The morning began like any other. The sharp blare of the siren pierced through the cold, still air, rousing the cadets from their bunks. Seventeen, now an eighteen-year-old young man with a lean, muscular frame and the same piercing green eyes, rolled out of his bunk and dressed quickly in his training uniform. His movements were practiced and efficient, honed by years of relentless discipline.
Outside, the camp stirred to life. Cadets assembled in neat rows for roll call, the younger recruits scrambling to keep pace with their older peers. Commander Drakos stood at the forefront, his imposing presence commanding attention.
"Today is no different than any other," Drakos barked. "You will drill, you will train, and you will endure. The Forge does not rest. Dismissed!"
Seventeen's squad was assigned to the drill grounds for physical training that morning. He had grown accustomed to the routine—lap after lap around the dirt track, sparring with fellow cadets, and practicing tactical maneuvers under the watchful eyes of the instructors.
By mid-morning, the sun had barely risen above the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows over the compound. The air felt heavy, charged with an almost unnatural stillness. Seventeen noticed it first. As he stood under the cold stream of the shower after training, scrubbing away the dirt and sweat, he felt a strange chill crawl up his spine.
He paused, listening. The faint hum of distant activity in the camp was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence.
Suddenly, the stillness was shattered.
A deafening screech echoed through the air, a sound so sharp and guttural it felt like claws raking across his mind. Seventeen's head snapped up. The screech was followed by chaos—shouts, screams, and the rapid staccato of gunfire erupted from the direction of the barracks.
He rushed to grab his clothes, his heart pounding as the shower room door burst open. A cadet stumbled inside, their face pale with terror.
"Seventeen!" the cadet gasped, blood seeping through a deep gash on their shoulder. "They're here! Vampires! The camp—it's—"
Before they could finish, something dark and swift descended from above, dragging the cadet out of sight with an inhuman snarl.
Seventeen stood frozen, his body locked in a battle between fear and instinct. Then, the screech came again, this time closer, and he knew he had to move.
The camp was in utter chaos. Vampires, pale and grotesque with glowing red eyes and elongated claws, descended on the Forge like a swarm of locusts. Their movements were a blur, too fast for the human eye to track. They tore through the soldiers and cadets alike with savage efficiency, their blood-curdling shrieks echoing across the compound.
Drakos was on the command deck, shouting orders into his comms.
"All units, evacuate immediately! Protect the younger cadets and fall back to the secondary perimeter!" he bellowed.
The soldiers responded, herding the surviving cadets toward the evacuation shuttles. But the vampires were relentless, cutting off escape routes and tearing through the retreating lines.
Seventeen, now dressed but still disoriented, emerged from the drill grounds into a nightmare. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, and bodies littered the ground. Fires raged unchecked, casting flickering shadows over the carnage.
He spotted Drakos in the distance, leading a group of armed soldiers and older cadets toward the last remaining shuttle.
"Seventeen!" someone shouted, but the noise was swallowed by the roar of the flames and the screams of the dying.
Before he could reach the group, a vampire landed in front of him, its glowing eyes locking onto his. It hissed, baring bloodstained fangs, and lunged. Seventeen barely managed to dodge, grabbing a discarded metal pipe and swinging it with all his strength. The pipe struck the creature's head, momentarily dazing it, but another vampire was already closing in.
He fought desperately, his survival instincts kicking in as he swung, dodged, and struck back. But it wasn't enough. A claw raked across his side, sending him crashing to the ground.
Drakos made the call. There was no time to save everyone. The vampires were overwhelming the camp faster than he could organize an effective defense.
"Go!" he shouted, shoving the last of the cadets onto the shuttle. "Fall back to base command!"
"But Commander, what about the others—"
"They're gone!" Drakos snapped, his face grim. "We can't save them now. Go!"
Drakos turned back toward the inferno that had once been the Forge as the shuttle's engines roared to life and ascended into the sky. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he made a silent vow to avenge the lives lost that day.
Seventeen, meanwhile, had been dragged to the centre of the compound, along with the few remaining survivors. The vampires piled the bodies high, their feeding frenzy leaving behind a grotesque mountain of corpses. Seventeen, barely clinging to consciousness, was thrown atop the heap.
He felt the weight of the dead pressing against him, the stench of blood and death filling his nostrils. His vision blurred, his body numb from blood loss.
The vampires stood in a circle around their gruesome trophy, their leader stepping forward. Tall and imposing, with an aura of dark, malevolent power, the leader surveyed the carnage with a satisfied smile.
"Leave no one alive," the leader commanded, their voice a chilling whisper that carried over the crackling flames.
The vampires dispersed, disappearing into the shadows as swiftly as they had come.
Seventeen lay motionless, his body broken and his mind drifting. The cold seeped into his bones as the fires around the camp began to die down. He was dimly aware of the weight of the bodies around him, of the blood pooling beneath him.
But he wasn't dead. Not yet.
Somewhere deep inside him, a spark of defiance burned. He had survived the dumpyard. He had endured years in the Forge. He wasn't ready to die here, not like this.
With a monumental effort, he shifted, freeing himself from the pile of corpses. The movement sent waves of agony through his body, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to crawl.
The compound was eerily silent now, the vampires long gone. The once-mighty Forge was nothing more than a smoldering ruin, its walls breached and its barracks reduced to rubble.
Seventeen collapsed against a piece of debris, his breathing shallow and labored. His vision faded in and out, the world around him a haze of smoke and shadows.
And then, everything went black.