‘When this reaches you, I will be two continents over.

Today, too, there is nothing of note. It’s all desert and wasteland – nothing

new, though neither my men nor I care to venture further. It’s with regret I

cannot send you a photo. The skies are much more vibrant here. Perhaps

you’d find joy in excavating such ruins – I do not understand your strange

hobbies and yet, I indulge you so.

That aside, my intel tells me you’ve gone up north some days ago. I will

appeal for your platoon to withdraw early. I do not wish for you to be out so

far from our home. I have told you every time to take care of your body, do

not work so hard, and take maternity leave. In other words, go back and

wait for me.

If I had to be more specific, I love you.’

—

‘My dear,

I write to you, bittersweet. My platoon had endured a ferocious battle,

leaving forty-two dead and I…am the sole survivor. I felt repentance, but

only for a second… I am terrible but truly, I want to survive. I want to see

you.

When I saw death, I thought about the name of our child.’

A scream erupts. There is clatter and the thudding of footfall, then there is

chaos, the sounds of glass breaking, the sound of the nurses rushing out,

more screaming, horrified gasps and no clear-headed instructions. The

patient’s heartbeat remains regular on the monitor even as she’s surrounded

by the clamor. Unfazed – almost like she’d already known the outcome.

The door bangs open. The man who enters has midnight black hair and a

startling pair of cold, black eyes. He dons a green combat shirt slicked with

sweat and blood. He blocks the exit, and no one dares to get past him.

“L-Lieutenant…” The nurses start calling out to him, but he ignores all of

them.

He runs over to the woman on the bed. She greets him with a light smile.

Caramel blonde hair, light blue eyes – a stark contrast from her lover whose

personality is as intimidating as his noir. He relaxes when he sees her. The

atmosphere is still stifling, and everyone is watching his next move, their

eyes glued to the gun on his back. Fully loaded.

The man brushes back a lock of her hair and presses a soft kiss on her

forehead.

“You are back,” she says with a smile.

“Just now,” he responds.

The man looks at the newborn baby in her arms. His expression cracks a

little – imperceptibly, but his wife is sharp-witted enough to know it. The

beautiful woman hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him gently toward her.

“My dear,” she whispers, “will you name him instead?”

Snowfall is heavy at this time of the year.

The mountain range is pelted by hail and wintry gusts, forming blinding

torrents of white. Vision is limited as is distance – however steep the

footprints are imprinted in the snow, they’re covered not even a minute

later. It’d be difficult to tell left from right, let alone forward. The flakes

seem to cascade down endless miles and naturally, it is no condition for

travel.

The freezing cold is deterrence to a group of stragglers, six of them, holding

onto their equipment for dear life. A closer look at their black-clad uniforms

and assault rifles would reckon they’d be mercenaries instead, but

professionalism is hard to gauge considering the bulk of them are teeth-

chattering, teary-eyed folk.

There’s only one of them not following dress code. He goes in full winter

wear with a thick parka. His stature is that of an untrained worker, a rookie

that doesn’t belong with the rest of the team. He pushes a cargo cart slowly

uphill.

A voice is muffled amidst the storm. “It’s so cold…”

Another voice follows, no less miserable. “The colonel says we’re two

hours from destination.”

They’re quite young, all of them, with the eldest one in his thirties. The

youngest of the stragglers is a crimson-haired female whose baby face is

now stiff by the wind. Her hair is cut short and hidden halfway with aprotective helmet. Though she’s begrudgingly taking steps up the mountain,

her frame is not meek whatsoever.

She rotates her wrist, likely checking if her blood circulation has been cut

off from the sheer cold. Through her battered gloves are calluses on her

skin, the indications of rough training. It has been half an hour and no one

else delights to engage in conversation. The young woman is mumbling to

herself now and the young man is silent beside her. He’s a mere foot apart,

but the fogginess is misguiding.

In the burrows of winter, on a tall mountain peak, the six make their way up

and do not look back. A soft melody is hummed by a bulkier soldier ahead,

but it is drowned out by harsh winds.

The redhead almost wails. “I think it’s impossible to endure for two more

hours…”

The eldest man looks behind him and answers with a flashy grin, “Private

Li, don’t complain too—”

“Be on guard.” A sharp command cuts off all conversation.

The man stands in front of the entire group, his back tall and firm. Despite

the low visibility, he holds enough presence to make himself known. It’s not

so much his height nor the pitch-black uniform that contrasts heavily with

the scenery’s white, but rather his aura – magnetic but commandeering all

the same.

He crouches down and brushes away a patch of snow. On the ground is a

fleck of soot. It would be barely noticeable in most cases, but in such a

barren environment, it strikes off as odd.

