Chapter One: Hunger and Monsters
3026 Another year of disaster. Another year of waking up not knowing if you'll survive the night.
It's been seven years since the world fell to the pandemic they called Omega Black. Seven years of sickness, madness, and silence. What little civilization remained has long been stripped away by famine, greed, and desperation. The world isn't ruled by governments anymore—but by gangs, fire, and fear. Now the world is the breading ground of crimes and humans who have turned into monsters.
I scoured the empty ruins of an old convent store, the air reeking of rot and stale plastic. The shelves were hollowed out like broken teeth—just a few shattered jars, a bent mop, the shell of a radio that hadn't worked in years. My stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself from the inside out.
Then I saw it.
A single can of tinned fish wedged behind a collapsed rack, coated in dust and cobwebs. I lunged, scraping my arm against the metal shelf, but I didn't care. With trembling fingers, I ripped it open with the rusty opener clipped to my belt. It made a grotesque squelch as I slurped the contents in the shadows of the store. It tasted like wet metal and moldy seaweed, but it didn't matter. It was food.
Then I heard shouting.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat, and slid behind the shelf on the store's left wall. Through the broken window, I saw them.
A group of four men—faces sunken, eyes wild with hunger and cruelty—had cornered two teenage boys. The teens, no older than sixteen, were clutching a cloth bag to their chests, their backs pressed to a graffiti-covered delivery truck. One of the men stepped forward, his voice rough and sharp like gravel.
"Give me your food."
The boys didn't answer. One of them clutched the bag tighter. The other looked like he was about to cry.
I stayed hidden.
I wanted to move, to shout, to throw something—anything—but I couldn't. My legs were locked, and my hands trembled as I held the empty tin. I knew how it would go. I'd be next if I go. I wasn't a hero.
Outside, the shouting rose. A punch. A scream. A tearing sound. I turned away. This was the world now. This was survival of the fittest.
And then… the sky hummed.
It started low, like distant thunder, then grew louder. A crackling roar echoed across the sky, and a pulse of violet light swept across the city ruins like a wave.
My skin prickled. My vision blurred.
Suddenly, I wasn't in the store anymore.
I was falling.
When the light swallowed me, I thought I was dying.
But instead of death, I landed hard on rough ground—metallic, cold, and slightly damp. My vision pulsed white as I tried to gather myself. Groans echoed nearby. I wasn't alone.
I counted quickly—thirty of us. Thirty strangers scattered across a wide, dome-shaped arena surrounded by smooth black walls that stretched up into darkness. A low hum vibrated beneath our feet, like the ground itself was alive.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"Welcome, Citizens. You have been selected for The Reclamation Protocol. This is the first game. Only one survivor will earn the right to live in the New World. The rest will be purged."
A digital counter appeared in the air above us:Participants: 30Survivors Allowed: 1
A scream pierced the air.
A man—a thin guy with wild eyes and a torn jacket—jumped to his feet. "No! No! I won't play this stupid game! You hear me? You can't make me! I don't want to die!"
He sprinted toward the nearest wall.
The moment his foot crossed the white boundary line etched into the floor, he exploded into a cloud of glowing ash.
Gasps. Someone sobbed. A few dropped to their knees.
The rest of us? Silence.
Then came the voice—mechanical, smooth, almost too polite:
"Rule Violation. Elimination confirmed. Remaining Participants: 29."
"Welcome to Round One of The Reclamation Protocol. Each sector contains 30 players. One will proceed."
My stomach knotted.
"This is the game: Cat and Mouse. You will determine your role through randomized designation shortly. Cats will hunt. Mice will flee. There are no other rules… but survival."
"Timer: 3 hours. At the end, all remaining mice will face a culling if more than one survives."
Without warning, a loud clang echoed as a hatch in the center of the arena floor opened. A crate rose from below with a metallic whir, then stopped.
Everyone stared.
It opened.
Inside were eight small black backpacks.
Supplies.
The hungry silence broke.
A tall girl darted forward, grabbing one. Then a burly man. Soon, five… six… eight bags claimed.
Those eight players stepped back, cradling their prizes like newborns. I saw the relief in their eyes—the slight smiles, the soft murmurs of hope.
But I knew better.
Desperation doesn't envy—it devours.
"Give us one," someone snapped. A wiry boy with a buzzcut.
"Why should we?" the burly man growled, clutching his bag tighter. "Find your own."
"Please," a small voice said. "We're all starving…"
One of the girls turned to run. She didn't get far.
Buzzcut and two others tackled her to the ground and ripped the bag from her hands. She screamed. Another player ran, and he was punched in the gut until he collapsed.
It was chaos waiting to break open.
And I had seen enough of that already.
"Stop!" I shouted.
Everyone turned.
I surprised even myself.
"We can divide the supplies. It's the only way any of us will last long enough to even play the damn game. You keep fighting, you're all going to die before the Cats even show up."
Silence again.
One by one, heads nodded. Grudgingly, some of the supply holders opened their bags, revealing vacuum-sealed meal bars, tiny water canisters, a flashlight, and a single bloodstained cloth—probably from whoever packed it last.
"We split it," I said again, more firmly.
And we did. Some glared. Some hoarded. But for the first time since landing here, we weren't fighting.
Just surviving. Together. For now.
But the peace wouldn't last.
Because we still didn't know who the Cats were.
And the timer was ticking.
To be continued....