Shattered: Beyond End [RECODED] Arc 1: Echoes Before Fire
Arc 1: Chapter 4 — Last Day, Last Breath
——
Morning hit like a bad punchline.
Suho sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. No alarm—just instinct. He blinked once, twice, then stood, stretching until his spine popped.
Kun was still dead on the couch—shirtless, blanket half-off, mouth hanging open like a broken hinge. The small apartment smelled like cheap socks and last night's takeout. Rain smeared gray light across the cracked window.
Then—
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
"BOYS! IT'S ME—RAY! GET THE HELL UP! We've got errands before you die in uniform!"
Kun flailed like he'd been tasered, the blanket trapping his leg as he half-fell off the couch.
"Holy fuck—worst way to wake someone up, I swear to God..."
He staggered to the door, stepped over an upturned stim-pack, and cracked it open.
"Still asleep?" Ray barked, already pushing his way in.
The man filled the doorway like a war-damaged bouncer—broad shoulders wrapped in a scuffed synth-leather coat, long white scarf half-drenched in the rain. A plasma pistol hung loose at his side, holstered with old merc flair. His gray-streaked undercut was messier than usual, like he'd shaved it in the dark.
"Get dressed before I sell you both for scrap," he added, voice all gravel and caffeine.
"Yes, dad..." Kun groaned, stepping aside.
Suho was already halfway into his shirt. Calm. Focused.
"Where are we going?"
Ray scanned the room with visible disgust.
"Somewhere that buys organs."
Kun froze.
"Huh—WHAT?"
Ray cracked a grin that flashed a gold tooth.
"Kidding, dumbass. Even Admin wouldn't pay for your liver."
He stepped inside, boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. A half-crushed ramen cup squelched under his foot. He looked around like he'd stumbled into a war crime.
"This place looks like my toilet after trench vodka and regret."
He tapped a cracked med-inject on the table with one gloved finger, watching it roll and drop off the edge.
"You'd think with all the gigs I threw your way, you could afford a mop."
Kun scratched his head, deadpan.
"Home shit home."
Ray's eyes lingered a moment—something in them quieter now.
"...Damn shame seeing you still live like this."
——
Kun tugged on his jacket, stretching like he was gearing up for war. Suho finished strapping his boots, adjusting the collar of his coat with surgical precision.
They stepped out of the apartment together—down the narrow, cracked hallway that still smelled like mold and yesterday's regret.
Kun side-eyed Ray.
"You slumming it with the little people today, boss?"
Ray grunted, walking ahead like a man who owned the building and hated every brick.
"Yeah, well—nobody else volunteered to deal with your smelly ass, boy."
"Just wait. Once I hit the Academy, I'm bagging a cute chick in every dorm wing." Kun smirked.
Ray didn't even blink.
"The only thing you'll be bagging is a body bag if you keep thinking like that."
"Nobody wants you." Suho, flat. Instant.
Ray barked a laugh—loud, sharp, enough to rattle the wall panels.
"Hah! You hear that? Kid's already got you figured out!"
They reached the stairwell. The overhead light flickered—then gave up entirely.
As they hit the ground floor, a voice rasped from the shadows.
"Boss… hey, boss. Gimme some creds, yeah?"
Same junkie from last night—skin like wax paper, eyes twitching like a glitching drone.
Ray didn't break stride.
"Get the fuck outta my face before I blow your brain across the wall."
The junkie vanished. No reply. Just smoke.
Outside, the air was wet with rot and mist. Rain clung to the pavement. Neon signs flickered above shuttered shops like dying thoughts.
A sleek black car idled at the curb—sharp angles, armored plating, tinted windows dark as sin. No emblem. But if you knew what to look for, the build screamed Admin retrofit.
Kun whistled low.
"Damn," he muttered. "Looks like the brothel's paying off. Or Admin's sliding you something extra under the table."
Suho's eyes narrowed at the vehicle.
"You didn't bring guards. That's not like you."
Ray didn't answer.
Just opened the back door and jerked his chin toward it.
"Get in. I'll tell you why."
——
The car hummed as Ray pulled away from the curb, tires slicing through puddles slick with oil and neon residue. Outside, the city smeared past like a dying memory—gray rain, flickering neon, and the rot of morning just beginning to fester.
Inside, the silence stretched—until the radio sputtered to life.
