Callia drifted in an out of her unwilling slumber. Low, dim lights and darkness fucked with her head. It felt like a nuclear overdose. Her body cried in agony, muscles stiff as clay. Her ribs grounded against each other, each breath a raw stab. Callia’s skin burning in spots, her ‘suit’ was torn? She tried moving, but it only made her hurt more.

  It was cold inside, the thing she was in. Metal walls pressed inwards, trapping her in a seat—tight, claustrophobic. Her head started throbbing, her brain was rattled from the inside? Did she have a concussion? She couldn’t recall much of anything personal.

  Muffled chaos outside her little cage, snapped her out of her head. Gunfire distant but enclosing, screams ensue, then heavy impacts like a vehicle crashing and exploding. It was vaguely metallic in nature, she could hear the audible sparks and sounds of hot metal ricocheting off trash and earth.

  Her breath hitched. A cracked helmet. The taste of iron and glass, blood seeping from a split lip. It kept her awake.

  A dim emergency light flickered near and from the door–pinging, constantly in interval. ‘Emergency escape.’ She taps it immediately.

  Ping!

  No response. Then again, and again, and again, until her finger became sore. She stopped. She could handle it, something told her this wasn’t her fist electronic cage she was trapped inside. Callia sucked in a breath—shallow, ragged. Then she kicked. The metal doesn’t groan–it shrieks, like a banshee.

  Little sparks erupted in her direction as the inner door frame exploded. She braced herself, arms shielding her face, breathing deeply, she kicked the hatch a little further. Then it gave complete way, the seat launched her out of ‘cage’ like a rail gun. She landed in a heap, gasping for air, her surroundings were dark, mostly unlit same for the small light.

  Callia looked up, heard a man plea for his life, he looked vaguely like a soldier, he had a suit on. He begged, half-buried, trapped in the wreckage, a stranger dressed in vague tunics held out their gun, aiming it at his head.

  A breath. Then a—Bang.

  The flash of light sent sparks into her eyes, blinding her. Her visions started swimming as she lay down on the ground. The urge to play dead, leaned into her urge to succumb. Her thoughts scattered into static, and she faded from the world.

  Callia jolted awake. Cold. Pain. The stink of metal in her lungs. Time had passed–that was all she knew. First, the sounds. Then came the pain, gnawing at her. The cold bite of her reality. Her mind was blank, like a damaged hard drive, her body wedged between the wreckage. She was in a rough place, to put it lightly.

  Her name. It’s all she could remember. Callia Pha–. Callia pale. Callia Phalen.

  “Callia Phalen?” she whispered to her herself, her throat dry and parched for water. She could only grasp her name.

  She giggled to herself. Nothing quite like a little humor to ease the tension of a catastrophe.

  Her throat spasmed. A sour flood rose up—she gagged, choking down on bile.

  Callia shifted. The ground beneath her was a swamp of mechanical filth. It sure as hell wasn’t water she was lying in. The weird wetness, made her shiver, like a thousand little gelatinous worms were crawling over her, thick and clammy. She peered down. The water, mucky and green. Almost looked alive.

  She shifted, groaning. Trying to crawl away.

  The amnesiac had found herself in some kind of “Scrap-field,”. It looked more like a graveyard of machines. Space wreckage and trash. It reeked of rust, and petroleum and old metals. Little broken starship panels. A moving arm nearly took her out again, it was walking around on it’s one, cybernetic, pieces of blood and cartilage stood out.

  “What in the sand hell!?”

  Before she could ponder on her discovery, voices nearby were murmuring. Several people, were walking in her direction. Callia resigned herself to a game of play dead, again, there was no nearby weapon she could grab. She’d have to play her card rights. Wait it out.

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  Footsteps. Metal clattered. They were searching—kicking debris, prodding the wreckage. Closer. Closer. She listened as they approached. Through the corner of her closed eye, she could vaguely make out small weapons carried by each. Pocket knives.

  They had reached her.

  All wore masks, glowing ink pulsed under his skin, his cybernetic fingers twitching like a hungry spider… The Gaffe looking stick moved, it was heavy, was being waved around in his hands, swinging.

  “Look ahead cunts, this one is fresh, fresh meat for the dinner table?” One had said, rushing towards her like a predator.

  Cannibals. No—scavengers. They'd strip her down, take what they wanted.

  They were going to strip her naked, scavenge her for anything. Scavengers, it’s what they do. It was normal.

  Her eyes closed, and her breath suspended. Cold metal fingers hooked under her chest plate, prying. Hands at her waist, pulling, searching.

  This was invasive, a violation of her body. But she couldn’t just move yet.

