"We’ve reached District 616."
The voice through the transport cabin speakers was calm, professional, and entirely detached.
Bunny opened her eyes.
For several seconds, she remained motionless beneath the thin thermal blanket, suspended between sleep and wakefulness while her head throbbed with the dull ache of long-distance travel. She turned slowly toward the reinforced window.
Outside lay a void.
A sea of yellow-gray haze stretched beneath the vessel, so dense the horizon had vanished completely. Below, the ground was a fractured expanse of ocher sand and dark, exposed stone. Wind raced across the surface in enormous waves, lifting dust high enough to blur the boundary between land and sky.
Bunny stared at the expanse, blinked, and quietly offered, "Oh."
The Sentinel standing near the exit glanced back at her. That was all?
He had expected something else—a gasp, a flinch, or a quiet wave of panic.
Bunny simply sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Are we here already?"
The Sentinel observed her for a long moment before answering with a clipped, "Yes."
District 616 was no ordinary military installation. It was one of the Federation’s most isolated outposts, buried on the surface of Northern Terra—a place so environmentally hostile that civilian settlements had disappeared generations ago. Among military personnel, the assignment carried a far less official name: a death posting.
On paper, District 616 monitored the surrounding wasteland and contained the mutated lifeforms that occasionally breached the outer perimeter. In practice, a transfer here was a polite exile. It meant you were being sent somewhere no one intended to look for you.
The Sentinel reached for the small backpack beside Bunny’s seat and handed it over. "This belongs to you."
Bunny accepted it with both hands. The bag was embarrassingly light. It contained three changes of clothes, basic identification, a personal terminal, toiletries, and a few minor necessities—everything the Federation deemed sufficient for a new life at the edge of the world. Everything she owned in this strange, distant future fit into a single shoulder bag.
The Sentinel looked from the bag to Bunny. She looked impossibly young. Her features were soft, her hair messy from sleep, and a faint red crease marked her cheek where it had pressed against the headrest.
He almost felt sorry for her.
"Once you clear the hatch, head directly toward the tower," he instructed. "The main entrance will scan your identification."
"Okay," she said quietly.
He hesitated, then added, "Good luck."
The hatch unsealed, and the planet immediately tried to kill her.
A wall of dry heat slammed into Bunny so violently that she staggered back a step. Scathing wind tore across the landing pad, driving sand, grit, and microscopic stone fragments against her protective suit with a steady, metallic hiss. Even through the filtration mask, every breath felt parched and thin.
Bunny tightened her grip on her backpack strap and stepped onto the ramp. Behind her, the transport sat like a displaced relic against the roaring dust storm. Beyond it lay total desolation: no grass, no trees, no signs of life. The silence beneath the howling wind wasn’t peaceful; it was oppressive.
Ahead, the tower gradually loomed out of the haze. At first, she had mistaken it for a jagged rock formation, but as she drew closer, its artificial geometry resolved into view: a colossal, T-shaped fortress of black composite metal, its central spire cutting into the storm while its massive horizontal wings spanned the sky.
She paused briefly, taking in the solitary structure. There were no surrounding outposts, no roads, and no signs of support—just one massive military monolith planted in the dead center of a ruined world.
She pushed forward. As she reached the main vault, her chest heaving slightly under the strain, a bright blue scanner swept down from the entryway.
"Identity confirmed. Subject: Bunny Dunn. Classification: A-rank Guide."
The inner airlock hissed open, washing her in a wave of cool, filtered air.
Bunny stepped across the threshold, and the heavy doors sealed behind her, shutting out the furnace heat and roaring dust. The transition was immediate. Outside was violence and noise; inside was sterile, climate-controlled silence.
Bunny sighed.
Only a few weeks ago, she had been an ordinary university student, staying up late with classmates to complain about exams and decide on late-night food run. Then she had gone to sleep, only to wake up in a terrifyingly unfamiliar era.
Her body had been retrieved from an ancient cryogenic vault after an unfathomable span of time. The Federation had revived her, processed her, and subjected her to weeks of intensive medical evaluations. The results had baffled the research teams: her physiology bore no trace of modern genetic drift, and her psychic potential registered as an A-rank Guide.
Bunny possessed no family line, no political backing, no corporate sponsors, and no military allies.
When her assignment options were generated, the prestigious medical centers, elite military units, and corporate research hubs had already been reserved for candidates with the right lineages and institutional backing. What remained were bottom-tier outposts.
And District 616. She was unlucky enough to get selected.
