—7 years ago—

On a grassy hill that overlooked the slums of the lower ring, a boy who couldn't be any older than ten was staring down at the rusty town below. He was very scuffed up, bruises, cuts and scratches peppered his body. He wasn't bleeding, but it was easy to tell he was in pain.

The ceiling above him simulated a night sky, the fake stars shining down on him like they were the real deal.

“I thought I'd find you here zeke” said a girl who came up next to him, she had mint green hair and cerulean eyes that could easily be mistaken for gemstones.

The girl who looked to be about his age, sat beside him. She didn't much care that the grass was itchy and dirty and covered in soot from the lower rings, this was the only Spot in the whole lower ring that had grass, so she was going to savor it.

“you always seem to find me” the boy named Zeke greeted, without turning to face her

“It's not too difficult when you keep coming to the same place.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, slightly dented medical patch.

"You're a magnet for trouble, Zeke," she said softly, her voice smooth. “Was it lucao and his goons again? I'll bet it was lucao”

"Yeah....it was him again." the young boy named Zeke replied with a tired sigh while accepting the medical patch from the girl. He gently applied the patch to his cut leg which hadn't started bleeding yet, but would soon, wincing slightly as it made contact with the scraped and bruised skin.

"They're just a bunch of bullies, always making life harder for the rest of us. Did you know they broke granny xya’s window? Nothing but bullies”

“It's unfair, they're down here with me too, so why am I treated worse than everyone else Just because I don't have a factor like they do”

Amina's expression hardenrd, her fingers curling into fists for a moment before she forces them to relax. The synthetic stars above flicker slightly, casting uneven shadows across her face.

As Zeke and Amina continued to sit on the stained grass, the flickering lights above cast odd shadows across their young faces. The hum of the station's life-support system became a constant, almost soothing background noise.

“

Amina, noticing the fatigue and resignation in Zeke's voice, turned her head to look at him directly. Her warm eyes met his, a mix of concern and empathy reflected in her gaze.

“People are just insecure, being trapped down here, being a bronze tier, they've lived their entire lives being the lowest on the food chain. And then you come along and your even more powerless than them. They're taking a lot out on you to feel better about themselves," she said consolingly. “Don't go crying about it tho, you said your dream was to be like the Olympian right? Well the Olympian wouldn't cry, cause he's the best”

With an exaggerated and playful sigh, Zeke rolled his eyes. Despite his exhaustion and the pain from his injuries, he couldn't help but find humor in Amina's bluntness.

"I'm not crying, Amina," he retorted, attempting to sound tough despite his battered state. "I'm just...venting. There's a difference."

He winced again as he shifted on the grass, his scraped knee protesting against the movement. "And yeah, I still want to be the best, like the Olympian. But it's not easy. He was the strongest man in the world, he actually had a factor, he was the best. How am I supposed to get to that level”

“Hey, you'll always have me, and with me by your side, it should be a piece of cake. You'll be the Olympian before you know it”

—present day—

“For the last time, you've got nothing”

A 17 year old Zeke sat in a sterile white room. a doctor sat in front of him, his eyes staring up at the taller boy.

“year after year you keep coming into my office, and year after year I say the same thing. I think it's time to finally accept that you're not a late bloomer, you're just powerless.” The doctor said,

The boy sighed in resignation, the familiar words weighing on his heart heavy. Every time he came here that was always the answer he would hear, every single time.

“Listen, Zeke, I understand how your life's been, and I understand why you want me to be wrong.. but I'm not, my factor lets me understand the factor of whoever I touch, even if that power was hidden so deep down that you couldn't use it, id still be able to tell. You don't have one”

“Yeah, thank you doctor.” The boy said, tho he clearly wasn't happy about what was said. He walked out of the doctors office and looked around, the hospital had been probably the cleanest place in the lower rings, it's walls were clean, sterile, just fine.

He noticed other people walking through the hospital, some were carrying their children, some were walking alone, they were all dressed in rags and tatters.

It was like everywhere he looked, there were reminders of exactly what he lacked.

Near the triage desk, a mother tiredly snapped her fingers, creating a small, flickering flame to light her husband’s bent cigarette. Further down the hall, a sanitation worker moved a heavy crate of biohazard waste with one hand, his forearm a rocky texture.

