Five days before the Selection

Sánchez's arm comes off with a 'pop'. The sound is soft and crisp, drilling into my ears like a paintball, sending a chill down my spine.

I open my eyes and stare at the detached cyberarm I'm grasping. It cracks apart in my hands, and crumbles even more as I place it on the ground. My vision blurs. What used to be a strong, beautiful arm is now a pile of burned ash. Discarded. Disintegrated.

Destroyed.

"Why are you crying?" Sánchez asks, breaking the silence between us. Their voice is no longer strained and breathless.

I wipe my tears away. "Shut up, Sánchez."

They chuckle. I expect to hear a snarky remark about my crying, but they say, "Yeah, well, sorry for making you do that, Lorensky. It was way too damaged. I had to get it off before it, uh, corrupts more of my body. And... thanks, by the way, for doing that."

The realization weighs on me. The burned cyberarm was corrupting their body? Was that why they were in so much pain? Did I get it off in time or was I too slow?

I look at them. Their head is lowered, and in the closet room's darkness, I can't see their expression.

"How, uh, how are you feeling now?" I ask.

"As good as I can be."

"You can get a new one, right?"

Sánchez does not reply.

"Sorry, that was probably a stupid question," I say after an awkward pause. "Of course you can. I mean, there are other people with cyberlimbs in the Tower, and a few from our cadet class too, so surely there's a good supply of—"

A muffled roar interrupts me mid-sentence. We both spring to our feet.

"We should go check it out," Sánchez says.

"But you should stay here."

"Why?" Their head snaps toward me. "Do you think I'm weak now, Lorensky?"

"What? No, I will never think that! I just—"

"Then I'm not staying here." They grab a handgun from the shelf behind them. With just one hand, they detach the gun magazine to confirm that it's loaded before pushing it back in with their abdomen. "Let's go."

I sigh. The two rifles from our shooting practice are still slung against my back, so I move one of them forward.

Cracking open the door, I peer out of the closet. It takes a few blinks for my eyes to adjust to the light. The shooting range appears empty. I open the door a little wider and give the entire room a quick scan.

Two round aircraft are parked inside the Tower; they must have entered through the demolished wall. Outside, a larger aircraft—too big to get through the hole—is anchored to the Tower. These aircraft are eerily similar to the NovaTopian ones I've seen before: spherical, compact, and typically used for surveillance.

There are only two people in the area. They have weapons, so I assume they're guarding the aircraft, but they are chatting with each other and not paying attention to their surroundings. They're also not in uniform; their clothes are as casual and amateurish as their bandana masks around their faces.

I wonder who they are. They don't seem to have been trained for combat. Are they just regular civilians?

A gunshot thunders from the periphery, sending searing pain through my shoulder.

"Earth!" I yelp, ducking behind the door, while Sánchez jumps in front from behind me and shoots the two—no, three—other people in the room.

Damn it, I didn't see that last person there. They blended so well next to the aircraft.

"You okay, Lorensky?" Sánchez demands.

My eyes widen. I've already seen Sánchez in their cyberarm-less state, but the sight still shocks me in the light.

"I'm- I'm fine," I mutter through my clenched teeth.

"Let me look at it."

"No, it's alright— Look out!"

A new group of people has stormed into the shooting range. Despite my throbbing shoulder, I lift my rifle and fire at the few people in front. Sánchez joins in the fight immediately. Even with their non-dominant arm, their aim is as immaculate as ever—have they been practicing with their non-dominant hand?

In the blink of an eye, we are back to the only two people standing.

I stare at the fallen bodies and their growing pools of blood underneath them. A few of their haphazardly worn masks came loose, revealing their faces. They look... my age. Maybe even younger.

My stomach churns. I've shot a lot of 'people' during simulations, but I've never actually shot anybody before. These bodies do not fade away with a simple removal of a headset.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Even as I look away, the image of them—their wide-open eyes, their parted lips, their smooth, youthful skin tainted with blood—lingers.

"Who... Who are these people?"

Sánchez frowns. "I think they're... Well, it doesn't matter. I can't confirm it." They shake their head and turn back to me. "Now let me look at your injury!"

