BLOODS AND CHROMES

The stench of blood and sweat filled the damp alley as Taehyung turned the corner, his boots scraping against the cracked pavement. The neon lights of nearby signs flickered, casting jagged shadows over the chaos ahead. Then, he saw it. The fight was already in full swing.

A Medean man swung a crowbar, its rusted edges catching the dim light before crashing down on an Alben's shoulder. The sickening crunch barely registered before the Alben retaliated, driving a knee into the Medean's gut, forcing him back into the crowd.

Nearby, a Zwarten fighter grabbed a steel pipe, dodging a wild punch before swinging it like a bat. The impact sent a smaller opponent sprawling into a pile of trash bags.

And a glint of silver. A knife flashed between bodies, quick and brutal. A Medean teen stumbled back, hands clutching his stomach as dark red seeped through his shirt. His breath hitched, knees buckling, but the fight didn't stop for him. It didn't stop for anyone.

A glass bottle shattered, its jagged edge used as a weapon almost instantly. A Zwarten man roared, forehead split open, blood trickling into his eyes as he swung blindly, catching someone in the ribs. Another body crashed into a dumpster, the impact echoing through the alley.

Taehyung stood frozen. No one noticed him. No one cared. They were too busy tearing each other apart.

A neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a flickering glow over the pavement slick with blood and rain. The fight raged on, unrelenting, as Taehyung's fingers hovered near his belt. Taehyung stepped forward, heart hammering in his chest.

A Zwarten brawler swung a steel pipe, its whistling arc narrowly missing a ducking Alben, who countered with a brutal elbow strike to the ribs. The Zwarten staggered, spit and blood flying from his mouth, but he didn't go down. Instead, he charged forward, fists raised. Taehyung shoved his way in.

A Medean with a split brow turned sharply, eyes dark with rage, and shoved him back. Taehyung stumbled, his shoulder slamming into the alley wall. A glass bottle smashed at his feet.

He barely had time to react before someone else—a bloodied Alben with a busted lip—rushed past him, gripping a broken bottle, aiming straight for a Zwarten's exposed side. Taehyung lunged, reaching for the man's wrist. But a fist caught him first.

Pain burst through his ribs as he was thrown aside like dead weight. His boots scraped the concrete as he landed hard, breath knocked from his lungs. The fight raged on.

A Medean grabbed a wooden plank, swinging wildly and catching a Zwarten across the temple. The man crumpled, his head bouncing off the pavement.

A knife flashed in the dark, slicing across an Alben's arm. Blood spattered the bricks, but he didn't slow down—he just fought harder.

Taehyung pushed himself up, gasping. His uniform was damp with sweat and street grime, his hands scraped raw. He tried again.

He grabbed another fighter—a Zwarten with knuckles split open from too many punches—but was immediately yanked back. A Medean elbowed him hard in the ribs. An Alben shoved him off balance. A Zwarten pushed past him, nearly trampling him into the pavement.

Taehyung forced himself up, his vision swimming as he staggered forward. His body ached, his ribs throbbed from the hits, but he couldn't back down. The fight had turned feral.

A Medean slammed a brick into a Zwarten's shoulder, sending him crashing into a pile of debris. An Alben pinned another man against the wall, fists hammering into his face, each impact wetter than the last.

Taehyung shoved his way in, hands raised, ready to pull them apart. A mistake. He never saw who swung the pipe. A cold rush of air against his skin. Then—impact. The steel met his skull with a sickening crack.

Pain—blinding, electric, all-consuming. His legs gave out, his body collapsing like a marionette with snapped strings. He hit the ground hard.

His fingers twitched, struggling to move, but his limbs were numb, distant. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.

Somewhere in the distance—screaming. The sharp, wailing howl of sirens. The thunder of gunshots.

Flashes of red and blue painted the alley in chaotic streaks of light. The fight didn't stop—it only grew more desperate.

