The slums didn't sleep.
They decayed while pretending to live.
Tin roofs trembled under the wind—not violently, not loudly—just enough to remind everything beneath them that nothing here was stable. Not the walls. Not the ground. Not the people.
The air was thick.
Breathed too many times by too many people who couldn't afford to stop.
The boy stood at the doorway.
Still.
Watching.
He didn't fidget.
Didn't blink much.
Didn't ask questions.
He had learned early—
Movement drew attention.
And attention…
made things worse.
"Stand properly."
His father's voice came from behind.
Not harsh.
Not loud.
Just… tired.
Tired in a way that didn't rest.
The boy straightened.
Not fully.
Just enough.
"Don't look," his father said.
A pause.
"You'll make it worse."
Worse.
The word settled in the room.
Worse.
The boy didn't ask.
He already knew what that word meant.
His sister sat in the corner.
Small.
Folded in on herself.
Like if she made herself small enough, the world might forget she existed.
Her fingers dug into her arms.
Hard.
Hard enough that the skin had already broken in places.
She didn't seem to notice.
"Appa…"
Her voice trembled.
Not loud enough to be defiant.
Just loud enough to be heard.
"Please… I don't want to—"
"Enough."
The word didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
It cut anyway.
His father didn't look at her.
Didn't look at either of them.
"I told you already," he said, staring at the ground.
"We don't get to want things."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Like something pressing down on the room.
Even breathing felt like noise.
Then—
A knock.
No one answered.
The door opened anyway.
A man stepped inside.
Clean.
Too clean.
His clothes had no dust.
Even the way he stood felt wrong.
Like he belonged to a world that had never rotted.
He looked around once.
Frowned.
"Smells worse than I expected."
The father forced a laugh.
It broke halfway.
"Conditions aren't exactly improving."
The man didn't respond.
His eyes had already moved.
To the girl.
She froze.
Not because she didn't understand.
Because she did.
"Is this the one?" he asked.
Casual.
Like asking about livestock.
A pause.
Then—
A nod.
"She'll do."
The girl's breathing changed.
Shallow.
Fast.
Her fingers dug deeper into her arms.
Blood surfaced.
"Money first," the father said.
Still not looking up.
The man sighed.
Annoyed.
He pulled out a few folded notes.
Tossed them.
Careless.
They landed near the boy's feet.
For a moment—
nothing moved.
Then his father stepped forward.
Slow.
His hand hovered above the money.
Shaking.
Not from hesitation.
From something worse.
"Appa… please…"
His sister's voice cracked.
It sounded smaller than before.
Like something already breaking.
His father closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
"Sorry."
He picked up the money.
The boy watched.
Not confused.
Not shocked.
Just… watching.
He didn't understand everything.
But he understood enough.
Enough to know:
This wasn't unusual.
This was normal.
This was survival.
This—
was the price of breathing.
The man stepped closer to the girl.
She tried to move back.
There was nowhere to go.
"Don't make this difficult," he said.
She shook her head.
Small.
Desperate.
"No… please… I'll do anything else—"
"There is nothing else."
The boy's fingers tightened.
Just slightly.
Not enough to act.
But enough to feel something resist.
He noticed it.
That small resistance.
And he crushed it.
Because here—
resistance didn't change outcomes.
It only changed how much it hurt.
Time blurred.
Voices became distant.
Like hearing through water.
At some point—
his sister stopped speaking.
Then—
stopped making sound entirely.
"Already?"
The man sounded irritated.
"Pathetic."
A pause.
Then—
"Fine. I'll take something back for wasted time."
Movement.
Fabric.
A shift in air.
Footsteps.
Closer.
The man stopped in front of the boy.
Looked down.
Smiled.
"You'll understand someday."
The boy met his eyes.
For the first time—
he didn't look away.
Not defiance.
Not courage.
Just…
recognition.
He already understood.
The door opened.
Closed.
Silence returned.
But not the same silence.
His father moved first.
Counted the money.