This was recent debris,” the young man says with slightly furrowed brows.

“Hannes, scout our surroundings. Li Jiayun, provide cover for him. The rest

of you follow me…”

He remembers something else and then adds, “No… The gatherer should

stay behind. Unless you’d rather be eaten alive?”

A subtle smirk makes way to his face before he schools back to seriousness.

The man has quite the playful nature but on the field, he’s the most elite of

soldiers and an even more capable leader, bar none – or so he likes to think.

“I should hide?” The gatherer, the blue-collar worker who’s only here to

piggyback on the expedition, looks shaken. “I can’t see anything…”

“First time?” Somebody smacks him on the back. It’s the elder of the group,

Hannes, who is perpetually in a good mood. His dark brown eyes always

have a particular glint to them. “Buddy, the colonel isn’t joking when he

says you’ll be eaten. You folks from the inner city are not aware but…”

He juts a finger in the noon direction. “Against those things, none of us may

be a match.”

The gatherer squints his eyes but doesn’t find anything. “Where is it?”

“By the time you see it, you’d probably already be—”

A dark flash catches his eye and Hannes immediately backs away. The

predator, that creature moved so quickly it came in a blur. The raucous

shriek is all the forewarning before sharp claws drill their way forward,

missing the soldier’s ribcage by a harrowing centimeter.

“—dead! Yang Rong, two o’clock!”

Following Hannes’ shout is a torpedo of bullets and the man instantly kicks

the gatherer aside. Li Jiayun grabs the person by his collar and pushes him

up. The man is stunned during the crisis and she has to yell to get his

attention. “Get up and go!”

The gatherer is frozen in fear, however, and just when he’d steeled himself

to hide behind a boulder, his vision is blocked by a cougar-like creature the

size of a truck. Its features are grotesque enough to make him vomit –

protruding eyes, fur like daggers, scaly abdomen. Its body may be in the

shape of some feline, but it has to be a fusion.

The head bulges out in pulpous ways. Its ears are oozing white liquids and

even those ears don’t suit its form. The mutation has formed a chaotic thing,

like different animals melting into its body.

The man opens his mouth to scream but crimson claws pin him against the

rock. His death was not a painless one but that’s how they all go – eyes

opened wide, blood spurting from the orifices, guts ripped out.

They’d been trained for this or perhaps they have some immunity, for none

of the soldiers bat an eye before engaging in combat, completely

disregarding the gatherer. Grimy fangs sink down on the deceased man’s

body, and the squad does not hesitate to shoot the creature down. It only has

an effect to some extent.

“These cheap bullets!” Hannes curses during reload. “Sending us out with

limited ammo is just telling us to die!”

“Sergeant Hannes!” A soldier lands a shot to its temple and the creature

staggers back. Still alive but more obviously crippled. “Shoot its back! It’s

forming wings!”

“Nice shot!” The man grins. “You’re a real talented kid. No wonder the

colonel took you in. A few more years and maybe you’d be able to scratch

my ankle.”

“Ah…” Li Jiayun is flustered. “Thank you, Sergeant…”

“Don’t flirt in front of my face!” yells a handsome young man, the colonel,

as he fires a bullet straight at the creature’s back. It ruptures a spot above

the front arm, breaking its scales and eliciting a loud roar. The mountain

almost shakes at the intensity of the sound.

Hannes clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction and roars back, “Yang Rong,

you’re too pent up! How can this even count as flirting?! This little kid is

not my type at all – let me tell you, I like an omega with pretty eyes, plush

lips and a big—holy fuck! Watch out!”

Yang Rong quickly flips over to the side, arms tucked inward so as to block

the blow coming his way. There is little hesitation in his movements –

there’s a reason why he’s a wartime colonel. His body is lean but firm,

muscular in all the proper places. The dodge is too close for comfort,

however. As the beastly thing rushes for a kill, the colonel pulls a full-tang

knife from his belt and slashes upward.

Putrid liquids splash from the creature’s neck, dotting his black jacket in

whites and blood red, sweeping right past the insignia on his chest.

His fast reflexes do not leave him unscathed, and he grunts before finally

prying the beast off. Nails have torn through his clothes, leaving three

ragged stripes of blood.

Hannes takes the final shot and sloppily blasts the predator’s head off. Yang

Rong sighs as the rest of his team rush up to inspect his injuries. While

Hannes is examining the corpse, Li Jiayun and the other two young soldiers

quickly unload their med kits.

“Are any of you injured?” the colonel asks as he haphazardly slaps a

bandage on his chest – more so for decency than anything else. “Let me

check.”

