~February 15th, 2032~

If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be bleeding out in a back alley while my so-called friends looted my corpse, I would've laughed in their faces.

Yet here I am.

Dying.

Pathetic, right?

The irony is, I should've seen this coming. The signs were all there; the weird glances, fishy conversations that consisted of 'highly confidential information', and the way my rations kept disappearing whenever I turned my back. 

But I ignored it. I never question anything because that's who I am; Renata, always seeing the good in the worst of situations. Always wanted to believe she could ever fit anywhere

Hell, I wanted to believe we were a team. A family.

Stupid, stupid, me!

The truth hits harder than the bullet in my gut. No one ever saw me as their equal. I was useful, alright. A tool. And when tools outlive their purpose?

They get thrown away.

Pain lances through my stomach as I press a trembling hand against the wound. Warm blood seeps between my fingers, staining the tattered remains of my shirt. It smells like rust—thick and with the acrid scent of smoke and rotting garbage.

I choke out a laugh. "Wow. Y'all didn't even let me die somewhere nice."

Santiago, the leader of this band of backstabbing bastards, crouches beside me, cocking his head like I'm some fascinating insect he just crushed under his boot. 

"Don't take it personally, Renata. You know how it is."

Oh, I know exactly how it is.

Santiago, the charming, silver-tongued devil I once trusted with my life, is smiling at me like I'm a joke he's already forgotten. 

Behind him, the others—people I fought for, bled for—rifle through my things with like a bunch of kids unwrapping Christmas presents.

Assholes.

I grit my teeth, urging myself to not let them see my spirit quell. "So this is the plan? You shoot me, take my stuff, and leave me to die in a gutter?"

"Not just your stuff," Santiago corrects, glancing over his shoulder. "We're taking your place too."

I blink. "My… place?"

He grins, and I suddenly hate how white his teeth are. "Come on, Renata. You really thought the council would let a nobody like you keep that spot forever?"

Ah… there it bloody is.

The real reason.

They never intended to share the power. The moment I stopped being convenient, I became a liability. And liabilities? They get removed.

I should be angry. Furious.

And I am. But mostly? I'm disappointed at them and at myself for ever thinking that no matter how hard I worked, I could ever mean anything to these fuckers.

Or that I could mean more to Santiago than his little weak sex toy. 

My laughter comes out breathy, all the exhales I take feeling more painful by the second. "You guys suck at betrayals, you know that? You could've at least pretended to like me before putting a bullet in my stomach."

Santiago shrugs, unconcerned. "It's not personal."

Not personal.

He really said that. Like shooting someone and leaving them to die wasn't the most personal thing in the world.

I shake my head, my vision turning almost as shitty as the taste in my mouth. "Santiago?"

"Hm?"

"…I hope you choke on your next meal."

He chuckles. "You always did have a sharp tongue."

Then he stands, signaling the others. "Let's go. She'll be dead soon."

They walk away without another glance, their boots crunching over the rubble-strewn pavement. Leaving like I am nothing.

Like I have not fought alongside them for the past six fucking months in their shitty base. 

So this is it? Despite my hard work, enduring all the humiliations, abuse, and attacks and this is how I go?

I close my eyes. The world is ending, and so am I.

Perfect timing.

⋅•✧༺ ─── ☾ ─── ༻✧•⋅ I don't know how long I lay there, slipping in and out of consciousness.

The pain dulls after a while and all I can feel is an eerie numbness. The sounds of the city which was once a bustling metropolis that is now a shitty war zone drifts into the background. 

Somewhere, in the distance, I hear a woman screaming. Gunfire. A car alarm blaring… probably some shitty spluttering wreck with a dying battery abandoned by some people who are definitely zombies now and picked up by some survivors. 

None of it matters. I'm dying.

…Or at least, I should be.

But death, it seems, is taking its sweet time.

How inconsiderate.

I force my eyes open. The world tilts like a barstool with one broken leg, colors bleeding into each other like a broken painting. My fingers twitch against the concrete. Still moving. 

Scratch that… barely moving.

Why am I still alive?

The bullet should've finished me off by now. I lost too much blood. My body's ice-cold and my limbs are heavy.

And yet, something is wrong.

There's a strange… presence swerving around my mind. Yes, I hear it!

It is a whisper that isn't mine.

I am about to jolt to attention when I hear it: 

[System booting…]

I blink.

What?

[Welcome to the Silent Requiem System!]

My eyebrows knit. 

What… the hell was that?

Is it a hallucination? A fever dream? Maybe this is what dying feels like—your brain firing off one last weird, desperate glitch before shutting down.

[System synchronization: 50%...]

A sharp ringing fills my skull, vibrating against my bones. My body jerks, muscles spasming as something gore and unfamiliar takes root inside me.

"Arghhhhh!" I scream, recoiling. 

[75%...]

The pain fades and after it comes a bizarre lightness. I feel… different. Not healed, exactly, but… 

[100%. Synchronization complete.]

Then… 

… Everything goes silent.  I blank out. 

I'm definitely dead meat now.