That was the first sensation. A piercing cold, not icy, but sterile and void, creeping across naked skin. Then, sound. A low, monotonous hum, a constant vibration felt down to the bone. Slowly, consciousness formed within the liquid darkness, like a drop of ink spreading in clear water.
An eyelid twitched. Then opened.
No pupils greeted the dim light around her. Only brilliant white fields shining with internal power, as if two small stars replaced a pair of eyes. The girl—Eiren Virell, though she didn't yet know the name—floated inside a gigantic glass tube, completely naked, with thin wires attached to her temples and back. Thick synthetic amniotic fluid enveloped her athletic, powerful body.
Outside the tube, in the dimly lit control room, panic erupted.
"Unexpected brain activity in Sector Gamma! Subject-013… she's awake!" a young technician exclaimed, his fingers trembling over the console.
An older man in a white lab coat rushed closer, his eyes glued to the vital monitor. "Impossible. The sedation protocol should keep her asleep for three more cycles. What's her heart rate?"
"Three hundred… four hundred… God, Dr. Aris, it keeps rising! Pressure inside the pod is increasing drastically!"
Inside the pod, Eiren stared straight ahead, at the blurry, terrified faces behind the glass. She felt nothing. No anger, no confusion, not even fear. Only a primal urge, an instinct older than any memory she might have ever possessed. An urge to… move.
KRAK!
A thin, spiderweb-like crack appeared on the thick glass surface before her. The officers in the control room recoiled.
"She's breaking it from the inside! Activate emergency protocol! Call the Quarantine Team—now!" Dr. Aris ordered, his voice trembling.
The urge intensified. Eiren bent her knees slightly, the muscles in her back and legs tensing, displaying a dominant, unconquerable posture. She didn't know how she knew how to do it. Her body moved on its own.
BOOOOM!
The glass, as thick as a man's arm, shattered into a thousand pieces. Fluid and shards exploded outwards. Eiren landed lightly on the cold metal floor, liquid dripping from her long, disheveled black hair. Alarms blared, red lights flashed, transforming the underground laboratory into a pulsating hell.
Several security officers in hazmat suits tried to intercept her. They carried stun batons and paralyzing weapons. Eiren stared at them with her blank white eyes. One stepped forward, shouting for her to get down.
Eiren took a step. The movement wasn't fast, but it was full of certainty. She surged past the man, her shoulder lightly brushing against his chest. The result was anything but light. A sickening wet crack echoed as his ribs crushed inward, and he was hurled against the wall with impossible force.
The others froze in horror. This chaos… Eiren liked it. The explosive sensation of power felt familiar, felt right.
She began to move, a pale blur amidst the panic. She wasn't fighting; she was simply breaking through. Concrete walls became rubble as she passed. Steel tables twisted like tin foil. The people obstructing her path ceased to be human, becoming soft obstacles that crumbled at her touch. She bulldozed through their bodies, not by controlling their minds, but by transforming them into projectiles of flesh and bone as she hurtled relentlessly forward. Brutal, impulsive, and efficient.
Another strange instinct arose: shame. She was naked. The need to cover herself felt intensely urgent, a bizarre contrast to the carnage she had just created. Her glowing eyes scanned the wrecked corridor, and caught something. A steel locker with a yellow panel.
With a single jerk, she ripped the locker door from its hinges. Inside, neatly folded, was a costume. A skintight, jet-black bodysuit with gold-yellow accents. The design was modern, with yellow geometric lines across the chest and abdomen, and a strange bat-shaped logo on the chest. There was also a yellow cape, gloves, and high boots in matching colors.
Without hesitation, she put it on. The fabric clung to her skin as if tailor-made. As she donned her gloves and boots, then draped the cape over her back, her transformation was complete. She was no longer a blurry specimen. She was something else. Something dangerous and terrifyingly heroic.
"SUBJECT SIGHTED IN MEDICAL SECTOR! SHE'S WEARING THE 'NIGHTFALL' PROTOTYPE!" a voice boomed from the intercom.
The steel door at the end of the corridor burst open. Fully armed special forces stormed in, forming a semicircle. They wore heavy body armor and tactical helmets, their assault rifles pointed directly at her.
"Put your hands above your head and kneel! This is your last warning!" their commander shouted.
Eiren merely tilted her head, her wet black hair clinging to her pale face.
"Fire!"
A deafening barrage of bullets slammed into her. Dozens of high-velocity projectiles hit her chest, stomach, and legs. But instead of penetrating, the bullets dented and fell to the floor with a weak clang, as if striking solid steel. A few managed to graze her skin, but the wounds closed instantly, a thin vapor rising from the points of regeneration.
The soldiers stared in disbelief. A brief, horrified silence filled the room.
And then, Eiren smiled. A simple, almost childish smile, but on her face, with those soulless white eyes, it was the most terrifying thing they had ever seen.
She moved.
No longer walking or running, but flying in the truest sense. She hovered a few inches above the ground, hurtling towards them like a living torpedo. The choreography of the ensuing massacre was a brutal and cinematic symphony of action. She dived under the gunfire, her yellow-gloved hands crushing rifle barrels. A single stomp of her foot on the ground sent a shockwave that flung three soldiers into the ceiling.
She was an uncontrolled storm of energy. Blood sprayed, staining her brand-new black and yellow costume. She moved among them, an efficient dance of death. One blow shattered a helmet and its contents. A spinning kick snapped a spine. She showed no mercy, no regret. This was merely a process, a solution to the problem before her.
In less than a minute, it was over. The corridor was silent, littered with uniformed corpses and countless shell casings. Eiren stood amidst the destruction, her once pristine costume now blood-soaked. Her yellow cape was torn in several places from explosions and stray bullets, giving her the appearance of a veteran of countless brutal battles.
She looked up. Above her, the thick concrete ceiling had cracked and broken during the fight, revealing the steel framework and—far above—a sliver of the dark night sky.
The urge returned. No longer to destroy or cover herself. This time, the urge to ascend. To be free.
With the same power she had used to slaughter a platoon of special forces, Eiren launched herself upwards. She punched through the remaining ceiling like a rocket, fragments of concrete and metal raining down on the corpses below.
In an instant, she soared into the cityscape.
The cold, polluted night air whipped across her face, ruffling her now-drying black hair and her tattered yellow cape. Below, an endless futuristic city sprawled, a sea of neon lights and towering skyscrapers that rose like giant tombstones. This was a world ravaged by genetic warfare, a world ruled by the Cleanse Directive that aimed to eradicate beings like her.
Eiren Virell drifted between the glass and steel towers, the last drops of blood falling from her gloves and disappearing into the heights. She didn't know who she was, where she came from, or what her purpose was. But as she gazed at the sprawling city below, one thing felt profoundly clear in her empty mind: this world was her new playground. And she had only just begun the mayhem.