“Worry for yourself first, Colonel Yang.” Li Jiayun makes a noise of

frustration and she slumps onto the ground. “I’ve lost track of how many of

these things we’ve killed.”

“I am worrying for myself,” Yang Rong replies as he brushes snow off his

boots. “If any of you were bitten, I might have to shoot you myself.”

He says it like a jest, with his lips curving up and all, but there’s more

hidden in his forest green eyes. They’re of an uncommon color, some shadebetween jade and steel blue. They’re also a lot paler when the light catches

at certain angles – like now, when he has his head tilted upward, smirking

in that carefree way he always does.

As a person, he can be considered overbearing and quite often irritating.

But as a leader, he’s hard-edged, firm and most importantly, capable. He

scrutinizes his men with eaglelike intensity, not missing even the smallest

of papercuts.

“Old man Hannes, show me your hands.”

The sergeant shrugs, holds out both palms and allows his commander to

check. Safety precautions are always a drag, but it’s protocol they’ve

learned to follow after too many incidents. Seeing that Yang Rong is

appeased, the older man wraps an arm around his shoulder and says with

his most greasy voice, “If you care for a more thorough body inspection, I

can undress for you.”

“Not interested,” comes Yang Rong’s offhanded reply. “I’m desperate but

not for you.”

“Baby, I’m a huge catch.”

“The only thing huge about you is your body,” he replies. “All the nutrients

have supplemented your horizontal growth and not so much anything else.”

Hannes bats his eyelids and says, “I’m also huge in another region.”

Yang Rong seems to think about it before denying. “Not quite. In fact,

we’ve compared before and—”

“—Colonel.” A dull voice interrupts them before the conversation gets any

more unbearable. “We should crate the corpse and head to the nearest zone.

I’m losing my sense of smell.”

The mediator is a young soldier in his mid-twenties. He has on a

disinterested expression and first impressions would show he doesn’t caremuch for conversation – straight-faced, deadpan eyes, lips thinned into a

line. The only characteristics that would show some semblance of character

are his arched brows and the tiny scar above his cheekbone.

His name is engraved on the dog tag hanging out of his uniform: Yoo Seok.

He’s of Asian descent, as are most of the squad soldiers with the exception

of Hannes and partially Yang Rong, whose origins are still unknown –

unasked, really, because the matters of family are considered insensitive in

such times.

Yoo Seok is a little more than average looking, with extra points added due

to his height but also lost due to his stony exterior. If there were ever gossip

polls on the most attractive force in the seven continents, Yang Rong’s

would be the top contender – never mind that the number of combatants is

limited in the first place and that beauty standards are just a tad desperate.

This even includes Hannes Miller who might come off as a slovenly man

with his unshaved, prickly beard and his tangled brown hair that hasn’t been

washed for days. He shows signs of early aging due to this harsh lifestyle,

but his deep-set features were no doubt attractive in his prime years.

A low cough comes from Yang Rong and he gestures for Yoo Seok to go on

ahead, completely disregarding the fact that he and his sergeant were acting

like greasy old men.

Indeed, he ventures off topic occasionally, but the colonel is still convinced

he’s a great leader.

“The nearest shelter is twenty minutes northeast,” Yang Rong says as he

directs his men to take care of the creature’s corpse. “Pack it up and we’ll

bring it back to the Nexus.”

“What about him?” Li Jiayun motions to the gatherer’s body. “Are we

bringing him back too?”

“No.” Yang Rong approaches the dead man on the ground. His expression

is indecipherable when he examines the gatherer’s torn body. The woundsare already blistering and purpling from the cold. “We cannot transfer more

cargo.”

Yang Rong brushes a pile of snow onto the corpse, hiding the pools of

blood underneath, and then he says, “The report will be that he’s lost his

way in the beautiful peaks of the Arctic, buried by soft snow.”

“Ahh! Colonel Yang!”

A high-pitched shout holds the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The

person is a meek-looking young soldier with eyebrows perpetually

downcast. The inner corners are pulled up and together which makes him

look like a frightened fawn. It doesn’t help that his eyes and nose are bright

red from the cold. If not for the military uniform, the boy would be

mistaken for a young immature teen.

“Colonel Yang!!” The soldier treks the upward hill and continues to scream

to be heard. “There’s blood!”

“Huh?!” Yang Rong shouts as he zips his backpack. “Blood? Of course

there’d be blood! Idiot, is this your first time outside?!”

“N-No! I mean there’s blood—like, another type of blood!” He tries his best

to convey but the stutter and teeth chatter aren’t helping his case. He resigns

to gesturing wildly with his hands. “Like another person’s blood and it’s

leaving tracks down the slope. Right there!”

