Year 3120.
Fifty meters beneath the surface, the world changed.
No sunlight reached this depth. No wind. No sky.
Only damp stone, suffocating darkness, and the sound of survival.
The cave stretched endlessly, its walls slick with moisture and something darker—something that pulsed faintly, like a living infection embedded into the earth itself.
They had sent children down here.
Not soldiers.
Not trained adults.
Children.
From ages fourteen to barely
twenty.
One hundred and twenty of them.
By the end—
Only thirty-seven remained.
The test was never announced as a test.
It was called selection.
But everyone understood the truth quickly.
It was survival.
Creatures roamed the tunnels—twisted things, once human, now hollowed out and controlled by parasitic organisms. Their movements were unnatural. Their eyes empty. Their bodies relentless.
Some of the infected still wore familiar faces.
Friends.
Teammates.
People they had spoken to just hours before.
And yet—
They had to be killed.
There were no second chances.
No hesitation.
Those who hesitated—
Died.
Those who trusted—
Died.
Those who couldn't adapt—
Did not last.
Out of one hundred and twenty…
Eighty-three never made it back.
The survivors stood in a rough line at the cave's exit.
Broken.
Exhausted.
Alive.
Their clothes were torn and soaked with sweat and blood. Their lips were dry, cracked from dehydration. Their hands gripped rusted weapons—blades, pipes, anything they had managed to hold onto.
Some stared blankly ahead.
Others avoided eye contact completely.
A few couldn't stop shaking.
They had lost too much in too little time.
Friends.
Allies.
Humanity.
And for some—
Themselves.
Among them stood a girl.
Still.
Silent.
Her posture straighter than the rest despite the exhaustion weighing on her body.
Her designation echoed through the underground facility moments later.
"XDV 5546710."
Divya.
She had not just survived.
She had excelled.
Her movements had been precise.
Efficient.
She didn't hesitate.
Didn't falter.
Didn't break.
Even when others turned on each other to survive—
She adapted.
Learned.
Overcame.
The others noticed.
Not with admiration.
With distance.
Because excellence in that place came at a cost no one wanted to understand.
The leader stepped forward.
Well-dressed.
Clean.
Untouched by the horrors beneath.
He looked at them like completed work.
"Congratulations," he said smoothly. "You have passed."
No applause followed.
No relief.
Only silence.
Behind him, personnel moved forward carrying equipment—high-level tech gear, weapons far beyond anything they had used in the caves.
"You are now assets," he continued. "You will be equipped, trained further, and deployed to protect civilians from threats like the ones you faced today."
A pause.
"And you will serve."
Not a suggestion.
An order.
"Bodyguards. Operatives. Weapons, if necessary."
His smile was calm.
Controlled.
Warm enough to sound convincing.
"To the world, you will be heroes."
To them—
He didn't need to say the rest.
One of the survivors broke.
A boy stepped forward suddenly, rage overtaking exhaustion.
"You sent us down there to die!" he shouted, lunging toward the leader.
He didn't make it two steps.
A blade flashed.
Clean.
Precise.
It pierced straight through his neck.
Silence returned instantly.
The boy collapsed.
Dead before he hit the ground.
The leader didn't flinch.
Instead, he looked past the body.
Directly at her.
"Well done, XDV 5546710," he said with a sly smile. "I don't expect anything less from my students."
Divya lowered her hand slowly.
The dagger she had thrown moments ago was still lodged in the boy's throat.
Her expression didn't change.
Seven years earlier—
She had been ten.
Small.
Desperate.
Powerless.
After her father and Chris died, the world didn't stop.
It tightened.
The organization came to their door not with condolences—
But with a demand.
Compensation.
Two billion.
Not naira that made sense.
Not money a normal family could ever produce.
Her mother had asked questions.
"What research was he working on?"
"What happened to him?"
The answer was always the same.
"Confidential."
They sold everything.
Furniture.
Clothes.
Memories.
Everything.
It barely reached five hundred million.
Not even close.
Her mother fell sick not long after.
Stress.
Debt.
Hopelessness.
Medical bills piled up faster than they could breathe.
Relatives tried to help.
But it was never enough.
And then—
They came back.
Not for sympathy.
For payment.
Cold.
Unmoved.
They even commented on the medical expenses.
As if survival itself was wasteful.
Divya had begged.
Cried.
Pled.
Her small hands clenched tightly as she stood between them and her mother.
"Please…"
Her voice had broken.
"I'll do anything."
That was all they needed.
They gave her a choice.
Join them.
Serve them.
Pass their program.
And in return—
They would cover her mother's medical bills.
Two calls a year.
That was all she would be allowed.
Ten years old.
And she said yes.
Now—
She was seventeen.
And still here.
"Dismissed."
The leader's voice echoed.
The survivors began to move.
Some limped.
Some staggered.
Some walked like ghosts.
Divya turned without a word.
The medical clinic was sterile.
Bright.
Cold.
The opposite of the caves.
She sat on the edge of a bed as a medic wrapped fresh bandages around her torso.
Her body carried scars.
Some new.
Some old.
Thin lines across her back.
Deeper ones along her side.
Proof of survival.
Proof of endurance.
Proof of everything she had lost.
She didn't react to the pain.
Didn't speak.
Didn't ask questions.
Her mind was elsewhere.
Always elsewhere.
Her father.
His research.
The debt that never made sense.
Two billion.
For what?
No normal research required that.
No normal man would demand it.
Which meant one thing—
It wasn't normal.
And neither was his death.
The organization knew.
They had to.
They hid everything.
Every file.
Every record.
Every trace.
But she would find it.
No matter how long it took.
No matter what she had to become.
She leaned back slightly as the bandaging finished.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling.
For a brief moment—
Something flickered behind her calm expression.
Not weakness.
Not fear.
Something softer.
Something buried.
She wished Chris was still alive.
The medic stepped away.
"Done."
Divya stood.
Her body adjusted instantly, despite the injuries.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Trained.
XDV 5546710.
Seventeen years old.
Weapon.
Survivor.
Daughter.
And somewhere beneath all of that—
Still human.
For now.