"When angels start singing about perfection, it's the devils who remember how to bleed."
The world had gone quiet again—but not the quiet of peace. The kind that comes before a scream.
Less stood in what used to be a city square. The buildings were hollowed shells, their walls carved with scorch marks and bullet scars. The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled of ozone and smoke. Her boots crunched over shattered glass, the sound sharp against the silence.
Khale's voice came from behind her. "You sure about this place?"
She didn't answer right away. The old sign above them still read Sanctum 4—a Helix containment district, long abandoned. But the power still hummed beneath the ground. Someone had kept it alive.
Shelly adjusted her respirator. "Readings are stable. Bio-signatures ahead—low metabolism, erratic vitals. Survivors, maybe."
Less nodded once. "Then let's meet them."
They advanced through the corridor of collapsed buildings. The deeper they went, the more the air shimmered with heat from old reactor lines. Graffiti covered the walls—phrases scrawled in luminous ink:"THE GODS MADE US. THE GODS FORGOT US.""EVOLVE OR DIE."
Khale's gaze flicked upward. "Charming neighborhood."
A faint hum of movement answered him. Shadows flitted across the rooftops—too quick, too coordinated to be random.
Less raised her hand in warning. "We're not alone."
A voice came from the dark, low and cracked with static. "State your gene code."
Shelly froze. "What?"
"Your gene code," the voice repeated. "You're in our zone."
Less's fingers brushed the trigger of her rifle. "We're not Helix."
A laugh echoed—dry, humorless. "Everybody says that right before they shoot."
Then the shapes descended.
Figures dropped from the broken roofs, moving with animal speed. Their bodies were twisted but powerful—half-human, half something else. Skin veined with light, eyes reflecting the glow of Less's rifle.
Mutants. The forgotten products of Helix's earlier experiments.
Khale drew his blades but didn't swing. "Easy," he said, voice calm. "We're not here to fight."
A tall figure stepped from the group, his face marked with metallic scars that caught the dim light. He wore old combat armor, the Helix logo painted over with red ash. His voice was gravel. "Then why are you trespassing?"
Less lowered her rifle but didn't drop it. "We're looking for allies."
"Helix doesn't have allies."
"I'm not Helix."
The man studied her for a long moment. Then his gaze drifted to her hands—the faint gold light still pulsing beneath her skin. His eyes widened slightly. "You're one of them."
Shelly tensed. "She's not—"
Less lifted a hand, silencing her. "I was. Not anymore."
The mutant leader stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "Name."
"Less Vogue."
Recognition flickered in his face. A whisper ran through the group. Someone muttered, "The sniper from the Collapse."
The leader's expression shifted from hostility to something else—respect, maybe. "You killed a Helix director with one shot, didn't you?"
"Two," Less said flatly. "He was stubborn."
That earned a dark chuckle from him. "You've got nerve walking into our ground. My name's Draxen. We run what's left of Sanctum 4."
"Then we need your help, Draxen."
He folded his arms. "Help for what?"
Less met his eyes. "To end Helix for good."
They followed Draxen into the depths of the old facility. The corridors pulsed faintly with recycled power, cables coiling like veins. The smell of oil, blood, and makeshift medicine filled the air.
The survivors were everywhere—mutants with mismatched limbs, children with bioluminescent skin, adults fused with remnants of machinery. And yet, they moved with purpose. They had community.
Shelly whispered, "They're… organized."
"Helix taught them how to survive," Khale muttered. "Just not how to die."
Draxen led them to a central chamber where an old reactor glowed dimly. Around it, dozens of survivors worked—repairing weapons, filtering water, tending to wounds.
"This is what Helix left behind," Draxen said. "The broken ones. The ones that didn't fit their vision of perfection."
Less studied the group—their faces lit by the faint orange glow of the reactor. "And you built this from nothing."
He nodded. "We learned fast. We had to. When the first Pulse came, most of us should've died. But the ones who didn't started changing."
Shelly frowned. "Mutations stabilized?"
"More than that," Draxen said. "We adapted. Became something Helix couldn't control."
