Chapter Text
Akk woke to the low hum of the station’s early alarms, the dull clang of metal doors sliding open and closed. His hands were already moving through the motions he had memorized: checking the ration database, preparing the allocation list, lining up the trays. Another day like all the others. Another day of reminding his people they would go hungry.
He stood before the small crowd of Nethri gathered in the ration hall. Their faces were pale and drawn, eyes hollow with exhaustion. They didn’t need to hear the numbers to know the cuts were worse than before.
“Rations are down again,” Akk announced, his voice steady but tired. “Adults receive one hundred eighty grams. Children ninety.”
Murmurs rippled through the room. A child’s whisper floated up: “Less than last week.”
Akk forced himself to look at every face, to hold their gaze. It was his duty. To keep peace. To keep order. But the weight of their disappointment settled on him like a heavy stone.
They resented him. It was fine. He had a duty to uphold. Station 13 was the strictest of them all. That was the point. The Humans called it the Model Program, the perfect balance of containment and compliance. The other stations whispered its name like a warning. And Akk, the head prefect, was the key to this compliance – an inside agent who kept his own people in line.
He and the other prefects, Wat and Kan — the only friends he had — handed out the rations, scanning the barcodes on the necks of their people, keeping a strict log as protocol required.
Akk handed out rations mindlessly. This was for the best, they owed the humans, especially after what their ancestors had done.
Akk would find himself wondering how things would be different if Nethri, his people, had tried to foster peace with humans instead of unleashing the disease that put all human life at risk. His ancestors’ sin was his sin.
Their ancestors' sin was their sin.
That’s what Chadok always told them. Chadok just wanted what was best for him, Akk would remind himself whenever his resolve faltered.
“We can’t live like this! How are we supposed to have any strength left if they take both our food and blood??!!” A shout came from somewhere in the line.
Akk closed his eyes.
Their ancestors’ sin was their sin.
“If anyone has any complaints, take it up with Lieutenant Chadok.” He responded, cold and practiced.
The room fell silent. No one would. The risk was too great.
Chadok wants what’s best for us.
What was best for Akk was obedience. What was best for Akk was repaying the debt he owed.
“Akk.” He heard from the implant in his ear — a frequency transmitter. Another mechanism of control, all Nethri went through the procedure. Akk’s was the only one equipped with a communication line.
He stilled. Chadok.
“My office. Now.”
He didn't flinch. He was used to the calls by now. He simply handed his scanner to Wat without a word. Wat look at him, asking if he’d be okay with his eyes. Akk nodded.
His boots echoed against the metal floor as he made his way out of the ration hall, leaving the quiet shuffling of feet and the sting of hunger behind him. The door sealed shut behind him with a hiss, leaving behind the weight of the resentful stares.
The walk to Chadok’s office was short, but it never felt that way. The corridors of Station 13 were sharp and sterile, every corner humming with surveillance, every turn a reminder to follow the rules.
He passed two guards on patrol — both human, both silent. One gave a slight nod. The other didn’t look at him at all. It didn’t matter. He didn’t expect recognition. He wasn’t one of them, no matter how obedient, no matter how many orders he followed.
The door to Chadok’s office slid open automatically, and there he was.
Lieutenant Chadok stood with his back to the room, staring out the narrow window that overlooked the interior of the station: the mechanical veins of the facility pulsing with artificial light.
“Sit,” Chadok said without turning.
Akk obeyed.
The silence lingered for a moment too long. Chadok’s hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. Everything about him was too clean. His silver insignia gleamed. His boots had no scuff marks. He was a man made of protocol.
“They’re resisting, Akk.” Chadok finally said.
Akk kept his voice neutral, “I handled it.”
“No.” Chadok turned then, eyes sharp, mouth drawn tight. “It was tolerated. That’s not the same.”
Akk met his gaze without blinking. “They’re starving. Some of them are barely functional.”
Chadok stepped forward slowly, placing both palms flat on the desk between them. “Do you think I enjoy watching you suffer? The Nethri population is growing, we have limited resources, Akk. I am doing what’s best for both us and you.”
Just enough food to keep blood pumping, that’s all Humans cared about.
No .
Akk pushed those thoughts away. Chadok wants what’s best for us.
“They look up to you,” Chadok continued, his voice softening. “You keep them calm. Useful. If they stop trusting you, if they start turning, it becomes chaos. And when it becomes chaos…” He let the sentence trail off, leaving the implication hanging in the air like a blade.
