Emma heard the faint rustling of cardboard before Davo emerged from beneath a heap of discarded trash and crumpled boxes that concealed the entrance to their hideout. The dilapidated building loomed over the alley like a relic of better days, its cracked walls scarred with graffiti and grime, while rusted metal beams jutted out like jagged ribs from its crumbling facade. Inside, the air hung heavy with the musty scent of mildew, stale sweat, and damp concrete. It wasn't much, but to them, it was home—fragile, hidden, and just enough to keep the outside world at bay.
Davo straightened up, brushing dirt and bits of paper from his tattered clothes before offering Emma a quick nod. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her thin frame barely visible through the hazy midday light filtering through the grime-streaked windows. The sunlight sliced through in fractured beams, illuminating the sharp angles of her face, the way her collarbones jutted out beneath the fabric of her oversized shirt. Despite the sickly pallor of her skin, there was still a quiet resilience in her dark eyes as she met his gaze.
Wordlessly, Davo held up the bundle of food, the plastic crinkling under his fingers. A small smile ghosted across Emma's lips, a rare flicker of something close to relief. She rose from the small patch of floor they had worked hard to keep clean, their own little refuge carved out of the filth and decay that pressed in from every side. The walls bore the scars of old water damage, peeling paint curling at the edges like dead leaves, but here—here, they had carved out a space that was theirs.
Emma took the food with a silent nod, her fingers grazing his for the briefest moment before she sank back into their makeshift corner. They settled onto a haphazard arrangement of salvaged blankets and worn cushions, their movements slow, almost reverent. The room was quiet except for the occasional groan of the building settling, the distant hum of the slums beyond, and the soft crinkle of wrappers as they tore into their meal.
They ate in silence, their focus singular, their chewing methodical. Each bite of stale bread and dried meat was chewed with urgency, as though savoring it might mean losing it. Davo watched Emma out of the corner of his eye, noting the way she devoured the food with an almost desperate hunger. A knot of guilt tightened in his chest; she hadn't eaten since yesterday. At least she was eating now.
Swallowing the last of his meal, Davo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in slightly. His voice was low but carried an edge of something urgent, something that needed to be said. "You won't believe what happened out there," he murmured, his eyes wide with the weight of it. "I should be dead, Em. I mean it. That guy—he pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. Then he came at me with a knife, and it just... it didn't work. Like I was made of steel or something."
Emma's chewing slowed. She studied him with a frown, skepticism creeping into her expression. She tilted her head slightly, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the frayed hem of her sleeve. "Steel?" she echoed, the disbelief thick in her voice. "You sure you didn't just get lucky? Maybe it was some busted old knife or—" she hesitated, narrowing her eyes. "Or maybe the gun was just jammed."
Davo shook his head, his fingers drumming anxiously against his knee. "No way. It was real. I saw the look in his eyes, Em. He wanted to kill me. And then I got hit by a car—full speed—and nothing happened. I just... got up." He gestured vaguely, as if his words alone weren't enough to explain the absurdity of it all.
Emma leaned back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes darkened, doubt and something else—fear, perhaps—clouding her face. "You sure you're not just seeing things?" Her voice was softer now, cautious. "You've been running a lot, maybe you're... I don't know, tired. Lucky."
Davo exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her doubt. "I know what I saw, Em," he muttered, quieter this time, as though saying it out loud made it more real. "Something's... different."
Emma said nothing, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she looked away, tracing idle patterns in the dust with her fingertips. The silence between them stretched long and heavy, filled only with the distant sounds of the world outside—vendors shouting, dogs barking, and the distant sputter of an engine struggling to start.
Inside, it was just the two of them, and the quiet weight of Davo's impossible story hung in the air like an unanswered question. The faint hum of the city outside drifted through the cracked walls—echoes of distant voices, the occasional blaring horn, and the relentless buzz of the slums. In the far corners of their fragile haven, pale-eyed rats with unnervingly large teeth scurried over crumpled debris, their tiny claws scraping against the concrete. Yet for Davo and Emma, time seemed to stand still.
Davo shifted, trying to ease the tension coiling in his muscles. "Well, I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't felt it myself," he remarked, a shaky grin betraying both excitement and disbelief. His gaze flicked to Emma, who clutched her bony arms tightly, shoulders tense from the effort of stifling the cough that had wracked her for days. Though her cheeks were still pale, a hint of returning color gave her a fragile spark of life—a small victory in a place that offered few.
He frowned, worry creasing his forehead. In an attempt to break the thick silence, he nudged her with his elbow, forcing a playful grin. "Hey, maybe I'm the next superhero, huh? Like those old movies we used to sneak into."
Emma snorted, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Yeah, sure. Super-Davo, savior of trash heaps and champion of reckless escapes."
Davo's smirk faltered just enough to show he wasn't entirely joking. He pulled a small, rusted knife from his belt, the dim light catching on the tarnished metal. Wiping the blade on a clean scrap of cloth, he cast Emma a quick glance. Her eyes widened, and she reached out as if to stop him. "Davo, don't be an idiot—"
"Relax," he murmured, raising a hand to quiet her concern. "I just need to know."
