Chapter 2: Stray Voltage
Chapter 2: Stray Voltage
The storm rolled in without warning.
It wasn't the kind of storm that brought rain or lightning—it was something older, heavier. The sky above District 12 flickered with amber static, a high-frequency pulse that hummed at the edges of human hearing, like the low growl of something buried beneath concrete and steel. The old timers called it atmospheric backlash—residual energy from orbital scramblers or failed climate stabilizers. Whatever it was, it made the air feel like it was holding its breath.
The girl sitting alone beneath the rusted train overpass didn't flinch. She was used to storms.
Her name was Lana, though she didn't say it much anymore.
She wore a gray utility jacket two sizes too large, sleeves torn at the cuffs, and boots held together by melted polymer strips. Her hands were buried in the pockets, fingers curled around a small datapad that hadn't worked in months. A frayed bracelet dangled from her wrist—plastic beads spelling out NOAH. She kept it hidden.
The street around her was empty except for a burned-out bus frame, its side peeled open like a wound. Overhead, the overpass groaned with the weight of rotting transport rails. Steam hissed from broken pipes, and faded graffiti bled across every surface in a riot of colors and rage. One phrase stood out among the layers:
EVERY GIFT IS A CURSE
Lana's breath fogged in the air. The cold didn't bother her much anymore. Nothing did, really—not since the day they took her brother.
It had started like it always did—sickness, then pain, then something… else. Her brother, Noah, had been one of the first in their block to take a booster shot of REX-X, sold by a back-alley dealer who claimed it was "cleaned-up," "pure," "low-risk." They couldn't afford real medicine, and Noah had been dying. What choice did they have?
For two days, he got better. Stronger. Clearer. And then, just like that, his veins lit up like tracer fire and he exploded into sound—literally. The entire apartment block collapsed from the pressure wave his body released. Lana survived only because she was outside, buying batteries for their cracked solar lantern.
When she found what was left of him—what remained—it wasn't a body. It was just resonance. The walls vibrated for hours. Her ears bled. She didn't hear properly for three days.
The Null Division arrived six minutes later. They didn't ask questions. They just sealed the site and declared it "biohazard exposure due to unstable Residual onset." Lana had watched from a nearby rooftop as they bagged pieces of concrete, scanned the air for echo anomalies, and left with nothing but data.
No tears. No justice. Just numbers on a clipboard.
That was four months ago.
Now, she scavenged. Slept wherever she could. Ate when she had to. And kept moving. Always moving. Because someone had seen her. Someone had taken a thermal scan of her face after the collapse. And if she stayed in one place too long, they'd come.
She was starting to feel it too—the pressure in her skull, the low rumble in her bones, like something deep inside was trying to scream. But she didn't want to be like Noah. She didn't want to burn out.
She just wanted to understand.
Elsewhere in District 12 – Five Blocks North
Kai stood on the roof of a broken power station, overlooking the cracked sprawl of Zone 4.
District 12 wasn't like 8—there was no pretense of control here. No corporate presence. No infrastructure. Just jagged silhouettes of buildings torn by time and war, and a sea of squatters trying to survive between chemical fires and collapsing sewage lines.
His breath smoked in the air. He tapped his neck once, and a quiet hiss released a burst of cooling nanogel into his spine. It dulled the pain for now. The last dose of REX-N had destabilized his equilibrium—he was still calculating vector data three seconds before it actually happened. A side effect of neural lag, something that only happened when the drug started overwriting his real-time spatial cognition.
He needed stabilization, soon. He was running out of time.
But tonight, he wasn't here for that.
He'd been tracking a signal—a data pulse from a stolen Null Division scanner that detected harmonic interference in a residential block. Normally, he ignored this kind of noise. Too risky. But this one was different. The readings were too clean, too strong. Not a malfunction.
A Residual, newly awakened, and unregistered.
Kai's boots scraped gravel as he moved toward the fire escape, sliding down silently, muscle memory guiding him through a dozen blind angles. His movements were calculated down to the millimeter—every step adjusted to conserve momentum, avoid sound, and minimize exposed vectors. His body was a machine fueled by physics and necessity.
He didn't save people. That wasn't his job.
But sometimes—sometimes—he checked the signals anyway.
Just in case.
—Under the Overpass—
Lana stirred.
She could feel it again—that pull, that vibration in the base of her skull. The city around her was too loud, too erratic. Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes.
A sound bloomed inside her mind—pure, raw, and inhuman.
Not real sound. Not music. Something… deeper.
It was the sound of pressure. Of resonance. Like glass vibrating before it shattered. Like metal before it screamed. She knew she shouldn't give in to it, but she was so tired. So hungry. And for once, she wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine.
She exhaled—and the sound pulsed outward.
Concrete dust lifted around her in a swirling spiral.
A flickering streetlamp above exploded with a deafening crack.
—Rooftop, Two Blocks Away—
Kai snapped to attention. His eye flared with motion data—vectors splitting like spiderwebs, momentum spikes forming in air pockets where no motion should exist. He zoomed in, focusing on the overpass.
A girl.
Thin. Shaking. Surrounded by unstable air compression. His HUD displayed one word across her form:
{
Residual
Category: Unknown
Risk: Variable / Climbing
}
He sighed.
"Shit."
Then he dropped off the rooftop.