Flash.
System Error.
Reboot.
Initializing Protocol "Phoenix".
Searching for a host...
Host not found.
Activating emergency protocol.
Searching for available genetic material...
DNA fragment detected.
Analysis...
Instability: 99.9%.
Mutations: unclassifiable.
Prognosis: lethal outcome.
Continue?
Confirmation: Y/N?
...
Confirmation: Y.
Synthesis...
Error.
Repeat synthesis...
Error.
Third attempt...
Success.
Birth of subject "Ashen".
Darkness. Cold. Where am I? This question seemed to be imprinted in her consciousness from the very first moment. She didn't know who she was, where she came from, or what was happening. Only a crushing feeling of emptiness and... hunger. Unbearable, all-consuming hunger.
She was lying on something hard and cold. Metal? Silence reigned around, occasionally broken by the dripping of water and a faint scratching. She tried to move. Her body didn't obey, every movement echoed with sharp pain.
Breathe. She inhaled convulsively. The air was stale, with a taste of dust and something else... Radiation? How did she know that word? Her memory remained silent, offering only scraps of incoherent images.
A flash of light. A scream. Falling skyscrapers. Fire.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the visions. Was that... before? Before she ended up here?
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud metallic clang. She shuddered. What is it? The sound was approaching. Footsteps?
She tried to get up, but her body failed her again. She could only lie there helplessly and wait.
The creak of a door opening. Dim light flooded into the room, hurting her eyes. She squinted, trying to make out who had entered.
"Found another one," a rough male voice said. "Tough one, damn it."
"What are we going to do with her?" a second voice asked, more youthful.
"The same as with the others," the first one replied. "Experiments. Maybe this one will last."
Experiments? A chill of fear ran down her spine. What are they going to do with her?
She felt herself being roughly grabbed by the arms and dragged somewhere. She tried to break free, but she had no strength.
"Quiet, you," one of the men hissed, painfully squeezing her arm. "Don't struggle, it will be worse."
She was thrown onto the cold floor. She hit her head and briefly lost consciousness.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw that she was in a large room filled with strange devices. In the center of the room stood a tall cylinder made of transparent material, inside which a greenish light pulsed.
"Place the object in the capsule," a cold, lifeless voice said. A machine's voice?
She was grabbed again and dragged to the cylinder. She resisted desperately, but it was all useless.
She was shoved inside. The cylinder door closed with a hiss. The green light became brighter, filling the entire space around her.
She screamed, but the scream was drowned out by the hum of the machine. Pain pierced her entire body, tearing her apart. She felt herself being changed, reshaped at the cellular level.
Is this the end?
Suddenly, the pain disappeared. She opened her eyes. The green light was gone. She was still inside the cylinder, but she felt... different. Stronger.
The cylinder door opened. She stepped out, staggering. The men standing nearby looked at her with surprise and... fear.
"She... survived," one of them muttered.
She looked at her hands. The skin on them was covered with a strange ashen coating. She clenched her fists. She felt an unknown power in them.
I'm... different.
She raised her head and looked into the eyes of her tormentors. There was no fear in her gaze. Only cold determination.
I am Ashen.
And I will live.
———————————————
247 cycles post-Initialization.
Ashen's eyes snapped open. That dream again. Or was it a dream? Fragments of memory, flashes of agony, and that verdant light had haunted her since she had first regained consciousness within the dilapidated bunker, alone amidst clanking machinery and blinking emergency lights.
She rose from her makeshift bed, a crude assembly of rusted metal scraps and tattered fabric. Her body ached, a familiar sensation. Pain had become her constant companion, as had hunger.
Time to forage. Fortune favored her today. Within one of the abandoned crates, she discovered a can of preserved peaches. Dented, its lid distended, but no other sustenance presented itself.
"Better than nothing," Ashen murmured, prying the can open with a sharpened shard of metal.
A saccharine, synthetic flavor. Hardly a delicacy, yet it served to quell the gnawing emptiness.
Her sanctuary was situated within a former utility room, deep beneath the earth's surface. Once, this place had likely hummed with activity, but now only echoing corridors, skeletal remains of machinery, and phantoms of the past remained.
Ashen finished the peaches and discarded the can into a growing pile of refuse. Ascending to the surface was imperative. Supplies were dwindling, and prolonged existence in the subterranean darkness was untenable.
She approached the massive hatch that led to the surface. The rusted mechanism resisted at first, but after several minutes of exertion, the hatch yielded with a grating screech.
Blinding light assaulted her eyes. Ashen squinted, acclimating to the sun's glare. Cautiously, she peered outside.
Before her stretched the ruins of a city. Once-majestic skyscrapers now stood as mutilated giants, their vacant window sockets staring out like empty eyes. The streets were choked with debris, the rusted carcasses of vehicles, and grotesque, mutated flora.
The Iron Jungle. That was her appellation for this world. A world where each day was a struggle for survival.
