Loser

Rashad hesitated, his hand frozen mid-air as if the weight of the words had anchored him. Alexton's eyes locked onto his with unspoken urgency, the hum of distant machinery filling the tense void between them. The underground chamber buzzed under dim amber lighting—dust drifting lazily in the slivered beams that escaped through rusted vents.

Rashad stepped closer, his voice low. "He's come to collect, boss. King Abongondolo wants his favor."

Alexton's expression hardened.

"He said he'll... explain personally," Rashad added, casting a quick glance at the hulking bodyguard who had only moments ago been trading blows with Alexton in a sparring match.

Alexton's jaw tightened. So... it's time. His mind reeled. My past is no longer behind me. It's knocking, and loudly. He ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, tension coiling beneath his skin like a serpent stirring.

A whisper of dread slipped into his tone. "What sort of madness will he ask of me? Tier-1 King is an animal. Making that deal was like inviting the devil to dinner and asking him to cook."

Rashad stepped with caution, his eyes scanning Alexton. "Maybe we refuse. We've grown. Our forces aren't what they used to be."

Alexton shook his head slowly. "No. What is a man if he won't keep his word?"

Their gazes locked—a storm swirling behind Alexton's eyes.

Rashad spoke again, firmer. "Then we need to know why he's dropped a ten-billion bounty on someone named Shanazer Athens. That's warlord money. I'll get with our informants. Find out who she is. What she means to him. We need leverage."

Alexton gave a single nod. "Do it. Quietly."

Two Years Later in Veena city on Ventrander. The air was thin and tasted faintly metallic. Most people walked like ghosts—silent, slow, and strung to oxygen tubes like marionettes from another world. The classroom flickered under old fluorescents. A gray haze rolled lazily outside the glass, where vast oxygen silos loomed in the distance like cathedral towers. A humming pipe overhead let out a sudden hiss, and no one flinched—they were used to it.

Shanazer sat perched on a desk, its synthetic cushion frayed from years of use. Her back was straight, posture perfect, eyes glued to the dense text of a galactic biology book. Her oxygen mask lay beside her—unused for now. She had trained her lungs to adapt longer than most.

Suddenly, footsteps. Heavy. Mocking. The smell of minty gum and hot metal filled her nostrils before the first word was even spoken.

"Well, well, well," came a sneer. "Hey, genius. Did you do my assignment?"

Before Shanazer could look up, fingers—painted black and chipped—gripped her hair, yanked her head back like a rag doll. Her eyes watered from the sudden pain.

Cathy Williams loomed behind her, tall, broad-shouldered, a jagged scar slicing her cheek like lightning through thunderclouds. Her laugh grated like broken glass. Two other girls flanked her, silent and towering.

"You deaf now, nerd? Or just ignoring me?"

Shanazer's heart thudded behind her ribs like it was trying to escape. Why always me? Her mind screamed as tears welled—but didn't fall. What cursed star was I born under? She clutched the edge of the textbook with white knuckles.

And in that moment, time folded back… at Belgravia Orphanage, Planet Furydark. The rec hall roared with noise. Children jammed shoulder to shoulder, all eyes on the kickboxing final flickering across the screen. It smelled of popcorn and cleaning chemicals. Shanazer sat alone on the far bench, hands in her lap, eyes studying every movement of the fighters.

The crowd roared for the popular one. She chose the underdog. Alone—again. Always the one who strayed from the crowd. Because following meant disappearing, and she'd done enough of that.

A roar vibrated through the recreation hall like thunder trapped indoors. Children crammed around the dim holoscreen, the floor sticky with spilled fizzy root and crumbs from fried algae sticks. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Derek slammed his palm on the wooden table, rattling a tray of snack wrappers. "Come on, Fiente! Kill that underdog!" His voice cracked like a whip, his eyes laser-locked on the screen where Decomte was barely staying upright.

Fiente's punches flew in flurries—brutal, relentless. Decomte was getting thundered into the corner, breathless and bleeding.

Shanazer sat alone in the farthest corner, cradling her thoughts. The words slipped out without her permission. "Decomte will win this fight," she muttered. Silence fell into the hall. 

Derek's head swiveled slowly. "Did I just hear something from the shadow in the back?" He rose, his chair screeching behind him as he stepped forward, his boots hitting the tiled floor like sledgehammers.

Oh no. I said that out loud. Why did I say that out loud? Shanazer's heartbeat spiked, thumping so loud she couldn't hear the room anymore.

"What did you say?" Derek loomed over her now, a snarling grin painting his face.

But—

"Wait! Derek, look!" Peter shouted, pointing at the screen.

Decomte had surged forward like a meteor reborn, landing a lightning-fast uppercut that buckled Fiente's knees. One more hook—Fiente went down.

The crowd onscreen was stunned. So was the room.

"The match is over! The new champion of Furydark Planet... Decomte!" the referee declared.

Derek stood frozen. The others murmured, confused. Simon grumbled, "How the hell? He was losing—he was done."

Then Derek turned back, eyes burning. He stormed forward and grabbed Shanazer by her hair, yanking her to the wall. He slammed her back, forearm against her throat.

"This witch jinxed the fight! It's her fault! Why'd we let a loser like you in here?!"

Shanazer's vision blurred—oxygen fading fast.

"Lea… leave me…" she choked.

Peter snickered cruelly. "Told you. That's why she has no family."

Shanazer snapped back to the present moment at Horizon University, Ventrander.

"Hey loser, look at her—she's crying," Cathy sneered, yanking Shanazer's hair again. The stifling classroom air reeked of recycled oxygen and acidic mockery.

"Damn, that's pathetic. Crying and wearing the same clothes again," spat Cynthia, arms folded smugly. "Bet she smells like decay."

Bianca fake-gasped, "How'd she even get into a prestigious university?"

Laughter rang out like broken bells—harsh, merciless.

Brenda added with a mocking sigh, "The only reason she's still breathing is because she's smart enough to write Cathy's assignments."

The group chuckled in cruel unison. Shanazer whispered through clenched teeth, "Fine. I'll finish it tonight. You'll get it first thing tomorrow."

Cathy leaned closer, her voice a blade. "You better. Or I'm cutting that greasy mop off your scalp, strand by strand."

The classroom door opened. The lecturer entered.

The girls scattered to their seats like shadows at sunrise.

That afternoon Shanazer walked to Foxdell Court flats. The courtyard was peaceful, filtered with amber light as dusk fell over the oxygen-strained city. The air shimmered faintly, thick with artificial humidity. Dr. Leef Barath sat on a cushioned lounge, her blond hair tucked beneath a silk scarf, a half-glass of crimson wine beside her and a folded Veena Times in hand.

Shanazer bowed her head politely. "Good afternoon, Doctor Barath."

"Good afternoon," came the soft reply. A flicker of a smile touched the woman's lips before she returned to her reading.

Hours passed, filled with quiet diligence.

Shanazer returned to the courtyard, shoulders aching, eyelids heavy. "Doctor Barath, I'm done for the day. See you tomorrow."

"Hold on."

Shanazer froze. The simple words felt like iron weights.

Doctor Barath put the paper down, removed her glasses, and studied the girl. "I'm sorry, child. This will be your last week working here."

The world slowed. The air turned thick.

"Wh… why?" Shanazer's voice cracked. Panic bloomed behind her ribs. "Did I… did I do something wrong? Please—don't fire me. I'll improve."