To them, it was just life. Even if their factors were weak they still had them, it was just a part of natural life for them.

"Excuse me, kid. Move it or lose it."

A bulky orderly brushed past him, his rocky skin leaving a scratch on his arm after the brush. He just stepped aside, his back hitting the cool, grime-streaked wall.

He quickly made his way out of the hospital, heading to the place he called a house.

The ceiling above him showed a clear cloudless sky, though it shouldn't have been that way, normally it would change to night around this time, but the operators up there probably got lazy.

People brushed past him, ignoring him, doing their own things that he held no interest in.

He was tired, tired of everything, seeing all these rusted zinc houses, cracked walkways and wooden shacks that were falling apart like cardboard. Rusted pipes ran along the buildings like exposed veins, hissing steam into the air.

The slums. That was what the lower rings could best be described as.

He eventually made his way to his home. A dilapidated building with a leaky roof, broken piping and no real furniture

The sound of a leak dripping into a bucket somewhere off to his side filled his ears.

He set his satchel on the floor as he looked around, then sighed and flopped down onto the worn couch, staring up at the ceiling.

The ceiling groaned in response, a patch of damp plaster peeling further as water dripped from above. The boy closed his eyes, but the sigh got stuck in his throat when a rock hit his window.

That was normal. Dumb kids tended to let stones fly whenever they play.

Unfortunately that meant nobody's windows were safe.

He sighed, and pulled out a photo of a smiling girl. Amina.

He placed the photo on a table before pulling a box of scraps out from underneath the couch.

“Alright, time to get to work.”

The boy sorted through the scrap box, pulling out wires, cracked circuit boards, a broken drone eye, and a half-functional power cell.

He worked quietly, fingers moving from muscle memory more than intention.

The boy sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, the photo staying where he placed it. He didn’t look at it again, but he didn’t move it either. It was just… there. A small, quiet presence.

He spread the scraps out on the floor, arranging them into loose piles, metal, wiring, broken casings, anything with even a chance of still working. The power cell he set carefully to one side.

He started with the drone eye.

He turned it over in his hands, rotating it slowly, thumb brushing dust from the cracked lens. One side was dented inward, the casing warped. He frowned slightly, then reached for a thin screwdriver and began prying at the seams.

Click.

The casing opened with a soft snap. Inside, a cluster of fried circuits stared back at him. He removed the damaged board, set it aside, and rummaged through the scrap pile until he found another similar one- less burned, only one corner charred.

He held both boards up, comparing them, then swapped a few components over, soldering carefully with a small handheld tool.

The smell of heated metal filled the room faintly.

He didn’t mind it.

He'd gotten used to this, he's gotten pretty good at this stuff ever since he learned how to do it at 7.

He enjoyed it… probably cause this was all he could do.

Time passed quietly.

The drip from the ceiling continued.

Drip.

He reassembled the drone eye and connected it to the half-functional power cell with a few loose wires. He tapped the casing.

Nothing.

He adjusted the wiring, frowned, then tapped it again.

A faint glow flickered behind the cracked lens.

He exhaled through his nose- not a smile, but something close.

Next, the wiring bundle.

He sorted through them, untangling knots, testing conductivity with a small handheld meter. A few he tossed aside immediately. Others he stripped and twisted together, reinforcing weak points with electrical tape scavenged from old packaging.

His movements were smooth, practiced. He’d done this hundreds of times before. He was a master…

Now If only he could master something that had worth. Unfortunately no matter how much he worked on this stuff, his mind would always go back to factors and whatnot. He didn't need to be told. He'd long since known… that he was a loser

He picked up the broken circuit boards and began pulling off usable components — resistors, capacitors, microchips — placing them neatly into a small container he kept by the couch.

When the container filled, he slid it aside and reached for a cracked casing from an old data pad.

He fitted the repaired drone eye into the casing, adjusting the interior supports until it sat snugly. Then he mounted the power cell inside, securing it with a strip of metal and a few screws.

He connected the wiring.

He pressed the activation switch.

The device hummed softly.

A small beam of light projected onto the

wall, slightly unfocused but steady.

He watched it for a moment, then nodded to himself and powered it down.

