I awoke to a red sun, its light bleeding across a sky choked with polluted greys and blacks. Faint streaks of pink suffocated against the constant plumes of smoke, as if the sky was no longer allowed to be the canvas of heaven's beauty.
It was the sign of a dying world.
Not that I cared. The quicker it died, the better. Good riddance to a ruined planet and a broken race.
I frowned. That was dark. Since when had I become so cynical?
Then, I smiled. Not wide, not bright—just a fleeting curve of the lips, so subtle it often went unnoticed by those who never knew me well. My chest felt light, as if my heart had been pumped full of helium. The sensation was strange. Strange, but nice.
I felt… happy. Such a simple, beautiful emotion.
Mom would be happy I was smiling again. Maybe I'd surprise her with it.
The thought came so naturally, so casually, it startled me. But why?
I turned.
And froze.
This wasn't my room.
I was in Mom's room, my body nestled beneath her blankets, my head imprinted on her pillow.
Then, as if the universe had timed it precisely for the moment when it would hurt most, I remembered.
She's dead. They all are.
The world dulled. The weight returned, heavy as it always was. How easily I had forgotten. It felt like seeing them die all over again.
The kitchenette greeted me, not with the familiar bustle of my family, but with eerie silence I could never quite become accustomed to. Though this time, it was punctuated by soft breathing.
Curled up next to the couch was Judas. I hadn't noticed how small he was before. Malnourished, frail. His tiny hand rested against his mother's palm.
She looked better now. Color had returned to her face, auburn hair fanned out over delicate features. She might have been considered pretty—if not for the stark signs of hardship carved into her frame.
I turned to the kitchenette, cracked synth eggs into a preheated pan, the hiss of butter and the crackle of frying filling the space. I liked cooking. It gave me something to do. Something to keep me from thinking.
Yet, it was never possible to drown them out entirely.
I had done it again. Played the hero. Ignored the lessons life had beaten into me. What had made me react last night? What had cut through the apathy?
And what I hated most was that despite everything—the sheer foolishness of what I had done—it felt good. A small warmth in my chest. I hated that it felt good. That side of me, I thought, had been buried with my parents.
But no. Here I was, cooking breakfast for strangers.
When I had finished cooking, plates in hand, I saw Judas watching me. He must've woken up while I was cooking. His eyes unnerved me—dark, intense, wary. Such complex eyes seemed out of place on a starved, round face and frail body.
I knew those eyes. The eyes of soldiers—not turned on an enemy, but on their commanders, as they silently weighed whether all the death had really been worth it.
"You're smiling," he said softly.
I blinked. Was I?
I wiped the expression off my face quickly, frowning at the idea that I had indeed been smiling.
"Wake her up," I said. "Better you do it than me."
He nodded, moving to his mother's side. Gently, he shook her awake. I stayed back, watching as her eyes fluttered open—so intensely green they cut through the room's muted colors.
Panic.
She scrambled to her feet, body trembling, scanning her surroundings with wild eyes.
"Mom," Judas said.
Ah. So she was his mother.
His voice anchored her. "You're safe," he murmured.
Her breathing slowed, but she remained tense, ready to bolt.
"J-Judas? Where are we?"
I watched as Judas explained. Her expression shifted from confusion to shock. When her gaze locked onto me, I expected relief.
Instead, I saw apprehension.
I knew what it was. In the Republic, women—especially poor women—had no allies. No one helped without expecting something in return.
Poor girl.
I set the plates on the floor. "Let's eat."
Judas attacked his food with feral hunger. Mary hesitated, but much like her son, hunger swiftly ruled over caution.
The food was good. Richer than synth ingredients should have been. Warmer. More filling. It tasted real.
I leaned back, watching Mary eat. Judas had long since finished.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Mary."
My lips twitched. "It's a good name. That was my mother's name."
Her expression softened for a moment. "And yours?"
"Reshi."
"Thank you, Reshi." Her voice was careful, as if she expected payment to be due at any moment. As if she would've rather died than owe a debt.
I ignored it. I wasn't here to be a therapist. "What happened before I came?"
She tensed, clearly expecting the question. She didn't answer until she'd finished eating—perhaps afraid I'd take the food back once I heard the truth.
"The man who stabbed me. His name is Azazael. He works for my… employer. They kept Judas hostage to force me to work for them."
Her voice wavered, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. But she pressed on with quiet strength. The kind my mother had.
"I ran away. Azazael was sent after me. To make an example of me."
I nodded. A common story. Women forced into prostitution, a life of quiet suffering and torture that lasted as long as their beauty did.
"You can stay," I said, surprising myself. "Rest. Recover. Throwing you out now would be a waste of effort."
I stood, walking away before she could thank me. I didn't want to hear it.
I had work. The Army's scholarship only covered school. It didn't cover bills. Grief wasn't an excuse landlords accepted.
"I'll be gone for the day," I told Mary, grabbing my things. "I've only got one key, so I'll have to lock you in. My room's open if you need rest. There are clothes in the cupboard that might fit you. Judas can take the smaller room. Clothes for him too—though they'll be big."
