And then Thom's name was called, causing the room to hold its breath. He didn't move at first. Small and wiry, with a mop of brown hair that perpetually fell into his eyes, Thom looked more like he wanted to disappear than step into the pod. His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt as if trying to wring water out of fabric that wasn't wet.

  "Come on, Thom," someone whispered from the crowd.

  He rose hesitantly, his steps slow and uneven as he shuffled toward the LiteNet Pod. The younger orphans, who had whispered excitedly during Marcus's turn, were now silent. Thom's wide eyes darted nervously toward the evaluators, who showed no signs of acknowledgment. They rarely showed anything.

  The pod doors opened, and Thom climbed inside. The display flickered to life, showing his avatar outfitted in the same standard enforcer gear. But the armor looked oversized on his small frame, and the heavy boots gave him an awkward gait. The baton in his hand seemed far too large, like a tool meant for someone twice his size.

  The countdown began. Three… two… one.

  Thom's avatar materialized on the same battlefield that the others had faced. The shattered remains of the urban environment loomed around him. He took a tentative step forward, the baton clutched tightly in both hands as though it might offer comfort.

  The first adversary appeared, and Thom froze. It sprinted toward him, its faceless form a blur of movement. He raised the baton, his arms trembling, but he swung too late. The blow glanced harmlessly off the enemy's side as it struck back with a calculated hit. Thom stumbled, barely keeping his balance while scrambling backward toward cover.

  One after another, more adversaries appeared. Amid the rising threat, Thom brandished his weapon like a madman. However, his grip slipped, causing his only means of attack to clatter across the ground beneath the frame of a burning car. With as much grit as he could muster, Thom kicked his attacker away before dropping to the asphalt to retrieve his weapon from beneath the flames. Miraculously, he managed to grab it in time to shield himself from a bone-cracking swing from above and squirm away, but the adversaries continued closing in. Their strikes gradually chipped away at his defenses while he evaded in desperation.

  It was painful to watch. Every swing of the baton was hesitant, every movement poorly timed. Thom's avatar survived longer than expected, but not through skill or strategy. His erratic dodges kept him out of reach, but the simulation wasn't designed for endless retreat. The enemies coordinated their attacks, herding him into a corner like an animal. The final blow came swiftly, his avatar collapsing under the weight of their strikes.

  The simulation ended, the battlefield dissolving as his score appeared above the pod. It was the lowest of the day.

  The pod doors opened, and Thom stepped out, his face flushed red, his hands trembling at his sides. He didn't look at the evaluators, who were already turning their attention back to their screens. The younger orphans, who had cheered for Jenna and gossiped about Marcus, sat in awkward silence.

  Thom shuffled back to his bunk in silence, his head bowed, his steps heavy. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his hair falling back into his face.

  Riley leaned back into the shadows of his bunk, watching Thom out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. What could he say? They were both in the same sinking boat, and no amount of reassurance would change that.

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  The evaluators didn't linger after the final test. Their job was done. One by one, they packed their things and disappeared through the hall's side doors, leaving the pod standing alone in the center of the room. The tension in the air didn't part with them. If anything, it deepened as the head of the orphanage, Mr. Hargrove, stepped forward.

  He didn't need to call for attention. Everyone was already looking at him.

  "Alright," he began, his voice flat, unfeeling. "That concludes this session." He scanned the room, clipboard in hand, as though confirming the names in his head before speaking again. "Thom Planck and Riley Bellmorrow. Gather your belongings. You are required to vacate the premises by this evening."

  The words landed like a hammer, each one heavier than the last. Riley's stomach dropped. He'd known this was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

  Mr. Hargrove continued, his tone unchanged. "You will find temporary accommodations at the local government housing office. Directions and details have been loaded into your info packets, which will activate upon your exit. Do not delay. The future waits for no one."

  And with that, he turned and walked away, his polished shoes clicking against the worn tiles. Riley watched him go, feeling a strange hollowness settle into his chest.

  Thom didn't move at first. He just sat there on his bunk, staring at the floor, his hands clenched in his lap. Riley understood the feeling—the weight, the helplessness. It pinned you down like gravity turned up to eleven.

  But they couldn't stay here. Not anymore.

  Riley shifted, pulling his duffel bag out from under the bunk. It wasn't much—a few clothes, a frayed blanket, and an old holopad that only worked when it felt like it. He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to Thom. "Come on," he said, his words quiet but firm. "We've got to go."

  Thom looked up, his eyes red and glassy. He hesitated, then slowly reached for his own bag. It was smaller than Riley's, barely more than a sack, and Riley doubted it held anything of value. Thom stood, shoulders hunched, and he followed Riley toward the door. The other orphans didn't say anything as they passed. A few glanced up, their expressions ranging from pity to indifference, but most kept their heads down.

  The hallway outside felt colder, emptier. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows as the pair walked toward the exit. Riley's steps were steady, but his mind churned with uncertainty. This was it—the end of everything he'd known. Helix Orphanage might have been a dead end, but at least it was familiar. Out there? Out there was a blank slate, a world waiting to chew them up and spit them out.

  They reached the front doors, their imposing frames giving no respite. Riley reached for the worn handle but hesitated. He wondered for a moment how many others before him had been forced to turn these handles for the same reason as him. The number wasn't small. He glanced back at Thom, who was staring at the ground, his bag clutched tightly in both hands.

  "You ready?" Riley asked, though he already knew the answer.

  Thom shrugged. "Not really."

  Riley nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. Me neither."

  He pushed the door open, and the city's noise rushed in—a chaotic blend of voices, engines, and the hum of distant machinery. The orphanage might have been oppressive, but it had been quiet, insulated from the outside world. This was different. This was alive, unpredictable.

  They stepped outside, the late afternoon casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The city stretched before them with towering skyscrapers and bustling streets that seemed to go on forever. It was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its enormity.

  Riley glanced back at the orphanage one last time. It loomed behind them, its windows dark, its walls worn and tired. There was no sadness in leaving it—only a strange, hollow ache. He turned away, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag as he faced the city.

  A faint chime from his info packet broke through the city's noise, displaying his destination in plain, unfeeling text: Government Housing Office, 102 7th St. The words hovered on the screen, clinical and cold against the bustling chaos surrounding him.

  "Guess we better get moving," Riley said, more to himself than to Thom.

  The other boy didn't reply, but he followed as Riley took his first steps into the unknown. The path ahead was uncertain, the weight of failure heavy on their shoulders, but there was no turning back.

  Riley kept walking, one foot in front of the other, the sound of his boots on the pavement blending into the city's relentless rhythm. Whatever came next, he'd face it. He had no other choice.