Taehyung tried to focus. But his vision blurred, his pulse sluggish. His body felt cold. Darkness swallowed him whole.

Then, when the world finally came back in fragments—blurry light, muffled voices, the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

Taehyung's eyelids fluttered open. The ceiling above him was a dull shade of white, stained with time and flickering under artificial light. His head throbbed, bandages tight around his skull, and the sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air. He exhaled slowly. Hospital.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his skull, forcing him to sink back into the stiff mattress. That's when he noticed her. A woman sat beside his bed.

She was tall and poised, with deep, rich ebony skin that gleamed under the dim hospital lighting. Her hair was short and coiled, neatly shaped around her angular face, and her high cheekbones sharpened under the shadows. Her eyes—dark and intense—studied him with the kind of sharpness that felt like a blade pressed against his throat.

She wore a fitted charcoal blazer over a black turtleneck, professional but understated, the sleeves slightly pushed up to reveal her toned forearms. A simple gold chain rested against her collarbone, catching the light each time she shifted.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her dark eyes studying him like a puzzle she'd already half-solved. "Aisha Malik. Journalist." Her voice was smooth, measured. "I cover corruption, racial violence… the kind of stories people don't like seeing in the headlines."

Taehyung swallowed, his throat raw. His head was still pounding like a war drum, but his instincts were kicking in fast.

Aisha tilted her head slightly. "And you are?"

Her tone was casual, but he wasn't stupid. She already knew. She had said his name when she walked in. This was just a game.

"Kim Taehyung." His voice came out hoarse. "Rookie cop, District Six."

Aisha smirked. "I know."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I also know you almost got your skull caved in last night."

Taehyung's fingers curled into the stiff hospital sheets. Flashes of the fight hit him—fists, steel, blood. Then nothing.

Aisha's gaze never wavered. "I pulled you out before the patrol units stormed in. Another five minutes, and you'd be just another body in the morgue."

Silence. The heart monitor beeped, steady and slow. Aisha exhaled, then straightened. "Now, I have some questions for you."

Of course she did. Taehyung forced a breath through his aching ribs. "What do you want?"

Aisha smiled. It wasn't friendly. "The truth."

Taehyung didn't answer. He just stared at her, jaw tight, eyes dark with something unreadable.

Aisha let the silence stretch between them, but she wasn't the type to wait forever. She leaned forward, voice dropping lower, sharper. "You've seen it, haven't you?" she said, eyes locked onto his. "The way this city runs. How the Albens push everything from above, sitting in their glass towers, writing laws that don't apply to them. How the Zwarten scrape for survival at the bottom, crushed under a system built to keep them there. And the Medeans…" she exhaled, shaking her head, "…trapped in the middle. Just like the mutants."

Taehyung's stomach twisted. She wasn't wrong. Jinjahan wasn't just divided—it was carved up, each piece bleeding into the next, each group clawing at whatever scraps they could get. Albens ruled, untouched. Zwarten suffered, ignored. And Medeans? They were stuck, balancing between the two, neither trusted nor welcomed. He knew it because he lived it.

Born Medean, he was never enough of anything. Not privileged enough to stand among the Albens. Not desperate enough to belong to the Zwarten. Not feared enough to be considered a threat like the mutants.

Aisha exhaled, pushing back from her chair. She had said what she came to say. She pulled a card from her coat pocket and flicked it onto the bedside table. "Medical treatment's on me. Consider it a favor."

Taehyung didn't move, didn't speak. His fingers twitched slightly at the edge of the blanket, but he stayed still.

Aisha smirked. "If you ever feel like talking, you know how to reach me."

Then she turned and walked out, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The door swung shut behind her, leaving only silence and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Taehyung let out a slow breath and turned his head. His eyes landed on a small table beside him. A plastic tray. Bottled water. A bowl of fruit—apples, grapes, even a damn pear. His lip twitched bitterly. Must've cost a ton of Lyd. He let his head sink into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.