Akram was dragged at full speed by the members of the group. They rushed up the stairs and burst onto the surface. Immediately, the sound of clashing metal echoed through the air — a sword fight, or at least a fight with melee weapons. As he stepped out of the Relic, Akram saw Barid, Kra, and Venshi facing off against a dozen individuals… the Rushers.
At first glance, they didn't look so different from his new allies: torn, dull clothes, stained with blood. But Akram could feel their murderous intent from where he stood. Their fighting style was disorganized, chaotic, almost feral. They simply charged at Barid and his men at full speed, striking wildly in the hope of breaking their defense.
In vain.
Barid was a force of nature. He cut down one, then two, then a third Rusher in mere seconds, their bodies collapsing behind his long blade. Akram stood frozen, stunned. Never, in his past life, had he seen a human accomplish such physical feats without any cybernetic enhancement.
A scream snapped him out of it: a Rusher writhed on the ground, his freshly severed fingers twitching. Kra stood beside him, his abilities easily rivaling Barid's. Kra moved like lightning, slicing through enemies at a speed that didn't seem human, like a living gust of wind. And Akram understood why when he noticed that one of Kra's legs was actually a prosthetic. The sight awakened the scientist buried in him since his long sleep.
"He's talented, my son, huh?" Leyla said proudly, a smile stretching across her face.
"They're not that dangerous, the Rushers — not against us. They're just many… but really, they're just starving raiders. They'd kill anyone for food," she added.
"Is fighting them necessary? You never tried some form of diplomacy?" Akram asked, genuinely puzzled.
"No point talking to wild beasts. We hunt them. And we'll keep hunting them as long as they stand in our way," Leyla replied dryly.
Akram stayed silent, afraid of saying something wrong.
Gradually, the fighting died down. The Rushers lost the will to continue against Barid's overwhelming strength. Then a sharp, piercing scream rang out, tearing through everyone's ears.
"Screamers… SHIT, WE'RE OUTTA HERE, GUYS!" Barid shouted.
The Rushers fled instantly, abandoning the bodies of their fallen comrades. Barid's group, meanwhile, sprinted toward the caravan, dragging Akram along, who still had no idea what was happening. The screams multiplied, sharper, closer, more gut-wrenching. Even the toughest among them — including Barid — seemed alarmed.
"What are the Screamers?!" Akram yelled, panicking.
"Robots, from your time… They tear apart anything that moves. Humans or animals," Kra replied, hands trembling as if he'd narrowly escaped death.
"You… you can't deal with them like the Rushers?" Akram asked, clueless.
"What, are you stupid?! Those things are tough as hell. You avoid them! There's nothing to gain from fighting them!" Venshi snapped, clearly irritated.
"Hey, calm down. He didn't know. No need to bark at him," Barid intervened.
Venshi glared at Akram. He was still the only one who remained wary of him, despite Akram's explanations.
The caravan headed toward Vulkania, Barid's colony. During the journey, Akram looked out with melancholy at what had become of his world: once fertile and green, now nothing but deserts, canyons, and endless desolation. Yet in this chaos, he saw a kind of raw beauty, a strange sense of rebirth.
A long-buried feeling rose inside him again: curiosity.
He wanted to understand this world. Explore it. Master it.
I can rebuild everything, he thought.
Was it just a fleeting thought? An oversized ambition? He didn't know yet.
In Vulkania, he was welcomed warmly. The Vulkans were fascinated by him — by his origin, his knowledge. He learned their customs, their rules, their way of surviving; he had to adapt, because this world was no longer his. Months passed. Akram befriended the sixty or so members of the colony. He learned to wield the saber, the sword, the crossbow, the bow — the only weapons left in this world. At the same time, he recorded all his discoveries in a notebook: clans, species, cities, languages, expressions… and above all, his theories on how to unlock Emy's cryopod.
Six months later, Vulkania was growing fast — but resources were dwindling. The colony suffered raids more and more often. A new expedition to the Grand Canyon — where Akram had been found — was proposed and approved by Barid. Akram volunteered, hoping to find Emy's cryopod again and test his theories.
As he prepared his gear, his blond hair kept falling in front of his eyes.
"We'll have to cut that hair of yours!" Leyla said behind him.
Akram chuckled.
"Yeah, or I'll end up with the same haircut as Kra…"
"Wouldn't want to mistake you for my son!" she laughed.
Akram cleared his throat, suddenly serious.
"Speaking of him… he's really your son? You seem kinda young to have a kid his age…"
Leyla burst out laughing.
"I was wondering when you'd finally ask! You've been holding that in for six months, right?"
Then, more softly:
"Yeah, at twenty-five, having a fifteen-year-old kid is a bit tricky. But I'm the one who raised Kra. I'm the one who gave him his name. He's everything to me. Being a parent isn't just about who someone came out of."
Akram smiled.
"True. He really is your kid. He also struggles to grow up."
Leyla playfully punched his shoulder.
"Please, Akram… watch over him during the expedition."
"You can count on me," he assured her.
The expedition began. It didn't last.
They came face-to-face with the cannibal tribe of the West. Akram wasn't calm, but he trusted his companions. They were strong. They wouldn't fall easily.
Waves of enemies crashed into the Vulkans. Akram joined the fight — frailer than the others, but brave — using his small handmade bombs, exploding chestnuts.
Victory seemed possible. The Vulkans were taking the advantage.
But Barid never lowered his guard. He felt something coming. And he was right.
A rumble shook the canyon.
An earthquake?
A storm?
No.
Much worse.
Varog entered the scene.
"RETREAT! NOW! IF YOU WANNA LIVE!" Barid roared.
The non-fighters tried to escape with the caravan, but cannibals blocked them immediately. Akram stayed on the front line with Barid, Kra, and Venshi.
"We can take him, just hold on Barid!" Kra shouted, though his trembling voice betrayed him.
Venshi was nearly petrified.
Varog appeared as if he had simply decided to show himself. With a single swing of his arm, he struck Akram aside and opened his stomach.
Venshi tried to counterattack. Varog crushed his skull with a swift strike, then hurled his corpse at Kra. Kra dodged — barely — but when he looked up, Varog was already on him, fist drawn back, a carnivorous smile stretching across his face.
Mom… Mom… Kra thought in his final moments, tears streaming down his cheeks. Varog gutted him alive.
Barid and the remaining Vulkans screamed and charged at Varog, fully aware their fate was already sealed.
***
Present.
Akram surfaced from unconsciousness in a painful haze. His body refused to move — something was binding his arms and legs. His breathing sped up as his vision slowly cleared, as if through thick fog.
"WAKE UP, PORKCHOP!!!"
The sudden scream blasted right into his ear, making him jolt awake. He was tied to a post, surrounded by dozens of other captives restrained the same way. In front of him stood a man covered in white and crimson tribal paint — one of the cannibals.
Without warning, the man slammed a brutal hook into Akram's face, then burst into a jittery, almost childish laugh as he moved toward another prisoner. Pain erupted across Akram's cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
As he looked around, the truth finally hit him — cold and absolute:
He had been captured.
And if he didn't find a way to escape…
He would end up like the others.
Turned into a meal.