Ava was dead on her feet.
Her fingers were numb, her back ached from hours of sorting through rusted junk, and her stomach was having a full-blown rebellion over the pathetic scrap of bread she had eaten.
But none of that mattered.
Not after what she had just seen.
A glowing interface—floating in front of her like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. The words still burned in her vision, bright and undeniably real.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[WELCOME, USER.]
[INITIALIZING BLUEPRINT DATABASE…]
Her breath caught, heart hammering against her ribs.
A system. She had a system.
Ava had spent the last few weeks at the bottom of the bunker's food chain, labeled useless, weak, disposable.
But she wasn't useless.
She wasn't even normal.
The realization came so fast, so hard, that her body had no idea what to do with it.
And that's when her heart stopped working.
It hit like a punch to the chest.
A sudden, crushing tightness spread through Ava's ribs, squeezing too hard, too fast.
She sucked in a breath—or tried to—but her lungs weren't cooperating. Her vision blurred.
The world tilted.
Oh. Oh, that wasn't good.
She stumbled backward, barely managing to brace herself against the table, fingers digging into the rusted edge.
Her pulse was everywhere at once—a chaotic, erratic pounding in her skull, her hands, her throat.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't—
[WARNING: SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED]
[CRITICAL INSTABILITY: INITIATING REBOOT]
Ava didn't even have time to swear before her body completely shut down.
Dead. Or Something Like It.
She wasn't sure how long she was out.
Minutes? Hours?
Everything was cold. Dark. Silent.
Then—
[SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETE.]
[USER STABILIZED.]
Ava's body jerked back to life.
Her lungs dragged in a breath, painful and ragged. Her fingers twitched, legs spasming against the cold floor.
She was flat on her back, staring at the cracked ceiling, her body buzzing with something unnatural.
It took her several seconds to realize she was no longer dying.
Her chest felt normal again. No pain, no tightness—just the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart.
Like nothing had happened.
Ava let out a slow, shaky exhale, trying to wrap her head around the situation.
Okay. New rule.
Maybe don't get too excited next time.
Diagnostics & Discoveries
Her hands trembled as she sat up, glancing around.
No one had noticed.
Everyone else was still focused on their work, hunched over their own piles of broken scrap, too busy surviving to care that she had just flatlined and rebooted like a damn computer.
Ava pressed her palm against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her fingertips.
That had been way too real.
[SYSTEM ONLINE.]
[USER HEALTH: OPTIMAL.]
She gritted her teeth. No kidding.
Her eyes flickered toward the floating interface, taking in the data flashing across the screen.
[BLUEPRINT SYSTEM – ACTIVE]
[AVAILABLE SCHEMATICS: 3]
[RESOURCE ANALYSIS: ON]
Blueprint System.
A system that let her design and build whatever she wanted—as long as she had the materials.
She stared at the glowing text, heartbeat slowly steadying.
This wasn't just a way out.
This was power.
The only problem?
She couldn't tell a single person.
Secrecy is Survival
Ava had spent weeks watching the bunker's hierarchy.
She knew exactly how this worked.
Nobody talked about their real systems.
Mutants—actual System Holders—pretended their only ability was fast healing.
If people found out what she really had?
She wouldn't be trading blueprints.
She'd be locked up, dissected, or worse—forced to work for someone else.
She clenched her fists.
That wasn't happening.
Ever.
Her system was hers.
Which meant she needed a plan.
One that would let her use her abilities without exposing them. So she need to wait.