“Don’t think about it,” Yang Rong says disinterestedly. “Jiayun, tell him it’s

not our problem.”

Li Jiayun, who is forced to bear the brunt of the colonel’s irresponsibility, is

hesitant. She blinks her eyes rapidly. “Jae found something. I think it’s good

if we take a look?”

Yang Rong immediately seeks his next target. “Hannes, go and take a look.

Shout if you’re in trouble.”

He pats his chest before adding, conveniently, “I’m injured.”

It can be said that the colonel’s ability to both direct and redirect is

praiseworthy and to be able to muster an excuse with such shamelessness –

truly legendary. Hannes does, however, still go down the slope and Jae

follows out of caution.

They haven’t much time. The blizzard rages on. Any longer and their

already low visibility will be limited to just inches in front of them. They’d

overstayed their visit and they look like easy prey, hiking up a snow-

covered mountain with nothing but a few firearms low on ammo, not nearly

enough medical supplies and some heavy carts on tow. They’re not even

properly dressed for the inclement weather.

At this rate, they’d have to wager what would kill them first – the frostbite

or those flesh-eating creatures.

Not even a minute later, a loud shout cuts through the storm. The noise is

even more deafening than the gale and that’s because it’s Hannes, that

loudmouth who can project sound waves across tens of miles. “Yang

Rong!”

“What is it?”

“So! The verdict is!” The sergeant is huffing and puffing on the other end,

trying his hardest to bellow the syllables. “There is indeed! Blood! Not sure,

but I think—is dead!”

“What?!” Yang Rong repeats himself louder. “Speak properly, you fool!”

Still, he stands on his feet and makes way to the rest of the group who are

now crowded down the mountain slope. The younger ones, Li Jiayun and

Jae are craning their heads as if to watch a spectacle. Yoo Seok hardly

seems to care. He’s huddled up for warmth in the corner.

“Come and see for yourself.” Hannes sniffles. “I’m freezing my ass off and

I can’t see nor smell anything.”

“I see it,” replies Yang Rong. “A person?”

On the banks of the ravine where the ice pellets have coalesced in thick

sheets, a black coat covers the person underneath. The fur hood has

accumulated three inches of snow and nearly blankets him whole. The

young man is faced down, head tilted to the side, unresponsive.

In actuality, most of his features are hidden by the padded coat and it’d be

difficult to tell the gender if not for his mildly tall stature. All that’s visible

is the lower portion of his face – high-tip nose, pale lips, prominent jawline.

His skin is ironically, eerily snow-white, blending in so much with the

backdrop that without the dark coat as an identifier, he’d be lost in scenery.

There’s a long-running gash on his shoulder that’s still bleeding out. It’s

recent, less than ten minutes, and if left untreated, the frostbite will not be

pleasant. The wound is deep but not fatal enough to knock the person out –

which means, conjectured, he suffered a blow to the head. His posture also

denotes he might’ve fallen off from the steep incline above.

“C-Colonel,” Li Jiayun has also started to stutter from sheer cold, “what

should we do?”

“The anomaly we encountered had an injury on its left arm and bloodstains

on its neck,” Yang Rong muses. “There were three slashes on the pectoral,

two by the skull and a clot in its eye. None of you are reckless enough to

engage a flying… pterodactyl with a knife, so… what do you all think?”

The redhead replies dutifully, “I think I am awed by your dynamic vision,

Colonel!”

“I-I also think it’s awesome, Colonel Yang!”

Leave it to Jae and Li Jiayun to hype up their commander. Yang Rong looks

pleased by the attention and his ego is boosted even more. The real matter

at question is only addressed thirty seconds later.

Hannes sloppily blows his nose. “So this little kid scuffled with it. Morals

say we bring him to the safety zone but it’s your call, Rong.”

“We can’t take chances.” Yang Rong presses his fingers against the

unconscious person’s neck and feels up the artery. The heartbeat is faint,

though he’s more surprised by how cold the young man is. It’s not just the

blizzard – it’s as though there’s little to no warmth radiating from him. He

feels more like a corpse. “His appearance…”

Yang Rong carefully pushes aside the hood, revealing silvery-gray locks of

hair. It’s damper and darker right now but well… it’s also unexpectedly

soft. He brushes up a strand and uncovers the young man’s forehead. A

laceration runs diagonally from browbone to forehead, deep red in its center

and slightly smeared.

The colonel finds himself thinking that it’s a shame – it really mars his

porcelain skin. Flakes of white are caught between long lashes, and he just

might be the prettiest person Yang Rong’s ever seen.

