DIVINE.EXE: Ascension Protocol

Ryker Vale walked toward school with his hood pulled low.

The fabric clung to the back of his neck, damp from the rainfall of the previous day. His shoulders curved forward, not from fatigue, but from habit. Standing straight invites attention. Attention always comes with a cost.

His eyes stayed on the pavement. Cracks passed beneath his feet in uneven lines. He followed them without thinking, in a constant rhythm. Rhythm that kept his thoughts from drifting to places he didn’t like. Thinking about where he was going made it easier not to think about where he was.

Traffic hissed beside him, tires cutting through wet streets. Towers loomed overhead, their walls alive with shifting screens—ads for luxury housing, genetic upgrades, private academies. Futures he would never touch. Students moved in clusters, loud and careless, bumping shoulders, laughing too hard.

Ryker moved through them without friction. No one made space for him, no one pushed him either. Being ignored was cleaner.

A few steps from the school, laughter rose behind him.

At first it was distant. Then it sharpened, growing closer, feeding on itself. Ryker didn’t turn. Turning meant eye contact. Eye contact meant escalation. He didn’t need to look to know who it was meant for.

He kept walking with his hands buried inside his sleeves. Head down. Breath measured. He repeated the same thought he always did. If he ignored it long enough, it would pass. They would grow bored. Find someone louder. Someone who actually fought back.

They never did.

Something cut through the air. The impact came fast and sideways. A football slammed into the side of Ryker’s head, snapping his vision white. His balance disappeared instantly. He went down hard, shoulder and hip cracking against the pavement. Pain bloomed sharp, then spread into a heavy ringing that swallowed everything else.

His palms scraped concrete as he tried to steady himself. The world tilted. Then the laughter crashed down on him—loud, open, surrounding him whole. Someone clapped. Another whistled. The sound bounced off the buildings and multiplied.

“Did you see that?”

Ryker stayed where he was. His skull throbbed. His teeth pressed together hard enough to ache. Standing too fast would make him dizzy. Standing at all would invite more.

“What’s he gonna do now?”

Another voice answered immediately. Calm. Amused. “Nothing. He’s useless.”

Laughter erupted again.

Ryker swallowed and breathed through his nose. Slow. Controlled. He counted until the ringing softened enough for sound to separate again.

A shadow fell across him.

When he looked up, Damon Clark stood there like the world had arranged itself for him. Clean clothes. Dry shoes. Not a mark out of place. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t excited.

He was entertained.

People always adjusted around Damon without realizing it. Teachers leaned closer when he spoke. Students stepped aside without being asked. It wasn’t fear. It was gravity.

“Hey,” Damon said, crouching slightly. He held out a hand. “You okay?”

The concern almost sounded real. That was what made it dangerous.

Ryker hesitated. Some small, stupid part of him still believed kindness could appear without warning. That sometimes a hand was just a hand. That humiliation didn’t always have a second act.

He lifted his arm.

Damon’s fist came down instead.

The punch cracked against Ryker’s cheek. Pain detonated across his face. His head snapped back. For a fraction of a second, the world stalled. The laughter didn’t stop. It stretched even bigger, voices warped and dragging, like sound moving through water.

Something coiled tight behind Ryker’s eyes, hot and restless, like a thought that wasn’t his.

Stand up.

The urge came sharp and violent. Not desperate. Not afraid. A certain feeling slammed behind his ribs.

Ryker clenched his fists into the pavement and forced the feeling down. He crushed it the way he crushed everything else. The pressure receded. Sound snapped back into place.

“Oh,” Damon said lightly. “Sorry. My bad.”

Laughter burst out behind him, relieved, eager.

Damon offered his hand again.

Ryker didn’t move.

Blood filled his mouth, metallic and warm. He swallowed it without a sound.

Damon tilted his head, studying him, then smiled—and punched him again. Harder this time.

His knuckles split Ryker’s lip. Light flashed. His breath tore out of him as he hit the ground once more.

“Do you ever learn?” Damon asked.

The boys behind him laughed until some of them doubled over, gasping, hands on their knees. Damon straightened, satisfied, and walked away like the moment was already over.

No one helped Ryker up.

He stayed down long enough for the laughter to fade. Then he pushed himself to his feet alone. One side of his face burned. His jaw ached. He brushed dirt from his hoodie and kept walking.

Whispers followed him through the school gates.

Classes blurred together. Voices. Chalk. Screens lighting up, then going dark. Ryker sat at his desk with his head lowered, eyes unfocused. His body stayed in place. His mind stayed somewhere quieter.

When the final bell rang, he stood immediately and left, slipping into the crowd before anyone could remember him.

The coffee shop where he worked was warm and dim. The air smelled like old beans and sugar. Ryker tied his apron and went to work. Cups lined up. Machines hummed. Orders came and went.

Here, his effort mattered.

The door chimed.

Tricia stepped inside, rain clinging to her jacket. She smiled when she saw him. It wasn’t forced.

“You look rough,” she said.

“Normal day,” Ryker replied.

She studied his face longer than most people dared. “You shouldn’t let them do that to you.”

He shrugged. “Not really my choice.”

“It is,” she said softly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

They talked about nothing important—school, weather, how Gastrok City always felt too large and too close at the same time. Before she left, she mentioned she’d been accepted into a program overseas. Said she’d be leaving soon.

Ryker congratulated her. He meant it.

When she stood, she handed him her umbrella and walked out without waiting.

Rain struck the windows harder after that.

His phone rang.

Catalina’s name flashed on the screen.

He answered immediately.

“Ryker,” she said. Her voice was calm in a way that made his chest tighten. “Dad’s home. Mom’s bleeding. There’s a lot of blood.”

The words didn’t land all at once.

“What?” Ryker said, already reaching for his jacket.

“He has a knife,” Catalina continued. “I think he stabbed her.”

Ryker dropped the phone on the counter and ran.

His boss shouted after him, confusion turning to anger, but Ryker didn’t slow down. The rain soaked him through in seconds as he burst outside. His heart slammed painfully with every step.

Please, he thought.

Please don’t let me be too late.