Oh, right. I was shot at. My shoulder does not hurt anymore, however. I must have gotten used to the pain.

Sánchez leans down toward me as they examine my injury. Their hair swishes in front of me, swept like a wave above their undercut. There is a strong whiff of hair gel and cardamom. That strange sensation I felt in the closet returns with a rush.

When Sánchez pulls away, they stare at me in disbelief. "It's... healed. That was so fast, Lorensky."

I touch the part of my shoulder where I was shot. Indeed, the skin is smooth, and the pain is gone. If not for the blood staining my shirt and the floor, it would have appeared I did not get shot at all.

"See? I told you I'm fine," I say. Before Sánchez can say anything, I walk towards the door of the shooting range. "Come on, let's check out the rest of the Tower."

Sánchez follows me as I sneak into the hallway. The usual white walls are speckled with blood and scorch marks. There are bodies sprawled all over; some are in cadet uniforms, while some are wearing casual wear and bandana masks. I peel my eyes away from them. My mind spins. I am reminded of the people I first shot. The people my age.

Everything about this—the stench of blood, the mess of corpses, the heavy atmosphere of death and destruction—makes me want to retch.

"Why are they doing this?" I whisper.

"Not sure, but people on Ground Earth hate the Tower with a passion, so maybe that's why."

"But you are from Ground Earth, and you don't hate the Tower."

Sánchez answers with a shrug.

As we continue down the hallways, we check each room along the way. Most of them are empty, with occasional dead residents lying on the floor. My fingers tremble against the cold metal of my rifle. How many have died? How many more are going to die? Are my cadet classmates okay? Where are the generals and their Gifts? Where's Ryan—

I spot a Tower resident inside a room, still alive and breathing heavily. I rush to his aid. He's shot in his waist.

"Guard the door," I tell Sánchez before I search around for a first aid kit.

I remove the man's shirt to reveal the wound. It's large and bleeding uncontrollably. Taking a clean gauze, I press it down on his waist. He cries out in agony.

"They're heading... that way..." he breathes, pointing towards where we were walking to. "To the... stockroom..."

"Okay, we'll head there after I'm done with—"

"Leave me..." the man insists. "Get them out... The faster you do... the faster a medical bot can tend... to me..."

That's right. The attackers have disabled the bots in the Tower, and it must be preventing residents from receiving proper treatment.

"Alright then," I relent. "Keep applying pressure on your wound, Sir. We'll get a medical bot to you very soon!"

I run over to Sánchez. "Let's go. We can come back later."

Sánchez raises a brow. "Why aren't you crying now, Lorensky? You were bawling at my injuries."

My face warms. "I wasn't bawling at anything," I snap before striding past them.

We make our way toward the stockroom. It's where the Tower keeps its extra supply of bots. Are the attackers trying to steal our bots? But why would they? They already have the technology to disable our bots, so I imagine they must have the technology to make them. Perhaps they just want to destroy our bots to hurt us.

The noises increase as we near the stockroom. As we inch along the wall next to the entrance, I give the room a quick peek. My heart catches in my throat and I swivel back to Sánchez.

"There's a lot of them," I whisper frantically. "There's no way we can fight them all. We should get back up, or inform a general or something."

"What about your brother?"

"Ryan? He'll be useless."

"Oh, right, he's in Ground Earth."

"He is? How do you know—"

An explosion erupts from the stockroom, shooting out tendrils of fire. I would've been burned if not for Sánchez's forceful tug on my arm. We both fall to the ground, the heat weighing us down further.

"What the hell?" Sánchez mutters.

I push myself off of their body—why are we colliding so often today?— and crawl up to my knees. Sánchez's cardamom scent mixes with the charred metallic smell from the stockroom, and the contrast causes my mind to swirl.

I am still dazed when a familiar voice croaks behind me.

"Lara, what are you doing here?"

A glowing red figure stands next to the entrance. Flames are still dancing out from the stockroom, licking at the silhouette of the torso. The redness subsides to a dark char. A NovaTopian general uniform materializes in place, while white flesh begins to regenerate. And that's when I finally recognize her.

General Caelum.

She detonated the entire stockroom with her body. With her Gift.

With her frighteningly powerful Gift that I will be getting.