Selene's last conscious memory was fixed on the blinding white light and deafening blast of her 21st-century laboratory. Yet, in the next instant, the expected death did not arrive. Instead, a torrent of data, carrying shattered starlight, tore through her soul.
No—not a torrent, but something closer to billions of burning stellar codes, crashing into the core of her consciousness at speeds beyond physical laws, violently scouring and tearing apart every notion she held of "self." Every cell, every foundation of life, was being broken down and rebuilt in excruciating transformation. At the brink of mental collapse, her crumbling reason clung like the last lone boat in a storm, passively enduring countless streaks of light searing into the depths of her soul, leaving scalding imprints behind.
"Unknown lifeform detected… Warning… Gene sequence analysis… Error… Error… Unparseable…"
A cold, synthetic voice pierced the chaotic veil of her senses—the first clear message she received in this unfamiliar era.
Selene's eyes snapped open. A sharp gasp caught in her throat. Instead of the familiar ceiling above her, she saw the softly glowing blue interior of a futuristic sealed capsule. The air carried a strange scent—highly purified disinfectant mixed with the metallic tang of cooled machinery.
She lay in a human-shaped recess, secured by flexible yet firm restraints that held her limbs and torso without pain but denied all freedom of movement. The capsule walls were made of some high-strength transparent composite, blurred shapes of figures in full-body white suits moving hastily outside, their faces and expressions hidden behind visors.
Directly ahead, a massive holographic screen displayed a dizzying stream of alien characters and three-dimensional gene helix models that constantly twisted, broke apart, and reformed.
"Warning: Gene sequence unreadable… Energy signature: inert… Life tier assessment: non-evolved, genetically inferior, no potential for development…"
The system's judgment rang out again, clearer this time, carrying a tone of irrefutable finality.
Selene forced herself to calm down, using sheer will to slow the frantic beating of her heart. She quickly observed her surroundings, analyzing the indifferent glances from the personnel outside and the terse, machinelike commands they exchanged. Her conclusion was swift and certain—her situation was dire. Here, she was not a person in need of rescue, nor even a specimen worth studying. She was worthless.
As expected, there was no interrogation, no explanation. The capsule slid open, the restraints retracted. Gloved hands hauled her out roughly. Her feet touched the cold metal floor, unsteady. Around her was a hall filled with blinking indicator lights and complex interfaces. Other capsules were opening, disgorging mostly young, barely adult faces.
Some were pale with terror, clutching their clothes in white-knuckled grips. Others had hollow eyes, already resigned to whatever fate awaited them, moving with numb obedience. Selene and several dozen others branded with "inferior genes" were herded like lifeless cargo, pushed and shoved toward a transport ship docked nearby.
The ship's interior was cramped and filthy, the air thick with the smells of sweat, old rust, and a nearly palpable despair. Metal benches were packed; there was hardly any room to move. Selene found a small spot near a round viewport. Through the grimy reinforced glass, she saw an unimaginable vista: the boundless dark of space, a massive ring of ice and rock spinning in slow, eternal motion, and farther still, vibrantly colored nebulae like divine brushstrokes across a canvas—stunningly beautiful.
This sublime beauty stood in cruel contrast to the plight of her and the other "useless waste" in the hold.
"Where are they taking us?" a thin voice asked beside her. Selene turned to see a brown-haired girl with red-rimmed eyes looking at her timidly.
"The Broken Star Belt," answered a gloomy-faced youth leaning against the wall opposite. He let out a derisive snort. "The Empire's dumping ground for garbage. Barren, lawless—where they discard 'low-grades' like us."
As if to confirm his words, the ship's AI announced tonelessly, "Destination: Broken Star Belt, Sector Seven. Estimated travel time: three standard hours. All passengers maintain order."
Muffled sobs and ragged breaths filled the compartment, the atmosphere thickening with despair.
The transport ship shuddered violently as it entered a planet's atmosphere, its metal frame groaning in protest.
Amid the shaking, Selene slowly adjusted her stance, bracing herself. She raised a hand, wiping away a trace of blood at her lip from the turbulence. Her gaze cut through the grimy viewport to the outside—a barren sky, sickly orange and devoid of any green life.
The initial shock had faded from her eyes, replaced by a settled coldness and a sharp, penetrating focus.
She flexed her wrist slightly, sensing something different kindling deep within her body—something that had quietly taken root after the data storm that had nearly shredded her consciousness. It lay dormant, faint yet tenacious, like a seed buried in frozen earth, holding the potential to break through.
"Inferior genes? Useless waste?" The words circled in Selene's mind, evoking not insecurity or rage, but a near-absurd instinct to resist, to uncover the truth. She didn't yet understand this hidden power, but she was certain of one thing: those who had discarded her like trash had made a grave mistake.
The ship's engines roared heavily as it descended rapidly. Through the viewport, she could clearly see the vast, broken crimson earth below and the outlines of a settlement patched together from scrap metal and crude materials.
Selene took a deep breath of the ship's foul air, her fingers curling unconsciously, brushing against her palm. There, almost imperceptibly, a faint warmth was gathering—completely alien to the dead world outside.