Fear 1

"Is it always this rainy?"

Uriel shuddered. His clothes were drenched and heavily laden with water, the school shirt and pants he'd had on when UP was evacuated during Sitan's rampage across Manila. The only other thing he had on at the time was his bag, filled with notebooks and books that were now wet and useless from the rain. Goosebumps formed across his skin. And he could not stop himself from shaking.

The cold, howling winds did not help.

The thin old man across him rumbled and nodded. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed above them. Thick dark clouds loomed overhead. In the distance, the largest and most populous city in the entire world seemed akin to a jungle of concrete and towering structures. The briny smell of the sea and the strong scent of fish permeated the air. They were in the docks of Proxis' 15th ward, the place where most refugees were sent to. "It'd be a cold day in hell, before Proxis sees a whole day without even a light drizzle. It's always raining here, kid."

Uriel nodded and took a single step forward towards the person in front of him. He stood at a long line - fellow refugees, the lot of them. He saw Filipinos and Japanese alike, though there were plenty of other nationalities here as well. They'd lined up for free food and lodgings, given to them for free by the proud city of Proxis, in exchange for them renouncing their previous countries and becoming citizens. To an immigrant who'd lost everything, like himself, the deal was better than anything. At the end of the line was a large, metal booth, where cauldrons boiled and bubbled; free soup and fish stew were given out in large, rectangular containers.

The Philippine government was still reeling from the chaos of the superhumans. Its military had fallen apart, alongside the entirety of the senate and the administration. The whole country looked as though it was just about ready to fall apart, like so many others.

Uriel breathed in and sighed. He'd never been a big fan of fish. His grandmother often cooked fried fish whenever she could afford them. Fish was, strangely enough, more expensive than pork and chicken, which made little sense in his head, but the price tags - as he remembered them - did not lie. But food, no matter what form it took or in what style it's cooked, was always welcome.

"You're from the Philippines?" The old man suddenly asked. Uriel turned his head and nodded. He received, in turn, a grimace from the old man, who glanced away towards the looming city. "How old are you?"

His hands shook from the cold. In the distance, behind him, the waves roared as they crashed into the shoreline. The massive barge that took him and the other refugees here had already taken off to Japan. In a few days, a few hundred more refugees would probably arrive. For a moment, Uriel wondered how many of them were the same age as him, and how many of them would be younger. He recalled the screams of the children in the streets, right before Sitan burned down half of Manila. His voice broke as he spoke, "I'm fifteen; I was a highschool student, before... well... before everything."

"You're too young to be here," The old man shook his head, before glancing at the long line of refugees. "Most of you are too young to be here."

Uriel could only nod in agreement. Most of the refugees were young people - dead-eyed teenagers and children. Proxis, for all its riches and prestige, was also otherwise known as the City of Tyrants, the home of thieves and murderers; the city-state was only barely kept afloat by its wealth, a large fraction of which was dedicated to keeping the lower masses happy and content. "They- we have no choice in the matter. If I stayed in the Philippines, I'd be hungry and homeless. I'd rather take my chances here."

"This city will take everything you have and more," The old man muttered off cryptically. "You can count on that to happen, boy."

Before Uriel could utter a reply, the old man walked off, dragging his feet as he did. Uriel noted the bottle of alcohol, whose neck was nudged between the old man's fingers. He shook his head and glanced away. The line was long, but it moved at a steady pace. The cold was bracing and deeply uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn't endure. He'd lived through worse. A little bit of rain and harsh winds was nothing.

Eventually, after half an hour or so of constant waiting, it was his turn. A worker offered him a flat metal tray, with several bowls and plates, and another worker dumped a load of steamed fish into said bowls - the process having taken less than a minute. After that, a white keycard was given to him, upon which his name and address were written. The worker gave a brief, but thorough, explanation that it was the key to his new home in the city - losing it meant he'd be homeless in a city of criminals.

Uriel made his way to the canteen, where the other refugees gathered and ate in silence. The rain couldn't reach them there, but the place was cramped and filthy. It was a massive warehouse that'd been cleared out and filled with numerous tables and chairs, most of which were rickety and broken. There was a public restroom on the far end and a clinic on the opposite side of it, where another line was formed, though much shorter than the line for food. There were hundreds and hundreds of people here, some having formed their own groups, while others lingered by themselves, eating quietly in the corners.

Uriel glanced around for a moment, eyeing the various people as they moved about, eyes wide but empty. He didn't recognize anyone in the crowd. There were a few Filipinos here and there, but he didn't know any of them.

"Uriel?!" He turned, startled by the sudden and familiar voice. Standing just a few feet from him was Alexis Digal. Her eyebags were dark and her eyes appeared harrowed. Her hair was wet and damp, and she still wore their school uniform. She was carrying a metal tray, just like him. But she'd clearly arrived first. She was one of the most beautiful girls in the campus. Now, she looked the same as he did, as everyone else did - dreadful, pale, and soaked.

They weren't exactly friends, but neither were they enemies. They knew each other and often worked together on a few assignments and projects here and there, but nothing more. She was probably the smartest person in their batch. She'd greet him a good morning whenever they passed each other by in the hallways in the morn, and he'd greet her back. They were friendly acquaintances at best.

"Alexis?" Uriel said. Of all his classmates, Alexis Digal might've been the last person he'd expected would end up in Proxis. She was Miss Perfect, the Class President, the Number One in everything; there's no way she'd willingly come to the City of Tyrants. "Why are you here? I thought you had family outside of Manila?"

Alexis gave him a tired look. Her darkened eyes screamed for her. And Uriel knew right then what happened. He sighed and walked towards her. "I'm sorry for asking. Do you want to eat together? Everyone's grouping up."

The girl nodded and smiled faintly. She turned and gestured towards a far off table that nobody was using. "There's a free spot over there; it should be good for the two of us."

Uriel nodded. His stomach growled and grumbled.

They walked in silence, passing the other refugees on their way. They set their trays on the table once they reached it and sat down on the chairs that seemed to buckle under their lithe weight. The chairs did not break, however, despite all the noise they made. Uriel eyed the bowl of fish stew and the other bowl of... more of the same thing, but with less fish and more soup. He grabbed a spoon and took a small sip. His eyes widened slightly. It was a lot tastier than he'd expected. The broth was rich with fat and collagen, and seemed to wrap around his tongue as he swallowed. He tasted garlic and green onions, but the flavor they left behind was faint at best.

A ravenous hunger overcame him and Uriel threw away the spoon and drank directly from the bowl.

How long has it been since he's last eaten anything?

He wasn't sure.

He slurped down the soup and ate the fish. It was already deboned, which was nice. Uriel wasn't even sure what sort of fish it was - only that its flesh was soft and mildly sweet.

Alexis did the same across him, hungrily gulping down her meal with an almost reckless abandon. Tears streamed from her eyes as she ate.

Uriel paused for a moment, having eaten most of the food on his tray by that point. There was nothing to wipe his mouth with, so he simply ran a forearm over his lips.

He breathed out a tired breath of air. He felt tired - more tired than he'd ever been in his entire life. His body was exhausted, but - more than that - his soul was worn down. His sister was dead. His mother was dead. He had no one. He was no one. And he had nothing.

And then, tears begun streaming from his eyes.