"You're on their hit list now, femboy," Calix heaved, sitting atop the pile of assailants, waiting for what was obviously to come.
"I'm working out man…" Silas lightly chuckled, with Calix slightly smirking back. Yet, Silas continued to finish his thought. "Anyways, who's hitlist?"
"The people who keep fucking with me. It's a small little club of stuck-up assholes. On the surface, they do charity work, but deep down under, they control not only the student body but even some of the teachers."
"Then… what about those eyes?" Silas asked, leaning forward in his seated position.
"I-I don't know. I really don't know…" Calix replied, clearly keeping something from the boy.
"Well clearly it has something to do with the-"
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" A voice screamed from just outside the door. And yes, the dorm mother was the one screaming upon seeing the entirety of this dorm floor beaten, bloody, and bruised. "CALIX! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO HERE!?"
"Miss, I'm sure you already know what happened…" Calix sighed, slowly standing up and walking towards her. He then passed by and slowly drifted down the hall, the dorm mother letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.
"And you, Silas. I recommend you don't get involved with this boy again…" Her eyes drifted down to the boys groaning and moaning as they slowly woke up. "... toss them in the infirmary for me. That's the best you could do after being a part of this ruckus."
"Y-Yeah, sure."
…
Silas woke up groggily on his blood-stained floor, surrounded by the aftermath of the intense brawl that had transpired in his room. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and lingering tension, the battered remnants of the skirmish scattered across the floor. The disarrayed furniture and splintered remnants bore witness to the chaotic struggle that unfolded within the confined space.
Unconscious bodies were conspicuously absent, leaving the room eerily quiet and devoid of the tumult that had filled it just moments ago. The muted daylight filtering through the partially drawn curtains cast an uneasy glow on the blood-stained surfaces, creating a macabre tapestry of shadows.
Silas, still feeling the residual soreness in his muscles, reached for his System Connector attached to his wrist. The metallic device, a link to the intricate network of the Academy of Paradoxia, illuminated with a faint glow as it powered on. Silas, his gaze fixed on the holographic interface, prepared to engage in a conversation that promised more questions than answers.
"Hello? Glover?"
"Yo, yo, what's up? You don't sound so good... Just woke up?"
"Yeah, well, more than that… anyways, I need some confirmation about three things- actually, no, four things."
"Don't hold back."
"First of all, how exactly does this school not realize it's me? A wanted boy walking through their halls. It's not like my appearance has exactly changed and even my name is the same."
"First of all, you're not a continental criminal, alright? The only people who are gonna know of you are escorts and maybe a few exceptions. The higher-ups of this school—the ones who you met and were kicked out by—well, they couldn't give any less of a shit of who comes in this school and who goes out."
"Dude, I was kicked out by them personally. I must've done something incredibly fucked for them to personally send me flying into the void holding this campus."
"Just know, that they don't know, that you're back in this school. Trust me. They. Do. Not. Care. So just chill out and enjoy your life."
"*sigh*... Fuck. Me," Silas groaned, plastered his hand across his face.
"Alright, next question."
"Okay, well, what do you know about the government? I mentioned some shit about it and a bunch of eyes appeared everywhere. If it wasn't for a guy I was with, I'm pretty sure I would have been fucked."
"*sigh*... What did I tell you? Don't mention it. Anything about it, no matter who you are with. I don't know much about it, but what I do know… is that they aren't human. None of them."
A drop of sweat rolled down Silas's forehead. Slowly he stood up, and with Glover still on call, he changed into some fresh clothes. Nothing battered by the scent or sight of blood splatter.
"Okay, vague as fuck, but my next question is…" Silas gulped down a large drop of saliva. "...Did you know Sheek was at this school?"
There was a long pause before Glover spoke, speaking more than just words as his lips audibly clicked open on the system connector microphone. "Yes, but do not think of him as a bad person. We may have had a fight, but I promise he won't hurt you. Just don't let him get in your head and you should be fine."
"No, I need more than that. That fucker could straight up eradicate this school if he wanted to, yet he's just relaxing and playing little professor, huh?" Silas voiced in a mocking tone.
"He has his own motivations. We have our own. Sometimes they clash, sometimes they don't. And, Silas, don't try and fight him. At least not yet, got it?"
"Psh… yeah, whatever. Alright, final question, once you're done with the shard, can I get it back?"
…
In the dimly lit room, a lavish steampunk table took center stage, its intricate design a testament to both luxury and mechanical craftsmanship. The table, adorned with brass and copper embellishments, gleamed softly in the muted light. Gears and cogs interwoven with elegant patterns adorned its surface, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of steampunk aesthetics.
Positioned around the opulent table were four equally elaborate steampunk chairs, each a work of art in its own right. The seats were cushioned with rich leather, and the armrests featured delicately etched filigree. Polished wood, aged to perfection, formed the backbone of the chairs, combining the aesthetics of a bygone era with modern elegance.
Seated upon these luxurious chairs were four silhouettes, their features obscured by the shadows cast in the ambient light. Two of them exuded a masculine presence, their postures confident and composed, while the other two emanated a distinctly feminine grace, their silhouettes suggesting an air of sophistication.
As the dim light danced upon the steampunk embellishments, the silhouettes engaged in hushed conversation, their gestures and movements suggesting a clandestine meeting. The atmosphere, tinged with an air of secrecy, enveloped the gathering, creating an intriguing tableau of steampunk decadence and mysterious alliances.
"Okay… I think that decides that. We invite him. If he declines, well, he'll be having a bad afternoon."