He leaned back slightly, stretching his fingers, then picked up the photo from the table and wiped a bit of dust off its surface with his sleeve before setting it back down.

He didn’t speak.

He just went back to work.

The room stayed quiet.

The station groaned faintly.

The light outside flickered.

And the boy kept fixing things.

The boy finished tightening the last screw and set the device aside with the others he’d repaired that morning- a small pile, but enough to sell.

He packed everything carefully into his satchel: the repaired drone eye, a power coupler, a jury-rigged signal booster, and a few spare components he hadn’t used. He zipped the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and paused.

His eyes flicked once to the photo on the table.

He turned off the light and stepped back out into the street. As he walked out he noticed that the cloudless daylight from not even half an hour ago, had been updated to be accurate, and now it was night.

“FISH FOR SALE WE GOT FISH FOR SALE!”

Vendors shouted from narrow stalls.

Drones hovered overhead, scanning them, well all except him. Hed already been classified as a dim.

It was then that a boy, around his age grabbed some stuff out of the bag. A taller boy with black hair, his eyes were orange. “Oh, what do we have here, some more worthless junk?”

The boy froze.

His hand was still on the strap of his satchel when the other boy yanked it open, dumping its contents onto the wet pavement.

The repaired drone eye clattered against the ground. The power coupler rolled into a puddle, sparks jumping as it hit water. Wires tangled across the concrete like exposed nerves.

“Hey,” the boy said quietly. “Give that back.”

The taller boy laughed. Two others stepped in from either side, blocking the narrow walkway.

“Give it back?” he echoed, lifting the drone eye between his fingers. “You fixing trash again, Dim? Thought you’d learn by now nobody wants your garbage.”

The smaller boy’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

He didn’t answer.

He never did, if he could help it.

The taller boy smirked at the silence. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

A few people nearby slowed, watching. Not stepping in. They usually didn't when it came to him.

The shy boy stepped forward carefully and crouched, reaching for the power coupler sitting in the puddle. He wiped it gently on his sleeve, inspecting the casing for cracks.

“Don’t ignore me,” the taller boy snapped, literally. He snapped his fingers three times, causing his fist to catch a blaze

The heat from Lucao’s fist hit Zeke’s face before the insults did. It was a bronze-tier flame- not enough to melt steel, but more than enough to scorch the skin of a "Dull" who had no elemental resistance.

Zeke stared at the flickering orange fire. It was the same dance they’d been doing since they were ten. Lucao had grown taller, his Factor had grown hotter, but the script remained the same.

“Hey! What the hell are you kids doing outside my shop!” Yelled a man in a mechanic get up

“Scram, you little pyromaniac!” the man barked. “Go burn your own father’s walkway, not mine!”

Lucao spat on the ground, the orange glow in his eyes fading into a dull, resentful simmer. He tossed the repaired drone eye into the puddle next to Zeke. “Lucky for you the old fossil needs a new apprentice. Let’s go, guys. The air here is starting to smell like burnt trash anyway.”

As they walked off, the man came to help Zeke up off the ground. “Thanks boss” he said, thanking the man in front of him who sent the bullies away.

“Eh, I never liked those brats anyway, come inside and show me what you brought today.” The older man said.

The man led Zeke into his shop, filled with various mechanical parts and gadgets. It was a small but well-organized space, with workbenches and tool racks covering every available surface.

As they walked, the man spoke again.

"You alright kid? Those brats didn't burn you too bad, did they?”

“ Nothing out of the ordinary no”

The mechanic sighed, wiping grease off his hands with a rag before tossing it aside. "Kid, I don't know how you do it-getting jumped by the same assholes every other week like clockwork."

“I'm a dim that's how”

“I wasn't asking how you get jumped, I was asking how you stay sane” he said, which earned a pause from zeke

He nudged Zeke toward a stool at the workbench. "Sit down and let me see that scorch mark on your face before you get an infection or something."

His tone was gruff, but there was no real anger behind it- just tired concern from someone who’d seen this dance play out too many times in these slums. The shop’s overhead light flickered as he grabbed a first-aid kit from under the counter.

“It's fucked up y'know. Everyone down here is a bronze tier, the lowest of the low. We should be looking out for each other, not doing stuff like this” the man said.

