Scared

The streets of Paleview City were unforgiving, especially for a kid with no family, no money, and no place to call home. Derek Carter had learned that lesson not with resilience, but with exhaustion.

Long before the System, before the bullying, before the apocalypse looming on the horizon, he was just another orphan trying to survive.

The rain poured down in sheets, drenching Derek's thin jacket and chilling him to the bone. He huddled under the awning of a closed convenience store, knees drawn to his chest, shivering uncontrollably. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, slick with rain and sweat, and his fingers felt stiff, barely able to grip the half-eaten sandwich he'd swiped from a trash can.

It was stale. Soggy. The taste of old mustard and something bitter clung to his tongue, but hunger gnawed at his stomach, overriding his disgust. He forced himself to chew, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"Hey, kid!" A gruff voice cut through the sound of the downpour.

Derek's head snapped up, heart hammering against his ribs. A man in a stained apron stood in the doorway of the store, eyes narrowed. "You can't loiter here. Get lost!"

For a second, Derek hesitated. He was so tired. His legs ached from walking all day, his body was sluggish from the cold. Maybe if he just sat there, if he just ignored the man, he could pretend he was invisible—pretend he wasn't here at all.

The man took a step forward.

Derek bolted.

His sneakers splashed through puddles as he ran, water soaking through the soles, the sandwich slipping from his fingers. His chest burned, and the night air was sharp in his lungs, but he didn't stop until he reached his "spot"—a rusted fire escape behind an abandoned building.

He climbed up, fingers numb as they gripped the metal railing. By the time he reached the second floor, he was panting, every muscle in his body trembling from more than just the cold. His makeshift shelter—a sagging tarp and cardboard walls—did little to block out the wind.

He curled up beneath his tattered blanket, still wet from the rain. The hunger in his stomach had dulled into a hollow ache, but his thoughts were louder than ever.

Why is it like this?

He hated this life. He hated being weak, and hated how easy it was for people to push him aside. Most of all, he hated himself for running.

But what else could he do?

By fourteen, Derek had learned how to survive, but survival felt like an endless cycle of failure.

He knew which dumpsters to check after restaurant closing hours. He knew which store clerks might let him slide if he grabbed an apple. But no matter how much he learned, no matter how much he scraped by, there was always a moment—always something—that made it all fall apart.

Like when he thought he'd finally saved enough money to get a real meal, only to have a group of older kids take it from him. He hadn't even fought back—just stood there, fists clenched, watching them walk away with everything he had.

Like when he tried to work for an old shopkeeper, sweeping floors for a few bucks, only to get thrown out when the man saw how grimy and desperate he looked.

Like when, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the exhaustion that sat heavy on his shoulders.

"You're wasting your time," a street vendor told him once. "Kids like you don't go to school. You work, or you starve."

He hadn't argued. He couldn't. Because deep down, he was afraid it was true.

(Two Years Ago)

The day Derek turned fifteen, he made a choice.

Not a bold one. Not an inspiring one.

Just a tired, desperate one.

He wanted to go to school—not because he believed in a better future, but because he couldn't keep living like this. He had to try something else.

So he scraped together enough for a second-hand button-up shirt and a pair of too-big jeans. He stole a pen and a notebook from a corner store. And he forged a letter of recommendation, writing it in careful, shaking letters because no one else would vouch for him.

When he stepped into the admissions office of Paleview City College, his hands were damp with sweat. He couldn't meet the stern woman's eyes as she flipped through his application.

"You don't have any records," she said. "No transcripts. No proof of previous education."

"I—I've studied on my own," Derek stammered, his voice too quiet. "I can do the work. Just give me a chance."

The woman sighed. He knew that sigh. It was the same one he heard from store owners before they kicked him out, from people who saw him as just another stray.

"Take this placement test," she said, sliding a paper across the desk. "If you pass, we'll talk."

Derek took the test with his heart in his throat.

He failed.

But not completely. He scored just enough—just barely enough—that the woman told him he could retake it in three months.

For most kids, three months would be nothing.

For Derek, it felt like a lifetime.

(Present Day)

Derek sat in class, staring at the cracked screen of his phone. Despite it being almost class time the class was empty.

The System interface glowed in the dim light, with numbers and stats that were still pitifully low.

He clenched his fists. The past should have made him stronger. But when he looked at himself now, he still saw the same weak-willed kid who had stood frozen while older boys took his money, who had run from store owners instead of standing his ground.

[Host's determination has been noted. Continue to push forward. The world depends on it.]

He scoffed. "Determination?" Was that what this was? He wasn't determined. He was just scared.

Scared that if he didn't keep moving, he'd end up right back where he started.

Scared that if he stopped for even a second, he'd realize how little had changed.

Derek ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. He looked out through the window. The sun was rising, the city bathed in golden light, but he didn't feel the warmth.

Not because he was strong. Not because he believed in himself.

But because the alternative—doing nothing—terrified him more.