1 I — Dreams

Within the streets of the city of Morpheus, there was one rule and one rule only. That rule was —

— the strong rule over the weak.

That's right. You've probably heard such words before — uttered softly in reverence when speaking of a world as vile as could be. Tales told of bullies and CEOs and powers aren't exactly uncommon where you're from.

In a way, this is one such world. In many others, it was as far from it as it could possibly be.

"The strong rule over the weak," the world repeated, painting the words into subway walls and tenement halls, spreading them in blood and ink across thousands of pages and the concrete floor of a demolished building.

Two hundred years ago — the blessings known as [Systems] descended into the hands of humankind. Crystals of purified power given form and orders, power at its most logical and progressive. A bastardisation of effort — a [System] was the transformation of everything that made up someone's essence transformed into both a power, a ruleset, and a collar.

And with these blessings came an angel — A beautiful, pure winged creature that descended from the skies in the middle of New York.

Everyone saw it — those who were far had their minds brought to witness it like ghosts. Those who were comatose were awakened by its holy light and given force to live again. Those who were dying were healed to witness its message of clarity.

In truth — it was as horrifying as it was beautiful. Rings of liquid fire came from and into the androgynous humanoid's body, and its long, golden hair seemed to be made of actual gold. Though it had a human silhouette and a beautiful face attached to its neck, two other heads floated on each side, one enraged and one in bliss.

And from all three heads came a single warning, uttered in urgency and grief alike.

"God," said the angel, "has decided to abandon you." The angel paused, looking down at the masses beneath its feet. "Having witnessed the carnage you birthed unto the world, having witnessed the cruelty you brought upon your fellow man, God has decided that man was corrupted to the core by sins of their own making. I come to you now with a final act of kindness — a fraction of the powers that the heavens possess, that you may wield it as you have every other power you've been granted, for all the good that will make you."

And the masses were stunned into silence because judgement had been cast — truly and undeniably cast — for the first time since the beginning of time. Cruel men and kind men, good men and brave men, all found themselves shaken into the same disbelieving fear as words that rang true in their hearts were uttered to be marked into history forever.

"We leave, now, to search for kindness elsewhere in the universe — but I beg of you, treat this as a test and not a parting gift. Though God's anger is great, he is sure to return if you prove you can wield such powers without casting the world into torture and damnation. Those are my lasts words — our last words — for you, O mankind."

And with that, God's light was gone — vanished into nothing as if the angel had never been there in the first place. And in its place, a deep, unsettling feeling of emptiness, as if something had been taken from you that you never quite realized you'd owned.

Had mankind passed the test? Well… I'm sure you know the answer to that question.

No.

The City of Morpheus was only one out of dozens of similar cities — Kingdoms built and conquered by the strong with the sole purpose of waging war and exerting their power over one another. Places beyond the laws of normal men, where not even the United Nations dated venture —

Places where the weak weren't just abused — they were cattle and they were slaves.

"Move, runt!"

Carter was one of the said weaklings, unfortunately.

The whip came into his back with a harsh cracking noise, and the 16-year old boy bit his lip not to cry in pain, lest he risk entertaining the patron further. Steeling his guts and sharpening his wit, he bit back all of the acidic remarks that had flowed into the very tip of his tongue, nodded, and continued pushing the iron cart through the streets of Morpheus, heading for a nearby warehouse.

The collar around his neck made his skin itch violently — a sign. It wasn't uncommon for someone to eventually injure themselves and end up dying in attempts to sate that itch. The wise knew, however, that such was a fool's endeavour; the itch was not physical as much as it was spiritual, a projection of discomfort caused by repression.

Morpheus's Grasp — that was the name of the collard each of them wore around their necks. Contrary to what you'd expect, each was a beautiful work of art, with purple gemstones on the back and the front and little runic spirals drawn along its width. What it did was simple: when placed around the neck of a newborn, it would leech the energy known as [Mana] from their bodies, effectively nullifying the gifts given by the angels. And if he happened to harvest such Mana later and become stronger while doing it… well, what a shame that would be.

It was created some eighty years ago by the man who went on to conquer the land now known as Morpheus — at first, it was simply intended to stop the children of one of the Founder's rivals from developing the power needed to seek revenge. With time, however, as it became easier to mass-produce the collars, the increasingly insane Founder saw another use for his creation — the implementation of an undeniable hierarchy.

Morpheus wasn't particularly small, but there was a limit to its resources — therefore, each family was only allowed, one child. If a second child were to be born, they were to be 'locked up' and given to Morpheus' self-named Emperor… where they essentially became, well, slaves. And, of course, any child a slave had was to be chained as well.

