The night had the color of old steel.
The city lights flickered as if hesitating, and the air carried the scent of rust, dampness, and distrust.
Five young mutants walked through the shadows.
Their steps were soft, calculated, as if afraid of awakening something worse than themselves.
The first, Edgar, wore his face hidden beneath a dark hood. The faint glow of the streetlamps revealed patches of his skin that were no longer skin: hardened areas with a mineral texture, marked by silver cracks that reflected the light like polished stone.
Not all of his body was like that—some human parts still remained—but the contrast was unsettling.
That mixture was common among young mutants; the mutation never stopped, it only slowed.
Some of them barely looked human anymore.
Beside him walked Kail, with an unstable gaze and nervous breathing, and Reth, the youngest—barely a child—who still clung to the idea that stealing food was not a crime. His presence was necessary because of his powerful hearing and his unbreakable need to make sure everyone returned safely.
Behind them, two more—brothers with grayish skin and sunken eyes—watched in silence, carrying iron bars and improvised knives.
The target was a small shop at the edge of the abandoned commercial district.
They didn't want gold or money, only food… and to send a message they themselves didn't yet fully understand.
Kail had said it an hour earlier, while they descended through the refuge tunnels:
"We're not doing this out of rage. The goal is to get in, take what we need, and leave as fast as possible—no surprises."
But now, walking through the puddles, those words sounded hollow.
Fear smelled stronger than the metal in their hands.
Kail walked in front, Reth close behind, knowing he shouldn't be there, but with no choice except to endure and guide his brothers along the safest paths, following the directions given by the youngest so they wouldn't be caught.
As they turned the corner, the shop appeared beneath the trembling light of a solitary streetlamp.
A crooked sign hung above the door: "Haberdashery and Groceries – Property of Mr. Ruden."
Through the glass, the old owner counted coins behind the counter.
His hair was gray, his back hunched, and every movement had the precision of someone who had repeated the same gesture for far too many years.
Kail swallowed.
"There," he whispered.
"We just go in, take what we need, and leave," Edgar added.
The group approached.
The sound of their footsteps blended with the distant hum of government drones patrolling the avenues.
When Edgar pushed the door open, the bell on the frame chimed softly, as if the world itself wanted to warn them that they had crossed a line with no return.
The old man lifted his head.
"We're closed," he said, barely looking at them.
"We're not here to buy," Edgar replied, stepping forward. "We just want something sweet to eat, and we'll leave. I promise."
The old man frowned.
Almost instinctively, his hand moved beneath the counter.
At that moment, Reth realized what was happening and grabbed Kail's hand in fear. Kail noticed immediately.
Kail raised a metal bar.
"Easy," he said. "We don't want to hurt you," trembling, lost inside his own fear.
The silence stretched.
The old man took a deep breath and muttered something under his breath.
"Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted just because you're mutants?"
His hand emerged from beneath the counter, gripping an old hunting shotgun.
Edgar's heart slammed against his chest.
"Put that down," he warned.
"Get out of my shop!" the man shouted. "Mutants! Murderers!"
Reth stepped back, terrified.
Kail raised his bar.
Everything happened in seconds.
The old man fired.
The noise was deafening.
The bullet burst out wrapped in white smoke and fire.
Edgar reacted on pure instinct.
He raised his hands, hardened by mutation, and the bullet struck them directly.
The impact threw him backward, but it didn't pierce him: the lead embedded itself in his stone-like skin and sparked on contact.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air.
The others screamed.
"He's insane!" one of the brothers shouted.
Edgar rushed toward the man, trying to wrench the weapon from him.
In the struggle, the old man pulled the trigger a second time.
The shot thundered like lightning in a cave.
Reth, the youngest, dropped to his knees.
His eyes widened in surprise, unable to understand what had happened.
"Reth…" Kail whispered, running to him.
The boy clutched his abdomen, life silently slipping away.