Akk swallowed. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would protect his people even if they hated him.
He stared at the man who had raised him, shaped him, broken him into something useful. He knew what Chadok wanted. Compliance. Apology. Gratitude.
“I’ll speak to the other prefects,” Akk said at last.
Chadok nodded, pleased. “Good. There’s something else.”
Akk didn’t move.
“We’re receiving a new transfer today, a special case. Hybrid.” Chadok’s eyes gleamed. “A half-Nethri. It’s almost unheard of. He’s not like the others. He was harboured by humans. He’s educated. Dangerous.”
Akk’s brow twitched. “Why here?”
“Because if anyone can handle him,” Chadok said, straightening, “it’s you. Station 13 is the Model. If he learns obedience here, the others will follow. Think of it as a test.”
A half-Nethri. Akk couldn’t deny his curiosity. How would he have avoided containment?
“I want him watched. Closely. No mistakes, Akk.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he stood and turned to leave, Chadok’s voice stopped him one last time, placing a hand onto his shoulder, “You’re doing well, Akk. Don’t forget your duty.”
“I won’t.”
But as the door closed behind him, Akk couldn’t help the cold unease settling in his gut.
He didn’t believe in fate. But something was coming.
The transport shuttle arrived just past midday. It docked without ceremony, a hiss of pressure releasing as the outer doors slid open. Akk stood with Wat and Kan on the platform, a clipboard in hand, in an attempt to seem busy.
He scanned the group of newcomers as they filed in. Ayan, flanked by two Human guards.
Akk knew the moment their eyes met.
It was apparent right away that he was different. He wasn’t what Akk had expected. His black hair slightly too long by station standards, curling over one eyebrow. And his eyes. There was no fear in them and only one of them had Nethri markings. Ayan moved with a strange kind of grace — shoulders relaxed, eyes alert, mouth tilted in the faintest ghost of a smirk, scanning the room like he was the accessing them.
“You’re Akk,” Ayan said, stopping directly in front of him. Not a question. A statement.
Akk narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been briefed.”
Ayan shrugged. “I read your name on the list. Plus, you look like someone who follows rules even when no one’s watching.”
Kan let out a sharp breath beside him, almost a laugh. Wat elbowed him.
Akk didn’t respond. Instead, he turned, walking toward the intake station. “Follow me. You’ll be processed and assigned to Block C.”
“I already know,” Ayan said casually, trailing behind. “Lowest rations. Cold showers every other day. And a curfew enforced by laser gate.”
Akk stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “Then you also know what happens when you don’t follow those rules.”
Ayan’s smirk faded just slightly, but not enough for Akk’s liking.
“Sure,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ve seen what happens.”
He didn’t elaborate. Akk didn’t ask. They finished the walk in silence.
At the intake station, Ayan stood as they scanned his barcode and fitted him with the station ID collar. It glowed dull blue against his skin. He didn’t flinch.
“Any special accommodations?” the tech officer asked Akk.
Akk hesitated. He looked at Ayan again — this time longer. There was something buried behind the cocky ease. Something heavy.
“No,” Akk said finally. “He’s just another resident.”
Ayan smiled faintly at that.
Akk liked his smile.
It was Ayan’s first day at the station. It was horrible. Loud and not in the outdoors way that Ayan found comforting, but in a mechanical way. He could hear the water flowing through the pipes, the filters turning, and footsteps from the level above him.
But there was something else. A low, irregular hum – strange and musical, like a melody. It came in short waves, sliding beneath his skin, threading between his thoughts. Sometimes it felt like it was calling to him. Most of the time, it gave him a headache.
He’d barely slept.
So when a guard bumped into him that morning outside the mess hall, Ayan was already at the edge of his patience.
“Watch where you’re going!” The guard snapped, shoving him backwards.
Ayan clenched his teeth, barely catching his balance. Against all instincts, he didn’t say anything. He’d been warned to keep a low profile, to stay quiet, not draw attention. But then the man really opened his mouth.
“You’re that half-breed, aren’t you?” he sneered, loud enough that a few passing guards turned to look. “What kind of whore sleeps with a Nethri.” He laughed.
Ayan’s body moved before he even registered. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, hard and fast, the sound sharp against the metal corridor walls. The guard stumbled back with a grunt, rage flashing in his eyes.
