The world was dying, yet in its desperation it tried to grow. It created specimens, twisted experiments of flesh and spirit—mutants and humans with supernatural gifts—hoping to purge itself of injustice. But chaos, ever patient, seized this divine power and bent it to its will, spreading ruin as only chaos could.
In a dark corner of a blood-stained apartment, a girl wept. Her father lay dead, and in her chest bloomed a vow: to avenge him, to slaughter all who had taken him from her. With trembling hands, she shouldered her bag and stepped into the night.
At the border, children waited—scouting out for the next ship. They never even saw her coming. The crack of gunfire shattered the silence—one by one, they fell before they could even cry out. Smoke rose from her weapon as she crouched down, pulling open a hidden hatch her father had shown her long ago. Beneath it lay a secret tunnel, leading down to the river. At its end, an old speedboat waited in the shadows. Her father had hidden it for the day escape became necessary. That day had come.
The world beyond moved on in its own way. Cities raised statues of their fallen heroes, trying to immortalize sacrifice in stone. Yet as time passed, fewer heroes stood up to fight. It wasn't death that dwindled their numbers—it was fear. They believed their survival mattered more than the people they swore to protect. Selfishness spread like rot, infecting even the bravest hearts. In desperation, governments began conscripting children as young as six, training them to be emotionless cadets—living weapons stripped of fear, stripped of choice.
Three days later, Sasha's boat scraped against the mainland's shore. Her lips were cracked, her eyes hollow, her stomach gnawing with hunger. She staggered forward, feet sinking into the sand, and lifted her gaze to the world she had only ever heard of in whispers.
The city stretched before her, vast and alive, its noise and color overwhelming her senses. For a moment, she simply stood, drinking it in—the world her father had once spoke about. But grief struck her like a knife, reminding her why she had come.
She pushed on, her resolve hardening with each step. In the crowded streets, she slipped unseen, her ragged clothes marking her as out of place. A packed clothesline caught her eye—a display of fresh garments, modern and clean, so unlike the rags of Ivi Town.
She moved quickly, pulling the fabric over her scarred skin, she felt something strange—an echo of the girl she had once been, buried beneath anger and blood.