Edgar froze for an instant—then a roar burst from his chest.
He struck the old man with a strength he didn't know he possessed.
The man was hurled backward, crashing into the counter and collapsing at the foot of the stairs.
His head struck the first step, and the dull sound of the impact echoed through the shop.
The body lay still.
Silence returned—but it was broken, filthy, desperate.
Only the ragged breathing of the youths and the slow drip of spilled oil on the floor could be heard.
Then something moved on the stairs.
A small figure.
A girl.
She had wide, frightened eyes and clutched a teddy bear against her chest.
She looked at her father lying on the floor, then at the strangers covered in dust and sweat.
"Daddy…" she whispered.
The world shattered.
Kail grabbed his head.
"God… no…"
The girl ran toward the man's body, stumbling on the steps.
Her voice broke into a choked sob.
"Daddy, wake up! Daddy!"
Edgar felt his heart burn.
There was no plan, no cause, no reason that could justify this.
Only the sound of his breathing, the trembling of his hardened hands, and the fire in his chest.
"Let's go!" one of the brothers shouted, lifting Reth, who still groaned weakly.
In the confusion, Kail stumbled into a table.
An oil lamp fell to the floor.
The glass shattered.
Fire was born instantly, fed by oil and dust.
Within seconds, flames crawled up the walls, devouring the air.
Smoke filled the shop.
Edgar tried to help, but panic dragged him along.
"Get him out! Reth is still breathing!" he shouted.
They ran outside, carrying the wounded boy.
The door slammed shut behind them, and the shop lit up with a glow that burned their eyes.
The girl's scream was the last thing they heard before the wave of heat shoved them into the street.
The flames danced inside the shop like a furious animal.
Smoke rose toward the sky, staining the clouds an impossible red.
Edgar ran with the others through the alley, his heart pounding, his hands still vibrating from the bullet's impact.
Reth writhed in Kail's arms, breathing weaker with every second.
"Hold on, brother, hold on…" Kail murmured, but his voice was an empty plea.
Behind them, alarms wailed.
Drones circled above the burning area, sending blue flashes across the street like lightning.
"They'll find us!" one of the brothers shouted.
Edgar didn't answer.
His mind replayed only the image of the girl.
That look. That scream.
An echo carved into his soul.
When they finally reached the entrance to the underground tunnel, Reth was no longer speaking.
His chest rose and fell irregularly, blood soaking his shirt.
"No… no, no, no…" Kail shook him. "Don't you dare fall asleep!"
But Reth closed his eyes, and his body relaxed in a strange, silent way.
The echo of his final breath vanished into the concrete walls.
Edgar dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he stared at the boy's lifeless face.
He didn't cry.
He only lowered his head.
Behind him, the sirens continued to howl.
The city had awakened to hell.
Hours later, back in the refuge, the news spread like a virus.
A mutant attack.
A burned shop.
Two dead.
The air in the tunnel was thick with reproach.
When Edgar and the others entered, faces turned toward them—fear, anger, disappointment.
A woman stepped forward.
"What have you done?"
No one answered.
Reth lay on a blanket.
His small hands looked as if they were sleeping.
An old man struck the ground with his cane.
"You've doomed us! The government hunts us, and now you've given them a reason!"
"It wasn't intentional," Kail whispered. "The old man fired first."
The murmurs grew.
The refuge became a nest of shouting.
Some demanded punishment, others understanding.
But Edgar kept staring at the floor, his hands still blackened with gunpowder.
And as the voices blended together, one voice rose from the back—
calm, firm, cutting through the noise like a flame in the dark.
"Perhaps," said a woman with black hair and burning eyes, "this wasn't a mistake.
Maybe it was only the first step."
The murmurs stopped.
Edgar lifted his head.
The woman looked at him with unsettling serenity.
"If the world wants us to burn," she whispered, "then let us learn how to set it on fire."
Those words could mean only one thing:
from that moment on, nothing would ever be the same again.