Zeke wasn't really paying attention though, the corner of his eyes caught a poster in the corner of his room, of a certain cerulean eyes idol.

The mechanic turned to look at where the teen was looking and saw the poster, he sighed. “I knew you'd notice. Some other guy brought it in, he thought it was decent payment for getting his stuff fixed, he never gave me my credits so I thought, hm might as well keep it”

Zeke just stared at it for a second before asking, “do- do you think she remembers me?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I doubt there's many dims up there in the upper rings with her. Plus aren't you guys childhood friends or something?”

“Yeah, yeah we were”

The man chuckled softly, gently dabbing a cotton swab soaked in a light disinfectant onto the burn mark on Zeke’s face.

"She'd have to be pretty heartless to forget a friend like you, especially after all that time together" he said, his tone light but sincere.

Zeke flinched slightly, the sting of the disinfectant making him wince.

"It's been seven years" he said, the words sounding more bitter than he intended. "She's probably a completely different person now.”

The mechanic noticed his expression and quickly changed the subject. “Hey, I got something for ya.”

Zeke's expression shifted, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he turned his attention back to the man.

"Something for me?" he echoed, eyebrows raised. "What is it?"

The mechanic went round the back to go get it, disappearing behind a rusty service door.

A few seconds passed. Before he reappeared with something in hand, it was a white box with gold patterns, very strange.

“What's that?” The seventeen year old boy asked.

“I don't know, I found it on a trash run, to get some new parts. It was just sittin there at the top of the pile. It looks kinda like something from way back in the Olympian era but I can't get it to open or work or anything. I figured you could, since your the second best fixer I know, and you know way more about that era than I do.” the man said

Zeke's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the box, the intricate gold patterns on the surface immediately catching his attention.

"Olympian Era, huh? This must be pretty old then huh" he said, taking the box and examining it from all angles.

He ran his fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the bumps and grooves of the detailed patterns.

"You said you found it on a trash run? What was it doing there?”

“How the heck am I supposed to know,” the man said. He watched the boy slide his fingers across it like a kid who just got a laptop for Christmas.

“You always seem to light up whenever the Olympian is mentioned.” he chuckled.

“How can I not, I don't think there's a single person down here who doesn't idolize that man.” The boy said.

“You'd be surprised.” The elder mechanic said before remembering something “hey, didn't you say you wanted to be like the Olympian, Or something like that?”

“... That was a long time ago. I've grown outta that now. I mean how was I ever supposed to do something like that” the boy said.

"Yeah," the old man grunted, turning back to his bench. "Suppose a dream's a heavy thing to carry when your pockets are empty. But hey, take the box. Consider it payment for the drone eye and the coupler. If it’s junk, scrap the gold leaf for a few credits. If it’s not..." He shrugged. "Well, you always were good at making broken things whole."

Zeke nodded, tucking the strange, cool-to-the-touch box into his satchel. He walked back out into the artificial night of the Lower Rings, the weight of the box shifting against his hip.

As he walked he looked up at the sky, it turned from night, to day, to night again. Those guys on the upper rings really enjoyed messing with them.

The streets weren't exactly empty, there were still a bunch of vendors out, as well as people playing around. Some were out on dates, others were simply enjoying what they could.

He enjoyed watching people like this, he enjoyed seeing them happy, even if they weren't exactly the most moral people in the world.

After making it home, Zeke placed the box on a table.

Zeke closed the door behind him, the weak latch clicking into place. The room felt colder than it had earlier, or maybe that was just him.

The white-and-gold box sat on the table, catching the dim light like it didn’t belong in a place like this.

He stared at it for a few seconds.

Then he sighed and rolled his shoulders.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

He tried his best to open it or something, but it refused to budge. He tried using a screwdriver, a hammer, another hammer. He threw everything and the kitchen sink at this thing yet it refused to budge.

“What exactly is this thing.” he asked himself

That was the first thing Zeke realized after the third failed attempt to pry it open.

No hinge.

No latch.

No visible screws.

Just smooth white metal, cool and impossibly clean, traced with thin gold lines that curved in looping geometric patterns. The gold wasn’t painted on — it was inlaid, embedded into the surface like veins.

He ran his thumb across one of the lines again.