Once.
Then again.
"Appa…"
The boy's voice came out dry.
Unused.
His father froze.
Just for a moment.
A drop of tear slipped out of his eyes.
Then he turned.
Walked over.
Pressed the money into the boy's hand.
"You both go buy food later."
His voice wasnt steady.
The boy looked at the money.
Then at his father.
"…Why our life is like this?"
The question slipped out.
Before he could stop it.
His father didn't answer.
He turned.
Walked toward the door.
"Stay here."
The door creaked.
Closed behind him.
Silence.
The boy stood still.
Time passed.
Or maybe it didn't.
Something felt—
Wrong.
The boy stepped outside.
The alley stretched ahead.
Long.
Narrow.
Endless.
People moved.
Not living.
Not stopping.
Just continuing.
Ahead—
his father.
"Wait."
The boy followed.
He watched—
as his father bowed.
As he begged.
As his voice broke.
"Just a little more—anything. They haven't eaten in two days."
The man stopped.
Slowly turned.
"I already paid."
"Please…" his father stepped closer, hands trembling.
A shove.
Sudden.
Effortless.
His father didn't resist.
For a brief second—
his body lingered at the edge.
Caught between begging…
and falling.
Then—
Nothing.
A sound followed.
Heavy.
Wet.
Final.
A small crowd gathered.
Not out of concern.
Just enough to confirm something had happened.
The boy didn't run.
He walked.
Slow.
Because he already knew.
The body on the ground—
was no longer his father.
Broken in a way that didn't look real.
Like his body had forgotten how to stay human.
The boy stood over him.
No tears.
No scream.
Just waiting.
For something to happen.
For the world to react.
For meaning.
Nothing came.
His father's eyes were open.
Empty.
And if there had been a final thought—
it would have been:
God…
Are you watching?
Is this what you made?
I sold my daughter…
just so they could eat.
And this…
This is the answer?
Nothing?
You don't exist—
Or worse…
You do.
"Hey."
A voice.
Sharp.
Urgent.
A man crouched beside him.
"I saw what happened. He's still breathing. We can save him."
The boy didn't move.
"Hospital's close. But we need money."
His eyes dropped—
to the boy's hand.
"That enough?"
A pause.
Something unfamiliar appeared.
Not hope.
But something close enough to pretend.
The boy held out the money.
The man took it.
Ran.
The boy didn't follow.
The boy didn't chase.
Didn't call out.
Because something inside him—
quietly—
had already decided.
It wouldn't matter.
The next day—
hunger returned.
Like nothing had happened.
Like nothing ever did.
"…Anna…"
The voice was small.
Weak.
But real.
The boy's eyes opened.
For a moment—
he didn't move.
Then he turned.
His sister lay where he had left her.
Curled.
Barely.
Her arms wrapped around herself again—
as if trying to hold something inside that was already gone.
Her lips were dry.
Cracked.
Her breathing—
shallow.
Uneven.
"I'm… hungry…"
The words came out broken.
Like they had to fight their way out of her throat.
The boy watched her.
Not with confusion.
Not with panic.
With recognition.
Hunger didn't need explanation.
It didn't care about yesterday.
Didn't care about pain.
Didn't care about what had been taken.
It just returned.
Demanding.
Always.
"…Wait."
His voice was quiet.
He looked at her once more.
She was watching him.
Not with hope.
With need.
That was worse.
"…I'll bring something."
Not a promise.
A decision.
He turned.
Walked toward the door.
The shop was bright.
Clean.
Wrong.
The boy moved.
A hand grabbed him.
Then another.
Pain followed.
Fast.
Routine.
"Thief."
"Filth."
"You people never change."
Blows landed.
Then—
nothing.
Inside—
the shopkeeper bowed before a glowing image.
"Thank you…"
"Your justice is absolute."
Outside—
the boy lay in the dirt.
Breathing.
Barely.
And somewhere far above—
something watched.
Smiling.
END OF CHAPTER ONE