  “Damn shame. Fresh as hell, don’t you think?”

  “The hell, man?” a second voice spoke

  “Relax. Just messing with you.” voice one had said. Breaking out a hesitant giggle. “Now, let’s see what we’re working with today, heh?”

  Something told her he wanted more than fresh meat.

  He started whistling. Scavenger number one, started laughing. “Look at these gents, it’s one of them outsiders, be amazed at this fucking armor, supreme, and pristine, we’ll be eating for months on this.”

  A third voice joined. Youngish, every boyish. “Marvelous…”

  Number two added their own opinion. “I don’t know, man, the corpos are all over, looking for this.”

  “Calm little dick, we don’t sell to a corporation we got to the black den

  He shoved a flashlight in her face, bright lights forced her eyes open.

  “AAAAA!!!” she made her best attempt at war crying.

  She lashed out, nerves hardening, “Get the fuck off me!” She yanked herself free from the grip of the scavenger, her heart was hammering. In times like this it was do, or die, fight to the death or suffer the consequences.

  Memories briefly flashed in her head. She was elsewhere, men all–around her beating her down, helplessly battering her with steel.

  “This bitch is still alive, Yael, go grab my pistol!” Scavenger one shouted, she assumed he was the leader. Yale was the boyish character, he ran awkwardly away.

  He swung a metal pipe down to her, she barely ducked, the impact, hitting the sludgy water beneath her, as she rolled away. That was not a gaffe stick. Yale had returned, Scavenger Two snatched the gun, hands shaking. Aimed—click. Jammed. His eyes widened.

  Shit!

  Number one lunged at Callia with a long cybernetic pocket knife. Callia seized his wrist, twisting. The knife found his throat—sinking deep. Hot blood sprayed across her face, thick and metallic, He gurgled, collapsing in a twitching heap.

  “She staggered back, chest heaving. His body twitched at her feet. The blood smelled sharp. Too real. ‘Who’s next? She shouted.

  Her vision glitched—numbers pulsed in the corner of her eye. [+80 Threshold Points.]

  Something heavy cracked against her back, while she let the screen distract her. Scavenger, two, had hit her with a metal pipe several times. She staggered back, ribs cracking. A scream tore from her throat.

  Reality split apart. Psionic energy erupted—raw, electric, uncontrolled. The air cracked in a purple haze, it grew heavy like lilac fire. A shockwave blasted from her chest. The scavenger rocketed backward, bones snapping midair. He screamed for his mother—then the wreckage took him. He was impaled by a piece of sharp metal.

  His scream cut off. His body twitches then went still.

  The last one left, the scrawny kid, barely more than a teenager. She stalked toward him. She could kill—she’d proven that. But a kid?

  Bloodied and panting, she stood over him. He stared at her wide-eyed, trembling. He soiled himself, the gun was in his hands, he let it fell to the ground. His body was jerking–like he wanted to run but couldn’t. She ripped off his cracked mask. His breath hitched—frozen, waiting…

  She didn't know what it was, but seeing him hurt. Only hurt her. Recognition? Fear? Pity? She couldn’t tell. It ate at her, what causes someone like him to be put in a position like this. She’s seen kids like this before, no–it was more personal than that.

  “Yael? Is that your name?” she frowned. He shivered. “Go! Go, or I’ll do onto you as I did on to them.”

  He bolted. Disappearing into the junk heap summit.

  When she touched her wounded shoulder, Callia’s hands shook, she felt her body failing her. Whatever grit and willpower she had posses earlier was gone, replaced by the aching feeling that she was going to die.

  A gunshot punched through her. Agony detonated up her spine. She crumpled. The stabber, he was still alive somehow, the knife lodged Into his throat, she saw a thick needle injected into his left thigh.

  She moved on a instinctual reaction.

  Adrenalin rushed through her system. She lunged. Her fist crushed his throat—bone and cartilage caving under her knuckles. He stopped struggling, his body went limp.

  [+92 Threshold Points]

  [Double homicide.]

  In front of her eyes, a screen flickered , fracturing and glitching, completely distorting. Another screen popped up.

  [SYSTEM FORMALLY WELCOMES YOU.]

  [WELCOME, CALLIA PHALEN, TO EARTH, NUMBER 77.]

  

  

  Her vision blurred away. Her own blood seeped under her. The last thing she heard was the sound of more footsteps walking her away, she was really gone.

  She fell to the ground. Numbness, everywhere.

  Her vision blurs. Warm blood leaked from her body, and started pooling beneath her.

  Lines of code slithered across her vision, crawling, jittering.

  Everything cut to black.