Ashen emerged and set off towards the city's center. Rumor had it that the Black Market—a place to barter salvaged scrap for food, water, and other necessities—was located there.
The journey was fraught with peril. Mutants, the hideous progeny of radiation and experimentation, stalked the ruins, and an encounter with them promised nothing but misfortune. Ashen proceeded with caution, hugging the shadows and avoiding open spaces.
Suddenly, a rustling sound from behind caused her to whirl around, her grip tightening on the sharpened piece of rebar that served as her only weapon.
From behind a heap of rubble emerged a monstrous rat. Canine-sized, with baleful crimson eyes and wickedly sharp incisors. A mutant.
Ashen froze, bracing for an attack. The rat advanced slowly, its teeth bared in a silent snarl, emitting a guttural growl.
Mustn't let it corner me. Ashen knew that if the rat attacked, her chances of survival were slim.
She retreated slowly, her gaze fixed on the mutant. The rat mirrored her movements, maintaining the distance.
Action was required. Ashen scanned her surroundings, seeking an escape route.
Abruptly, she noticed a narrow passage between two buildings. Too constricted for the rat. It was her only chance.
Ashen bolted towards the passage, hoping to reach it before the rat could intercept her. The mutant lunged after her but became wedged in the tight space.
Without looking back, Ashen sprinted onward. She ran until she reached the opposite side of the street, finding a modicum of safety.
A stroke of luck. She leaned against a building's wall, catching her breath.
But there was no time for respite. This was merely the beginning. A long and perilous journey through the Iron Jungle lay ahead.
Continuing on, Ashen observed a plume of smoke rising in the distance. A campfire? This could signify one of two possibilities: either other survivors had established a camp, or it was a raider's trap.
Should she risk it? On one hand, an encounter with other humans could prove disastrous. On the other, it presented an opportunity to acquire supplies or glean information about the outside world.
Ashen resolved to approach, but with extreme circumspection. She advanced stealthily, moving from one point of cover to the next, until she was close enough to discern the activity around the fire.
Several figures were seated around the blaze. Filthy, ragged, their faces gaunt and weary. They were roasting some small, unidentifiable creature on a spit.
Survivors. Not raiders. At least, not ostensibly.
Ashen emerged from her concealment. The individuals by the fire noticed her and became alert. One of them, a tall man with a jagged scar across his face, rose and approached her.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice rough. "What do you want here?"
"I'm... looking for the Black Market," Ashen replied, striving to keep her voice steady. "Perhaps you know how to get there?"
The man scrutinized her from head to toe, as if taking her measure.
"The Black Market, eh?" he drawled. "That's a long way. You won't make it alone."
"I'll manage," Ashen asserted stubbornly.
"Maybe you will," the man chuckled. "And maybe you won't. All sorts of things happen in these parts."
He paused, then continued, "Alright, then. We're headed in that direction too. You can come with us. But listen, we have our own rules."
"What rules?" Ashen inquired.
"Don't talk unless spoken to. Don't ask questions. And do as you're told. Understand?"
Ashen nodded. Better than being alone.
"Then let's go," the man said, gesturing to the others. "Get up."
The group resumed their journey. Ashen walked at the rear, trying not to draw attention to herself.
Who were these people? Could they be trusted? These questions gnawed at her.
She surreptitiously observed her new companions. Five men and two women. All were armed—some with knives, others with makeshift spears, and the scarred man carried an old, rusty pistol.
They walked in silence, exchanging only brief, terse phrases. Ashen learned that the scarred man was called Scar, and the others were Mute, Fang, Nimble, Gray, and Spark.
Peculiar names. Nicknames, most likely.
The day waned. The group halted for the night in a partially collapsed building. They built a fire and shared their meager provisions.
Ashen sat apart, observing the others. They seemed strange, but not dangerous. At least, not yet.
Suddenly, she felt a gaze upon her. She turned and saw Spark—a young woman with vibrant auburn hair—watching her.
"You're different from the others," Spark said in a low voice. "Where are you from?"
Ashen hesitated. Should she reveal the truth?
"I... I don't remember," she finally answered. "I woke up alone, in a bunker. I don't remember anything about my past."
Spark regarded her with sympathy.
"That's hard," she said. "Not knowing who you are or where you came from."
"What about you?" Ashen asked. "Do you remember what happened... before?"
Spark shook her head.
"Only fragments. Explosions. Screams. Darkness. And then—a new life. In the Iron Jungle."
They fell silent, each lost in her own thoughts.
"Do you think there are other places?" Ashen inquired. "Besides this one?"
Spark shrugged.
"Who knows," she replied. "Maybe there are. But I haven't seen them."
They spoke a little longer, then settled down to sleep. Ashen found it difficult to fall asleep, tossing and turning on the hard floor. What awaited her in the future? Would she find her place in this world?
Hope. That word, seemingly forgotten in the Iron Jungle, suddenly flickered in her mind. A faint ember in the darkness.
But even the faintest ember can ignite into a flame.