“You little—” his hand went to his belt.
Ayan didn’t recognize the device at first. It was small and silver, with a tiny light that blinked red.
Then—
Pain.
White-hot and blinding.
A pulse of sound tore through his skull. His body crumpled to the floor before he could stop it, every muscle locking up at once. It was like his nerves were being burned from the inside out. His scream rang out, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the corridor.
People were shouting. He couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Then the emitter shut off.
Ayan gasped like he’d been drowning. His vision was still spinning when he heard another voice — sharp, furious.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Akk.
Ayan barely made him out through the blur, but the Prefect was storming down the corridor with unmistakable purpose, dark uniform flaring behind him like a threat.
The guard straightened, annoyed but wary.
“He hit me—”
“I don’t care.” Akk cut him off. “You don’t use an emitter without clearance. I have disciplinary authority over the Nethri. Chadok’s orders. ”
There was a beat of tense silence.
Then the guard scoffed. “You’ll never be one of us, Akk.” His lip curled in contempt. “You think wearing that uniform makes you less of a mutt?”
Akk stepped closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. His voice dropped low and dangerous. “Try it again, and see what happens.” He challenged.
The guard glared, but backed off. Muttered something under his breath about "Prefects ruining everything," and turned to walk away, boots clanging hard against the floor.
Ayan still hadn’t moved. He lay curled against the wall, shaking, breath shallow.
Akk crouched down in front of him. “Can you hear me?”
Ayan nodded, barely. His vision was starting to steady, but the pain — he had never felt a pain like this, the way it lingered, travelled through his nerves like it was taking control.
Akk offered him a hand. Ayan hesitated, but took it.
The Prefect pulled him to his feet in one swift motion, steadying him with a hand on his arm, it sent butterflies straight to Ayan’s stomach. Akk’s eyes scanned him quickly, noting his trembling fingers and the sweat on his brow.
Akk looked actually looked worried.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ayan rasped, which was a lie, but it came out on instinct.
Then Akk’s expression shifted — from concern to anger.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped. “You don’t just punch a guard. Do you want to get thrown in isolation? Or worse?”
“He said—” Ayan’s voice cracked.
“It doesn’t matter what they say.” Akk’s grip tightened. “You learn to ignore it. You’re here to survive.” It was clear that he spoke from experience. Ayan saw it in the way he flinched at that stupid guard’s words earlier — barely but Ayan was good at reading people.
No matter what any Nethri did, Humans would never accept them.
Akk was still staring at him, like he was expecting a response. His eyes were so round and big and beautiful, Ayan didn’t notice his trance-like state until Akk called his name again.
“Yes, sir.” He gave an exaggerated salute. Akk rolled his eyes, but seemed to determine that Ayan was fine. And with that, he walked away, boots silent on the steel floor.
Of course Ayan was trouble.
It had only been a week and he was already on his second offence.
He was caught skipping his assigned labor shift and sent to Akk’s office for disciplinary review.
He strolled in like he owned the place.
“Before you say anything,” Ayan said, dropping into the metal chair across from Akk’s desk, “the dust filters didn’t need cleaning. I did the station a favor by saving water.”
Akk didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “You don’t decide what the station needs. You follow orders.”
“Maybe someone should tell the filters that,” Ayan said, kicking his boot up onto the desk.
Akk slammed the folder shut. “Feet off.”
Ayan obliged, slowly, deliberately. “Are these the perks of being a Prefect, traitor to you’re own people?” He challenged. “You’re very own office, must be nice.”
Traitor. The word hit harder than Akk expected. He’d heard it numerous times, and yet it still hurt.
Especially from a newcomer, who barely knew him for a week, and had already deemed him a traitor. He doesn’t know anything about me.
Ayan seemed to catch Akk’s shift in mood. There was something about Akk that intrigued him. “You know, if you wanted to see me again, you could’ve just asked.” Ayan attempted to shift the atmosphere.
Akk stood. He walked to the filing wall, pretending to look for a document, but really just trying to cool his temper. And whatever that other feeling was. The one that crawled up his spine every time Ayan looked at him like that.
“You’ll report to Block Maintenance at 0600. No excuses this time.”
“Aw. Not even a slap on the wrist?”
Akk turned sharply. “Do you think this is a game?”
