"Can you walk? If not, you can wrap your arms around my neck for support. Don't be shy," Flowers offered, her voice surprisingly gentle.
Michael hesitated before slinging his arm around her shoulders. Even this small movement sent pain shooting through his battered body, but he bit back any sound of discomfort. In the Undercity, he was quickly learning, weakness was dangerous.
They moved along a path slick with substances Michael didn't want to identify. What he had only heard before, he now witnessed in horrifying detail—people being eaten alive, others subjected to tortures that defied comprehension. Unable to bear the sight, he closed his eyes and felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks.
"May God have mercy on these people," he whispered.
Flowers glanced at him with something between pity and resignation. "These things happening around us—you'll have to get used to it. It's probably more difficult for you since you just arrived, but for me and my friends at the base..." She paused. "We were born and raised here. This is normal."
The journey felt endless, but they finally arrived at a building larger than most structures Michael had seen in the Undercity. A metallic gate stood before it, its surface covered in graffiti depicting black feathers. Michael was surprised when Flowers approached and pressed a doorbell—a startling sign of civilization in this hellish place.
"It's me, Flowers," she announced.
The gate slid open with a harsh metallic scrape. Michael had expected to see a small army within, but instead, only three children were visible inside the compound.
As they entered, a towering figure emerged from a back door. The man stood at least two meters tall, but what caught Michael's attention were his hands—gleaming metal where flesh should have been.
"Welcome home, Flowers," the giant said, his deep voice filling the space. "I suppose this little man is Michael." His gaze shifted to Michael. "Just leave him on that chair over there. We'll enlighten him on some things he needs to know."
Flowers helped Michael to the indicated seat and gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Good luck," she murmured before slipping away.
"Sir, how did you know my name?" Michael asked, wincing as he adjusted his position.
The man's lips curled into a knowing smile. "We all have communication devices that help us stay connected. And I've been watching you since you arrived in our territory." He studied Michael with calculating eyes. "You have potential, kid. A lot of potential. A normal child would have died going through what you experienced."
"Really? Thank you, sir," Michael replied, surprised by the unexpected praise.
"Call me Alphonse," the man said. "Or Master Alphonse, if you prefer."
"Master Alphonse," Michael tested the name. "Please, why is the Undercity like this?"
Alphonse retrieved an ice pack from a nearby container and handed it to Michael. "Apply this to your head," he instructed before settling into a chair across from him.
"A thousand years ago, when the Four Anchors took control, they built the Upper City—a gleaming metropolis," Alphonse began, his voice taking on the cadence of someone recounting an oft-told story. "They cast their enemies down here."
Michael's stomach twisted with dread. "Their enemies?"
Alphonse's expression darkened. "The ones who committed heinous crimes. The mentally unstable. Those with dangerous diseases. They became the first generation of the Undercity. And when they survived against all odds, the Upper City simply abandoned them."
"Abandoned them?" Michael's voice was barely audible.
A bitter smirk twisted Alphonse's features. "They send their waste down here—technological scraps, broken machines... even people. And they watch us fight over the refuse like animals."
Michael's fists clenched involuntarily, nails biting into his palms.
"To them, we're paying for our ancestors' sins," Alphonse continued. "But to us, this is just cruelty."
Michael couldn't tear his gaze from Alphonse's metallic hands. "Why are your hands made of metal?" he finally asked, curiosity overcoming caution.
Alphonse flexed his fingers, and Michael watched in fascination as the massive gauntlets extended further up his arms.
"This?" Alphonse admired his own modifications. "Glad you finally noticed. It's called Biotech—a marvel of science that allows humans to become more than human. I had it implanted within my hands."
Michael swallowed hard. "You... modified your body?"
Alphonse's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. "It's the only way to survive in this world. Biotech enhances normal humans so we can stand against the Exploiters."
"Exploiters?" Michael hesitated over the unfamiliar term.
"The ones who survive the virus that landed on Earth two thousand years ago," Alphonse explained. "The ones who are... beyond human." His voice lowered. "You've heard the name Alpha, haven't you?"
Michael nodded slowly, recalling fragments of stories whispered at the orphanage. "The immortal sovereign."
"He was the first," Alphonse confirmed. "And the most powerful. He doesn't age. He doesn't die. He can heal from anything."
A shiver ran down Michael's spine.
Alphonse placed his Biotech-enhanced hands flat on the table. Their metallic surface caught the dim light. "You'll understand soon, Michael. Because if you want to survive here..." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You'll need to evolve too."
He straightened up, his tone becoming brisk once more. "I need you to join us. To join us, you must be trained so you can go on missions and handle yourself in the Undercity. Your training starts tomorrow at 4:00 AM." He chuckled darkly. "Though I forget this place has no true morning or evening."
"Alright, sir," Michael replied, overwhelmed but determined.
Alphonse gestured toward the other two figures Michael had noticed earlier. "Oh, I should introduce the others. The one with the large hammer is Jake, and the one with the sniper rifle is Junk. You should bond with them—we are a family, Michael. Remember that."
Before Michael could respond, Alphonse moved to a nearby closet and pulled out a black cloak and mask. As he donned them, his entire demeanor changed, becoming more purposeful and deadly.
"Kid, bonding can happen later, but not today. We have a mission to accomplish," he explained, voice slightly muffled by the mask. "We're an organization that gets paid to assassinate targets or eliminate rival gangs. The pay isn't exceptional, but it's enough."
He directed Michael to a separate room dominated by what resembled a medical chair. "Lie here," Alphonse instructed. "I'll need to secure you—for your own good. To heal you, I'll administer an injection. I won't lie to you; it's extremely painful."
Michael eyed the restraints with apprehension but climbed onto the chair without protest. Alphonse efficiently strapped him down, then prepared a syringe filled with an iridescent blue liquid.
"Stay strong," Alphonse said as he injected the substance into Michael's arm. "The pain will begin in a few minutes. Good luck."
The others donned their cloaks and masks, preparing to depart. Their faces, now hidden behind identical black masks, revealed nothing of their thoughts or feelings.
"We'll return soon," Alphonse assured him as they filed out.
For several minutes after they left, Michael felt nothing. Then, without warning, agony erupted throughout his body. It felt as though his veins carried liquid fire instead of blood. His back arched against the restraints as he screamed in anguish, his entire frame convulsing with the pain.
Despite his torment, he noticed with astonishment that his wounds were healing before his eyes. Bruises faded from purple to yellow to nothing. Cuts sealed themselves shut. Even the deep tissue damage from his earlier beating knitted itself together, leaving unblemished skin where injuries had been.
The burning sensation continued relentlessly for an hour, though to Michael it felt like days. When it finally subsided, he collapsed against the chair, utterly drained but remarkably whole.
The Black Feathers returned an hour later. Alphonse approached immediately to check on him.
"How was it?" he asked, releasing the restraints. His tone suggested he already knew the answer. "Now that that's done, rest. We'll begin your training and proper socialization after you've had some sleep."
Michael nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak. As he drifted toward unconsciousness, his last thought was that, despite everything, he might have finally found a place where he belonged.