The Old District looked like a wound Dresden had learned to live with.
The streets narrowed as I walked in, cobblestone cracked and bleeding weeds, the gaps stuffed with glass and old shell casings. Buildings slouched, walls pocked with bullet scars, windows blown out and stuffed with plywood that sagged in the wind.
Modern Berlin had been scrubbed clean, sterilized into glass and chrome. But not here.
I hated this place, though I couldn't quite place why. Every step dragged up something I couldn't name. Fragments. Faces I almost recognized, voices I couldn't make out.
Maybe they weren't my memories. Maybe they belonged to the ones who died here.
Leo drifted beside me, hands tucked into his pockets like we were out for a casual Sunday stroll. His eyes scanned the ruins with a look I couldn't read.
"Cheery little neighborhood," he said. "I should've brought a camera."
I ignored him, adjusting my glasses as the wind slid past. The smell here was offputting, a scent that was like rust and char.
The taste of ash clung to my tongue as I walked. Silence blanketed the streets. Not even the wind made a sound. Just my boots scraping over fractured stone. Despite the quiet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling of being watched.
I dragged my hand along the wall as I walked, the brittle brick crumbling under my fingers. Dust flaked off, gray against my gloves. The Old District was like that—ready to collapse if the world so much as breathed on it wrong.
It wasn't hard to imagine what happened here when the hunts started. The narrow alleys, the chokepoints… These ruins were perfect for cornering prey.
But how do I know that?
The thought froze me in place. I didn't live this. I wasn't here when the purge carved through Dresden. I was still in that pod, buried in my own coma while everyone else—the ones who mattered—were erased. So why does it feel like I remember?
I shoved the feeling down and kept walking.
Then I saw it.
Half-buried in a narrow gap between two buildings, under a mess of twisted rebar and bent fencing, was a playground—or rather, what was left of one. A swing set leaned to the side, its chains eaten by rust. A slide lay half-swallowed by rubble, its metal skin scarred and dull.
I stopped dead as my stomach dropped.
The first sound in what felt like hours broke the stillness; the squeal of a loose swing shifting in the breeze. Just one sound, but sharp enough to cut through my nerves.
And then came the memory. It slammed into me so fast it almost knocked me over.
A woman's laugh, warm and weightless. My hands gripping chains as I swung higher, her voice chasing after me as I enjoyed the warm sunlight.
My mother.
It should've been comforting. But it wasn't.
Her face wouldn't come into focus. No matter how hard I tried, it blurred, like someone had taken an eraser to her features and left nothing but a smear where her smile should've been.
The memory twisted in my chest, sharp enough to hurt.
Why can't I remember you?
I stayed there for a long time, staring at the swing.
The memory wouldn't leave, nor would her voice. "They're out there," I muttered. My fingers curled into fists. "I'll find them."
I turned and started walking. The swing groaned behind me.
The feeling of eyes on me stayed. No—it grew. This place wasn't empty.
A sharp clang broke my paranoia, steel striking steel in the distance. Construction.
I shifted, catching the faint silhouettes through gaps in the ruined blocks—cranes, their arms stretching skyward, orange frames bright against a dead gray skyline. Bulldozers crouched at the edges of the old district, waiting for their chance to tear it apart.
Solarius' dream of progress chewing away at what little history we had left.
Engines rumbled faintly beneath the wind. I moved faster, keeping to the shadows, boots crunching over debris. My eyes swept the alleys and every hollow doorway.
The men who crawled through places like this didn't work nine-to-five. Shrewd businessmen, criminals, and opportunists made their deals in the dark here, where the rules of the city didn't quite reach. They answered to money and power. If any of them saw me for what I really was, there wouldn't be time for questions.
"You're doing it again," Leo's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Doing what?" I muttered.
"That thing. The dramatic brooding, with bonus self-loathing. Real compelling character study, ten out of ten. It's just a little boring, that's all."
"Leo," I warned.
"What? I'm just saying. You've got that look again. The whole 'lone wolf hunting' thing? It's… tragic. Very artistic, though."
"Shut up."
"Sure, right. I'll shut up. Right after you stop trying to shoulder the fate of an entire extinct people on your own like some second-rate martyr."
My jaw tightened. "They're not extinct."
Leo hummed. "Maybe… maybe. And if they are out there, you think they're sitting around, waiting for you to swoop in and save them?"
"That's the plan."
"Oh, brilliant plan. Totally airtight, I'd say. Have you got the recruitment flyers ready, or is this more of a door-to-door situation?"
I ignored him and kept walking. The feeling of eyes on me sank deeper.
Up ahead, a figure leaned against a lamppost, half-swallowed by shadow. The brim of his hat dipped low, hiding his face, but the faint ember of his cigarette burned bright. Smoke curled lazily around him, thin gray threads twisting in the cold air.
He wasn't looking at me—or at least, not openly—but everything about his stillness set my nerves on edge. The old district didn't breed loiterers. If you were standing still out here, it was for a reason.