That's it — a whole bucket of exposition. All of that to explain why it might be a bad idea to try and sate his itching neck. So, with a resigned — and silent — sigh, Carter kept pushing, and he kept at it until the cart had been properly loaded and his 'owner' for the day gave him the okay to leave.

If you're asking — no, he wasn't paid. Instead, his payment was continuing to live 'freely', without having his organs harvested or becoming someone's, eh, erotic pastime aid. And, as he did at the end of every day, Carter no-name headed back to the one place where those like him were welcomed.

The Morpheus Mines. That was where all of those who were Bound (with a capital B) were required to sleep and sometimes work. But it was also the only place in Morpheus where no System-bearers (or Patrons, as the more submissive-natured Bound called them) after a certain time, which might as well be the only protective measure taken in favour of the Bound.

Of course, he had to get there first, which meant sneaking. Thankfully, Carter knew the streets like the back of his hand, and the Mines were only a few minutes away from his current position. With that thought in mind, he stuck to alleyways and shadows and was careful not to make noise until he finally got there.

The gate to the mines itself was rarely empty, of course — too many saw the chance to torment people who thought they'd escaped their gate for the night enticing or simply found themselves in need of immediate services. It wasn't really illegal to do anything other than killing someone who was Bound, so their chances were pretty good.

Thankfully, there was a smaller, less-known entrance on the side, through the single emergency exit from the tunnels that made up the mines. Since the Bound weren't stupid, those who knew of it quickly made sure to cover up the entrance with trash cans and large crates and whatever else they could find — the only rule was that you couldn't tell anyone without the permission of the man they called Grandfather.

Speaking of the Grandfather… Carter opened the door slowly and squeezed himself in. Then, as it clicked shut and he heard the constant humming of the Mines, he announced:

"I'm home!"

This was routine — something that happened every single day, with no exceptions. And just like every other day, out came the Grandfather from the hallway to the right, looking just as odd as he'd always looked, with a long red kimono and a strangle black fedora with a feather on it.

No one really knew how the Grandfather had gotten his hands on such items — and no one dared ask. And since the man was confined to the mines, after all, no System-bearer had the chance to really take them from him. Attacking someone in the mines was stupid even for a System-bearer; unless you were in the upper echelons of the Power Rankings, a Shiv to the ribs would hurt, powers or no.

"Welcome, welcome, Carter!" The man greeted him, fixing his only working eye on Carter's face. Then, he frowned. "Hard day?"

Carter lifted a hand to gingerly touch a few fingers to a bruise on his cheek. It wasn't anything too bad; Carter was usually good enough a speaker to get himself out of particularly bad situations, which didn't mean he wasn't roughed up a bit here and there.

"Eh, kinda." He shrugged. "You know how it is."

"I do indeed," the man agreed, with the usual twinkle in his eye.

Grandfather's name was Chihiro Ilfen, but no one really called him that. To everyone, he was Grandfather — the oldest bound living, at a staggering 79 years of age. Considering the life expectancy was in the 20s for them, it was really quite impressive.

Grandfather was the one who educated most of them, with help from the ones who'd grown older. It was thanks to him that they learned how to read, write, fight and run away. In a way, Grandfather was the one responsible for their survival in the brutal city of Morpheus.

Carter and Grandfather were particularly close — the man had told him once that he saw in Carter a spark not many possessed, and Carter enjoyed hearing the man's many made-up tales

"Well," Grandfather said, "you must be tired. Why don't you go to sleep? Your rations are in your room as well."

"Yeah, maybe I will," Carter agreed. It'd been a busy day, if not a particularly traumatizing one. Though used to the effort, his body wasn't quite built for continuous effort… or, rather, it would be if he wasn't malnourished, but alas, you hardly pick the hand you're dealt in life.

As for their rooms… Well, calling them 'rooms' was a little disingenuous, as most things regarding the Bound tended to be. They were little corners in the Mines you slept in; it was up to you to grab whatever wood you could scavenge outside or inside and build walls around it if you'd like the extra privacy. Carter's was near the deepest part of the mine, a few hundred feet downstairs and by a pathway they'd abandoned once more crystals were found elsewhere.

He returned to his quarters and, without sparing as much of a glance to his locked chest or the rations laid near it, collapsed. He was already snoring before the clock ticked away a minute.

For Carter, that day had been just a normal day.

Unfortunately, the night would hardly be as simple.