The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the empty street, followed by an agonized grunt that broke into the damp air. Another blow landed—harder this time—and the dull thud of a body hitting cold, wet concrete followed soon after. The impact sent a faint splash of rainwater outward, rippling across the uneven pavement.
A checker-haired boy lay crumpled on the ground, his body curling in on itself as he retched in pain, clutching his stomach as it might fall apart. His breaths came in ragged bursts, uneven and shallow. Above him stood two taller boys, their silhouettes looming with casual indifference. One of them held a robust leather pouch, its weight obvious in the way it sagged in his grip.
Without another word, they turned and walked away, their footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Zuno alone in the middle of the street. No one stepped in. No one even looked twice.
"Shit…"
The word slipped from Zuno's bloodied mouth, barely more than a breath. The coppery taste lingered on his tongue as he spat weakly to the side. The bag they took had been full of money—money he had spent months scraping together through whatever work he could find. Long days, longer nights, all reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring blankly at the cracked pavement beneath him, letting the pain settle into his bones. It throbbed in waves, each pulse reminding him of how fragile his body really was.
Still, he forced himself up.
His arms trembled as he pushed against the ground, his legs barely steady enough to support him. Being as frail as he was, taking a beating like that wasn't something his body handled well. Every movement sent sharp protests through his ribs and stomach, but even then, the pain wasn't what bothered him most.
After a brief pause, he exhaled slowly and shook his head. No point dwelling on it.
Sulking wouldn't get his money back.
With that thought, Zuno began limping toward his house.
The walk home dragged on longer than it should have, each step heavier than the last. If the robbery hadn't already ruined his day, the streets made sure to finish the job. On nearly every corner he passed, another poor soul lay sprawled against walls or collapsed on the ground, their eyes hollow, their bodies twitching faintly.
Nox.
The drug had its claws in nearly everyone here. Some clutched empty vials like lifelines. Others were in the middle of dosing, too far gone to care who saw.
Most of the city had already succumbed to it.
Zuno's expression darkened slightly. It was the reason he was an orphan—the overdose rate was high, but the addiction rate was worse. People didn't just die from it… they lost themselves long before that.
He shook his head, pushing the thought away before it could dig any deeper.
He hated drugs.
Especially this one.
'I guess another shit day gets added to the calendar.'
A faint snort escaped him, though it quickly turned into a harsh cough that bent him forward slightly. His body protested the motion, pain flaring across his torso as he steadied himself.
By the time he reached his home, the sky had already begun to dim, the sun slipping lower and casting long shadows across the street.
Well… "home" was generous.
It was more of a shack than anything, its structure barely holding together, wood warped and worn from years of neglect. Still, it was better than the streets—where survival often came down to chance and someone else's mood.
Zuno reached the front door and pushed it open slowly.
The familiar smell hit him immediately—mold, damp wood, stale air—but something else lingered beneath it. Something sharper.
…Blood?
"A shit day just got worse… fuck."
He muttered the words under his breath, his tone flat, almost numb.
The scent of blood wasn't unfamiliar to him. Living here meant getting used to it whether you wanted to or not. Death was common in this part of the city. If anything, it was one of the reasons the rent was so low.
Still, that didn't mean he liked finding it inside his own home.
Hesitantly, Zuno stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room with quiet caution. His gaze moved from corner to corner, lingering on shadows, searching for anything out of place.
"Just another shit day… just another shit day…"
He muttered it under his breath like a mantra, though it did little to ease the tension creeping up his spine.
At this point, it was obvious luck wasn't on his side.
No—this wasn't just a bad day.
This would go down as the worst day of the year. Maybe even the worst day of his life.
Still… he refused to think about it too much. That kind of thinking only made things worse. Like tempting fate.
Was this some kind of curse?
Some joke from whatever god might be watching from above?
Zuno didn't know.
And honestly, he didn't care—as long as that same god hadn't decided to send something else into his home.
Each step he took was accompanied by the loud creak of dry, aging floorboards beneath his feet. The noise echoed through the small space, far louder than he liked. It felt like the house itself was announcing his presence.
'Curse you, cheap housing…'
He shot a brief glare at the floor before exhaling quietly. Trying to be stealthy was pointless at this rate.
Swallowing the small knot of fear forming in his chest, Zuno moved forward anyway, drawn deeper into the house by the lingering scent of blood.
It didn't take long to find the source.
A shattered window came into view, jagged shards still clinging to the frame. The edges were smeared with bright red, the liquid catching faint light as it glistened.
Zuno stared at it for a moment, expression unreadable.
It looked like someone had broken in… cut themselves badly on the glass… and then fled shortly after.
There were no signs of anything missing.
Not that there was anything worth taking in the first place.
Anything valuable was far beyond his reach—and far too risky to keep in a place like this.
A long sigh left his mouth as the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.
After everything that had happened today, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with this.
Cleaning it could wait.
He'd lived with the smell of blood for years. One more night wouldn't kill him.
The window could be fixed later.
Turning away from the broken glass, Zuno made his way back into the kitchen, his steps slower now, heavier with exhaustion. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, landing squarely in place with a dull thud.
It had been a long day.
Even for him.
And the sun was only just beginning to set.
He leaned back slightly, staring blankly at the table as he ran through everything again.
First, he had finally saved enough money for next month's rent.
Then, less than an hour later, it was gone.
And now… his home had been broken into.
"Man… is it that hard to get some peace around here?"
The words came out tired, lacking any real frustration—just exhaustion.
He let out a heavy sigh and slumped forward, resting his upper body against the table. The cool surface pressed against his skin, grounding him slightly.
He was exhausted.
Completely drained.
And to make matters worse… he still had a window to fix.
At this rate, he could fall asleep right where he was.
In fact…
He almost did.
His eyes struggled to stay open, lids growing heavier with each passing second. It felt like his entire body weight had shifted upward, pressing down on them. Even his two-toned lashes felt heavier than usual.
He tried to fight it.
But it was a losing battle.
His thoughts blurred together, slipping and fading as his consciousness slowly drifted—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sudden sound shattered the silence, snapping him awake before he could fully slip under.
Knock! Knock! KNOCK!
The second set came louder. Sharper. More insistent.
Zuno clicked his tongue, irritation flickering across his face as he pushed himself upright.
"I'm coming! Who is it??"
His voice carried through the small house, rough but alert.
Normally, he wouldn't have answered.
But no one knocked twice if they were planning to kill you.
At least… that's what he told himself.
He stood and made his way toward the door, each step still carrying the weight of earlier pain. Before he could reach it, a muffled voice called out from the other side.
Raspy. Controlled.
"It's the COH. Please open the door so we can discuss something with you."
Zuno froze for half a second.
'The Coalition of Hills…? Why is the government here?'
A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face as he approached the door. The wood was thin, worn enough that faint shapes could be seen through its cracks. Two figures stood outside, both dressed in military uniforms. One of them held a clipboard.
His unease deepened.
'What's going on…?'
His hand slowly reached for the handle, fingers tightening around it as his thoughts raced.
Whatever waited on the other side—
He was about to find out.