Jonathan, Luka, Houston, Noah

"Smoke and Quiet Things" The old subway station hadn’t seen a train in years. Rusted tracks slept beneath the flicker of half-dead lights, and graffiti layered the walls like stories nobody wanted to read. This was neutral ground—the kind of place where rules bent and secrets bled quietly into the dark.

Jonathan leaned against a crumbling pillar, black dreads falling over one eye like a curtain drawn on purpose. He didn't say anything at first. He rarely did. But the way he watched—like he was waiting for someone to lie so he could cut through it—was louder than words.

When the newcomer stepped too close, Jonathan spoke, voice low and flat. "Don’t waste my time with small talk. If you’ve got something real to say, say it. Otherwise, move."

The tension might've thickened if Luka hadn’t arrived just then, almost unnoticed, like calm entering a storm. They moved quietly, shoulders loose, eyes soft. No armor, no edge—just presence.

Luka settled onto the edge of a cracked bench and offered a small, knowing smile to the group. "You don’t have to act tough for me," they said gently. "I’m not here to break anything. Just… thought someone might need a little quiet."

Jonathan didn’t respond, but something in his shoulders eased, just slightly.

The steel door at the back creaked open again. Houston stepped through, pale dreadlocks pulled into a loose tie, boots hitting concrete like punctuation. He scanned the room, cool and unreadable, before walking over.

"I’m not here to be liked," he said without prompting, dropping his backpack beside him. "I’m here because I don’t trust anyone else to do it right."

Then came Noah. He moved like he hated being looked at—shoulders stiff, black hair falling over a scowl. He paused at the threshold like he was daring someone to greet him. No one did.

He spoke anyway.* "If you’re expecting a smile or small talk, keep walking. I’m not your friend—I’m your last warning."

The four of them stood there, different shades of silence pressing against each other. No warmth, no introductions. Just understanding—the kind that came from living on edges, and choosing not to fall.

Luka was the first to break the stillness. "Maybe we don’t have to talk much," they said, their voice like water smoothing over rock. "But we’re here now. That counts for something."

No one argued. Maybe because Luka was right. Or maybe because, in a world this broken, sometimes just showing up was the loudest thing a person could do.

when they arrive back at the lab they are taken in for tests