The bunker
stank
of sweat, blood, and
desperation
.
Ava stumbled forward, legs trembling from exhaustion, the stale air pressing against her lungs. The steel doors
slammed shut
behind the last group of survivors, sealing them all into the bowels of the earth. Soldiers wasted no time sorting them like
livestock
.
It wasn't random.
It was about
usefulness
.
A soldier, uniform streaked with dried blood and grime, stood in the center of the main hall, barking orders.
"Shifters—Level One!"
A group stepped forward—taller, broader, stronger. Their eyes gleamed too bright in the dim bunker lights, their movements too sharp, too precise. Ava had heard the rumors: Shifters weren't human anymore. The meteors had fused them with something
animalistic
. Claws, fangs, brute strength.
But they didn't heal fast. If hurt?
They stayed hurt.
Which was why Level Two existed.
"
Mutants—Level Two!
"
A smaller group followed. They didn't look monstrous, but when a soldier slashed their palms, the wounds sealed shut within seconds.
No hesitation. No scars.
The ideal scout for the military.
The soldier barely spared Ava a glance. "
Normals—Level Three.
"
No test. Just a label slapped on her forehead.
Useless.
She was shoved into the lowest corridor, where no one cared to look.
The first week was
unbearable
.
Level Three wasn't a room but a damp cavern, overcrowded with the discarded. No beds, no furniture, no privacy. Just
one stall for fifty people
. Ava claimed a corner, knees pulled to her chest, shivering through the endless dark.
No clocks. No daylight. No way to measure time except by work shifts and the gnawing ache of
hunger
.
Her first encounter came fast.
A broad-shouldered man loomed over her, knuckles raw from fights. "New, huh? Got anything useful?"
"Just my
sparkling personality
," she deadpanned.
His grin held no humor. "Personality doesn't buy food."
He reached for her jacket.
Ava moved on instinct, pressing a jagged shard of metal against his wrist.
"
You sure you wanna start something?
" she whispered.
He paused, then backed off with a low chuckle. "You won't last long."
But she did.
Barely.
The second week blurred into the third.
Work shifts were
brutal
. They sorted scrap metal, repaired broken tech, cleaned weapons that would never be handed to them. Food was a
luxury
, given only if they worked hard enough not to collapse. Ava's fingers bled from cuts, her body sore from days of crouching over rusted parts.
She watched others wither away. The weak didn't get food. The unfed died.
Simple as that.
Ava didn't know their names. No one bothered with names. But she recognized faces—the silent girl who stopped showing up to meals, the boy who coughed blood into his hands until he didn't wake up. Every day, fewer faces.
No one mourned them.
They were just...
gone.
A month passed.
The cavern stank worse than ever. Food rations shrank. Fights broke out more often. The broad-shouldered man from her first day—
Lars
—controlled most of the scraps. She avoided him.
For now.
But she noticed the soldiers watching them like wolves. Taking notes. Whispering to each other. Ava didn't know what they wanted, but she felt it coming.
By the second month, Ava had learned the
rules
.
Never show weakness. Never waste energy. Never trust anyone.
She worked silently, head down, sorting through piles of scrap. Her fingers, calloused now, moved automatically, her mind numb. But every so often, she felt something—a flicker at the edge of her vision. Like text glowing just out of sight.
She blinked it away. She was tired.
Hallucinating.
Had to be.
But the flickers came more often.
Until the day she
collapsed
.
Her legs gave out mid-shift. She hit the ground hard, scraping her knees. Laughter echoed around her. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself up—but it was too late. She was marked now.
Useless.
She expected no dinner that night.
Instead, she got a surprise.
"
Up,
" a soldier barked, shoving her toward a different room. Cold. Industrial. Filled with rusted tech and broken weapons. "
Sort.
"
She knelt, hands trembling, sorting through wreckage.
And then—
Lines of glowing text flickered across her vision.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[WELCOME, USER.]
[INITIALIZING BLUEPRINT DATABASE...]
Her breath caught.
Oh.
Oh, this was interesting.