"...recently, a breach was reported on the Alpha-side perimeter of District 9. Four dead. Two injured. Authorities suspect—"
TZZT.
Ray flicked the knob, cutting the report short. Heavy synth replaced it, low and pulsing like a heartbeat lost in static.
"So," he said casually, not looking back, "you asked why I didn't bring guards."
"Yeah?" Suho's voice was quiet but loaded.
Ray's tone dropped.
"Some merc crew raided an assassin hideout last night. High-profile. Loud. The kind of job that leaves bodies strung up as warnings."
Kun's smirk dissolved.
"Damn... that's gonna draw heat, isn't it?"
Ray nodded slightly, still watching the road.
"Could turn into a full-on turf war. Beta's got no leash. Alpha's protected, pampered. But down here?" He gestured out the window with a half-shrug. "It's a feeding frenzy with rusty knives."
They passed a crumbling noodle stand—two men brawling outside, fists soaked in stim sweat and desperation. A girl in torn synth-leather pulled a boy into a kiss that looked more like a devouring. Down a side alley, three kids poked at a collapsed android—its head sparking, voice box glitching lullabies into garbled digital grief.
Trash fires lit the corners like dying stars. Shattered signs blinked half-phrases in old languages. Holograms screamed for attention in tongues no one understood anymore.
Kun leaned his head against the glass.
"Whole city's rotting... and we're leaving it."
Ray didn't disagree. His hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles went pale.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Suho asked, still watching the chaos crawl by.
Ray cracked a dry smile.
"Somewhere that's gonna hit you with a little nostalgia... our old training ground."
Kun leaned back in the seat, one arm across the backrest, the other draped lazily near his hip.
"You sound like a steppie dad trying to bond before the divorce."
Ray let out a rough, genuine laugh—brief, but real.
"Careful. I still remember how many times I had to teach you not to punch with your face."
——
SKRRRK.
Ray's car skidded to a stop with a metallic hiss, tires slicing across cracked pavement like teeth.
Outside, the air was thick with rot and silence. They'd arrived—a dead playground, swallowed by rust and weeds. Swings hung by a single chain. An android head sat in the dirt, neck wires frayed like torn nerves. A broken slide sagged inward like it had tried to collapse and just... stopped halfway.
"Ah, fresh air and tetanus," Kun exhaled as he stepped out, stretching like a cat in the ruins.
He looked around, eyes scanning the ghosts.
"I remember this place… it's where Suho first did his spooky Void thing and made a training bot implode."
Suho's gaze lingered on the slide. He didn't respond.
"Why'd you bring us here?" he asked, voice quiet but sharp.
Ray stood with his hands in his coat pockets, looking out at the desolation.
"Just wanted one last moment out here... before you vanish into that machine they call an Academy." He shrugged. "That a crime now?"
"Bro, you sound just like our stepdad," Kun groaned dramatically.
Suho smirked.
Kun flopped down onto the old bench facing the ruin, boots propped up, posture lazy but thoughtful. Suho sat beside him—silent, but present.
Ray stepped forward and reached into his coat.
"Here."
He handed each of them a compact device—clean, solid, dark metal. Military-grade casing. No logos.
Kun raised a brow. "Phones? Wow. My stepdad really did get me a birthday present."
Suho turned the device over in his hand. "Why give us these?"
Ray didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the playground wreckage—the broken slide, the rusted swings. His voice came quieter this time.
"You remember when I first taught you how to break a hold? Suho kept overcorrecting. Kun kept trying to punch everything."
Kun snorted. "Still do."
Ray almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I was the only one dumb enough to train you two back then. Only one who stuck around when things got ugly."
Then came the pause.
He looked up at them, serious.
"...You sure about this?" His voice was quieter now. Rougher. "The Academy's not just uniforms and rules. Once you're in—you're in. There's no crawling back."
Neither of them answered.
Ray looked at Kun. "And you—don't overuse your power. Not unless you want to burn out before your second month. I've seen what happens to kids who think they're invincible."
Kun's grin faded.
Ray continued, softer now.
"These ain't for missions. Not for emergencies. They're for me. If you're alive—call. Just to let me know."
Kun eyed the phone suspiciously. "You sure Admin won't use these to spy on us watching porn and crying at 3 a.m.?"
Ray huffed. "Boy, I bought those with my own creds. No tracking, no taps, no backdoors. Just clean signal and old habits that won't die."