I slowed my steps without meaning to, rolling the tension from my shoulders, trying to look like I belonged here. The crunch of gravel under my boots suddenly sounded too loud, so I shifted closer to the ruined walls, letting the jagged shadows swallow my outline.
The wind carried the sharp bite of smoke to me. Don't engage unless you have to.
The man shifted, drawing on his cigarette, and for a split second, his face flickered into view—weathered skin with a grizzled jaw, and eyes sunk deep into shadow. He didn't turn his head, not bothering to move beyond that slow drag.
I kept walking, but the second I passed him, every nerve in my body screamed. He was watching me now. I felt it, prickling along my spine.
I veered down an alley without hesitation, slipping between two buckled fences, rust scraping my sleeve as I pushed through. On the other side, the street opened into a square that looked like a graveyard.
Construction had carved its teeth into this place. Piles of shattered concrete slumped against half-demolished walls. Scaffolding clung to buildings like webs, metal rods glinting under the fractured light.
It was then that I saw a shift of movement. The square wasn't empty.
I froze just inside the open space, letting my eyes scan the edges without turning my head. A pair of men lingered near a half-toppled column, one cradling a sleek black briefcase, the other thumbing a tablet with quick, nervous gestures. No words passed between them.
Further out, at the far edge of the ruins, I caught the gleam of orange vests through the haze of dust—a cluster of construction crews standing idle near a half-dismantled building. They were too far to hear, but their presence told me I needed to move faster. Their work would creep closer, and sooner or later, they'd level this place.
"Abital, I'm bored. Can we leave now?" Leo complained. "I don't think you're going to find anything at this rate. Everything here is in ruins." All I could do was sigh and keep pushing forward.
I moved along the shadows, but there was a feeling in the air that didn't sit right with me. I took a pause to listen carefully.
A hum, nearly imperceptible. It was subtle enough that I might've missed it if I hadn't stopped to breathe.
I tilted my head, straining to catch it again.
There. Faint, coming from somewhere beyond the courtyard.
I followed it without thinking, weaving through scattered chunks of debris and the splintered remains of benches. The courtyard stretched ahead, a circle of cracked stone lined with rusted benches, their legs bent and warped. Crumbling statues loomed above them, their faces eroded to featureless masks, though they watched me anyway.
The hum grew stronger as I moved, and I finally saw the source of the noise.
Tucked away at the far edge of the courtyard, was a door. Way too clean for a desolate place like this.
Its frame was seamless metal, polished enough to catch the faintest gleam of light. No rust, nor dust. It didn't look right against the jagged ruin of the building around it.
If I hadn't been looking for something, I would've missed it entirely. The door didn't have any markings or handles. It was just a slab of metal tucked into a steel frame.
I stepped closer, my breath hitching. My fingertips brushed the cold surface.
A spike of pain shot through my skull, white-hot and blinding. My vision was inundated with half-formed faces and mouths stretched wide in screams I couldn't hear. Voices tangled together, fragments of words that never made sense, breaking apart before I could piece them together.
Flashes of light. The stench of chemicals. The crushing weight of restraints biting into my wrists. Screams—mine, or someone else's. It all tore through me in jagged bursts, far too fast to process.
I staggered back, clutching the side of my head. The courtyard swam before me. My stomach twisted, bile creeping up the back of my throat.
And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain snapped away.
Silence.
This was it. Whatever I was looking for, it was behind that door.
"Well, that looked fun."
Leo's voice made it through my mental haze. I turned, and there he was—floating a few feet off the ground, one leg crossed over the other. His tattoos crawled along his forearms as his hands moved, sketching some invisible diagram in the air.
"You need an aspirin," he said, tapping two fingers against his temple for emphasis. "Or maybe something stronger. You're about three seconds from painting the courtyard with your lunch."
"I'm fine," I said, shaking off the last remnants of pain.
"You're not fine." He jabbed a finger toward me. "You're pale and sweating. Your knees are doing that little tremor, too. That memory dump just handed you your ass."
"Drop it, Leo."
He drifted closer, spinning lazily on his back with his hands folded behind his head. "Word of advice, if I may? Maybe don't have an aneurysm before you figure out what's behind Door Number One. I'm fairly certain your vomit isn't a valid keycard."
I shot him a glare, but it bounced right off his smug expression.
Turning back to the door, I pressed my palm flat against the metal again. This time, no memories clawed through my skull.
A low hiss broke the silence as the door split down the center and slid upward with a grinding hum. Cold air spilled out, carrying the scent of metal and sterile chemicals.
Leo floated upright, his boots barely touching the ground now. He peered past me with a low whistle. "Well, that's not ominous at all. Definitely no one's doing black-ops science projects in there. And I'm also sure that no one is experimenting to create horrors beyond your comprehension."
I stared down the dark stairwell yawning open before me. The walls glimmered faintly under embedded strips of light that flickered to life one by one as I stepped forward, casting long shadows that crawled up the steps behind me.