Mary nodded. I turned away before she could thank me again. I felt like I might be sick if she did.
I left, locking the door behind me, taking the long walk to the convenience store where I worked.
My thoughts circled back to Judas and Mary. Over and over, the same question:
What am I doing?
No answer came, just the echo of my doubts.
And a bitter, rising fear.
Life didn't hesitate to break a man twice if he didn't learn his lesson.
And I wasn't sure I had the strength to survive a second time.
By the time I reached the store, my mind was a mess of contradictions and arguments. The walk had done nothing to resolve the conflict, so I shoved my thoughts aside, bracing for an eight-hour shift of boredom.
"Morning, Mr. Mik," I greeted as I stepped inside.
A round-headed man popped up from behind the counter. "Ahh, Reshi. Morning. Good you're here—I need to go."
With a nod, he tossed me the keys and left, leaving me alone with the worst company possible: myself.
The first few hours dragged by uneventfully, so I busied myself with pointless tasks. Sweeping a floor that was already spotless. Dusting shelves that had no dust. Rearranging snacks that were perfectly aligned. Anything to keep my hands moving.
Then the bell chimed, and five men sauntered in. Trouble. It was obvious. The way they moved, the way they talked—their arrogance was thick enough to taste.
I drifted back behind the counter, ears pricked.
"Yeah, Az got messed up real bad. His fault, getting beaten by a girl."
"Nah, I heard someone else got him," another said.
"Had to be some psycho to take Az down. Never seen the bastard lose before."
I tensed. Az? Azazael? So they were part of the same ring Mary had escaped from.
"Yeah. Good chance to show the Boss what we're made of."
So they were looking for me. I almost laughed. Here it was—the trouble I'd brought on myself for trying to play the hero. Fucking pathetic.
One of them swaggered up to the counter, slapping down a pack of smokes. "Give me this."
"Thirty credits," I said evenly, keeping my hands out of sight.
The man didn't move to pay. Instead, he stared at me for a long moment before raising a hand and slapping me across the face. The force knocked me slightly off balance.
"It's free, you little shit. Everything we want here is free. Got that?"
I swallowed my pride and nodded. "Yes, sir."
They laughed, their voices loud and grating, then helped themselves to whatever they wanted before sauntering out.
When Mr. Mik returned, I told him what had happened. He nodded solemnly but said nothing. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.
I left the store, more troubled than when I'd arrived. I had stepped straight into this mess, and whoever the Boss was, he wasn't going to just forget what I'd done.
Well done, I thought bitterly. You've just fucked yourself. Life's gearing up for round two.
---
By the time I got home, it was late. The main room was empty. Judas was asleep in my old room.
I walked into my own room—and stopped cold.
Mary was in my bed. Under the sheets. Her clothes folded in a pile on the floor. Her eyes met mine with a slow, practiced ease, warm and inviting.
I shivered.
"Hello, Reshi," she murmured. "You look tired. Come here, let's rest together."
I stared at her, my face unreadable. For a moment, something dark and insidious whispered in my mind. She was pretty. Willing. But I knew what this was.
And I would be nothing short of disgusting if I went along with it.
"Stop," I said quietly, sadness lacing my voice. Because stronger than any desire was something else. Pity. Deep and aching pity.
Her smile faltered. "What do you mean? Don't you want to? I'm here. I'm—"
"You don't have to do this. Really." My voice was firm, but not unkind. "I don't expect anything from you."
Her expression crumbled. "Am I not good enough?" she snapped, her voice trembling. "What more do you want from me?"
Tears welled in her eyes, and my chest tightened. She hadn't cried when she spoke about Azazael. Or being used. Or her son being taken hostage. But now, as she tried to offer herself, the dam finally broke.
"It's okay," I reassured her softly.
Her composure shattered. She sobbed, shoulders shaking, years of pain and humiliation spilling out all at once.
I should've comforted her. Given her a shoulder to cry on. But something stopped me. I wasn't a therapist. And no matter how kind I was, this was only ever going to be temporary.
So I stood apart, separated by a void I couldn't fully grasp.
After a long while, she spoke, her voice raw. "Thank you."
I nodded. "Some of my mom's clothes are in the cupboard. You can change into those. Let me know when you're done." Then I stepped out, giving her space to piece herself together.
Minutes later, her voice called me back in. She was fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes red and swollen. But despite it all, she seemed softer. Unguarded.
"Thank you," she said again, voice barely above a whisper.
I offered a faint smile, though it felt foreign on my face. "You already said that."
She smiled back—not the wide, seductive grin she had been forced to use all her life.
No, this one was small, embarrassed.
And for some reason, infinitely more precious.
"That was for saving my life. This is for… not...you know...."
I nodded. "Go get some rest. Your son's in the other room."
She hesitated, then stood. "Goodnight, Reshi."
"Goodnight."
Alone, I collapsed onto my mother's bed. The smile slid off my face, leaving behind an exhaustion beyond the reach of sleep.
But sleep still came, pulling me into a time long past. A time of smiles, warmth, and sunlight.
And for a few fleeting hours, I was with them again.