Chapter 20: contact
Kaizer studied the boy in front of him. There was a strange intensity in Fighter's eyes that didn't match his ragged clothes.
Kaizer: "Do I know you? Or do you know me? You look at me like I'm a ghost you've seen before."
Fighter: "No, you don't know me. I'm just a guy from the slums. From the looks of it, you've spent your fair share of time in the mud too, haven't you?"
Kaizer: "I have. But the way you looked at me... I thought maybe we'd met. My memory is a bit shaky lately; I don't do well with faces."
Fighter: "Oh, I know of you," Fighter lied smoothly, leaning back against the cold wall. "A slum rat making it into the prestigious Academy of the Bloods? That's news, even in the gutters. I've always wanted to find someone like that—someone who wants a life of excitement and adventure instead of just rotting away."
Kaizer: "Is that so? Well, the excitement isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Fighter: "I believe it. Someone told me once that very few people from our side ever make it through the UCA gates. And those who do? They get eaten by the Blood Children."
Kaizer's eyes narrowed, a spark of gold flickering in his pupils.
Kaizer: "That's nonsense. Why do you believe that kind of gossip? We aren't in a horror novel."
Fighter: "Is it? They took enough blood from me at the gate to fill a bucket. You telling me they aren't thirsty?"
Kaizer: "The blood is for inspection. DNA markers, Story compatibility, infection checks... there's a lot of misinformation about the UCA in the slums. They aren't vampires."
Fighter: "Young masters, rich kids, and people with too much power... people like us get eaten sooner or later. Mark my words."
Kaizer: "You're using 'eaten' as a metaphor. You mean they'll take our opportunities."
Fighter: "No. I mean eaten eaten. Devoured. I've seen things..." Fighter's voice trailed off, his expression turning suddenly desperate. "Anyway, look... would you be my friend? If you don't want to, it's fine, I'll just... go die in a corner somewhere."
Kaizer looked at him. Fighter was practically vibrating with a "please protect me" energy. To Kaizer, this boy looked like a coward—someone who wouldn't last a day in the UCA's cutthroat environment without a shield.
If I leave him alone, Kaizer thought, the Blood Children really will tear him apart. I have the strength to protect one more person. If someone asks for my help, I can't turn my back.
Kaizer: "Fine. I'll be your friend. Now stop making that face. It's pathetic."
Fighter's entire demeanor flipped in an instant. The desperation vanished, replaced by a smug, toothy grin.
Fighter: "See? Everyone wants to be my friend. I'm a naturally popular guy. Don't cry, Kaizer, I accept your friendship. You're lucky to have me."
Kaizer: "Hey! You're the one who was just begging—"
Fighter: "I didn't hear anything! My ears only pick up compliments." Fighter sat down right next to Kaizer, shoulder to shoulder. "By the way, what happened to you? You look like you've been through a meat grinder."
Kaizer: "The UCA 'captured' me. I didn't exactly come here willingly. Didn't they snatch you too?"
Fighter: "Hell no. I came here by my own choice. I walked right up to the front door."
Kaizer shifted slightly, his nose wrinkling.
Kaizer: "Why are you sitting so close? You smell like a sewer."
Fighter: "Look who's talking! You smell like burnt ozone and sweat. Besides, you have a name. That's rare. Most of us just go by our ID numbers until we die. Who gave it to you?"
Kaizer's golden eyes dimmed, a shadow of profound grief passing over his face. He looked down at his calloused hands.
Kaizer: "My mother gave me this name... back when things were different." He paused, then added defensively, "And I definitely smell better than you do."
Fighter noticed the sadness, but instead of offering pity—which he knew a guy like Kaizer would hate—he just bumped his shoulder against the protagonist's.
Fighter: "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that ."