The Derelict Zone was a wasteland carved by forgotten wars.
As Elior and Nara crossed into its borders, a toxic haze clung to the earth like a ghost. Broken towers jutted out of cracked soil, their skeletal remains groaning under the weight of time. The air was heavy with metal, death, and silence.
Elior's oxygen mask hissed with each breath. "No patrols," he noted. "Feels like a trap."
"It's always a trap," Nara replied, scanning their surroundings with her visor. "But this signal didn't come from nowhere."
She pointed to a blinking point on her interface. "Two clicks west. The beacon's still faint, but it's active. Someone's out here."
They moved swiftly, stepping over husks of old mechs and shattered helmets. Nothing lived here. Not even the crows.
As they climbed over a crumbling ledge, Nara paused. "Wait. Did you hear that?"
Elior stopped. The wind shifted—and a faint, rhythmic ticking echoed through the mist.
> Tick. Tick. Tick.
"I know that sound," she whispered. "Auto-hunters."
She didn't have to explain. The Protocol deployed these drones to eliminate unstable hosts. They could smell temporal anomalies. And Elior was practically bleeding them.
They ducked low behind a cracked shuttle. In the distance, two hunter drones hovered, scanning the terrain with their red lights. One of them emitted a pulse.
Elior's skin tingled. His pulse began to sync with the ticking.
"They're locking on to me," he said.
"We need to disable them. Fast."
Nara pulled out a small cube and pressed a button. "EMP in 5...4...3…"
Before she could finish, a sharp crack rang out—metal on metal. One of the drones shattered mid-air, spiraling down in sparks.
The second drone whirled around—but before it could fire, a figure emerged from the mist and ripped it from the sky.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Elior and Nara stood frozen, watching the stranger approach.
He was tall, wrapped in layers of worn tech-armor and rags. A mask covered his face, but his eyes burned with a strange gold light. In his right hand was a short blade crackling with residual energy.
Nara stepped forward cautiously. "Identify yourself."
The figure tilted his head. "I thought you would've sensed me, 75334."
Elior narrowed his eyes. "You're one of us."
The figure removed his mask, revealing a boy barely older than Elior. But his expression was worn—ancient.
"Subject 75332," he said. "Name's Rael."
"You survived?" Nara gasped.
"I escaped," he corrected. "From the Pit Labs. Barely."
Elior stepped forward. "You're the one the beacon belongs to?"
Rael nodded. "I activated it after I sensed your emergence. I've been watching. You're not ready."
Elior clenched his jaw. "I'm not here for approval."
"No," Rael said, "but you'll need allies before the Protocol consumes us all."
He turned and began walking toward a broken tower. "There's something you need to see."
They followed him up a narrow stairwell into what once was a control room. Rael waved his hand over an interface—energy responded to his touch.
A hologram flickered to life.
Elior's blood ran cold.
There, displayed in cold, glowing lines, were the rest of the subjects. Profiles. Coordinates. Warnings.
And one word stamped across the top of the screen: RECLAIMED.
"All of them?" Nara whispered.
Rael shook his head. "All but one."
He pointed at the last profile. Subject 75331.
"She's the only one left free. But she's different."
"How?" Elior asked.
Rael turned toward him, solemn.
"She's the Seed."