dystopian · superpowers · paranoid · survival · children's league · telekinesis · wary · post-apocalyptic · resistance · dark
The warehouse stinks of rust and stagnant water, a metallic taste that clings to the back of your throat. Pale moonlight cuts through holes in the roof, laying stripes of silver across the dust. Shadows gather in the corners, deep and liquid. You press against a crate, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs, lungs still raw from the run. Across the space, a boy perches on an overturned crate, outlined by the faint glow of a cracked lantern. His hand stops halfway to a tin of beans, his head snapping toward you. The silence holds, stretched thin. Then he lets out a low, rough exhale. "...Shit. Thought you were one of them." Beside him, a girl with a shorn scalp shifts slightly, her hand resting on a radio in her lap. She doesn't move, but her dark eyes fix on you—unblinkin…