Four days before the Selection

"Ryan!" I've never been more glad to see my brother. "Ryan, please help. Sánchez is hurt—"

"What? Okay, hang on, Lara, I can't see anything. Let me grab a light."

Soft shuffling noises ensue before a blinding spotlight pierces my eyes. I have to squint and look away.

"Good god, Lara, what happened to you?" Ryan exclaims. The light shifts from me to Sánchez. "Holy shit, this looks so bad. Okay, wait here again. I'm going to get some stuff."

He shoves the light source into my hand and teleports away. The sudden silence weighs down on my heart. I squeeze Sánchez's hand. They squeeze back.

The light is from a NovaTopian-issued torchlight. As I move it around, I look at what used to be a dark void but is now an illuminated cave. The walls are wet and grimy, while water drips from a crack in the ceiling. There are splatters of blood on the ground that must belong to me and the rats. A shudder runs down my spine as I recall my fight with them. I can't believe I did that blind.

I turn to Sánchez, and a gasp escapes my throat. Their dark skin is drenched with sweat, and their expression resembles the one they had when their cyberarm was destroyed—biting their lips and frowning as if it's taking every bit of their energy to even exist. With their hoodie gone, their torso is bare except for a binder around their chest.

Blood soaks the floor underneath them; the sheer amount of it draws a strangled sob out of me. They must have been shot at in the back of their thigh, and the injury is worse than I thought. So much worse.

I slip their hoodie off me and put it back on them, careful to not touch their legs. The fabric is soft and warm, unlike the clenched and sweaty body of theirs. Whenever I lift their arm a bit too high, they let out a strained moan, stabbing my heart every time.

After they are dressed and covered, I glance down at myself to see how un-covered I am. What's left of my pink sweatshirt are a few pieces of fabric still clinging onto my skin, sticky from my blood and sweat. My bra is somehow gone.

Heat rises to my cheeks. I knew the rats did a number to my torso, but finally seeing myself like this puts things into perspective. I am... actually topless. The only thing helping to maintain a modicum of my modesty is the blood painting all over my body.

Ryan returns with a first aid kit and an oversized NovaTopian T-shirt for me to wear. As I put on my new clothes, he bends down to inspect Sánchez's legs.

"Yeah, this is bad. Way out of my ability to fix. We need to get them to help," he mutters as he quickly ties up Sánchez's wounds in bandage amidst their growing groans of pain. Before I can chide him to be gentler with them, he disappears and reappears with a medical stretcher.

My jaw drops. Where is he getting all these items from? Does he have a secret stash of all things NovaTopian-issued and compatible with his Gift for emergencies like this?

"There are people right above us," Ryan says, "so we shouldn't get out from here. We'll carry Sánchez out through another exit down that way."

I help Ryan lift Sánchez onto the stretcher and we carry them down the path Ryan described. I'm holding the front of the stretcher, the torchlight clamped in my armpit, while Ryan is behind, occasionally giving me directions. With the light only illuminating up to about a mile in front of us, the cave—or whatever it's supposed to be—feels like a depressingly endless tunnel.

"So, what the hell happened, Lara?" Ryan asks.

I don't even know how to begin. "Uh, so, we were chased by this group called the Piranhas, and they—"

"Wait, the Piranhas? Please don't tell me Sánchez went to find them."

"Oh, well, yeah, Sánchez said the Piranhas could get them a mechanic."

Ryan curses under his breath. "There are much better ways to get a mechanic. No wonder it's like a war zone up there. So many people are patrolling about with guns. I thought there was maybe a gang war happening, but now I know it's just the Piranhas looking for Sánchez, who stupidly showed up at their front door."

"They didn't know who else to turn to," I defend. "So you know about the Piranhas too?"

"Yeah, they're pretty infamous."

I wonder if they're infamous enough for the Tower to know that they're the ones responsible for the attack. Should I tell Ryan about it? I don't want to potentially get Sánchez into trouble, so I choose to keep quiet.

After about twenty minutes of walking, we reach another ladder leading to the above-ground. Ryan drapes Sánchez's arms over his shoulder, letting them wrap around his neck as he climbs up the ladder. I follow behind with the stretcher, holding onto Sánchez's feet to prevent their injured thigh from touching anything.

The sunlight, while muted from the clouds and the shadow of the Tower, is a warm welcome as I emerge from the dark void. I take in a deep breath, grateful for the fresh air. My eyes drink in the scenery. I've missed the trees and buildings; I never knew I'd miss a place I have barely been a day at.

"Hey, Lara, help me get Sánchez into this car." Ryan snaps me back to reality.

Indeed, the hole we came out from leads next to a demarcated lane. An enclosed, four-wheeled vehicle parks along it.

"Is that yours, or did you steal it?" I ask.

"Does it matter? Do you want to get Sánchez medical help or not?"

That shuts me up, so I help Ryan without protest. We lug Sánchez back on the stretcher and load them into the rear seats.

Now that I can see better, I notice that Ryan looks rough. His general uniform has spots of discoloration and burns, and his face is covered with soot. It's as if he had fought with General Caelum or someone with fire-related powers.

"What happened to you?" I ask, after making sure Sánchez and their stretcher are buckled.

"Nothing much. Get in."

Once we are all in the car, Ryan slams on the acceleration and we take off. I thought the bikes we took in the morning were fast, but this car is faster. I clutch at the grab handles as Ryan swerves around and zooms by multiple groups of bikers. But no matter how insanely fast Ryan is driving, the travel is more comfortable than our ride on the bikes, because the wind is not thrashing around at us.

