District 9 was a border zone — half-patrolled, half-abandoned.
The streets there cracked like old bones. Power grids glitched. Civilians lived behind scrap walls and battery towers, hoping not to be noticed.
Hero cadets weren't usually sent this far out.
But today was a test.
And Hernan had volunteered.
The hover transport rattled as it landed outside an old train depot. Rook stepped off first, boots crunching down on broken tile. Behind him, Tessa adjusted her gauntlets. Aya stretched like she was warming up for a tournament.
"You ever been out here?" Tessa asked.
Rook scanned the rooftops. "Not this far."
"Looks like a war zone," Aya muttered.
"It was," Tessa replied.
Their instructor barked through comms:
"This is a live field patrol. Real citizens. Real threats. Nonlethal force unless authorized. Scanners picked up anomalous heat signatures in Sector 14. You'll move as a trio."
Aya rolled her eyes. "Babysitting a ghost town."
Rook moved ahead, silent.
They cleared three buildings with nothing but static.
Then the fourth one hummed.
A long-abandoned mechanic's garage, its roof half-caved, smelled like burned rubber and acid. A flicker of movement near the rear stairwell caught Rook's eye.
He raised a hand — flat, signaling stop.
Tessa followed instantly. Aya hesitated, then mirrored him.
They crept inside.
The interior was dark, dusty, wired with makeshift power coils. Graffiti coated the walls in alien dialects. A broken fan spun overhead, clicking with every rotation.
Something shifted behind the shelving racks.
A body.
A man stepped forward, his arms glimmering with subdermal plating — gang-marked, half-masked, pupils replaced with tech-rings.
C-rank. Enhanced reflexes. No official ID.
He didn't speak.
He just charged.
Aya fired a burst of static from her palms. The shot clipped his shoulder — slowed him. Tessa moved to intercept with a shield burst. He slammed her into the wall.
Then he turned toward Rook.
And everything got quiet.
Rook saw it in flashes — the way the man moved, the angle of his lunge, the opening between the ribs.
His own hand reached inside his jacket — fingers closing around the microblade embedded in the lining.
Time slowed.
The man lunged.
Rook stepped forward.
One move.
A twist.
Blade to neck.
No flourish. No pause.
Just out.
The man crumpled.
Aya shouted. "What the hell—?"
"Nonlethal, Rook!" Tessa cried, stumbling forward.
Rook stepped back, breath steady. "He was enhanced. He wasn't stopping."
They stared at him.
He stared at the body.
No shaking. No regret.
Tessa crouched beside the corpse. "He's—he's dead."
"I know."
The comm buzzed.
"Mission report. Status?"
Rook replied first.
"Hostile down. Threat neutralized. Awaiting extraction."
On the ride back, no one spoke.
Aya leaned against the shuttle wall, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Tessa sat beside Rook, but said nothing for ten minutes.
Then—
"You didn't hesitate."
It wasn't an accusation. Not quite.
Rook didn't look at her. "Should I have?"
"I don't know."
"Yes," he said. "You do."
She didn't answer.
Later that night, in his dorm, Rook stood in the shower far longer than he needed to.
Not because he felt dirty.
Because he was replaying the moment.
The arc of the man's throat. The way the blood hit the floor.
It hadn't bothered him.
That was the part he wanted to understand.
Not why he killed.
But why it had felt like practice.
He added a mark to his private list — burned into the encrypted file inside his wristband.
Not a Zodiac.
Just a warmup.
One down.
Thirteen to go.