When the Past Burns

"What a shitty life to live"

The city never sleeps. Its lights flicker like a last hope in the darkness. The sound of vehicles on the asphalt, the distant shouts of crowded streets and the constant hum of new technology pervaded the air, but all that only served to hide the misery that reigned in the slums. 

Fenix walked through the shadows, his eyes dark as the night that surrounded him. The humidity-laden air, a metallic smell of scrap metal and sweat, and the haze coming from the nearby factories tinged the horizon with an apocalyptic gray. The futuristic city, with its iron and glass architecture, was imposing from afar, but as one approached its innards, the true face of decay showed itself.

I was not the type of person who would like to attract attention. In fact, it was better that people didn't look at him too much. Living in the slums meant your life was worth little. It didn't matter if you were born or died, you would always be just another number in the statistic of misery. Fenix knew this well. At sixteen, he had already learned that trust didn't exist here, that promises were just lies wrapped in promises of change, and that the world could only be taken by force.

"Every day is the same. Just another attempt to survive. Another day in this damn hole. Who cares what happens here? Nobody. No one sees what we really are. They see us, but we're just shadows to them. Just tools, meat for the system that never changes. I've had enough of this place, this... cycle."

His hair, black as midnight, and equally dark eyes, reflected a hard life. Thin, but with just enough strength to defend himself when necessary, he walked the streets like a specter, always alert, always prepared for the worst. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the dark alleys, while his mind was focused on only one thing: survival.

Fenix felt bad. Not bad like he always was in the slums, where hunger, cold and fatigue were constant companions. This was different. His body grew weaker with every step, dizziness was constant, and at times he lost his vision, falling into mini fainting spells that made him stagger. He knew that getting sick in a place like this was easy, but... this didn't feel like sickness.

With a titanic effort, he forced himself to walk to the only medical clinic in the slums. A rickety building, with flickering lights and cracked walls, it seemed to always be on the verge of collapse. No matter how many times the inhabitants of this part of the city asked for help, the government never invested in them. Life was worth little here. And death, even less.

Fenix entered and plopped down in one of the waiting room chairs. Time stretched out like agony as the line moved slowly forward. His hands were shaking, his thoughts a blur. Something inside him was cracking...or perhaps waking up.

Finally, after several hours, his name was called. With heavy steps, he entered the consulting room.

The doctor was an older man, with a tired expression and deep circles under his eyes. He examined him in silence, his gaze darkening with each test.

"Boy, I've got good news and bad news," he said at last, in a tone that did not bode well. "The good news is that it's not a disease."

He paused, as if the words that would follow weighed too heavily on his tongue.

"The bad ones... the bad ones are that it looks like you're about to enter your awakening."

Fenix felt his throat go dry. It was no surprise. He had already suspected it, but hearing it out loud made it real.

The awakening.

A miracle for some. A sentence for others.

People dreamed of it, of the power it brought. But what they didn't understand was that it was a test. One that could kill you. Not everyone came back. In fact, few did. And those that did... never came back the same.

Fenix's expression faded. His eyes, already dark, became vacant.

"So this is the end of me, huh?"

He was silent for a few moments, processing the news.

"Maybe with this I won't have to survive anymore. Maybe, at last, I can rest. I have no choice but to face this, and if I don't get through it... I'll just disappear. It's not like anyone will miss me."

He looked at the doctor and forced a bitter smile.

"Maybe it's not such bad news after all, doctor"

The man frowned.

"How can you say that"

Fenix shrugged.

"My life is already ruined. I have no money, no food. I was kicked out of the juvenile facility recently because I was past the age to be there. I wasn't adopted. I live begging and sleeping in alleys."

His voice became rougher, colder.

"Maybe this is the best thing that ever happened to me"

The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. What was there to say to someone like that?

A tired sigh escaped the man's lips.

"Don't underestimate life, kid. Maybe it will surprise you."

Fenix didn't answer. He simply remained silent, feeling the weight of reality fall upon him.

For he knew that the awakening was not just a test.

It was the last chance to change his destiny... or to disappear forever.

The doctor knew the seriousness of the matter. When someone failed to wake up, they didn't just die...they became a monster. And in the slums, where resources were scarce and government protection was minimal, that meant only one thing: a massacre.

Without wasting time, he grabbed his communicator and called the police. He couldn't risk Fenix falling unconscious in the middle of the street and unleashing a catastrophe.

It didn't take long for them to arrive. The patrol car pulled up in front of the clinic with a screech of tires. Two officers got out and, at the doctor's direction, carried Fenix to the vehicle.

The trip passed in tense silence. Only the roar of the engine and the murmur of the city broke the stillness.

Finally, one of the policemen spoke up.

"Boy, I wish you luck in awaking," he said in a firm voice, but with a tinge of concern. "I hope you can make it through this because if you don't... Well, we know what will happen."

Fenix, who was staring blankly at the road, replied without looking away from the window.\

"I know. I'll try to do my best, although..." he paused, as if the words were weighing on his tongue. "I don't know if I really will be able to. I'm not good at anything. I have no strength. And if I were to die... no one would care."

The policeman driving gave him a quick glance through the rearview mirror, assessing his expression. Then his partner, a man with a gruff voice and a stern look, answered him seriously.

"Kid, you may not appreciate your life... but there are people here in the slums who do." His voice hardened. "You know what will happen if you fail. It will be your undoing... but also ours."

Fenix barely reacted.

"The safest thing is that an awakened one would come to take over if that were to happen. I don't see the problem."

The policeman clicked his tongue in irritation and barely turned in his seat.

"You have no idea how the government works, do you?" He exhaled heavily "They leave us almost no resources to work with here. If you become a monster, it can take dozens of minutes for an awakened to arrive... and we're just normal humans, with no powers. We won't be able to take it."

He paused, his tone becoming more somber.

"That would mean dozens of civilian casualties before help arrives."

Fenix did not respond. Not because he didn't care, but because... what could he say? It wasn't his problem. It never had been.

He looked out the window again. The drive to the police station was quiet, too quiet. The city slept under a starless sky, covered by the smoke exhaled by the factories that never stopped. There were no laws here. Only production mattered. Machines devouring lives, working tirelessly to feed the energy of the big cities while the slums sank into misery.

Soon, the vehicle stopped in front of the police station.

The officers got out and signaled Fenix to follow them. His legs barely responded. His body felt heavy, exhausted. His vision blurred for a moment and, when he was about to lose his balance, one of the policemen held him up.

"Lean on me," he said, without a trace of mockery or reproach.

Fenix did not have the strength to refuse the help. He let himself be guided into the building, through corridors illuminated by flickering lights.

Finally, he was taken to a separate room. There, they sat him on an old but functional stretcher. They offered him food and water.

He did not hesitate to accept.

For someone from the slums, a free meal was a blessing. Eating every day was not a right, but a luxury. With no family, no job, food only came with luck... or violence.

While Fenix ate, the officers stayed with him for a while, talking about general things. They couldn't tell him much about waking up, as everyone was unique, but they gave him some vague advice.

"Keep a cool head. It's not all strength in the awakening. Sometimes intelligence is the key," said one of them.

"And don't trust what you see," added the other. The test is not only physical, it is mental.

Fenix just listened in silence, taking in what he could. He didn't know what awaited him.

But he had the feeling that, once he crossed that door, there would be no turning back.