Ren woke before dawn, just like he had almost every day since the Catastrophe. The world outside still y shrouded in half-darkness, and the chill morning air crept through the cracks of the poorly sealed window in his tiny room. He y still for a moment on his narrow cot, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling, listening. Silence. Just the distant creak of rusted metal and the faint crackle of fire from the makeshift stove. A quiet morning, he thought—but quiet hadn’t meant peace for a long time.

  Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once again, sleep had brought no comfort. Quite the opposite—it left behind a lingering unease. He’d dreamed again. That day. But the memory slipped away before he could grab hold of it. The exhaustion clung to the corners of his eyes. No surprise. Lately, he’d often woken in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tightly around the bnkets that his fingers ached. Sometimes he woke up screaming, the echoes of that day’s horrors still ringing in his ears. Even now, a tremble ran through his arms—an echo of old fears that never quite faded.

  He stood and pulled on his worn, too-thin jacket. It was cold as ice, and he shivered as he pulled it tight around his neck. A memory flickered through his mind—warm bedsheets, the scent of freshly brewed tea, mornings filled with quiet comfort. But it vanished just as fast, swallowed by the harshness of reality. In the corner sat a metal bucket of water. Ren stepped over and spshed his face with the icy liquid, gasping as it hit his skin. For a moment, he stared at his reflection in the trembling surface—sunken cheeks, dark hair falling across his brow, and a pair of eyes that once held life but now seemed dimmed beyond recognition.

  He rubbed his cheek, brushing across the diagonal scar that never felt like it truly belonged to him. A memento from that day. He dropped his hand and looked away. Time to begin another day in the post-Catastrophe world.

  Outside, the sky was turning grey. Ren closed the makeshift door—pnks and sheet metal held together with rusted nails—and stepped into the narrow alley of his neighborhood. It had once been a lively district; now it resembled the ruins of a refugee camp. Shacks, tents, and ramshackle shelters lined the cracked walls—homes for those who had survived. In the distance, far beyond the ruined skyline, towers of the city’s center still rose into the sky. They said the rich and powerful had barricaded themselves there—guarded by soldiers and supplied with everything they needed. Out here on the fringes, every day was a battle for clean water and a slice of bread.

  As he passed colpsed doorways and burned-out windows, Ren nodded to an elderly woman pcing a bucket outside to catch rainwater. Her eyes lit up briefly with a flicker of warmth.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Irena," Ren said softly, pausing.

  "Ah, Ren... Good morning, child," the old woman croaked. "Up early again, huh?"

  Ren shrugged lightly and offered a faint smile. "Couldn’t sleep. Besides, better to get water before the line gets too long."

  "True..." She sighed and gnced around nervously. "Quiet today. I didn’t hear any gunfire st night."

  "Me neither," Ren said, raising his eyes to the pale sky where dawn was just starting to stretch across the ragged clouds. "Maybe it’ll be a good day."

  She gave him a ghost of a smile—hope mixed with resignation. "Let’s hope so, sweetheart. Let’s hope so..."

  Ren gave a small wave and continued on. His destination was the central square of the settlement, where water and food rations were distributed each morning. He moved carefully, avoiding jagged rubble and rusted rebar jutting from the ground like skeletal fingers of the old world. The morning cold was slowly giving way to a warmer haze as the sun climbed higher, bathing the ruins in soft light. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth. Here and there, people were beginning to emerge from their shelters—figures wrapped in bnkets or old coats, all heading the same way as Ren.

  By the time he reached the square, the line was already forming. Dozens of people stood in an uneven row, some patient, others restless. Low murmurs filled the air—snatches of conversation, a cough, a child’s quiet sobbing. Ren joined the end of the line and pulled his jacket tighter, trying to shield his hands from the biting cold. The scent of boiling porridge drifted nearby—probably what they’d get for breakfast. His stomach gave a low rumble at the thought, though he knew the portion would be small. It always was.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement to the right. Two rge men were pushing their way through the crowd straight to the front of the line. They wore thick jackets embzoned with the insignia of the Enforcement Corps—the post-Catastrophe authority that served as both police and military. People stepped aside quickly, avoiding eye contact.

  Ren clenched his jaw as the enforcers strolled past. One, a bearded brute, carried two rge jugs. The other, bald and shorter, scanned the area with an arrogant smirk.