Ayan’s smirk softened. Just a little. “No. But you do. You think if you follow the rules hard enough, something will change? That Chadok will give us a longer leash? That they’ll stop draining our blood if we just say ‘yes sir’ fast enough?”
Akk stepped closer. “You have no idea what I’ve done to keep this station running. To keep the worst of it away from us.”
“I know exactly what you’ve done,” Ayan said, voice low now. “That’s what scares me.”
The words struck deeper than Akk expected. No. He dismissed Ayan with a clipped gesture. “Get out.” He pointed to the door.
He doesn’t know anything.
There was something about Ayan that Akk hated. The way he made something like heat consume Akk’s chest. Anger. That’s what it was. It was the only explanation. Akk wondered what sort of power a half-breed held. There was some weird allure — some kind of pull Akk felt whenever Ayan was near.
Chadok was right. Ayan was dangerous.
And if Akk didn’t stay focused, everything he sacrificed might start to come undone.
Akk was assigned a labour shift with Ayan — to keep him in check. “His disobedience is a reflection of you.” Chadok’s words echoed in his mind. Akk wouldn’t let some half-breed ruin everything he had built.
And so, there they were, in the underbelly of Station 13, where the air was thick with metal dust and heat radiated off the machinery like punishment. The pipes moaned overhead. The flickering lights gave everything a surreal, fever-dream glow. They were assigned to run diognostist checks on the coolant system for this week.
Akk didn’t speak. He had no interest in conversation.
Naturally, Ayan did.
“So, is this how you seduce all your labour partners? Or am I just lucky?”
Akk didn’t even glance over. “I’m not here to entertain you.”
“I’ll admit the ambience isn’t bad: dark, a little creepy, but otherwise could be fun.” He winked.
Akk turned a wrench with a little too much force, the metal groaning in protest. “Fun isn’t part of the assignment.”
Ayan crouched beside a coolant pipe and leaned close, his breath warm against the back of Akk’s neck. “Maybe it should be. Helps with stress.”
Akk whipped around, wrench still in hand. “Do you want to be written up again?”
Ayan met his glare, expression lazy, but eyes sharp. “You think that scares me? A red mark in your perfect logbook?”
“No,” Akk said flatly. “But a resonance reset should.” He snapped.
He regretted the words instantly.
Ayan’s smile fell immediately. “You wouldn’t do that.” Akk had never heard Ayan so unsure before. “You wouldn't do that.” He repeated quieter.
Akk looked away, jaw tight. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Not when the image of him. Mek. The electric hum. The cold chair. A husk of the person he once was. He closed his eyes, willing the image away. He wouldn’t let it happen to anyone else. Akk would make sure of it.
“I thought you were cruel, but not that cruel,” Ayan said at last, voice low, careful. “I was wrong.”
“That’s not — ” Akk ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?” Ayan stood now, no longer teasing, his eyes searching Akk’s face, “You’re scared, right? Of what I’ll find out? Your threats won’t work on me.”
Akk stepped in close, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you’re after, but I’m starting to think you tried to get transferred here on purpose.”
“And so what if I did?” Ayan challenged.
Akk turned back to the pipes. He was done with this conversation.
After a moment, Ayan crouched beside him again, quiet now. His shoulder brushed Akk’s.
They didn’t speak again.
But Akk’s hands didn’t stop shaking.
That night, Akk stayed late in the operations wing. He was logging shift reports when the door opened, unannounced.
Ayan leaned against the frame.
Akk sighed. “How’d you escape curfew checks?”
“I have my ways.” Ayan grinned.
Akk looked up, annoyed and exhausted. “Is there a reason you’re stalking me now?”
Ayan shrugged. “Just curious. You intrigue me.”
“Get out.”
But Ayan didn’t move. “You know, I don’t think you’re a traitor.”
Akk blinked.
Ayan pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside. “Not really. I think you’re just... terrified.”
Akk stood. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” Ayan said, stopping in front of him. “But I think you want someone to.”
There was a pause. Too long. Akk felt like he was suffocating, but there was also something about Ayan’s presence that made him feel less alone.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Akk said quietly.
“Good,” Ayan replied, stepping closer. “So are you.”
And then he was gone. Turned and walked out, just as casually as he came. A chill replaced the warmth where he had been.
Leaving Akk with his heart beating faster than he thought possible.
Trouble. That was what Ayan was.
But the worst part?
Some sick, hidden part of Akk wanted more.