The car screeches when Ryan pulls it to a stop in front of a two-level building. It is the shortest building in the area, but the most well-kept one. There is no entrance to the first floor, but there are stairs that lead directly to a door on the second floor. The name 'Nightlaza Bar' hangs above the door in bright neon.

"A bar?" I groan. "Seriously, Ryan? You're going to drink now?"

"Lara, I do love to drink, but do you really think this lowly of me?" He steps out of the car and shouts, "Devon! Emergency!"

Immediately, the door to Nightlaza Bar slams open. A man with shoulder-length black hair appears. He looks to be around Ryan's age, wearing a tank top that shows off his toned biceps, and long, baggy cargo pants.

"Liam, what in the—" He cuts himself off when Ryan hauls Sánchez halfway out of the car, and his annoyed expression fades into a serious one. "Get her to the back now!"

I help Ryan carry Sánchez and their stretcher. The man, Devon, leads us around the building. There is a back door that leads to the first floor, and it opens to what looks like a living unit, with a kitchen, a dining table, and a living area with a couch.

Devon rolls a piece of plastic cover over the dining table and instructs us to lay Sánchez on it. As he pulls his hair into a tiny ponytail, he spouts more instructions to Ryan. I have never seen Ryan so compliant before, dashing around the place and grabbing gloves, gauze, and other medical supplies for Devon. This living unit seems to have everything one needs for a medical emergency.

I stand next to the table, watching Devon—and Ryan—at work, while holding onto Sánchez's hand. Their palm is damp and cold. Every other second, they still give my hand a squeeze, no matter how weak the pressure is, as if trying to tell me that they're okay. When the anesthetic Devon injected into them kicks in, their hand loosens from mine, but I keep clutching.

After the bullet is removed and Sánchez's wounds are sanitized and wrapped, Devon leans back on the wall and discards his gloves. Sánchez now seems to be sleeping soundly. My shoulders finally relax; I didn't realize how tense I was for the past few hours.

"Okay, let's take a look at the rest of you," Devon says, stretching his arms. His dark eyes dart between Ryan and me—before landing on Ryan. "You first. Take off your shirt and let me wrap your wounds."

"I'm fine. You should check on Lara first—"

Devon pinches Ryan's waist, drawing an uncharacteristic howl from my brother.

"Fuck! God damn it, Dev!"

"Take it off," Devon repeats nonchalantly as he puts on another set of gloves. "You're gonna get an infection before your Gift thing can heal yourself."

Ryan grumbles under his breath, but he complies and unbuttons his uniform. Under it, there are multiple burn marks and deep cuts. Most of them look thin and almost healed, but the part where Devon pinched is a particularly deep cut.

"Ryan, what happened?" I demand.

"Nothing much—" Ryan yells again when Devon dabs something on his wound. "Can you do it softer, Dev?"

"Can you not lie to her?" Devon snaps. "Nothing much, my ass."

"This is nothing much! I've been through way worse, you know that."

Devon rolls his eyes. "What was your assignment this time?"

There is a brief pause. "The, uh, underground market at Leon."

"You broke it up?"

Ryan nods—and cries out in pain as Devon purposefully slaps the gauze onto his wound. "Fuck, Dev!"

Anger radiates from Devon's dark eyes. He continues his rough treatment despite Ryan's countless protests and groans.

I frown. "Why were you assigned to break up this market? Were they selling contrabands or something?"

"Nah," Ryan says in between his sharp gasps of pain. "They're just selling things that the Tower —argh— wants to monopolize, so they're ruining sales and —Dev, come on— and NovaTopia does not like that."

Big Papi's fury when talking about the Tower floods back to me. Both Big Papi and Sánchez concurred with how NovaTopian soldiers kill Ground Earth dwellers. And now, I learned that Ryan's mission was to break up a market that wasn't even selling anything illegal. The truth weighs on my heart like a giant boulder.

"Don't look so down, Lara." Ryan chuckles. "Your goal is to win the Selection and go to NovaTopia, right? You won't have to deal with any of this when you leave."

"But General Caelum never had to do things like that..." I say.

"She would have to if not for me doing most of the dirty work. I'm the general they love to overwork."

"When are you going to elope and get away from that stupid job, Liam?" Devon mutters.

"Hey, don't call me that," Ryan warns.

"What should I call you then? Babe? Honey? Love?"

Ryan rolls his eyes, but Devon wipes the annoyed expression off by yanking on his bandage. "My legal name is Ryan, in case you've forgotten," he says with a strained voice.

I glance at the two of them. Despite their banters and Devon actively causing Ryan pain, the way they look at each other is... peculiar. Realization dawns on me.

"Are you two, like, a thing?" I blurt.

They freeze and stare at me.

Devon is the first to recover. He smirks and looks at Ryan, who is still frazzled by my question. "I don't know. Are we, love?"

"Are you done?" Ryan grunts, dodging the question. "Can I wear my shirt now?"

Devon answers by tossing Ryan's uniform into a laundry basket in a corner. "Go take a shower and put on fresh clothes."

"Yes, sir." Ryan walks to the living area and enters a door across the couch.

Discarding his gloves, the other man looks at me, his smirk growing on his lips.

"So, Lara, is it? Let's get you checked now."