The night sky looked wrong.
Not empty—rotting.
Clouds hung low and bruised, stretched thin like burned skin across the sky, reflecting the sickly orange glow of distant fires that never seemed to die. The wind crawled through the broken city with a low, hollow moan, threading through shattered buildings and skeletal towers like breath through a corpse's ribs.
Cassandra Owen stared at that sky from the open bay of the chopper and scoffed.
She folded her arms, leather gloves creaking, jaw tight as she forced the anger back down where it belonged. Rage was sloppy. Rage got Terminators killed.
She still couldn't understand why Command had done this to her.
A squad leader.
The title tasted bitter.
She had operated alone for years—clean missions, efficient kills, minimal damage. Until the Brute. Until the mistake. One failure, one miscalculation, and suddenly the higher-ups had decided she needed babysitting duties.
Her eyes flicked to the two Ember-ranked Terminators seated behind her.
They sat stiffly in the troop bay, armored boots magnet-locked to the floor, weapons secured across their backs. Fresh. Eager. Useless.
Drawbacks.
Every squad needed an Ashed member—someone new, someone weak. The Motherboard's way of balancing power and accelerating growth. Cassandra called it dead weight.
The chopper's engines lowered in pitch as it descended, rotors slicing through ash-heavy air. The targeted zone came into view: collapsed high-rises, streets split open like exposed bone, remnants of an old world that had died screaming.
Cassandra's gaze sharpened.
Movement.
A figure stood near the remains of a nearly decapitated building—young, thin, clutching a crude spear. Watching them.
"Hmph," she muttered. "Target already acquired."
The chopper touched down with a metallic groan. Hydraulic struts absorbed the impact, dust and ash spiraling outward in a choking cloud.
As the bay door slid open, Cassandra stepped down first.
The ground crunched beneath her boots.
She felt eyes on her—curious, fearful. The two Ember recruits followed behind, glancing between her and the boy ahead. Xenon.
The Motherboard had flagged him the moment he reawakened.
Low-grade. Ashed. Freshly bound to the System.
Perfect.
Xenon stared back, heart hammering against his ribs.
He had hidden the moment he saw the chopper—old instincts kicking in. Military. Government. Something dangerous. But hiding hadn't worked.
They'd seen him immediately.
Leather armor reinforced with segmented plating. Helmets clipped to belts. Weapons that didn't look anything like what the old world had known.
Special operatives.
"Come out," Cassandra's voice cut through the ruins, cold and sharp. "We can see you, fool."
Silence stretched.
Then Xenon stepped forward slowly, spear trembling slightly in his grip.
"I don't want trouble," he began, voice rough. "I was just—"
"We know who you are," Cassandra cut in. "And what you are."
She turned on her heel and walked back toward the chopper. "Get in. We don't have time."
Minutes later, the city dropped away beneath them.
The chopper rose, engines roaring, lights slicing through the night as they sped westward.
Xenon sat rigidly across from Cassandra, fingers tight around the spear. The two other recruits—Jim Yoon and Kira Micheal—glanced at him briefly before straightening under Cassandra's glare.
"Who are you people?" Xenon finally asked.
"I am Cassandra Owen," she replied flatly. "Your squad leader. They are your squadmates. If your System is functioning properly, you already know why this is happening."
Xenon swallowed.
System.
So that's what it was.
His gaze dropped to the spear in his hands.
Cassandra noticed.
"I see you've chosen a weapon already," she said with open disdain. "You amateurs always do. No compatibility check. No synchronization. Just grab and pray."
The words burned.
A translucent blue interface flared into Xenon's vision.
WEAPON DESIGNATION: NULL EDGE
WEAPON NAME: UNSPECIFIED
COMPATIBILITY: MINIMAL
The message vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Minimal.
That explained the strange resistance he felt whenever he wielded it—as if the weapon didn't fully belong to him.
Before he could react, another interface appeared—this time over Cassandra.
SUBJECT NAME: CASSANDRA OWEN
DESIGNATION: TERMINATOR
RANK: BLAZE
His eyes widened.
He tried it again—Kira.
SUBJECT NAME: KIRA MICHEAL
RANK: EMBER
Then Jim.
SUBJECT NAME: JIM YOON
RANK: EMBER
Blaze.
That was higher.
Much higher.
Cassandra noticed his stare and shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. He immediately looked away.
Then—
The System flared again.
INITIAL TARGET DESIGNATED
LOCATION: SECTOR GREY-9
ENTITY DESIGNATION: ZOMBIE
ENTITY TYPE: SHAMBLER
THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN
Xenon frowned. He'd seen that before.
"I keep getting messages about an entity in Sector Grey-9," he said. "What is it?"
Cassandra's eyes gleamed.
"Oh," she said quietly. "That?"
She turned toward the cockpit. "Drone. Change course. Sector Grey-9."
The chopper banked hard.
Minutes later, they landed again—this time at the edge of a ruined cemetery.
Broken headstones jutted from the earth like shattered teeth. The ground was uneven, torn apart by old explosions and newer things clawing their way out.
The air smelled of rust and rot.
Cassandra nudged Xenon forward.
"I think it's time you earned your place," she said. "Make your first kill."
The System pulsed. Xenon felt a little bit confused and worried. Kill a zombie? It seemed like it was happening all too fast.
" What is wrong? Are you scared?" Cassandra barked from behind him.
" As I see it you have only two choices, you either go on and kill the zombie or we leave you out here to eventually face the zombie" She added just as Xenon turned to see the cold look on her face.
Xenon stepped into the graveyard alone, hands .
The silence snapped.
Something moved.
The ground ahead split open as a twisted figure hauled itself free—skin stretched tight and gray, limbs bent wrong, eyes glowing faintly red.
Awakened Infected.
It screamed.
Xenon barely raised his spear before it lunged.
Impact.
He was knocked backward, spine slamming into a cracked tombstone. Pain exploded through his ribs.
The creature was fast—too fast.
Its claws raked his chest, tearing fabric and flesh. Blood sprayed warm against cold stone.
Xenon rolled, barely avoiding a bite that would have crushed his throat.
He stabbed.
The spear glanced off its shoulder—minimal compatibility.
The Infected howled and slammed him into the dirt. Pressure crushed his lungs. His vision blurred.
Move.
He twisted, jammed the spear into its neck with everything he had.
Resistance.
Then—
A shift.
The weapon clicked—not physically, but somewhere deeper.
The blade sank in.
The creature convulsed violently, shrieking as blackened blood poured out. Xenon ripped the spear free and drove it down again.
And again.
And again.
The Infected collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Silence returned.
Xenon dropped to his knees, gasping, blood dripping from his hands into the dirt.
The System surged.
TARGET ELIMINATED
FIRST KILL CONFIRMED
REWARD ALLOCATED
STAT INCREASE DETECTED
ADAPTATION: +1
CONTROL: +1
WEAPON SYNCHRONIZATION: PARTIAL
Xenon stared at the screen, chest heaving.
Behind him, Cassandra smiled. She walked over to where he knelt beside the corpse and reflexively fished out a mysterious glowing ball from the zombie's chest cavity.
" Good job, kid" she said handing the ball over to him.