Logan knew who Cyrus was.

The redhead was well-known in the upper side of Lenlyo, while he took charge of some groups in the southern outskirts. They usually stayed in their areas, but the times that they did leave almost always turned bloody. They were children, yes—but the threat of starvation was enough to make even them tear their limbs apart.

The Queen ordered that only individuals with "assigned jobs" could obtain chronocredits through their wrist monitors. There is always at least one person in each family that has an assigned job, whether it be carpet making or baking.

It's an efficient system that works for everybody except the people cast out of their homes—namely the children. They end up having to scavenge their meals, snatching what they can from the passing food carts and vendors.

Logan, along with his crew of southern misfits, had multiple run-ins with Cyrus' group, especially in 4th Street: it was the main route in which the palace's food and supply trucks passed through. Though the trucks were flanked by multiple of those silver soldiers, they learned to move around them:

"Alright y'all, before we go, gotta mention some of the upgrades the soldier boys got. They have sensors from the front AND the back now, aight? You'll get sliced in half if you move behind them, so don't try it. Instead, try an' move between they long-ass legs as QUIETLY as possible. Ya only got five and a half seconds to move before they figure out something's wrong. I tried it out a while back, an' it works like a charm."

Honestly, bypassing the Chrome Militia had never been the hard part.

It was dealing with the other groups in the area.

In many crews, the youngest—or smallest—is the one who does the main run while the others play defense. Logan's youngest was a little boy named Simon: he was a good kid and always found a way to get the job done no matter the costs. His adaptability was the single-most-important piece of him, as it quite literally decided whether or not he would make it out alive.

It was that and his stealth.

There were multiple ways to hijack the trucks: the top, which required quick movement and camouflage, the back doors, which were next to impossible to reach unless you had a proper distraction, and the bottom access, which is almost always used as a fail-safe if the other two don't work. Simon had a tendency to choose the 'bottom access,' going as far as to say at one point that "Y'all might see it as suicidal, but it feels the safest."

Logan understood what he meant—there were 40 other crews around Lenlyo, and each had a runner sent to 4th Street for big hauls. The top and back of the trucks were warzones: if one runner ended up running into another trying to make it through the same access, they'll most likely end up dead and carted off to the palace.

The bottom access was rarely ever used, many runners far too scared to risk their lives under the bottom of the truck; it takes a lot of patience and expertise to fiddle with the tools and crack the bottom access open without alerting the soldiers. Simon was one of the few—if not only—runners in the entire city who could do this, and he proved himself countless times.

The third truck was slowing down, coming to a complete stop before them to unload. "I'm gon' head out, cap'n," Simon started, glancing over to his right-hand side; Logan and the other boys and girls stood on stand by, sending him a small nod of affirmation.

"You have," Logan started, looking down towards the girl on the right, who readied herself beside the wall.

"Five seconds. Go."

"1." The girl called, tapping at the wall as Simon darted past into the oncoming traffic.

"2."

Logan watched the boy slip between the nearest silver soldier's legs with practiced ease, no longer visible under the yellowed street lights.

"3. He's in."

A strangled scream—another runner most probably—tore through the streets. Logan took a deep breath.

He had no reason to doubt his abilities, right?

"Maria, reset," Logan responded, "the rest of you get ready."

The others fell in line, readying their stances as they waited for their orders. Logan peeked out of the shadowed alley, looking for his runner amidst the commotion. He squinted, noticing the shadowed figure strapped to the bottom of the truck, shuffling to pry the bottom open.

A faint green light flickered in the darkness.

He smiled.

"Let's move."

In near perfect coordination, the children ran together in the shadows, their only guide being the moving truck's roaring engine and the clanking steps of the soldiers. Logan caught glimpses of the green light trailing past, and he pushed harder, blood pumping harshly against his ears.

"Clear." A voice from the back announced.

"Clear."

"Clear."

Everything was okay.

"SI-SIMON! N-NO SIMON W-WHY—WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!"

Everything was fine.

"ꜱᴛᴇᴘ ᴀꜱɪᴅᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ." An automated voice called, slowly inching towards the truck in question. Mechanical arms dragged the bodies out into the open, almost mockingly presenting them to the children watching in horror from the shadows. They looked like dolls, with their oddly contorted limbs, dead eyes boring deep in Logan's soul.

"What did you do?"

"ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟꜱ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴇᴅ. ʀᴇʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴɢ."

