Bright, blinding light pierced through the eyelids of Subject 542, dragging him from his long slumber and forcing him upright. He blinked away the confusion, surveying the unremarkable room that surrounded him. Light blue walls stretched around a sparse space containing only a bed, a table, and a door; there was nothing unique or memorable about any of it.
Looking down at himself, Subject 542 found his body draped in simple, light blue cloth that hung loose like a robe rather than proper clothing. A sudden beep accompanied by a slight vibration drew his attention to his wrist, where a bracelet displayed a glowing screen with clear instructions: "Leave the blue room."
"What... is this?"
The question echoed through the empty space with no one to provide answers. Deciding to follow the directive, he slid the door open and stepped into a vast corridor lined with identical doors stretching in organized rows. Fluorescent lights illuminated the path while guards in matching white suits—resembling storm troopers with a level up, they stood at regular intervals, advanced laser weapons clutched in their hands.
Another buzz signaled new instructions:
"Follow the corridor to your left and enter the hall."
Around him, others emerged from their rooms wearing identical blue robes, confusion etched across their faces. They moved with mechanical obedience, following instructions without question. Subject 542 joined the procession, though unlike the others, his mind churned with rebellion.
"Why are we following these bracelet commands?" he wondered silently. The group marched forward in eerie silence. No one asked questions or made statements. No one even resisted. He began to question whether he was the only rational person among them, the only one unwilling to move forward without understanding their destination.
Massive glass windows lined the corridor walls, offering glimpses into a sprawling courtyard beyond. "Whoa, where exactly is this place? That's one huge backyard," he muttered, earning strange glances from his fellow marchers.
Through the transparent barrier, he watched an impossibly large gate slide open as a hovering vehicle descended into the equally enormous yard. Two guards approached the craft, opening its trunk to reveal humanoid creatures with oversized muscles and grotesquely deformed faces. Subject 542's eyes widened. This reaction was not from their terrifying appearance but from recognizing their clothing: the same light blue cloth he and the others wore.
"Is that our fate?" he asked himself internally.
The guards' conversation drifted through the glass: "Explorer section 86, did you find any valuable loot on them?"
"Are you kidding? Valuables on scavengers? That's a terrible joke, and that's why it's funny." Both guards erupted in laughter.
"It's truly unfortunate, being born in this apocalyptic era only to turn out utterly useless. These scavengers should just be killed; we should save them the pain and suffering."
"Killed? We'd be wasting bullets. Better to let the infected deal with those weaklings."
Subject 542 absorbed their words, understanding the language but failing to grasp the complete meaning. "Scavengers," he whispered, lost in thought until he bumped into someone ahead.
"Hey, watch where you're going," the stranger snapped, turning to read the identity on his shirt before finishing, "Subject 542." Without another word, he resumed walking to avoid obstructing the line.
They finally arrived in a massive hall where thousands of people stood in uniform positions, filling every available space. A screen flickered to life, displaying a middle-aged man in an advanced uniform similar to the guards but clearly denoting higher rank.
His voice boomed through invisible speakers throughout the space: "Hello everyone. I am Commander Landon, head of one of many security facilities around the world. I know everyone is confused, so I'll provide a brief explanation of your current situation.
"Long ago, humans predicted the world's end through various theories like global warming, war, food shortages, and meteors. But everyone was guessing. We never expected something from beyond our world. The catastrophic anomaly that transformed our once-lively planet into an apocalyptic wasteland is called the Q-virus. Upon discovering this strange virus, we immediately deployed our most advanced technology and medical breakthroughs, but everything proved useless."
The newly awakened subjects stood with wide eyes and trembling gazes as Commander Landon paused, allowing the shocking revelation to sink in before continuing.
"The virus defies full explanation. We know it has three infection forms: first, the Crawlers—people fully mutated on a genetic level, transformed into creatures that can only be described as beasts. Second, the Minor Infected. Third, the Major Infected. That's why you're all here today. You will be trained to fight against the virus; all of you are minor infected. Don't be afraid or confused; we're here to guide you. Everyone, please proceed to the testing facility where your abilities will be determined."
The screen flickered off as guards approached, escorting everyone into different sections for examination. Subject 542 walked absentmindedly toward the testing room, his rebellious mind churning with questions no obedient person would dare ask.
"This doesn't feel right. I have basic knowledge, but I remember nothing else, nothing about who I am or where I came from. I only remember waking up, and now I'm being shuffled from room to room."
He entered the testing facility to find an elderly doctor positioned behind advanced machinery and computers.
"Lie down in the pod, Subject 542, and... close your eyes and relax."
Reluctantly, Subject 542 complied while wondering about everything. The machine hummed to life, scanning his body as he noticed the doctor studying the screen. Curiosity drove him to look as well. His expression shifted from eagerness to shock as the results appeared:
Class: Minor Infected
Strength: Human, Average
Stamina: Human, Average
Mana Particles: Empty
Special Skills: 0
Rating: Scavenger
A big, fat zero occupied the space where his skills should have been, accompanied by a bold, clear designation.
"Am I a... scavenger?"