Karmari had never seen a blue sky.
She did not know how real sunlight felt on bare skin, nor how warm wind carried the scent of grass or ocean. All she had ever known was gray—an endless, suffocating gray that hung over the world like old ash after a fire that never truly died.
She was born after everything had ended.
She had no memories to lose, no past to mourn, no world to regret. The stories of oceans and forests only existed for her in faded recordings played on cracked screens inside the military base, as if mocking the survivors with reminders of what humanity would never reclaim.
She opened her eyes to the same voice that visited her every morning—flat, cold, inhuman.
> "Combat Unit 10-Karmari.
Neural stability: 92%.
Physical condition: 89%.
Combat readiness: Acceptable."
The ceiling lights cast a pale white glow across the metal panels above her. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and old iron—an odor as familiar to her as breathing.
She sat up on her narrow metal bed and lowered her head slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. For a moment, she simply sat there.
Every morning was the same.
A ritual not of preparation, but of survival.
She lifted her hand behind her left ear, brushing her fingers over the small transparent chip embedded beneath her skin. It pulsed faintly with soft blue light. The neural implant monitored every emotion, every heartbeat, every irregular thought.
Sometimes, she wondered if it knew her better than she knew herself.
She dressed in silence.
Black uniform.
Reinforced gloves.
Sidearm locked into position.
A symbol stitched on her shoulder: a circle divided into black and white, pierced by a vertical red line.
The Gate Program.
She tightened her gloves and stood. Her reflection in the steel wall showed a girl with pale skin, sharp eyes, and expressionless calm.
But her eyes were not eighteen.
They were older than the world she lived in.
---
The corridor outside her dormitory was long and narrow, illuminated by sterile white lights that made every shadow unnatural. Lines of identical doors stretched endlessly down both sides, labeled only with unit numbers.
No names.
No personalities.
No history.
As she walked toward the briefing room, her eyes drifted toward a wall lined with old engravings—names of former units, dead squads, forgotten soldiers.
Then something stopped her.
One entry remained half-erased.
> "Unit 1 — Mi…"
Her hand moved without thought.
Her fingers brushed against the weathered metal—
And her heartbeat stuttered.
A flash struck her mind:
A corridor drenched in darkness.
Blue light.
A scream trapped in glass.
A face she could not see— But somehow knew.
Her hand snapped away from the wall.
Her breathing quickened.
She clenched her fist and kept walking.
Whatever that was…
It did not belong to her.
---
The briefing room was already filled when she arrived.
Seven soldiers stood within the circular chamber.
The Tenth Generation.
They were not ordinary humans.
They were constructed.
Designed.
Broken and reforged.
Feyrn Kolm stood like a wall to her right—tall, thick-armed, silent. His posture was rigid, as if he had been carved from iron rather than flesh.
Across the room, Lyndra Mori, the team's sniper, stared at the holographic display with her modified eye glowing faintly.
A soft laugh echoed from behind—
That would be Rivan Holt, the communications specialist, casually toying with a device on his wrist as if the world outside were nothing more than a malfunctioning video game.
In the corner, Siren Knox leaned against the wall, eyes sharp, quiet, distant.
Beside Karmari stood Idris Kane, hands folded behind his back, his expression calm—but thoughtful.
And finally, Miral Finn, the medic, adjusted her wrist console while quietly scanning their vitals.
Then the air changed.
Bootsteps.
Heavy.
Measured.
Arkan Valros entered the room.
Their commander.
A man with a scar slicing across his face like a permanent reminder that survival always came at a price.
He stopped before them and studied each face.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"Generation Ten," he said. "You are the final line between humanity and extinction."
No one reacted.
They had heard those words too many times.
"The remaining human population currently stands at… fifteen percent."
Silence fell.
Even breathing sounded louder.
Fifteen percent.
That was all that remained of a world that once held billions.
Arkan activated the table console. A hologram of the ruined world erupted upward—broken cities, blackened oceans, red zones crawling with unidentified lifeforms.
"Two days ago," he continued, "a new energy signal was detected in this region."
A dark sector pulsed on the display.
"Not a known creature signature. Not a malfunction. Something else."
Idris spoke quietly. "A new breed?"
Arkan shook his head.
"Possibly worse."
Karmari lifted her hand.
All eyes turned toward her.
"Sir," she asked, hesitating only a moment, "confirm the survival count. Precisely."
Arkan's gaze met hers.
"Fifteen percent… exactly."
Something shattered silently inside her.
---
They descended into the surface elevator.
The walls rose around them like a coffin closing.
A faint vibration hummed beneath their boots.
Rivan chuckled to break the silence. "Heard the restricted zone used to be a research facility."
Siren replied coldly. "Everything beneath this earth is a grave. Only the size differs."
Karmari remained quiet.
Then the doors opened.
And the Gate appeared.
It was never merely a machine.
It was a presence.
A colossal black arch rose from the fractured plaza ahead of them, towering over the ruined city like a scar left in reality.
Inside the arch, light twisted unnaturally, spinning like something alive.
Miral whispered, "I hate that thing."
Siren's voice was barely audible. "That's not hate. That's fear."
Arkan stood near the edge.
"This is where it all began," he said.
Idris frowned. "The monsters?"
Arkan corrected him.
"Everything."
Karmari stared at it.
Her chest burned.
Something inside her whispered…
This is not the beginning.
---
The armored vehicle carried them into the dead city.
Buildings leaned like corpses.
Streets were choked with rust and ash.
On the front screen, white letters appeared:
> DEAD SECTOR — OUTER ZONE A0
Karmari stiffened.
A0.
The word crawled through her nerves like electricity.
She touched the chip behind her ear.
Her vision blurred.
Another fragment—
Glass.
Liquid.
Silence.
Then—
"Focus," Arkan commanded.
The vehicle stopped.
They disembarked into wind that howled like grieving ghosts.
Lyndra raised her rifle.
"Movement."
A hiss cut through the air.
Then another.
Then dozens.
"Contacts!" Arkan barked.
They emerged from the shadows.
Humanoid shapes.
Broken.
Distorted.
Their eyes were hollow black pits.
Their bones bent wrong.
Their mouths opened too wide.
Karmari fired.
Instinct took over.
Training erased doubt.
Blood—not red, but dark—splashed against her boots.
A creature fell at her feet.
She froze.
It looked too human.
For one heartbeat—
She saw fear in its eyes.
"Move!" Idris shouted.
She shot again.
The thing collapsed.
Her hands shook.
Quiet followed.
Then heavy breathing.
Miral whispered, "These… weren't normal."
Siren closed her eyes. "They were human once."
Karmari stared at the tunnel ahead.
It was dark.
Deep.
Calling her.
Arkan looked toward the broken entrance beneath the streets.
"Our signal source is below."
Below.
Where the earth swallowed secrets.
Karmari tightened her grip on her weapon.
Her pulse pounded.
Because deep inside—
She knew.
Whatever waited in the darkness…
Already knew her name.