During her brief orientation, she had learned the core dynamic of modern military force: Sentinels possessed terrifying physical abilities and high-yield mental output, making them unmatched combatants, but their power came at the cost of severe psychic instability. Guides existed as their anchors—the only ones capable of soothing mental overloads, dampening sensory spikes, and preventing catastrophic psychological collapse.
In short, Sentinels were weapons, and Guides kept them from shattering.
An A-rank Guide should have been assigned to a high-ranking commander. Instead, Bunny was at District 616—a dumping ground for disgraced officers, court-martialed veterans, dangerously unstable Sentinels, and soldiers the High Command wished would quietly vanish.
Bunny reached the central lift, stepped inside, and pressed the control panel. As the car rose smoothly through the transparent central shaft, the sheer scale of the installation became clear.
Looking down through the glass, Bunny watched the wasteland shrink beneath her. From this vantage point, the dunes looked almost like frozen waves, and the jagged canyon cracks formed intricate, geometric patterns across the earth.
Then she remembered that nothing out there was alive, and the illusion faded.
The elevator slowed to a stop, and a synthetic chime sounded. "Residential Sector."
The doors slid back. Bunny took three steps into the corridor before a small, white chassis rolled rapidly into her path.
"Welcome!" a bright, synthesis-generated voice announced.
Bunny halted. The unit was roughly waist-high, featuring a smooth, spherical chassis, bright blue optical sensors, and two multi-jointed utility arms.
"Identity confirmed: Bunny Dunn!" The unit’s optical dome tilted enthusiastically. "Welcome to District 616! I am Sunny, your primary residential assistance unit!"
Bunny stared down at it.
Sunny performed a quick, 360-degree rotation. "I have been anticipating your arrival!"
"You knew I was coming?"
"Of course! Your transfer manifest was logged eleven days, four hours, and seventeen minutes ago!"
Bunny blinked. "That’s a long time to wait."
"Agreed! My excitement parameters have been elevated for the entire duration!" Sunny extended an arm, popping open a small internal hatch to reveal a warm insulated container. "Please accept this welcome beverage!"
Bunny took the cup carefully. The liquid inside was warm and faintly sweet. As she took a sip, some of the tension in her shoulders finally gave way.
Sunny immediately launched into a rapid orientation briefing, detailing sector layouts, mess hall schedules, medical access, and emergency protocols. It added that the local Sentinel unit—a twelve-man squad—was currently out on a perimeter sweep in the outer dust zone and would return later that evening.
"Twelve of them?" Bunny asked.
"Correct!" Sunny’s optical sensors pulsed warmly. "Would you like to review their personnel profiles?"
Bunny thought about the long list of warnings she had received, then looked at her small bag. "No. Not yet."
"Understood!" Sunny chimed, pivoting effortlessly onto the next topic without missing a beat.
Guided by the little machine, Bunny followed a maze of identical metallic corridors until they stopped before a modest door.
The lock disengaged, revealing a minimalist suite: a single bed, a compact desk, a wall-mounted storage locker, a private washroom, and a narrow, reinforced viewport overlooking the storm. There were no decorations, no soft edges, and no indication that anyone had ever lived there before.
Setting her backpack beside the bed, Bunny went straight to the washroom.
The shower was extraordinary. She stood beneath the streaming hot water for a long time, letting it wash away the grime, sand, and exhaustion of the journey. For a few minutes, the strange, cold future receded entirely.
Dressed in a simple, loose pyjama, her damp hair resting over her shoulders, she returned to the main room. Outside, the storm continued to batter the glass in silent, furious gusts.
She glanced toward the ceiling sensor. "Sunny?"
"Active!" the unit chirped from the corridor interface.
"Can I walk around?"
"Access permits are fully authorized for all non-restricted residential areas!"
The door slid open, and Bunny followed the assistant unit back out into the main sector.
The residential level was vast and built with uncompromising military efficiency. Row after row of heavy alloy doors lined the halls, completely devoid of personal touches, photographs, or color. Beyond the living quarters lay expansive communal facilities: a central mess hall, a high-G training bay, a medical recovery suite, and a multi-angle observation deck.
Every wall was framed in dark composite metal; every room was designed purely for utility and combat readiness. Even the common areas felt hollow, built for men who expected little from their surroundings and even less from their futures.
Sunny rolled ahead, offering cheerful commentary on structural load capacities and air filtration metrics. Bunny listened quietly, her curiosity slowly edging out her fatigue. This was her home now. Whether for months or years, this black metal spire was where her new life began.
As they reached the edge of the central mess hall, she paused.
Hanging alone on the massive, unadorned bulkhead was a single framed canvas––an intricate oil painting depicting the death of a monster.