#002. The Boy on the Scrap Heap (2)
The rain, which had been falling in scattered drops, transformed into a violent downpour that hammered against the world.
Swoosh─
Every impurity in Sector 50 was swept away.
The grime caked on dilapidated buildings.
The bloodstains and mud marks stubbornly clinging to the streets.
Even the razor-sharp resentments festering among those at society’s bottom were momentarily rinsed clean.
Gurgle.
Gurgle.
Filth-laden rainwater gushed into sewers before merging with the Elton River cutting through Sector 50. The winding river branched into tributaries, one flowing to the sector’s lowest point beneath a bridge. There, flanking the passageway under the arches, hung a tattered tarp shelter.
“Hey, Ray. Perfect timing? Almost got drenched, huh?”
A boy inside remarked as Ray—ash-haired and newly arrived—shook rainwater from his clothes. The blood splatter from flooring Ron earlier had already washed away.
Under the dim glow of a lamp, children of varying ages huddled. Ray settled into a spot as Pail, their leader, addressed the group:
“How’d everyone fare today?”
They emptied their pockets—dirt-crusted coins, crumpled bills, canned goods, biscuits, grocery vouchers—all scavenged from shoe-shining, newspaper hawking, and begging. Ray produced his haul, dwarfing the others’ combined spoils.
“Whoa! Ray-hyung’s the best!”
“You traded scrap with the golem again? They never take my stuff...”
Ray stayed silent. Only he knew the golem accepted only magic items with residual mana—a fact obvious because he alone in Sector 50 could see mana. He’d learned early that differences bred trouble, not advantage.
“Thanks to Ray, we’ll stave off hunger today,” Pail declared, gathering the money. “I’ll stash this. Tomorrow we’ll buy food. Let’s split what we have now.”
As Pail distributed rations starting with the youngest, Ray quietly rose. There’d never be enough. He settled by the tarp’s entrance.
Gurgle.
His stomach growled. He ignored it. For slum boys, physique meant survival—better the growing kids ate. Their odds were dismal anyway. Luck might make them third-rate gang lackeys or bullet sponges.
Gurgle.
Yet Ray owed them. A life debt.
“Look! Someone’s here!”
That winter day, frostbitten and collapsing in the snow, these children had dragged him under the bridge. Thawed his frozen limbs. Used mysterious, costly medicine on his feet.
Dying then wouldn’t have been so bad.
But lacking reasons to live or die, he’d stayed. For a boy numb to emotions, repaying debts—gratitude or vengeance—became his creed. Hence a year of providing for them.
“……”
Ray glanced over. Pail still doled out food. Inside the children’s chests, colorful mana flickered like fireflies—appearing, vanishing, playing hide-and-seek.
His second reason for staying: observing emotions through mana’s dance. Pail and the others radiated more vivid shifts than anyone he’d met. Their swirling mana hues satisfied him—the sole fascination in his detached existence.
“Ray. Take your share.”
These kids didn’t treat him as a monster. Just an odd, emotionally blunt boy.
Pail sat beside him. Same age, same ragged life.
“You gathered most of this.”
Ray had once thought their kindness transactional. But time proved otherwise—they treated him as human.
“Not hungry.”
Gurgle.
“Your stomach disagrees.”
“……”
He accepted half a biscuit. They chewed in silence, watching rain curtain the tarp’s entrance.
Swoosh──
“Know what?” Pail ventured.
“Hm?”
“This rain—it’s black.”
“Yeah.”
“They say mages cause it. Using too much magic.”
“...”
“Lower-numbered sectors have mages. People say.”
Mages—mythical mana-wielders. No one in Sector 50 had seen one.
“Maybe,” Ray said flatly.
“But golems exist! They have to be magic!”
Ray secretly agreed. When golems moved, ambient mana clustered into their cores, mixing into black smoke that rose skyward. That smoke and this black rain? Connected.
The downpour eased slightly—still heavy, but manageable. Dusk approached, ideal for movement.
“Hey! Where you going?” Pail shouted as Ray pulled on a weathered raincoat.
“Checking the river. If it overflows, the tarp floods.”
Zipped up and hooded, Ray slipped out before protests could follow.
Swoosh─
He left the shelter behind, scaling the embankment into alleys. Empty streets—shops closed early on black rain days. Tales claimed it caused illness; prolonged exposure blackened organs. Sector 50’s soil bore dark stains as proof.
Tat-tat-tat!
Inky droplets drummed his coat. None touched his face—a hair-thin blue barrier clung to his skin. By blending specific mana hues from the air, he’d formed this shield. The “magic” others whispered about.
Crossing from 17th to 18th Street, he entered Hector’s territory. The sector’s two major gangs—Niles’ Black-Hairs and limping Hector’s crew—divided these slums.
Reaching the outskirts, Ray spotted two wire-fenced structures: a supply warehouse and guard post. On rainy days, guards gambled indoors.
He crept through overgrowth to a breached fence section. Months of applying concrete dissolver between bricks had created a child-sized hole.
Darkness engulfed him inside.
Fwoosh!
A flame sparked in his palm—another “spell.” By mixing mana colors, he could conjure light or levitate objects. Reds were temperamental; perhaps feeling corresponding emotions would strengthen such magic.
The flicker revealed shelves stacked with crates. Ray grabbed four large cans from a corner—enough for two days. Greed risked detection.
Thud-thud-thud!
Footsteps. He extinguished the flame and twisted aside.
Swish─!
A blade grazed his cheek.
“Missed?!”
“Fuckin’ useless!”
“The rat stealing our supplies finally shows!”
Three voices. Hector’s men, night-vision equipped, lunged from behind pillars.
Swish!
Ray dodged serpentine knife strikes. They tracked him perfectly—advanced gear from Hector’s recent arms haul. Preparing for war.
“How’s this brat dodging?!”
“Aim better, dipshit!”
Ray’s eyes glinted. In the blackness, he saw their mana—angry reds, panicked greens—flowing through vessels. Predicting moves like reading a roadmap.
Crack!
An elbow to a gut. A knife clattered.
“He knows our positions!”
Bodies fell. Ray turned to flee—
KABOOM!
Lightning flashed as the door burst open. A long shadow stretched across the warehouse floor.
