Humanity collapsed in the blink of an eye.
The cause? Humanity itself.
We all knew it was only a matter of time.
They called it Project Wraith. An origin project, a future rewritten by science.
A leap forward, they said. It was supposed to make our world better, safer for its inhabitants.
But instead, they ripped it apart.
No one knows exactly what went wrong.
One second the skies lit up like fire—'global activation,' they called it.
The beginning of the end is what it really was.
Next, cities collapsed, oceans churned, and people just… died. Billions reduced to ash, or worse, death in a single heartbeat.
The ones who survived weren't any lucky either.
Some came back wrong—mutated, twisted by a strange Pulse. Their minds forever lost in a twisted sense of violence and savagery.
Others developed unnatural abilities. They were called the Altered, worshipped or hunted depending on the Stronghold you were born under.
And the rest of us?
We were the Unmarked. We were left behind.
Left fend for ourselves.
Now, ten years later, the world's split down the middle.
The government locks survivors behind steel walls, feeding them just enough to keep their mouths shut and enslaved.
Then there's The Resistance, who stand for so called 'freedom.'
Whatever that means.
They always promised big things and changes, and I always found it amusing coming from people who were always on the run.
And lastly, there's the rest of us—the ones who live in the cracks, in the aftermath of the disaster, out in the Wild Zones. In the Drift.
I've lived here my whole life.
It's not because I'm brave.
It's not because I'm heroic.
It's just all I've ever known.
**********
The wind was sharp today, carrying the scent of rust, rot, and melted ozone.
Ashen pulled his hood lower and crouched near the edge of a crumbled overpass, scanning the ground below through his cracked binoculars.
There it was. A wrecked delivery convoy—one of the old tech-haulers. It looked long abandoned.
At least two containers seemed intact. Definitely worth investigating.
But unfortunately, they were too late.
Someone had already beaten them to it.
Three figures were already silently moving through the wreck, one hoisting a box onto his shoulder, the other digging through loose cargo.
They looked like Survivors.
But not Altered.
That was at least a good sign.
Ashen clicked his tongue once—a signal.
Two silhouettes slowly came into view.
Rill and Jax crept up behind him, their tension evident in the way Jax's grip tightened on the hilt of his knife and the quick, nervous flick of Rill's eyes.
"Another group," Ashen said. "And they're already looting."
"Are we going in?" Jax asked, his hand twitching near his knife.
Ashen shook his head. "Standard rules. No blood over salvage. We wait and make contact only when they're done. If they've already stripped the site, we move on."
"Right," Rill said, her displeasure clear, though she offered no argument.
Rules were rules.
**********
They made their way down in full view, hands visible, weapons sheathed. Ashen led the approach.
The other group stiffened at first, but relaxed when they saw the gesture.
The unspoken code among the Unmarked was simple: you don't rob, and you don't kill, unless you want every other scavenger gunning for you by next sunrise.
Ashen raised a hand. "We're just passing through."
"Already cleared the good stuff," one of them called. "Truck was nearly empty. Just junk and a few med-packs."
"This one looks good though," said the other guy, lifting a weird device that was carefully resting in his hands.
"Yeah, that might be the only good stuff we found here."
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
It wasn't standard cargo.
A sphere—smooth, dark chrome, veined with dim blue lines that pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
It looked wrong. Very wrong.
It didn't resemble any Origin tech he had come across so far. And he doubted those government bastards would allow something of importance to casually sit by the roadside waiting to be picked by some random person.
"That some kind of power cell?" Jax inquired.
"No clue," the guy said. "Found it jammed inside the paneling. Still warm."
Ashen took a half-step back. His gut clenched with a sudden, icy dread.
Something wasn't right about this setup at all.
Now that he paid a little attention to his surroundings, he noticed that there was some kind of dried plastic material scattered everywhere on the ground.
And It almost looked like…
…dried skin.
Oh shit.
And as though responding to his thought, the sphere suddenly pulsed.
Brighter this time.
What followed was a shriek that tore through the air.
The guy who had been holding it screamed, dropping to his knees, clutching his arm as the device latched onto his hand as if it were a living parasite. Black veins spread across his skin.
His flesh began to sink in, drying, cracking, shriveling like old paper in fire.
He tried to throw it away—but it wouldn't let go.
It clung to him, hungrily absorbing more.
His partner rushed in to help.
Bad idea.
The orb pulsed again, and the second man screamed too. Then a third stepped in, and the sphere lashed out—long tendrils of light snapping into his chest.
Ashen had seen enough to be convinced that they were supposed to be anywhere but here at the moment.
"Back up," he barked, already moving.
Rill and Jax followed instantly, ducking behind a wrecked truck.
Ashen peered over the hood just long enough to watch the three bodies collapse—empty, brittle, lifeless.
The sphere floated above them, humming with a low thrum that sounded almost…satisfied.
Ashen's pulse hammered against his ribs.
"Run," he whispered, his voice tight with surprising fear.
But before they could act, the orb twitched. Then it launched—fast as lightning.
And it was heading…straight for Rill.
Ashen mind went still.
He didn't think.
He just moved.
His body was already reacting before his mind could catch up.
Rill turned, too slow to avoid the approaching death.
He slammed into her with everything he had, knocking her sideways.
Then…
…He felt it the moment it hit him.
Not just pain.
Contact.
Connection.
And…Claim.
Then—
everything went black.