Less's eyes narrowed. "That's why we're here. Vira's building a new network—New Genesis. If she finishes it, she'll rewrite every genome again. Everyone you saved will be hers."
Draxen's expression darkened. "Then she dies."
Khale grinned faintly. "I like this guy."
As they spoke, the hum of the reactor deepened, vibrating through the floor. Shelly checked her instruments. "Power surge," she warned.
Draxen cursed. "She's pinging the grid again. Vira's drones have been scanning for us ever since the Pulse."
Less stepped forward. "Then she's close."
A low rumble shook the walls. The lights flickered.
Khale drew his blades. "Tell me that's thunder."
Draxen's voice went cold. "That's not thunder."
The ceiling split open.
A Helix strike drone descended, sleek and black, its scanners glowing red. Its voice echoed through the chamber:
"GENETIC ANOMALIES DETECTED. PURGE PROTOCOL INITIATED."
Draxen roared, "Positions!"
The survivors moved instantly—grabbing scavenged rifles, taking cover behind metal barricades. Less dove behind a console and snapped her rifle into position.
"Khale, left flank!" she shouted.
He was already moving, blades flashing as he leapt up a support beam and slashed through one of the drone's stabilizers. Sparks exploded.
Shelly scrambled to the reactor, typing furiously. "I can overload its targeting sensors—just keep it busy!"
Less fired three times, her bullets punching through the drone's armor plating. It screamed—a horrible digital sound—and unleashed a burst of plasma fire. The blast tore through the barricades, sending survivors sprawling.
Draxen grabbed a fallen rifle and fired a burst straight into its optical core. "You're in our house now, machine!"
The drone spun, locking onto him. Its cannon charged.
Less didn't think—she moved. Sprinting across the floor, she slid under a broken pipe and fired upward at point-blank range. The bullet pierced the core.
The drone convulsed, light spilling from its seams like blood.
"Shelly!" Less shouted.
"Now!"
Shelly hit the command. The reactor flared, releasing a pulse of electromagnetic energy that ripped through the chamber. The drone froze midair—then exploded into shards of molten metal.
For a long moment, there was only silence and the crackle of burning circuits.
Then the survivors began to cheer.
Draxen leaned on his rifle, grinning. "Not bad for newcomers."
Khale smirked. "We do our best work under pressure."
Less holstered her weapon. "That won't be the last of them."
"No," Draxen agreed. "But if she's coming for us, we might as well hit first."
Hours later, after the dead were buried and the wounded tended, the chamber filled with low murmurs. Survivors gathered around the central platform where Less stood beside Draxen.
She looked over them—mutants, rejects, outcasts. Faces lit by flickering firelight. They were broken in a hundred ways, but none of them looked defeated.
"My name is Less Vogue," she began. "You know what Helix did to you. To all of us. You know what they'll do again if we let them. Vira's building a world where you'll never exist. Where people like us are rewritten into silence."
She paused, scanning their eyes. "I won't let that happen. But I can't stop her alone."
Draxen stepped forward, voice booming. "You've seen what she can do. You've seen what we can do. Together, we can remind her that evolution isn't owned. It's earned."
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd.
Less raised her hand. The faint gold veins beneath her skin flared, illuminating her face in the dim light. "Vira calls us anomalies. But anomalies are how the universe corrects itself. We are not mistakes."
Khale smirked. "We're the correction."
The crowd erupted into cheers—raw, desperate, defiant.
Shelly stepped up beside Less, her expression fierce. "Then it's decided. We fight back."
Less looked at her, then at the faces of the survivors—the first army she hadn't been paid to lead.
"This is where it begins," she said softly. "Not a war for revenge. A war for definition."
The survivors pounded their weapons against the floor in rhythm, the sound rising like a heartbeat.
Draxen grinned. "Looks like you've got yourself an army, Captain."
Less's eyes gleamed in the firelight. "No," she said. "I've got a choir."
The sound of their voices filled the chamber, deep and resonant—a roar of humanity turned into defiance.
And far away, in the glowing heart of New Genesis, Vira felt the echo ripple through her network.
Her golden eyes opened slowly.
"So," she whispered, smiling faintly, "my sister finally sings."