Nothing.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"-gan. Logan!" A concerned voice broke through the silence, arms shaking his shoulders. Through bleary-eyed vision, he recognized the red hair and bronzed skin.

He shot up from the floor, slamming his forehead onto the other, a pained gasp tumbling out of his mouth.

"Ow, what the hell, Lo?" Cyrus grunted, rubbing his head to soothe the spreading pain.

"Shit sorry," He started, shifting his legs under the wool blanket to get more comfortable. When he looked up once more, Cyrus' eyes stared back, concern written all over his face.

"You were makin' noises in your sleep again, Lo. What happened?"

Logan looked down, examining the slight twitch in his fingers with mock interest. He willed them to stop, gently wrapping his hands together, but they just continued, almost mocking him.

"It was Simon."

Cyrus cursed under his breath. "Lo, you know that this isn't good. When was the last time you had an episode like this?"

"I really don't wanna hear it from the kid who fainted because of bullshit cortisol levels. Since when did you get so stressed that you passed out?" Logan retorted, his voice echoing through the room.

Cyrus paled.

"I what?"

"Yeah, you fainted, dumbass. How the hell do you take Miss Reyes' beatings and faint when we just ask you some questions?"

Cyrus looked down towards his right wrist, quickly tapping at the device embedded in his skin.

"What the fuck?" Cyrus let out in disbelief, looking back towards him in confusion.

"Cy, be honest. What's going on?" He asked.

"I'm in the dark just like you are, Lo. This hasn't happened before! I-"

The redhead hesitated, a flicker of recognition flashing in his golden eyes.

"The migraines," Cyrus finished.

"Migraines?"

"Yeah, I've been having them for a good while now. It wasn't that bad at first, and Myra's tablets were helping to keep them down. Recently, though, they've been a whole lot worse," Cyrus explained, anxiously picking at his nails.

"And you didn't think to let me know?" Logan cut in, completely missing the figure fast approaching behind Cyrus.

"Migraines, aye?" Miss Reyes said, sitting down beside the two boys and grabbing Cyrus' hands. "Why didn't you tell us, Greene?"

Logan noticed Cyrus' body slightly stiffen.

"I-I didn't feel the need to," the boy stumbled, avoiding Miss Reyes' gaze. "They weren't that bad."

Miss Reyes looked up into Cyrus' eyes, forcing him to stare back. "Greene," Miss Reyes said calmly, "you need to keep us updated, alright? You scared the shit outta all of us."

Cyrus blinked, almost taken aback from her light tone. He shifted, looking away momentarily before glancing at both of them, his gaze softening.

"I'll try my best."

Logan could tell he was holding back.

"Well then, you two should probably head back home, alright? I tried not to spill too much to Ava, but I bet she's still worried sick." Miss Reyes said, slapping them both on the back.

They both stood up, taking a brief moment to stretch their limbs before walking towards the stairs to head down to the main floor once more. Logan peered around the workshop, catching onto Mister Okoye's hunched form, sparks flying about as the blacksmith sharpened his metal.

"What's he even working on?" Logan questioned, glancing towards Miss Reyes. She grinned, setting a finger atop her pink lips and sending him a wink.

"Issa secret!"

He and Cyrus both groaned, annoyed by the mechanic's antics. She had a tendency to leave them in the dark, forcing them to put together the pieces.

"Could be another dagger."

"Nah, it's a bit long, maybe a type of sword?"

"If that's the case, bet it's a falchion."

"Actually, now that I actually look at it, maybe it's another metal bow."

Cyrus flinched.

"What?" Logan asked.

"Alright, stop guessin' you two," Miss Reyes cut in, ushering them towards the front door once more. Perhaps they'd find out another time.

"Be careful on your way back, boys. Y'all know the rules," Miss Reyes chimed, waiting for their response.

"Stay where the people are, don't follow sketch people no matter what they say, and always stay in the light," He and Cyrus murmured, stepping out of the building.

"Good. Stop by soon, you too!" She said before her tone darkened.

"We'll talk about your habits next time, Greene. Watch yourself."

"Bai bai!"

And then they were alone once more.

"Aight well, let's head back then," He started, looking at the slightly dazed redhead.

"Uh...yeah sure."

"Also, you suck at hiding shit," He quipped, looking down at the oddly shaped outlines under Cyrus' raggedy shirt.

"What the fuck, you saw?"

'Dumbass.'