Looks are distracting, however, and he needs to focus on the important parts

– namely, the level of threat and also, why on earth was this person hiking

up a hazardous mountain in the middle of nowhere?

They’ve stalled for too long. The beasts here are ravenous. The squad is

fresh bait just offering themselves up. The crates are jam-packed from their

hunts and the scent of blood would attract all unwanted attention.

“White hair,” Hannes comments. “Albino?”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Li Jiayun says. “The color is different. It might be

dyed or maybe he’s…”

“There isn’t time.” Yang Rong redirects the conversation. He examines the

shoulder wound and does a careful elevator sweep, in case there were

anything else he’d missed. There isn’t any, minus the fact that the

unconscious young man also has a very…pretty neck, and that’s only

because Yang Rong has stared far too shamelessly long.

“We’re taking him back. Stop the bleeding and dress his wounds.” The

colonel reaches into his backpack and throws out a heavy-duty rope. “Also,

tie him up.”

—

[november 2035, 31 years ago]

“T-minus 20 seconds and counting.”

The intercom crackles from pressure. The voices on the other end are

interrupted by shuttle thrusters and engine flares. All the hissing, the

banging, the thermal pops are being broadcasted live right now. Tens of

million are tuned in, waiting in anticipation for the launch of the latest

reusable spacecraft.

The takeoff to space is no new venture, but the idea of going above earth,

the idea of landing on Mars, terraforming a whole planet – humanity’s

always had dreams beyond.

“T-minus 15 seconds.”

The astronauts are quietly listening to the instructions being repeated to

them – visors adjusted, subsystems assembled, tools secured. These are ex-

military men with decades of flight time. They’re no amateur pilots.

They’re relaxed during standby, chatting quietly amongst themselves before

launch.

“Ten, nine, eight…” The countdown continues till zero and the spacecraft

throttles up. The dashboard shakes at the lift and all around the world,

people are shouting in excitement. All their lives they’d wanted to be in the

cockpit of these spacecrafts, the beautiful bright birds engineered to

perfection.

The AX-10 space shuttle has seen five years of gorgeous flights. This was

its final.

The engine failure was as unexpected as all accidents – a fragment had

broken off during reentry, clogged the booster and led to a catastrophic

downfall. When the AX-10 was recovered, hundreds of thousands of

outcries blamed faulty engineering. Five exceptional astronauts were lost.

Then later, when official reports documented a strange phenomenon, the

sudden loss of communications, data collection, seemingly random

shutdowns, no one was appeased.

Telemetry retrieved snippets of the conversation taking place during the last

moments.

“AX-10, we’re going down,” reports the co-pilot, a middle-aged brunet.

Records indicated he had a wife and a newborn son in the outskirts. They

lived in a small village somewhere, far away from all the city commotion.

He was due to be back by Christmas season.

Modular data indicated there were a few seconds of pause.

The former naval officer shuffled around, tapped his captain on the

shoulder, smiled and asked, “Do you have family?”

The conversation was eerily calm, like they’d resigned to their fates

instantly. Poetically, at 160 kilometers above, four men and one woman sat

in absolute quietude. The only signs of calamity were the batter and clatter

of the engine. Someone cracked a joke about vanishing into thin air. Soft

chuckles followed.

The intercom fizzed in and out, the static making it hard to hear. “Calling…

AX-10…irregularities…please report…”

No one responded and the voice stuttered again, “System failure…

communications lost.”

The pilot took his hand off the controls. He unclenched his fist slowly and

stretched his fingers. His ring finger was bare, but the entire crew knew he

had a lover – he’d spoken so often of her pretty black hair and ocean-green

eyes.

“No,” the pilot finally replied. “I have a girlfriend and a close friend.”

“You will meet them again,” the co-pilot said, unsure if trying to convince

himself or his superior. “I’m sure of it.”

“I didn’t think you were one to believe in reincarnation.”

“Not reincarnation.” His coworker laughed. “The afterlife.”

The pilot also laughed along. He tapped the intercom on the brink. The

emergency flares were all going off, dyeing the shuttlecraft in code red. The

sleek white interior cracked and broke apart instantaneously.

“This is AX-10,” the pilot said. “One day, the stars will be at our reach.”

The next sounds that followed were explosive. The connection cut off

completely. On the other end, inside the control center, a man in his mid-

twenties sat in silence. Behind him, the aero scientists were staggering to

collect data, the assistants were tracking the remains, the medics weregearing up for retrieval and the rest were trying to mediate the live

broadcast.

The black-haired man took off his officer hat and placed it by his chest,

where a silver insignia shined brilliantly. He sighed and spoke softly to a

dear friend.

“Thank you for your service, Captain Yang.”