He sighed, He sat back, looking at the box with frustration. He was used to broken machines, to faulty wires and fried microprocessors. But this… this wasn't something he could just poke and prod with a soldering iron.

This was old.

Very, very old.

If it was really from the Olympian era then it was at the very least 100 years old.

How was he going to do this now?

Then the golden pattern on the cube glittered before glowing, the blinding golden light filling the room and catching the boy off guard.

“What the heck?” The glow didn't just stop in his room, it completely lit up the street like one massive glow stick.

Then, after the light stopped the cube turned into what was almost a liquid, and jumped onto him like some kinda predator lunging at it's pray. "Get off! Get it off!" he gasped, clawing at his forearm where the metal had vanished. But there was nothing to grab. His skin looked normal—no, it looked too clean. The soot and grease from the day’s work had been vaporized where the liquid touched him.

He rushed to the mirror to see

The mirror was as cracked and grime-streaked as everything else in his apartment, but Zeke didn't need a clear reflection to see the change.

His breath came in ragged, panicked hitches. At first, he looked for a wound, a burn, or a parasite burrowing under his skin. But there was no blood, no blood, no scars, no marks, no nothing.

The panic was still clawing at Zeke's throat, his hands frantically rubbing his forearms as if he could scrub the sensation of that "liquid" out of his very pores. Then he felt a strange rhythmic in his chest, like… a second

heartbeat.

Then, someone was knocking the door particularly hard.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

It almost sounded like they were trying to break it down.

Zeke quickly went to go answer his door, questioning who could possibly be at the door this late at night.

As he opened the door, he saw his landlord staring down at him.

“What was that light just now kid?”

He stared at the landlord through the half-open door, trying to keep his face neutral. The man was a burly type, mid-forties at the youngest, with a perpetual scowl etched into his face from years of chasing late rent. His overalls hung loose off his body, the man got it out of the garbage, and it was likely made for someone much bigger.

“Light? What light? I didn't see any light, so I have no real clue what you're talking about.” Zeke said, not looking the man in the eyes. It wasn't his best lie, the glow had been impossible to miss, it had lit up the entire neighborhood like a sun. Some neighbors were even looking out to see what happened.

"Don't play dumb with me, kid," the landlord growled, jabbing a thick finger toward Zeke's chest.

"That light came right from your shack and I know you're not blind. You doing something illegal in there? Normally I wouldn't give a damn what you do in your free time, but if you draw the enforcers down here-”

“Don't worry, I'm not doing anything like that.” Zeke cut in quickly, his mind racing. He had to finish this conversation now, because the thumping in his chest was getting stronger. "Look, I've been fixing scraps all day. Maybe a power cell overloaded. That happens sometimes, I promise I'll look into it sir." He gulped, it took all his willpower to not lose composure

The landlord huffed, crossing his arms. He didn't look convinced, but the night was very cold and he had other better things to be doing so he didn't question him any further

"This better not happen again, you know how those enforcers get when a bronze commits a crime, everybody's forced to pay the price, and I ain't tryna pay for something I didn't do”

Zeke forced a nod, keeping his expression as blank as he could manage under the landlord's scrutinizing glare. The thumping in his chest got heavier and heavier like a drum beat, but he clamped down on it, willing it to quiet. "Yeah, I get it. No trouble. Goodnight."

The landlord grunted, eyeing him one last time before turning away with a mutter about "damn kids and their experiments.”

Zeke watched him shuffle down the cracked walkway, the man's broad back disappearing into the shadows of the artificial night. A few neighbors lingered, whispering among themselves, but they scattered when a distant drone whirred overhead, its scanning lights sweeping the street like judgmental eyes.

He went right back into his home, sighing, what exactly was happening.

the thump in his chest got heavier and heavier, feeling like a sheer heart attack.. until it didn't anymore.

The thumping was still there just… not like a drum solo, more like a second heartbeat.

And it was the strangest thing, because he could swear he heard this weird humming in his brain, like a person.

And then, from his empty house with no one else but him in it, he heard a voice…

“HELLO HUMAN,ARE YOU READY TO BECOME A GOD!”

Zeke paused in his tracks, the disembodied voice scaring him.

“What the f-”

X-FACTOR

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