Arc 3: The High-school Hide In
Max didn't leave the hospital room until morning. Not because he needed the rest — the medics had said he could walk again, even if it hurt like hell — but because something heavier than any injury had settled in his bones.
Samira's words kept replaying. Her warmth, her loyalty, her insistence that he wasn't alone.
She was wrong about him.
He didn't say it to her face. Couldn't. But it haunted him now, as he stepped into the hallway of the recovery wing. A pale strip of light cut across the floor through high windows. It smelled like sterilized regret in here.
He walked.
Step by step. Quietly. Past sleeping patients and humming machines. The fire in him was still there — dormant, maybe, but not gone. It had settled into his body like it belonged.
He made his way outside. Not far. Just to the small, empty balcony that overlooked the outer wall of the facility. The early morning air felt cold on his skin. Honest, at least.
He leaned against the rail and stared at nothing.
And for the first time in a while, he let his mind wander.
Not to Loyalty's words. Not to Samira's.
But to the fire.
To the voice in his dreams.
To the truth.
'If the only way to be free of a curse is to kill the pure Vice that gave it to you…' he murmured aloud, 'then what happens when that Vice is me?'
The words slipped out like poison.
He gripped the railing tighter. His knuckles turned white.
'I'm not just cursed,' he whispered. 'I am the curse.'
He had been trying not to admit it. Trying to convince himself that maybe it was just influence. That maybe the Vice of Envy had cursed him, warped him, latched onto something inside him — but hadn't become him.
But that wasn't true.
Not after the rooftop.
Not after the fire.
Not after the way Loyalty looked at him when she said, 'You're cursed by a Pure Vice.'
Cursed?
No.
He was built from it. Forged in it. The fire hadn't come from outside.
It had answered him.
The envy, the hate, the aching feeling of being unseen, unwanted, lesser — it had always been in him. All the Vice had done was pull it to the surface.
He laughed bitterly, voice raw.
'They keep saying we can be saved,' he muttered. 'That we're cursed. Touched. Victims.'
But what if that wasn't true?
What if there was no cure?
What if he couldn't be saved because there was nothing to separate him from the Vice? No border. No line. Just a single, burning truth:
He was Envy.
Not just a vessel.
A source.
'I'm the thing they're supposed to kill,' he said under his breath.
And then, quieter:
'So how the hell am I supposed to be free?'
A breeze passed over him, tugging at his hospital shirt.
A shiver ran through him — not from the cold, but from the weight of what he'd finally allowed himself to say. Admit.
They had all believed there was hope. That the fire could be fought. That the Vice could be burned out like a sickness.
But what if it wasn't a sickness?
What if it was a soul?
His soul.
Max Hart. The cursed one. The burden. The monster.
No.
Max Hart. The Vice of Envy.
That truth clung to him like ash.
And he realized then, standing there on that balcony, watching the light spill over the walls of his prison:
He had never truly wanted to escape the facility.
He had wanted to escape himself.
But there was no door for that.
No red exit.
No salvation.
Only the fire.
Only the hunger.
Only the cage named Max.
Max didn't hear Noel until the footsteps were almost beside him.
"You always hiding out here?" Noel asked, his voice carrying that calm, almost lazy confidence that came so easily to him.
Max didn't turn his head. "Guess I like the view."
The morning air was sharp, brushing over the railing between them. Noel leaned against it like he had all the time in the world.
"I was going to bring Ava," Noel said casually, "but she's out on a mission. Renji and Rika went with her. Figured I'd come alone instead."
Max raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the outer wall. "What for?"
"To talk," Noel said simply. "We've been in the dorm floor for weeks, part of the same Unit… and I don't think we've exchanged more than three words."
Max almost smirked, but didn't. "Maybe that's for a reason."
"Maybe," Noel admitted. "Or maybe you're just good at disappearing in plain sight."
They stood in silence for a moment. Somewhere beyond the wall, a siren wailed briefly, then cut out.
Noel's voice dropped a little. "Remember what Loyalty told us. About the Pure Vices. About the only way to get rid of your curse and leave this place."
Max's grip on the railing tightened. He didn't answer.
Noel went on. "If that's true… then it's simple, isn't it? Kill the one who cursed you. That's it."
"You make it sound easy," Max said.
"It's not." Noel's eyes stayed on the horizon. "But thinking it's impossible won't get us anywhere."
Max glanced at him. "You planning on doing it?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on rotting away in this place," Noel let out a small breath that could have been a laugh, "So if I get the chance… I'll kill mine. Even if it kills me first."
Max said nothing.
Noel straightened, brushing invisible dust from his jacket. "Anyway… I figured I'd just say it. Don't go dying before I get my shot, alright?"
He turned toward the door, but paused just long enough to glance back. "You're quieter than I expected. Guess that's fine. Just means you're probably thinking about something important."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Max stayed where he was, the breeze tugging at his hospital shirt.
Noel's words lingered — not because they were new, but because they were true.
If killing a Pure Vice was the only way to set someone free… then maybe that was his way forward.
Not for himself. For them.
For Unit Twelve.
He wasn't going to tell them what he was — not Noel, not Ava, not any of them. But if he could cut their chains… maybe that would be enough.
If he couldn't have freedom… maybe he could give it to the others.