THE BLACK CORE

Aldrich stumbled through the gate of his apartment block, a hulking relic of a hundred units stacked like crates. His chest heaved, heart still racing from the sprint. He had split from Herman and Bernard at the junction, each bolting for their own street. 

Glancing back, the road was empty, lit only by a flickering streetlight that buzzed like a dying bug. Alvin and his Snakepit goons must've given up, too slow or too pissed to keep chasing. Far off, the hum of red-core patrols echoed, but they weren't his problem. A drunk kid out past midnight? That was not a crime. 

Rules here were thin in the lowlands. Don't kill. Don't steal, and if you're old enough, hit your quarry quota. For a sixteen-year-old like him, it was just the first two. The Highlanders liked it that way, chaos kept the Lowlands weak, easy to enslave.

The gate's rusty squeal could have woken half the building, but Aldrich didn't care. He dragged himself up the stairs to the second floor, boots scuffing chipped concrete. His keys slipped from his shaking hands, once, twice, five times, before he finally got the door open.

He staggered inside, the vanilla pulse still clouding his head, and collapsed onto the bed.

This place used to be his and his mom's. Now it was just his, a hollow box of peeling walls and ghosts. The Lowlands council covered his rent, kids under seventeen got that much, at least. The Highlanders would never do that much. They wouldn't spit on a Lowlander unless it paid them. 

Without the Lowlands council, this place would be a free-for-all, worse than the mess it already was.

Aldrich's eyes drifted to the empty chair where his mom used to sit, coughing gray dust. His gaze shifted to the picture frame on the old shelf that stood by the corner just beside it. It was the only picture he had of himself and his parents together. He dragged himself to the shelf and picked up the picture frame.

His fingers lingered on it, tracing his mom's smile, frozen. She'd been radiant, even as the gray disease started its slow theft of her life, ruining her skin with its grey patches. His dad stood tall beside her in the photo, in a navy blue shirt, fresh off a rare visit from the Highlands. 

He'd come home that day, like he did once every two years, grinning about his promotion to his new rank, Lieutenant. Aldrich, just a kid, had stared wide-eyed at the orange armour he had summoned. It had appeared from underneath his skin, warping like it had life until it formed a powerful large armour that clothed him from his neck to toe. He recalled he had also received an ability, one he could not remember, strangely. He knew his mother hated it so much though. 

She'd never explained why, just scowled when his dad showed off some strange trick, now a blur in Aldrich's memory. That was their last day together. His dad had gone back to the Highlands and never returned.

Aldrich set the frame down, his buzz from Coco's fading into a dull ache. His eyes caught the glint of a watch in a clear glass cube on the shelf, one of the few things the Highlanders brought when they came with the news. 

He grabbed the cube, popped it open, and ran his thumb over the watch's worn face. He'd never worn it. Why would he? It felt like a stranger's. A lieutenant, Veltroch had said, was no small rank. The orange core rank. All orange core combatants ranked above commanders, wielding powers beyond human. 

So why did his dad, a man of that rank, leave them nothing? Why abandon them here, scraping by in this dust-choked hole?

He needed answers. Why his dad, an orange core lieutenant, died without a trace, but first, he needed out of this Lowlands hell. Still drunk from Coco's, he fumbled to return the watch's glass cube to the shelf. His hands betrayed him, and the watch slipped, smashing on the floor. His heart stopped. Pieces of his dad's last memory scattered like dust across the chipped boards.

He dropped to his knees, scrabbling to gather the fragments, desperate to fix it. Useless. A heavy sigh escaped him, eyes stinging. Then he spotted it. A tiny black orb, no bigger than a fingernail, glinting among the wreckage. Part of the watch? He reached for it. The moment his fingers brushed it, the orb shifted, liquid-fast, latching onto his palm. It sliced his skin, burrowing deep before he could flinch.

Pain hit like a lightning strike. Sharp, impossible, searing through every nerve. Aldrich screamed, his voice raw, echoing off the apartment's peeling walls. His veins bulged, glowing red under his skin, his eyes burned crimson, and sweat poured from him like rain. He collapsed, the world spinning into black as the orb's fire consumed him.

The last thing he felt was the cold floor.

***********

Little Aldrich, not more than seven years old, was in a cave, its damp walls lit by faint, flickering light orbs that cast long shadows. The air smelled of wet stone and quarry dust. He clutched a rundolph ball, its worn leather rough in his small hands. He didn't know why he was there, only that his heart raced, each step echoing in the dark. He moved slowly, scared, alone, until voices drifted from deeper in.

It was his father's voice, low and tense. It quickened his steps. He crept toward the sound, the cave narrowing, air growing colder. Peeking around a jagged rock, he saw his dad's tall frame, orange core armour dulled by the dim light. Another figure stood in front of him, taller, his cloaked face lost in shadow. Their words were muffled, like shouts underwater, but Aldrich caught a fragment.

