District 11 didn't bother pretending.
Where District 9 had patches of law, this place had scars — old battle lines, burned-out rooftops, billboards spray-painted with anti-hero slogans and gang crests.
No patrols. No drones. No smiles.
Just survival.
The Zodiac transport cut low through the smoke, quiet engines slicing through ruined airspace. Hernan sat near the rear exit, strapped in beside armored soldiers wearing modified insignias — not full Zodiac 13, but their elite enforcers.
Three of them. Names etched on their plates:
Aegis (Zodiac Tier: Auxiliary) — built like a vault, voice like gravel
Mire (Zodiac Tier: Scout Operative) — masked, twitchy, smelled like copper
Callum Virex — the captain himself
He didn't wear a helmet.
Just the black-and-gold lions across his chest, and that easy charisma that filled every room before his voice ever did.
"This mission is surgical," Virex said as the map flickered on. "Rogue hero cell. Took hostages. We retrieve one. Erase the rest. No press. No survivors."
Aegis grunted. "Standard protocol."
Mire chuckled. "Been a while since we did clean-up in daylight."
Rook said nothing.
The drop site was a collapsed hotel, wrapped in scaffolding and rust.
From the outside, it looked abandoned.
Inside — screams.
The moment they breached, it became a slaughter.
Aegis charged first, punching through debris like drywall. Mire slipped in shadows, flitting between bodies. Gunfire broke out in short, desperate bursts.
Rook followed.
He moved quietly, clearing hallways, memorizing movement patterns. Every step was calculation — where to step, who to spare, where to be seen not killing.
He turned a corner and found one of the rogues bleeding out, holding a broken stun baton, coughing up plasma.
"Please," the man wheezed. "We didn't hurt the girl. We just needed—"
A shot rang out.
Clean. Instant.
Virex stepped forward, holstering his weapon. "If you needed help," he said softly, "you should've applied for it."
He turned to Rook.
"No hesitation," he said. "You understand why?"
Rook nodded once. "Control."
"Exactly. Control is what separates heroes from everyone else. Emotions kill efficiency."
Virex moved on.
Rook looked at the body.
It had a tag.
Former hero. Low-rank. Expired license. Terminated.
Not a villain.
Just discarded.
They found the girl in the basement — bruised, crying, alive.
Rook stood guard while the others cleared final rooms.
The girl looked up at him. "You're one of them?"
He didn't answer.
He just lowered his voice. "Did they hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"Good," he said.
Because she wouldn't understand what kind of monsters had just "rescued" her.
Later, in the evac transport, Virex leaned across the seat.
"You've got eyes," he said. "And you didn't blink. That's rare."
Rook said nothing.
Virex smiled. "You know, your timing's perfect. Not every cadet gets to see the truth this early."
"What truth?"
"That the system isn't broken," Virex said. "It was designed this way."
Then he leaned back, hands folded behind his head.
Rook stared at him, face calm.
But his heart?
It beat once like a war drum.