A hundred years ago, the sky tore open.
A meteor—no, something far worse—came hurtling from beyond the stars. It tore into Earth's atmosphere like a vengeful god, trailing behind it a luminous plume of silver-blue dust that scattered across the world.
They called it Starduss.
At first, it was just a name, spoken in curiosity, written on news tickers and whispered by scientists who had no clue what they were dealing with.
But curiosity soon turned into panic.
Then death.
Then silence.
The dust spread like smoke caught in the wind—unseen, untouchable, but everywhere. No country was spared. It clung to lungs, infected water, burrowed into skin. At first, people grew sick. Then... they changed.
Governments collapsed. Cities fell. Humanity did what it always does—fought, burned, and buried its dead.
The world locked itself behind bunkers, vaults, and steel. But it was too late.
Civilization was gone.
And yet, somewhere far beneath the ruins of what was once a sprawling metropolis, life continued.
Not the life that had been—but something new. Something forged in secrecy.
They called it The Cradle.
A hidden facility buried under miles of reinforced stone and metal. A last effort. A desperate plan.
Not to save humanity—but to create something that could survive after humanity failed.
In its cold halls, time had no meaning. The air was sharp and sterile, machines humming like sleeping titans. Walls blinked with data, charts, pulses, and static.
In the heart of the lab stood two thousand and one cryogenic pods, each glowing faint blue in the dark.
And inside each pod... an experiment.
Not clones. Not humans.
Something else.
Something born from Starduss-tainted blood.
On the highest platform above the chamber, two men stood in silence. Lab coats pristine, faces worn by time.
Dr. Kael tapped at a screen. His fingers moved with a practiced rhythm. "All vitals are synchronized. Neural pathways stabilizing. Subject 0001 is ready."
Dr. Venn, older and slower, stood beside him with his hands folded. His voice was little more than a rasp. "Begin extraction."
Gas hissed.
The first pod began to drain. Fluids gurgled downward, revealing a silhouette inside. A girl, pale and still, floated upright as the pod unlocked with a slow, mechanical click.
Then... her eyes opened.
Silver. Glowing. Empty of fear.
Kael's breath hitched. "She's... conscious."
Venn stared, unmoving. "She shouldn't be. Not this soon."
The chamber was silent, yet the tension clung to the walls.
On the screen beside them, a line of green text appeared:
SUBJECT 0001: META-HUMAN ADAPTATION – STABLE
For a moment, no one moved.
The girl's gaze drifted past them, as if she was staring at something beyond the glass, beyond the machines, beyond the walls themselves.
She didn't speak. She didn't blink.
Just stared.
And something inside that stare made both men shiver.
Dr. Kael whispered, almost to himself, "Not human..."
Dr. Venn corrected him with a frown. "Not anymore."
Hours passed. Days, maybe.
Subject 0001 remained quiet. Alive. Watching.
Other pods soon began activating—each one containing a unique experiment. Subjects 0002 through 2000.
All successful.
All stable.
No failures.
It should've been a triumph.
But no one smiled.
They all knew what they were playing with. Evolution wasn't kind. It wasn't merciful.
And it never, ever asked for permission.
Then, it came.
Not a system alarm. Not a mechanical error.
But footsteps.
Heavy. Deliberate. Human.
Dr. Kael looked up from his terminal. "Did you hear that?"
Venn turned toward the far wall. His expression darkened. "Someone's inside."
"That's impossible. No one can—"
A deafening blast shattered the chamber doors.
Steel crumpled like paper.
Smoke poured through the breach as figures stormed in—dressed in black armor, helmets sealed, weapons raised.
No insignia. No warnings.
Just gunfire.
Kael screamed. "INTRUDERS!"
But the alarm didn't have time to sound.
One of the scientists tried to run. He was shot through the head.
The others didn't make it far.
It wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
The armored figures moved with chilling precision. Pod after pod was shattered. Glass exploded. Fluids spilled. Bodies slumped inside their tanks, lifeless before they ever woke.
Subject 0001's pod remained untouched—cracked, flickering, but intact.
Kael ran toward her.
A soldier saw him.
One shot. Center mass.
Kael dropped.
Dead.
Venn lunged for the console—trying to trigger emergency lockdown.
Too slow.
A bullet ripped through his chest. He collapsed, gasping beside the terminal.
Behind the chaos, crouched deep in the shadows behind storage shelves stacked with unused cryo-components...
Dr. Elian watched.
Frozen. Helpless.
His heart thundered. His breath caught.
He couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
All he could do was watch.
As his friends died. As their life's work was annihilated. As everything they'd hidden from the world was burned away in an instant.
When the violence finally ended, the attackers retreated.
No looting. No words.
Just silence, and death in their wake.
Elian stumbled from hiding, knees weak. He waded through blood and broken glass, past corpses and ruined machines.
His steps led him to Subject 0001.
Her pod flickered. The glass was cracked. A thin wisp of vapor curled from the edges.
She was still breathing.
Her hand rested on the inside of the pod, as if reaching toward something.
Her silver eyes opened again—weak, dim, but alive.
And then...
A voice.
Soft. Electronic.
Feminine.
S.E.E.K. SYSTEM INITIALIZING…
CORE LINK: PENDING
PRIMARY HOST NOT DETECTED.
Elian froze.
He stared at the display.
"Host not detected…" he whispered.
That meant she wasn't the one.
The real subject hadn't even been activated yet.
His eyes drifted to the last pod. Subject 0001 was never meant to be the final creation.
She was the first.
Not the end—just the beginning.
He clenched his fists. Tears streamed down his face, silent and raw.
He turned to the corpses of Venn and Kael.
He whispered, "I'm sorry. I wasn't strong enough…"
But as the cold air bit into his bones, something else stirred inside him.
Anger.
Resolve.
Vengeance.
He stood, bloodied hands trembling at his sides. His voice, though broken, echoed through the ruined lab.
"I don't know who you are... or what you want…"
His eyes burned with fury.
"But I'll find you."
He turned to Subject 0001.
"And when he wakes... when the real one wakes..."
He knelt beside her pod and whispered like a prayer:
"We will make you pay."
Far above, beneath a sky blackened by ash, the world slept.
Unaware that deep beneath its dead soil... something was beginning to awaken.
Something born not from nature, but from desperation.
Something neither human, nor alien.
But the bridge between.