He didn't say it, but they felt it: This wasn't a parting gift. It was a lifeline.
Suho's voice softened. "You still don't trust the Academy."
Ray scoffed. "I work with Admin. That ain't the same as trusting 'em."
He took a slow breath, watching flakes of rust fall from the swing as the wind shifted.
"You think I'm letting go clean? I'm not. You step into that place, and everything changes. But I want to hear your voices again—before the world warps them into something I don't recognize."
A long silence settled between them.
Then, just barely— "Call me. Even if you've got nothing to say."
Kun looked out at the hollow landscape.
"Then what's the Academy even for?"
Ray didn't answer right away. Just pulled his coat tighter.
"That's why I gave you the phones." He paused. Voice quieter now. "If it gets bad... reach out."
——
Ray stepped back from the bench, clearing his throat like he was done being sentimental.
"Alright, enough heavy talk."
He gestured toward the car. "Let's get you back before the slums eat your kneecaps."
Kun stood, cracking his neck.
"Man, you always know how to kill the mood."
Ray muttered as he walked,
"Better than getting killed in one."
Suho followed without a word. His steps were light. His thoughts weren't.
They climbed into the car. The engine hummed to life, headlights flicking on—casting fractured light across the playground ruins one last time.
On the drive back, the city didn't talk—
But the car did.
Holo-ads glitched across cracked signs. A man stumbled in front of a stim stall, screaming at ghosts.
The sky was bruised purple, drizzling light rain like the city couldn't even cry properly.
Kun leaned back, chewing invisible thoughts.
"You think anyone in the Academy's gonna try to punch me on the first day?"
Suho didn't even blink.
"Only if they've got taste."
Ray snorted from the driver's seat.
"If you get kicked out before week two, don't crawl back bawling. Just so we're clear."
"Noted," Kun said. "I'll cry silently under a desk instead."
Suho leaned his head against the window.
"Save some tears for the real shit."
Kun chuckled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
——
By the time they reached the apartment, night had settled in. The city's glow was a distant pulse now—quiet, like it was holding its breath.
Ray parked but didn't kill the engine.
For a moment, he just stared out the windshield, the wipers squeaking once across the glass.
Then, quietly:
"Tomorrow's the start of it. You walk out that door, there's no turning back."
He didn't look at them as he added:
"Just... don't die stupid."
Suho gave a small nod, voice steady.
"We'll keep breathing."
Kun raised a hand in lazy salute, his grin crooked but warm.
"You'll miss us."
Ray huffed through his nose. No answer—but they could hear what he didn't say.
Back inside, the apartment was still the same mess it had always been.
Kun dropped onto the couch, letting the day fall off his shoulders.
Suho pulled off his coat and sat on the bed, staring for a moment at the faint outlines of their lives in shadow—cracked walls, ramen cups, the damp smell of something half-alive.
The rain returned—soft, steady, tapping against the windows like it was remembering them.
No more words.
Just quiet.
——
Meanwhile...
Ray's car slid into the private garage beside Momoka's.
Rain traced jagged veins down the windshield before the wipers killed them. He sat for a moment, letting the engine hum, letting the city breathe around him.
Then he killed it.
Inside, the fortress pulsed with low light and the scent of sweat, smoke, and silence.
Guards nodded. No one spoke.
Ray climbed the stairs like they were heavier than usual. Reached his private suite. Shut the door.
It clicked shut behind him—loud in the quiet.
The room was bare. A table. A half-full glass. A single, worn chair with a jacket draped over the back.
He sat.
Didn't move.
Didn't drink.
Riiing.
The burner buzzed on the table, screen glowing faint blue.
Ray picked it up.
"Speak."
The voice on the other end was clipped, neutral, and far too calm.
"Thank you for giving them permission, Ray McKinnon."
Ray stared at the floor.
"...They'll need more than permission to survive that place."
A pause. Something bitter flickered behind his eyes.
"Tell their father… they're walking in. Eyes open."
"Understood."
Click.
Ray set the phone down like it weighed more than a gun.
He stared out the window at the fog-choked skyline. Neon lights pulsed faintly through the rain.
He exhaled—slow, rough.
Then:
"Don't die too quick, boys."
He reached for the bottle.
Didn't pour.
Just sat there.
Listening to the rain like it had something to say.