Something Real

The smoke had become a permanent feature of the skyline.

What used to be Capitol Sector—once the administrative heart of the city—was now little more than ash and echo. Fires spread block by block, unchecked, licking at the steel bones of empty towers. Riots had turned from outbursts to routine, as common as the morning food lines. Entire neighborhoods burned because someone didn't get their ration card, or because the wrong emblem was painted on a wall. No one even remembered how the violence started—it just was, like the air, like hunger.

Kade moved through the ruins like a shadow. His cloak, singed and ragged, blended with the ash-flecked air. He stayed close to the old sewer routes beneath the Market Commons, popping up only when necessary. Above ground, chaos reigned. The tribal colors were everywhere—red scarves, yellow sashes, black armbands—each group claiming some ideology they barely understood, passed down like scripture from failed influencers and disgraced former officials.

Tonight, the red-scarved faction had set fire to the Bureau of Food Distribution. A statement, they claimed. But all it did was leave tens of thousands without even powdered protein for the week. The crowd cheered as the building collapsed in on itself, unaware they’d sealed their own fate. The politicians would spin the story by dawn—blame it on rival factions, call for new restrictions, more surveillance.

Kade wasn’t watching the blaze for spectacle. He was looking for someone.

Among the howling mobs and crumbling concrete, there were still a few who hadn’t given in. He had word that a teacher from Old Midtown had survived—the kind who taught real history, not state-mandated fiction. Someone brave enough to still use the word “truth” like it mattered.

He ducked behind a toppled monument to the Unity Party—its faceplate torn off, graffiti scrawled across its chest: WE SEE YOU. A good sign. His contact was close.

A child ran past, barefoot, clutching a can of stolen food. No older than ten. Behind her, two enforcers in black armor sprinted in pursuit. They didn’t care about the can. They never did. It was about the message: no one took without permission.

Kade threw a chunk of rubble across the street, drawing their attention. When they turned, the girl vanished into an alleyway. The enforcers shouted and gave chase to the wrong shadow. Good enough.

Sirens wailed, but no one flinched anymore. They were background noise now, like the flickering lights and distant screams. The city wasn’t falling—it had already fallen. They just hadn’t buried it yet.

And as it smoldered, Kade kept moving. Not to escape, but to find others like him. Builders. Thinkers. Carriers of memory.

Because somewhere in this burning graveyard of a civilization, he still believed something could rise again.

Something real.