  "Hey! What about us?!" someone shouted—a man a few spots ahead of Ren. His voice held a shaky mix of anger and fear. "We’ve been here since dawn—can’t you wait like the rest of us?!"

  The bearded enforcer shot him a gre over his shoulder. "You got something to say?" he growled.

  Silence fell. The man looked down and took a step back, muttering an apology.

  Ren watched, bitterness rising in his throat. It wasn’t the first time the Corps took what they wanted while the rest suffered. But no one dared speak out—the fear ran too deep. Ren felt his hands clench in his pockets, his stomach twisting with helpless anger.

  The enforcers reached the water tanker set in the square’s center. A young worker was already filling their containers—didn’t even ask for ration slips. As if they’d care about rules. In this world, some were more equal than others, and a Corps uniform put you above them all.

  Ren lowered his gaze, trying to calm himself. The anger inside bubbled, just like always when he saw this. But he remembered the consequences. He remembered the blood on the pavement. The battered man left for dead. Now everyone just pretended nothing was happening. Someone up front tried to curry favor, whispering, "Go ahead, sir, fill it up for the officers." Others looked away.

  Ren exhaled, tasting that all-too-familiar helplessness. For a moment, a thought flickered: how much longer? How long would they have to live like this—afraid, starving—while others lived in comfort? He instinctively reached into his coat pocket, fingers closing around a small, worn pendant—the only thing he had left from his mother. Its shape, familiar and grounding, reminded him of everything he’d lost.

  Suddenly, a child’s wail tore through the air. Ren flinched and looked up.

  A few pces ahead, a young woman knelt beside a small boy—no older than four—who was sobbing uncontrolbly, tugging at her sleeve.

  "Shhh, it’s alright..." she whispered, though her voice trembled with barely suppressed tears. "Please, he didn’t mean it... He’s just hungry..."

  Only then did Ren notice the piece of bread on the ground, now crushed into the mud. Beside it stood the bald enforcer, wearing a cruel grin.

  "Try stealing food again and next time he’ll get worse," he snarled. "Brat needs to learn—rations aren’t candy for greedy little mouths."

  The woman bowed deeply, shoulders shaking with humiliation.

  "I’m sorry, sir... He doesn’t understand... I gave him my share, but... it wasn’t enough... Please forgive him..."

  Ren’s blood boiled. The boy must’ve reached for an extra piece from the ration stack—driven by hunger. And the enforcer? Probably struck him. The kid’s cheek was swollen and red. He clung to his mother, trembling.

  Rage surged in Ren. He’d seen enough. The screams from the past echoed again. His heart pounded. Would he stand by again, watching the innocent suffer?

  Without thinking, he stepped out of the line.

  Someone grabbed his arm.

  "Ren, what are you doing?!" hissed a familiar voice. It was Kazik, the neighbor kid standing behind him. "Let it go. Don’t be stupid."

  Ren shook him off without looking back. If he walked away now, he’d hate himself even more. He couldn’t. Not this time.

  He approached the enforcer and the woman, the crowd parting nervously around him. He felt their stares—fearful, confused. The bald enforcer raised an eyebrow.

  "What do you want?" he growled. "Back in line, brat."

  Ren swallowed hard. His heart hammered in his chest, but he stood firm. He balled his fists—he had no chance in a fight, but he had to say something.

  "Please... It’s just a child. Let them have the bread. They..."

  "Shut it." The enforcer stepped forward and shoved Ren hard in the chest. He staggered back, barely staying upright.

  "Trying to be a hero? Want me to teach you a lesson?"

  Ren steadied himself. People in the line gasped. The mother clutched her son tighter.

  "I just... I only..." he stammered.

  He didn’t finish. A fist smmed into his face, striking near his old scar. Pain exploded across his cheek, and he colpsed to his knees. The world spun. Somewhere, someone screamed. Maybe Mrs. Irena? He couldn’t tell. Through the haze, he saw boots approaching.

  "Enough of this circus," the enforcer snarled. "Back in line! Now! And you..."

  The bald man grabbed Ren by the colr and yanked him up. Pain pulsed in his face, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. His head spun as the enforcer leaned in close.

  "Try that again and I’ll kill you. You’re nothing. Got that?" he hissed.

  He let Ren go with a shove, throwing him to the ground. Ren staggered but stayed standing. His cheek burned. Humiliation burned hotter. He clenched his teeth, holding back the words that might’ve gotten him killed.