Born in ruin and born to ruin

They say the sky cracked open at 11:47 a.m.

Satellites fried. Communication grids collapsed. The orbital shield failed in less than nine minutes.

And then—they came.

Not from above.

Not from space.

But from between the seams of reality itself.

Monsters. Real ones.

Not the kind with fangs and horns, but creatures that bent physics with every step.

Some walked like men. Others slithered like machines.

Cities became graves in hours.

That was the day humanity broke.

It was also the day I was born.

...----------------...

They told me my father died behind the wheel, trying to outrun an aerial collapse zone.

My mother died hours later, giving birth to me in a field hospital’s generator-flickering basement.

There were no lullabies.

Only sirens.

Only the cold red lights of emergency systems cycling through death protocols.

No one held me when I cried.

They didn’t have the time.

I was registered as Infant 041-Z: healthy and alive.

A miracle, they said.

But I’ve learned miracles are just mistakes the world doesn’t know how to correct.

...----------------...

I grew up in Sector 9, under the UEG (Unified Earth Government) care initiative.

Cramped steel bunkers, recycled oxygen, and food made from protein gels.

A generation of orphans raised by drones and exhausted soldiers.

By age five, I knew how to fire a plasma rifle.

By eight, I was learning tactical formations through virtual simulations.

At twelve, I enlisted.

Not because I wanted to fight.

I never liked the idea of piercing through flesh.

But that was the only way I'd be recognised, that was the only way I wouldn't end up rotting in a fucking corner.

...----------------...

They say I wasn’t special.

They’re right.

I had no enhancements. No cybernetic implants. No awakened genes.

Just bruises, broken ribs, and discipline.

But I kept going.

I kept fighting.

And somehow… that was enough.

Anna Croft. Hero Corps Rank 5.

Recon Division.

Assigned to the frontline reclamation of fallen cities.

I wasn't the strongest. I wasn’t built for this.

But I survived, I thought I could finally live in peace. Protecting people.

Until I saw it.

Project Genesis.

It wasn’t a myth. It wasn’t a whisper. It was real—and I had clearance to the files.

Buried beneath the surface of Zone-42, the government wasn’t just developing weapons.

They were making them.

From people.

From survivors.

Children dragged from broken cities. Civilians marked as “mutated.”

Anyone who came into contact with monsters and lived.

They weren’t rescued.

They were collected.

Experimented on. Injected. Fused with bio-organic monster tissue.

Skinned open and rebuilt in underground labs lit by sterile blue lights.

And the worst part?

The heroes knew.

"This is for humanity"

What's humanity if there aren't any humans to live through?

“We don’t have a choice.”

Liars.

"We can win if we—"

Win at the cost of countless lives, you save 1 and sacrifice 10.

Win?

Win what?

False glory?

Praises of millions of innocents who don't know how many lives you have sacrificed?

I tried to expose it. I sent encrypted reports, flagged red-level emergency data across the network.

But someone intercepted me.

Everyone was in this, I can't do anything.

And just like that, Anna Croft disappeared.

Official statement?

“Anna Croft was compromised. A mole for the tech cultists. A traitor. Terminated for security reasons."

...----------------...

I remember pain.

Not in the cinematic way. Not fire and rage.

Just cold.

A sting in my spine.

A needle to the neck.

The silence of death.

I died.

Quiet. Unheard.

Like a whisper beneath a thunderstorm.

But I woke up, for some reason.

Not in heaven.

Not in some digital afterlife.

But here.

A cold lab.

Soft restraints on my wrists.

The steady beep of a medical display.

A body that wasn’t mine. Smaller. Scarred.

A name flashing on a monitor nearby.

SUBJECT 1096-A

STATUS: Stabilized

NAME: Anna

'That's my name' I thought to myself.

but not my body.

The mirror caught my eye.

Young. Thin. Faded skin, lips cracked, stitch lines running from collarbone to jaw.

But those eyes…

Crimson.

My eyes.

My soul.

But that face—

I know that face.

I remember pulling her out of the rubble in District 5.

A girl huddled under a collapsed monorail station, half-conscious, coughing blood.

Her name was Anna too. A cruel coincidence, or maybe fate's way of laughing.

I saved her.

I wrapped her in a thermal blanket.

I told her she’d be okay.

And now she’s here.

Strapped to a table. Experimented on.

And I’m inside her body.

They took her after I saved her.

Cut her open. Injected her. Fused her with monster tissue.

Until she couldn’t hold on anymore.

And now I’m wearing what’s left of her.

How inhuman of them.

I flexed my fingers. The restraints, though metal, cracked with the slightest twitch of my wrist. No resistance. No strain. Just—snap.

The sensation was alien—too fast, too fluid.

My strength wasn’t normal. My body wasn’t human.

Blood coated my fingertips. Dried, but mine now. Hers before.

Maybe both.

I stood, slow and deliberate, walking to the mirror. My reflection followed, half-spectral, too still. I lifted my bloodstained fingers to my face.

"From now on, I'm Anna...Anna Nox."

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