 "Kill Albernan."

His dad's head snapped toward him. Caught. Eyes wide with worry and a flash of anger, he stormed over.

"You shouldn't be here, Baby Al," he said, voice sharp but trembling. 

He scooped Aldrich up, the rundolph ball slipping from his grasp, and carried him away, the cave's walls blurring.

Aldrich blinked awake, sunlight searing through the cracked window, turning his dim apartment into a blinding haze. Sweat plastered his silver hair to his forehead, and a dull throb pulsed behind his eyes. He hauled himself off the floor, the memory of last night crashing back. The watch shattering, the black orb slicing into his palm, the pain that knocked him out. He stared at his hand, heart pounding, but the skin was smooth, no trace of a cut. Was it all a dream? 

 "Albernan," he muttered, the word heavy, slippery, like a half-forgotten name.

He took a step and nausea slammed him. He stumbled to the bathroom, retching into the sink. Black goo spilled from his mouth, thick and oily, glinting unnaturally. 

"What the hell?" he rasped, staring at the mess. "Coco's pulse is spiked with some weird shit." He twisted the tap, watching the gunk swirl down the drain. Strangely, relief washed over him. He felt… lighter, sharper, like his senses were dialed up, sights crisper, the room's dusty stink sharper. Impossible, but real.

He jumped in the shower, scrubbing the booze and sweat off, whistling an old tune his mom used to hum. Mid-note, he froze, a jolt hitting him. 

"I'm forgetting something." His stomach dropped. "Shit! The trial!" The combatant trial was today, his shot to escape the quarry, to chase the truth about his dad's death. He was late. "Holy shit," he cursed, rinsing off fast.

The Eagle Grounds buzzed with thousands of people packed into the open field. It was a chaotic swirl of parents gripping their kids' shoulders and lovers whispering goodbyes. 

Red-core guards stood at the edges, laser rifles glinting, their eyes sharp as blades. In one corner, Herman, his mother, Muna, and Bernard huddled, voices low under the crowd's roar.

"You don't have to do this, Herman," Muna said, her hand brushing his cheek, worry etching her face. She turned to Bernard. "Neither of you have to."

Herman took her hand, squeezing gently. "Mom, it's the only way."

"Is it?" Her voice cracked. "People die in this trial. Give me time. I could save up, borrow from our family in the North. I can get you a white core."

Herman's jaw tightened. "You break your back in the quarry for scraps. I'm not letting you drown in debt just so I can live. This isn't just for me, it's for you." He touched her weathered cheek.

Muna's lips parted, but no words came. "Just come back," she whispered, pulling him into a fierce hug. "Your life's worth more than anything the Highlands can offer."

She stepped to Bernard, his massive frame towering but soft. "Your parents would be proud," she said, wrapping him in a hug. "You're brave."

Bernard's smile was shy. "Thanks, Auntie Muna."

"Muna," a frail voice cut through. Julia's father, Mr. Holoran, rolled up in his wheelchair, pale as bone, covered from neck to toes despite the warm air. Julia pushed him, her face guarded, while Veltroch ambled beside in his loose kimono.

"Holoran, been too long," Muna said, smiling faintly. "Master Veltroch, nice to see your face."

"Always a pleasure, Madam Muna," Veltroch said, his voice warm.

"You look stronger," Muna grabbed Mr Holoran's hand in her hands. It was cold, and thin. He was dying and she felt a liar. 

"My daughter says the same thing," Mr Holoran smiled.

Muna turned to Julia. "You're glowing, darling." She opened her arms, and Julia hugged her, a rare smile breaking through. "It's been a while, Auntie."

"You've only gotten prettier," Muna said, brushing Julia's cheek.

"Auntie, you're too kind," Julia replied, her smile widening.

"Just calling it like I see it," Muna said with a shrug.

Veltroch, his kimono swaying, cut in. "Where's Aldrich?"

Herman grinned. "Probably overslept after—" He stopped short, remembering Veltroch's order to rest early. "Uh, he'll show up soon," he said, coughing into his fist.

Veltroch's eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion, but he held his tongue. Sure enough, Aldrich pushed through the crowd moments later. His silver hair caught the sun, and he wore a snug black shirt that hugged his frame, paired with tight leather pants and scuffed boots. His palm tingled, the black orb's scar silent but heavy, "Albernan" still nagging at him.

"Nice of you to join us," Veltroch said, voice half-sharp, half-relieved.

"Gotta make an entrance, Master," Aldrich shot back, smirking. He turned to Muna, pulling her into a hug. "Auntie, you age backwards, each day."

"You little troublemaker," Muna said, her smile warm as she hugged him back. "How're you holding up?"

"Surviving," Aldrich said. He nodded at Mr. Holoran. He was never close to him and sometimes, he suspected the man disliked him.

A mechanical voice blared across the field, cold and final. "All non-candidates, clear the area. Briefing begins now."