"Ashes of Crestfall: The Rise of Aaron San Agustin"

They spent the next three nights in that cold, cramped server room. Coffee cups piled up, fast food wrappers littered the floor. Every time Lucas thought he found a clue, it ended up being a dead end—deliberately erased trails, corrupted backup files, false IP logs leading to nowhere.

On the fourth night, Aaron closed his laptop slowly, leaning back in defeat. His shoulders slumped, exhaustion and hopelessness pressing down like iron chains.

"We're not getting anywhere," Lucas whispered, his voice trembling with frustration.

Aaron looked at his friend, seeing the desperation etched into his young features. "We can't win this one," he said quietly. "We're just… workers. Replaceable. Invisible."

The words tasted like poison in his mouth.

Days bled into each other like dark watercolor stains. He sat for hours in his small studio apartment, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Rent notices piled up near the door. Aunt Coleen's voice echoed in his mind each time she called, asking if he was eating well, if he was okay. He lied, of course. He always did.

Aaron moved like a ghost through Velmont City, trying to apply for jobs that paid scraps. He sat on bus benches with his resume clutched in hand, staring at mothers walking their children to school, men in pressed suits typing furiously on their phones, teenagers laughing under bright store lights. Their lives moved forward while his felt frozen in quiet agony.

Sometimes, he would find himself standing at crosswalks long after the light turned green, earning impatient honks and curses from drivers. Other times, he'd drift off during interviews, unable to focus on the interviewer's questions. His mind felt like a broken radio, static drowning out all coherent thought.

One night, he sat on his mattress, knees drawn to his chest, staring at the digital clock blinking 3:00 AM. His chest ached with an emptiness he couldn't name.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. "I… I can't."

The next morning, he walked aimlessly through downtown, each step heavy with exhaustion and despair. He barely noticed where he was going until he stopped in front of a tall building with steel-and-glass doors. Above them, bold block letters read:

VELMONT ARMY RECRUITMENT CENTER

He stared at it for a long time. Soldiers in uniform walked in and out, their boots pounding against the tiled floor with certainty and purpose. Posters lined the windows:

"Serve with honor."

"Be the change."

"Strength for tomorrow."

He read them all, feeling something shift deep within his chest. His fingers trembled as he reached for the door handle.

Inside, a recruiter in crisp fatigues looked up from his desk. His sharp eyes scanned Aaron's disheveled clothes, sunken cheeks, and trembling hands.

"You here to enlist?" he asked, voice firm yet not unkind.

Aaron swallowed, his throat dry. "Yeah… yeah, I am."

The recruiter leaned back, studying him for a moment longer. "What's your reason, son?"

Aaron closed his eyes, feeling tears prick the edges. He inhaled shakily, then opened them again, his gaze clear for the first time in weeks.

"I'm tired of feeling powerless."

The recruiter nodded slowly. "Fair enough," he said, sliding a clipboard and pen toward him. "Fill these out. Physical Test tomorrow at 0500. Don't be late."

That night, Aaron returned to his apartment and stood before the cracked mirror above his tiny bathroom sink. He stared at himself—at the hollowed cheeks, the lifeless eyes, the thin shoulders slumped under invisible weight.

"Is this what you've become?" he whispered.

He splashed cold water on his face and gripped the sink's edge, feeling something in his chest ignite—a flicker of purpose he hadn't felt since Crestfall. Since Elena. Since before the world decided his worth for him.

He straightened up, water dripping from his chin, and met his reflection's gaze.

"No," he breathed. "Not anymore."