The sterile, blinding white ceiling of Sector 7 was the only sky Subject 404 had ever known.
For six years, her entire existence consisted of precisely calibrated nutrient paste, cold stethoscopes, and men in hazmat suits poking her with needles while muttering things about "genetic sequencing" and "cellular anomalies."
She didn’t have a childhood.
She didn’t have toys, unless you counted the discarded plastic syringe caps she secretly hoarded under her cot.
She didn’t even have a name.
Just "404."
Like a walking, breathing server error.
Subject 404 had never questioned it.
Names were unnecessary identifiers. She had her number.
The scientists had their research. The world outside her reinforced glass walls might as well have belonged to another universe.
Then, on a completely ordinary Tuesday—
The underground laboratory exploded.
There was no warning.
One moment, 404 was sitting on the edge of her cot, swinging her tiny legs while staring at the syringe cap she had found that morning.
The next—
BOOOOOOM!
The entire facility shook.
Warning lights flashed red.
Alarms screamed.
A deafening metallic shriek tore through the laboratory as the reinforced ceiling cracked open.
"Containment breach!"
"Reactor temperature is rising!"
"Get Subject 404 out of Sector 7!"
"There’s no time!"
404 looked up.
Through the thick observation window, she watched several adults run past in panic.
Her tiny fingers tightened around the plastic syringe cap.
The floor trembled beneath her feet.
Then the reinforced wall buckled.
A wall of incandescent orange flame rushed toward her.
404 stared at it.
So, the laboratory spectacularly detonated due to a reactor meltdown, but 404 didn’t panic. her final, clinical thought was simply: Ah. The ambient temperature has exceeded optimal survival parameters.
And then, she was nothing but ash.
Smack!
"Wake up, you useless little brat! Stop playing dead!"
Subject 404 jolted awake, her consciousness slamming back into a physical form with the grace of a dropped cinderblock.
Her cheek stung.
The distinct sensation of rough, calloused hands shaking her shoulders registered in her newly rebooted neural pathways.
Her cheek hurt.
Her head hurt.
Her entire body hurt.
Someone was shaking her shoulders.
Dia blinked several times.
The ceiling above her wasn’t white.
It was stained brown.
There was a crack running across it.
Something black and moldy clung to one corner.
A horrible smell filled her nose.
She opened her eyes, expecting the sterile white of the lab or the fiery orange of death. Instead, she was greeted by the suffocating scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and rotting garbage, followed immediately by the sight of a frantic, red-faced woman in a stained tracksuit.
"Finally!" the woman snapped. "Get up!"
Dia stared at her.
The woman stared back.
Neither moved.
Before 404 could verbally request a status update on her current vital signs, a massive migraine cleaved through her tiny skull. It wasn’t just a headache; it was a non-consensual data download.
Memories, messy, emotional, and completely unscientific flooded into her brain.
A different house.
A different family.
A different childhood.
A little girl crying in a closet.
Cold floors.
Empty bowls.
A broken plate.
A woman screaming.
A man’s belt.
A tiny pair of hands scrubbing a dirty floor.
Dia.
Her name was Dia.
She was five years old.
She was an orphan.
She was no longer Subject 404, she was now Dia.
Age: Six.
Occupation: Unpaid domestic laborer and punching bag for her Aunt Martha and Uncle Vernon.
The original Dia had been a timid, terrified little thing, orphaned and dumped onto relatives who viewed her with less affection than a cockroach. They made her scrub floors, eat stale crusts, and sleep in a closet that smelled suspiciously of mold and despair.
Interesting.
Dia looked down at her hands.
They were tiny, thin, and covered in little bruises.
Her shirt was faded and much too large.
Her knees were scratched.
Her wrists were frighteningly thin.
And her stomach made a tiny, pathetic sound.
Growl.
Dia froze.
She slowly placed both hands over her belly.
She had never experienced that particular sensation before.
It was unpleasant.
Very unpleasant.
I’m hungry.
The realization arrived with shocking intensity.
Fascinating, 404, now Dia, thought, blinking her large, doe-like eyes as she processed the data.
’I have successfully transmigrated into a new host body. However, the host’s previous living conditions were sub-optimal. Nutrient intake is severely lacking. Muscle mass is also negligible.’
She looked toward the furious woman.
"Auntie..."
"What?!"
Dia hesitated.
Her lower lip trembled slightly.
She wasn’t entirely sure why.
Maybe it was the body’s instincts...
Maybe it was the memories...
Or maybe, because she was simply five.
"I’m hungry."
Martha stared at her as if she’d just announced that she wanted the moon.
"You can eat when we get somewhere safe! Now get up!"
Dia obediently tried to stand.
Her legs wobbled as she nearly fell.
Martha grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her upright.
"Useless."
Dia lowered her head.
She didn’t understand why the word hurt.
She didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Before she could think about it any further—
"Are you deaf?!" Aunt Martha shrieked, her voice hitting a frequency that made Dia’s newly acquired eardrums vibrate unpleasantly. "Get up! They’re coming! Vernon, start the car!"
"I’m trying, you stupid cow! The engine’s flooded!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the driver’s seat of a rusted station wagon.
Dia slowly sat up. She was in the back seat of a vehicle. Outside the smudged windows, the world was ending.
Plumes of black smoke choked the skyline.
Cars were piled together in burning barricades.
Buildings were on fire.
People were running through the streets.
Except for the fact that, some of them weren’t people anymore.
They were missing jaws.
Their skin was gray and rotten.
Some had pieces of their intestines hanging from their stomachs.
Others crawled along the asphalt with broken limbs.
And all of them were making the same horrible sound.
"Uuurrgh..."
Dia pressed her little face against the window.
Her eyes widened.
"Zombies."
She had never seen one before.