Location: Drossveil Slums, Caelus Prime – Mars, Year 2385
Kain Voss, Age 15
The air in Drossveil wasn't safe anymore. Not since the black flags went up.
Kain crouched on the edge of a sand-buried scaffolding tower, overlooking the junkyard streets below. Red dust drifted in from the south, hanging thick in the afternoon heat. He squinted through his goggles at the patrols moving between alleyways—black-armored units with no insignia. Not local security. Not Helion enforcers either. These ones moved differently. Quiet. Coordinated. Masks covered their faces and plasma rifles stayed drawn.
That was new.
He tapped the side of his rusted comm-link, nothing but static. Whatever signal blocker they'd set up, it was working.
Below him, scavenger stalls were being torn apart. Vendors shouted in protest. Kids ran barefoot down gutters. A woman in a patched-up breathing mask tried to argue with a soldier—she was slammed to the wall in seconds. Two others dragged her screaming toward a waiting transport truck.
Kain's jaw clenched. He dropped flat against the metal plating, heart thudding. That was the third sweep today.
They weren't here for supplies.
They were here for people.
"Kain," a voice whispered behind him. "We need to go. Now."
He turned. Mira knelt by the broken stairwell, scarf wrapped around her face, eyes wide beneath cracked goggles.
"They're checking houses," she said. "One of the Arlo twins got taken an hour ago. Everyone's saying it's a sweep."
Kain nodded. "Yeah. I saw. It's organized. This isn't punishment—it's a harvest."
Mira's eyes flickered. "Then we don't stay. We run. Like before."
"Run where?" Kain asked, motioning toward the streets. "They've sealed the sky lanes. No one's getting past those drones. They're using pattern routes. Standard containment. We're boxed in."
She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "What about the tunnel beneath Bunker D-5? The drone shelter."
Kain stared at her. "That place collapsed three years ago."
"The front collapsed. The back's still open. If we squeeze through, we can hit the sewer grid under the scrapyards. Out past the waste line."
"And after that?" Kain asked. "You think they won't track us into the dust?"
Mira didn't answer. She looked at him, jaw set, eyes wet. She didn't have a plan. Not really. Just instincts. Hope. The same kind she always had when they were starving or hiding or one of them got caught stealing.
Kain sighed and stood.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
But just as they turned, a sharp buzz cut the air.
The drones were sweeping their rooftop.
"Down!" Kain grabbed Mira's arm and yanked her back into the shadows. Two surveillance units glided overhead—black spheres, spinning with blue sensors.
One stopped. Hovered.
Kain's grip tightened.
It scanned.
A ping. A flash.
Red light hit the rooftop—alarm beacon. The drone had detected them.
"Go!" Kain shoved Mira toward the stairwell. "Get to the shelter. Now!"
"What about you?" she shouted.
"I'll lead them off!"
Mira's eyes filled with panic. "Don't be stupid—!"
But Kain was already moving. He grabbed a rebar pipe from the ground, turned, and ran straight into the drone's scan radius.
The drones responded instantly. Sirens blared. One activated its turret—non-lethal pulse rounds, but they still hurt like hell.
Kain ducked behind the railing just as the turret fired. The impact shattered the rusted steel beside him, throwing sparks across the rooftop.
He sprinted, rolled under a vent pipe, and launched the rebar like a javelin.
The drone dodged. Just barely. The rebar clipped its side, knocking it off-balance.
Kain jumped the rooftop edge and hit the sand two stories down.
Pain exploded in his knees. He didn't stop. He bolted down the alley, shoving past panicked residents and ducking through torn cloth tarps.
The drone followed, broadcasting his face across its side screen: "Subject Identified. Bio-scan: Viable. Priority Capture."
Kain heard the phrase. He didn't know what it meant. But it terrified him more than anything.
Behind him, plasma rounds tore chunks from the alley walls. The screams of bystanders faded into the background. All that mattered now was running.
Running fast enough to die free.
Kain turned a corner and slid beneath a collapsed awning. He didn't stop. Every turn he made was instinct. Every breath felt thinner than the last. The drones didn't care who got in the way. Two blasts had already taken out someone's rooftop solar panel and half a market stall.
He reached a scaffolding tunnel that ran through an old power line station and took it without hesitation. Left. Down a pipe ramp. Over the mesh.
His legs ached. His arms burned.
One of the drones zipped overhead and lit up his path again. "Subject Voss. Confirmed match. Prepare for restraint."
A wall of black metal blocked the end of the alley before he even reached it.
Three soldiers. No markings. Visors mirrored the sky, reflecting flames, smoke, and Kain's terrified face.
He tried to turn back, but two more were behind him.
Boxed in.
He clenched his fists and backed into the center.
The lead soldier stepped forward. "Don't resist, Subject Voss."
"You know my name?" Kain barked. "Then you know I'm not going with you."
The soldier didn't answer. He signaled left.
The one to Kain's side raised a small baton. A stunner—thin, ceramic, about the length of his forearm. Kain had seen them used on protestors. One hit was enough to fry your nervous system for half a minute.
Kain backed away again. He glanced up—balconies above, too far to reach. The path was sealed.
He looked at the pipe on the wall behind him.
No choice.
Kain ripped it from its mooring with both hands and swung.
The baton soldier dodged back. Another advanced. Kain brought the pipe down on the arm, smashing it against the wall with a metallic crunch.
The soldier grunted but stayed on his feet. Another grabbed Kain's collar—he twisted free, slammed an elbow into the man's side, and cracked the pipe across a helmet.
Sparks flew.
The soldier staggered.
Kain turned to run—
And a stun round hit him square in the back.
His legs gave out. His vision blurred.
He dropped to the floor, body shaking uncontrollably. His fingers twitched. His teeth clenched so hard he thought they might shatter.
He saw boots surround him. Voices buzzed through the static in his ears.
"…subject secured…"
"…no fractures… minor concussion…"
"…priority transport… Helvault manifest updated…"
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Mira's scarf—half buried in the gutter, caught on the tip of a drainpipe.
Still fluttering in the wind.