.

"Sánchez? Sánchez!" I shout, raising my volume at every word. "Hey, Sánchez, answer me!"

"Shut up, Lorensky. I just want to take a nap."

A nap? "No, no, no naps!" I crawl closer to them and stretch my hand out until I feel their body. It's firm and sweaty under my palms. Grabbing their shoulder, I shake them. "Hey! Hey, Sánchez! You better stay awake!"

"You're so annoying..." Their voice is dangerously soft.

"I will keep being annoying if that means you don't sleep! And you can't sleep, Morgan Sánchez! Stay awake and stay alive! You hear me?"

"Mm..."

Tears well up, clogging my throat, but I keep shouting, "I'm serious, Sánchez! You can't die! You're the reason I get up every morning to go to practice sessions, okay? There are so many days when I question the purpose of the training, of cadet life, of everything. It's exhausting and so... so mindless sometimes. But then I see you every single day, I see how hard you work, I see your name consistently above mine in the scoreboard, and- and suddenly, it all makes sense. You give me a purpose, Sánchez. You keep me sane! So don't you dare fall asleep on me, you hear me?"

I burst into uncontrollable sobs.

Right now, I feel so stupid and useless. I must look stupid and useless too, kneeling on the floor and bawling like a baby, with my clothes torn into pieces and my body covered in blood. And worst of all, I just poured my heart out to Morgan Sánchez, my number one arch-rival.

But every word I said is true.

"Okay," Sánchez whispers, as if it's taking every last bit of their energy to say this. "I'll stay awake. Please don't shake me again."

"S- Sorry." I let go of them, but their hand grabs mine. It's warm and damp, like bread freshly out of the oven.

"I'll squeeze your hand to let you know I'm awake, okay?" they breathe.

I nod. "Okay."

We remain quiet, not talking, just hearing each other breathe. Every few seconds, Sánchez will squeeze my hand, and I'll squeeze back. Their strength gets weaker over time, but they never stop doing it. And as long as Sánchez is awake and squeezing my hand, I'll never leave their side.

Then, a familiar voice jerks us out of the stillness.

"Oh my god, what happened in here?"

It's Ryan.

Fina-Earthing-ly.