In the slums of New Helios, it was survival of the strongest only. Zeke Draven was not strong at all. Skinny body, old and worn-out clothes, empty-looking eyes, just made him all too vulnerable when there were other people in New Helios who revelled in showing off their powerful sides.

"Hey, runt!" Kain Voss, a hulking and intimidating figure with an imposing presence, slammed Zeke into a cold, unyielding metal wall, knocking the wind from his lungs in a shocking way. The cybernetic enhancements that adorned Kain's powerful arms glinted and sparkled under the light as he shot Zeke a contemptuous sneer filled with disdain. "Still pretending you belong here, scavenger?" he taunted, mocking Zeke's very existence.

Zeke clenched his teeth tightly together, resolutely choosing not to utter a single word in response. His deliberate silence, however, only seemed to amplify and intensify Kain's cruel amusement. Meanwhile, a crowd began to form around them, irresistibly drawn in by the all-too-familiar spectacle of intimidation and confrontation unfolding before their eyes.

"Look at him," Kain laughed, gesturing to his gang. "Skin and bones, and he thinks he can survive in our world. Pathetic."

The punch came fast. Zeke barely registered the movement before pain exploded across his jaw. He collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Next time, stay out of our way," Kain growled. "Or you won't be so lucky."

The gang eventually departed, leaving Zeke behind, his gaze unwavering and locked onto the vastness of the sky above him. In a mocking manner, the crimson glow of the moon seemed to taunt him. **Why did he consistently have to feel so powerless and vulnerable?

As the days seamlessly transitioned into nights in the unforgiving slums, where the only thing that truly held significance was the struggle for survival, Zeke found himself meandering through narrow alleys like a ghostly figure. He was diligently searching for any scraps of food or belongings, all while skillfully evading the stronger, more intimidating gangs that ruled the streets.

He once dreamed of leaving New Helios, of finding a place where strength wasn't everything. But dreams are for the strong, and he had learned that hope was a luxury.

His sister, Liora, was always his one reason to fight. She had been the only light in his dark world, but even she couldn't shelter him from the reality of things.

"Zeke, you need to eat," Liora said quietly one night, giving him a half-stale piece of bread. Her eyes showed her worry as she looked at his face. "You're wasting away."

"I'm fine," he lied, trying to smile weakly.

But he wasn't fine. Every day felt harder. Every breath reminded him of how weak he was.

At the top of this social pyramid was the gangs—those with strength and power were in charge, and those weaker had to suffer through all the hardships and pains that come with their station. Zeke had learned to know that staying out of sight and not making a stir was important, but sometimes hiding in the shadows wasn't enough to keep him safe.

"You owe us," a sharp and menacing voice said, speaking in tones that echoed off the stone as it caught him in the bottom of a poorly lit alley.

Two enforcers from the Sun Covenant, their weapons dazzling and shining with advanced solar technology, stood towering over him with an imposing presence. He had, in a moment of desperation, borrowed rations once to ensure the survival of Liora, a choice made in utter urgency to keep her alive. Now, the time had come when the debt he owed could no longer be ignored or postponed.

"I don't have anything," Zeke whispered faintly, his voice barely rising above a murmur.

"Then you'll pay in blood," one of them sneered with a menacing grin, raising a formidable metal baton high in the air.

The very first punch landed squarely on him, and in an instant, he was sent sprawling to the ground. As he hit the earth, the pain from his ribs surged through his body, feeling like a thousand daggers stabbing him simultaneously, as he instinctively rolled into a tight ball, desperately trying to shield his head from any further harm. Unfortunately, no one around him seemed to hear his desperate cries for help, as they fell on deaf ears.

As Zeke made his way home that night, every single step he took was accompanied by jolts of pain, aggravating the injuries he had sustained earlier. However, it was not just his physical condition that troubled him; his mind was in an even worse state of disarray. The shadows that loomed over the slums appeared to mock him, feeding off his misery and despair, amplifying the heaviness he felt within his heart.

"You're useless," a voice in his mind whispered softly, almost tauntingly.

He sank deeply into the corner of his small, cramped room, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. Liora was peacefully asleep, her soft and rhythmic breathing being the only sound that pierced through the silence of the dark night. He clenched his fists with intensity until he could feel his nails digging painfully into the tender skin of his palms.

"Why was I born this way?" he muttered in frustration, his voice barely above a whisper.

But there was no answer to be found. Just an overwhelming silence that enveloped him like a thick fog.

The following day, Kain found him again, as he often did.

"Still breathing, Draven?" Kain sneered, cracking his knuckles. "I've been looking for something to punch."

Zeke tried to run, but Kain's gang surrounded him. Fists and boots rained down. Pain became his only reality.

When it was over, Zeke lay on the ground, barely conscious.

"Maybe next time, you'll learn your place," Kain spat before walking away.

As it got dark, Zeke felt something move inside him—a small spark of resistance, a hint of strength.

"One day. I'll be stronger."