Ethan

Ash walked through the narrow streets of the settlement, hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn-out jacket. The morning air was cool, but the scent of rusted metal and damp concrete never faded. 

His destination was the job centre, it was the central place a lot of ordinary people would go for work. 

Though there was some security being in a stronghold, it was difficult to make a living nowadays unless you were a hunter, a soldier or worked for HR, the Human Resistance.

HR, the governing body formed after the collapse of nations, controlled strongholds, managed resources and ensured humanity's survival in a world overrun by monsters.

Under normal circumstances, Ash would not be looking for a job.

Most men his age were conscripted into the military force, assigned as a soldier in the frontline or security role. The war against the creatures demanded manpower, so military conscription is mandatory from the age of 16.

However, Ash was granted an exemption because he was the sole family and guardian of his niece, who had no other family member.

But, it meant Ash had to search for any work he could find.

And right now, his credit balance was dangerously low.

As he approached the job centre, he felt an arm drape around his shoulder. The sudden weight made his body tense instantly.

"Morning, Ash" a familiar voice spoke lazily.

Ash resisted the urge to sigh. Ethan.

He turned his head slightly to see the man grinning at him, teeth flashing in amusement. Ethan was a little older than Ash, his brown hair always slightly dishevelled. Under his sleeve, a faint mark of a tattoo can be glimpsed

'Scorpion Gang' a faction known for smuggling and illegal trade.

Ash carefully shrugged off Ethan's arm. "What do you want?"

Ethan chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, man. I just wanted to check in on an old friend. See if you're interested in making some extra credits."

Ash's jaw tightened. "Not interested."

"C'mon, don't be like that." Ethan stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

 "It's easy work. Just helping move some goods. No heavy lifting, just making sure things get from one place to another. Quick, simple, and way better than whatever scraps you're hoping to find at the job centre."

Ash's eyes narrowed. "You mean smuggling."

Ethan smirked but didn't deny it. "Call it what you want, but you and I both know the HR restrictions are getting worse. People need supplies. We just make sure they get them."

Ash exhaled sharply, stepping around him. "I said no."

Ethan didn't stop him this time, but he called out as Ash walked away. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Ash didn't respond.

'Dammit' When jobs at the centre barely covered his expenses, when Lena needed something urgent, when there were no other options, Ash would work for the gang.

Though, he wasn't officially part of them, once you work for such a gang…you'll always come back to them. But survival didn't leave room for morality, not in a place like this,

Ash shook the thoughts from his head as he reached the job centre, a squat concrete building reinforced with scrap metal. 

A line had already formed inside, people desperate for any kind of work. He took his place and waited.

When it was finally his turn, he stepped up to the desk, where a tired-looking clerk barely glanced at him. "Name?"

"Ash."

The clerk typed into his holographic screen, and the next moment Ash's watch rang, showing details of available jobs 'sanitation, warehouse sorting or construction"

Ash fought the urge to grimace. None of them paid well, but construction was at least physically demanding, which meant slightly better pay than the others.

"I'll take construction."

The clerk nodded, barely interested. "Report to Zone 8 by noon. You'll get paid at the end of the shift. Next."

Ash stepped aside, rubbing his temples. Zone 8 construction—low pay, exhausting work, and barely enough to keep them afloat. He pulled out his credit balance from his watch and winced.

'Pathetic'

That damn breakfast really did set him back.

He clenched his fist, resisting the urge to punch the nearest wall. He was stuck in the same cycle—barely scraping by, barely surviving.

And he hated it.

Thirty minutes pass and Ash arrived at the Zone 8 construction site, a partially built section of the stronghold meant to expand living quarters. 

The site was filled with workers, some hauling materials, others welding steel beams into place. He checked in with the foreman, a burly man with a scarred face who barely glanced at him before pointing toward a pile of rubble that needed clearing.

Ash rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The hours passed in a blur of lifting, hauling, and breaking down debris. The physical labour was exhausting, but at least it kept his mind occupied.

"Hey, Ash," one of the workers, a man named Jonas, called out during a short break. "You been keeping out of trouble?"

Ash wiped the sweat from his brow. "Trying to."

Jonas smirked, taking a sip from his water canteen. "Heard Ethan's been sniffing around again. You steer clear of that bastard, yeah?"

Ash exhaled sharply. "Yeah."

Jonas clapped him on the shoulder before heading back to work. Ash sighed and followed.

4PM rolled around, his muscles ached, but he had no time to rest as he had to pick up Lena from school.

They'll give him an earful if he picks her up late again, so he talked to the foreman, who transferred him 30 credits.

Seeing the little amount, Ash could only sigh as he wiped the sweat from his brow and began heading toward Lena's school.

His hands instinctively pulled out his watch, flipping through his contacts. 

He scrolled past familiar names, former coworkers, odd-job acquaintances, before his gaze settled on one name at the bottom of the list, a name he hated. 

Ethan.