The city's chaos wrapped around Riley and Thom as they journeyed toward the housing office, their footsteps lost in the steady hum of life around them. Digital billboards flickered overhead, advertising sleek upgrades and glamorous InfiNet adventures, but neither boy paid them much attention. They moved in silence. The occasional gusts of icy wind stung their faces, pushing them closer to the buildings for warmth. The orphanage was behind them now, and the reality of what lay ahead was starting to sink in.
The Government Housing Office appeared just a few blocks away, its gray, Orwellian structure standing against the vibrant cityscape like a bruise. Riley couldn't help but smirk faintly at the proximity. "Figures they didn't want us wandering too far," he muttered, his breath visible in the cold air.
Thom glanced at him, but his expression didn't shift. "Efficient," he said, his voice flat. "That's what they'd call it."
They stepped inside together, the cold replaced by the dry, sterile atmosphere of the office. The space was a familiar shade of bureaucratic gray, with rows of worn chairs under fluorescent lights. A machine by the door dispensed numbered tickets, its soft mechanical whir the only sound cutting through the low murmur of the other occupants.
Riley took a number and handed the next one to Thom. "Might as well get comfortable," he said, gesturing to a pair of open chairs in the corner.
The two sat down, their bags resting at their feet. Riley leaned back in his chair, watching the room with idle curiosity while Thom stared intently at his ticket, fidgeting with its edges.
"Feels like a waiting room for something worse," Riley said, his voice light but strained.
Thom didn't look up. "You mean, like the rest of our lives?"
Riley huffed out a laugh, though it lacked humor. "Yeah. Something like that."
They fell quiet after that, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. Riley tapped absently on the screen mounted to the back of the chair before him, flipping through a digital brochure of government services. It felt pointless, but it gave him something to do.
The chime above them dinged softly, and Riley's number flashed on the monitor. He nudged Thom with his elbow. "Guess it's my turn."
Thom nodded without a word, his gaze still fixed on his own ticket. Riley picked up his bag and shuffled to the counter, where a tired-looking attendant waited behind a plexiglass barrier. The exchange was quick and impersonal. Riley scanned his ID, answered a few curt questions, and received a small government-issued communicator along with instructions for reaching his assigned residence.
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"You're heading to Tower 7c, Eastern District," the attendant said, her voice monotone. "Basic accommodations. Check your communicator for details."
Riley mumbled a thank you and turned away while clutching the communicator. He rejoined Thom in the waiting area, dropping into the seat with a faint groan. "Tower 7c," he said, holding up the device. "Looks like the Eastern District's stuck with me."
Thom's number was called a few moments later. He stood, his movements stiff, and he headed to the counter. Riley watched as his friend went through the same motions—scan, questions, communicator—before returning with his own set of instructions.
"Tower 3b," Thom said quietly, holding up his communicator. "West side."
Riley blinked. "So… that's it, then?"
"Looks like it." Thom shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Different directions."
They sat there for a moment, neither one sure what to say. Riley finally stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Guess we better get going."
Thom followed behind as Riley stepped into the cold night air. The sleet had picked up, the storm intensifying as they reached the street corner where their paths would split. Riley hesitated, pulling his communicator from his pocket.
"Hey," he said, holding it out. "Let's swap numbers. I don't want to have to wonder what happened to you."
Thom looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."
They exchanged details, the devices pinging softly as the contact info transferred. Thom pocketed his communicator and smirked faintly. "I'll let you know when I hit it big."
Riley snorted. "You better. And if I end up famous first, I'm gonna rub it in your face."
"Deal," Thom said.
"Take care of yourself," Riley added, his voice softening.
"You too," Thom replied.
They lingered for a moment longer before Thom turned and headed west.
Riley watched as Thom disappeared into the storm, his figure swallowed by the swirling sleet. For a fleeting second, Riley thought of calling out—but the words wouldn't come. The empty street stretched before him, more frigid than the night air.
Then he pulled his jacket tighter against the cold and started walking east, his steps quickening as he made for Tower 7c.
By the time Riley reached his new home, the storm had fully settled in. Sleet pelted the streets, turning them slick and reflective under the dim streetlights. The building rose like a blocky fortress against the sky, its exterior a mix of weathered concrete and rust-streaked metal. A faded government crest was barely visible near the entrance, its edges chipped away by time and neglect.
Riley pushed through the heavy metal doors, stepping into a dimly lit lobby. The air was thick with the scent of damp concrete, grease, and faint traces of smoke. The floor was a mishmash of activity. The echoes of children bounced off the walls as they darted across the open space. A group of teenagers argued loudly near a broken vending machine, and a few adults loitered near the edges of the room. Their eyes followed Riley briefly before returning to their own concerns.
The elevator sat at the center of the tower's hollow core, its glass walls streaked with grime but still offering a clear view of the building's interior. Riley approached it hesitantly, pressing the button for Floor 13. The doors slid open with a low hiss, and he stepped inside, clutching his bag tightly as the doors closed behind him.