Pressing the knife against the back of his hand, he felt the cool metal slide across his skin—smooth, deliberate, and startlingly ineffectual. No sting, no scratch, not even a twinge of pain. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at his unblemished flesh. Emma's mouth fell open, her wary gaze darting between the knife and Davo's hand.
"Maybe it's dull," she suggested, trying and failing to mask the tremor in her voice.
Without answering, Davo dragged the blade again—harder, more deliberate. Nothing. He exchanged a stunned look with Emma, who shook her head in disbelief before grabbing a bent fork from beside their meager meal. Wordlessly, she jabbed its prongs into his hand. He flinched reflexively, but still felt no pain.
"Did you feel that?" Emma breathed, her voice barely audible.
Davo shook his head, his features tight with confusion. "Not a thing."
Emma's eyes flickered with a strange blend of mischief and astonishment. "Huh," she said, then promptly jabbed the fork into his arm. The prongs bounced off like they'd struck solid metal, and both siblings stared, acutely aware of the reality shifting around them.
Silence clung to the room like stale smoke, broken only by Emma's soft laughter as she spun the fork between her fingers. "So... what's next, Super-Davo?"
But Davo had no answer. He simply stared at his untouched skin, his mind swirling with questions too big to grasp. The bold confidence he'd shown earlier had evaporated, replaced by a gnawing unease. The faint flicker of hope in his chest was at war with the creeping realization that whatever was happening, it wasn't normal.
He cleared his throat, his voice uneven. "We should, uh... start with the logical questions, right? Is it just me, or...?" His gaze lingered on Emma, his words laced with an unspoken wish—a fragile hope that he wasn't alone in this.
Emma, still struggling to hold back a cough, raised an eyebrow. Her usually sharp, weary eyes now held something else—something closer to disbelief. "What exactly are you thinking?" she asked, her voice cautious but laced with curiosity.
Davo's eyes drifted to the battered fork lying on the stained concrete floor. "I think... we should test it," he said, his lips curving into a shaky grin. The bent metal glinted dully under the flickering light that streamed through a crack in the ceiling, casting distorted shadows against the crumbling walls. Emma rolled her eyes, but Davo caught the way her fingers twitched—hesitation, or perhaps anticipation, hidden beneath her usual skepticism.
"Surely not," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Don't you remember what happened last time you tried something stupid?" Her voice carried the faintest hint of a tease, though it was weighed down by an underlying concern.
Davo shrugged, his grin faltering only slightly. "Surely," he repeated, his tone balancing somewhere between nervous and hopeful.
Taking a steadying breath, he picked up the fork and pressed the prongs against his forearm. The metal tips bent slightly under the pressure, but the familiar sting never came. There was nothing—just the faintest hint of pressure, like pressing against thick leather. No scrape. No pain. Not even a red mark. The only sound in the room was the soft squeak of metal gliding uselessly over her skin.
Emma's mouth parted slightly. "That's... impossible."
Davo's heart pounded in his chest as he handed her the fork, his palms sweating despite the cool dampness of their hideout. "Your turn," he said, voice thick with anticipation. Emma hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lip before pressing the prongs into her own arm. Again, nothing happened. The metal pressed, but her skin remained flawless—no bruise, no break, just the same tingling pressure.
Their eyes met, a charged moment of realization crackling between them. "So it's not just you," Emma whispered, a mixture of awe and relief flashing across her face.
"Guess not." Davo exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it all sink deeper into his bones. He reached for the knife he'd used earlier, his fingers trembling slightly. Emma flinched but, after a second, held out her hand with a determined nod. The blade slid across her palm, but instead of breaking the skin, it skated harmlessly across as though meeting an invisible wall.
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the occasional creak of the building shifting under its own age. Outside, the muffled noise of the slums—the distant shouts of vendors, the clatter of carts, the distant barking of stray dogs—felt strangely far away. Emma's gaze drifted toward the grime-covered window, the sun casting weak rays through the filth. "How many people do you think... could be like this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Davo swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the bent fork in her hand as if it held answers neither of them understood. "No clue. But we definitely need to find out."
The air in the room shifted, tension melting into cautious excitement. They began testing their limits, pressing utensils, pushing against walls, experimenting with every scrap of metal and glass they could find. Soft gasps filled the space, followed by hesitant laughter as they marveled at their newfound resilience.
Poking, prodding, daring one another to try harder, they discovered the limits—or lack thereof—of their strange invulnerability. Emma's skepticism slowly gave way to a glimmer of excitement she hadn't felt in a long time, while Davo's initial fear evolved into something deeper, more electrifying.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the cracked walls, they sat side by side, staring at their unblemished hands.
"We could be... invincible," Davo murmured, his voice trailing off.
Emma tapped the fork thoughtfully against her palm, eyes narrowing. "Or we could be something else entirely."
And as they continued their experiments, testing their newfound limits, one question loomed over them like a silent specter in the fading light:
If they couldn't be hurt... what did that make them and who else was like this?