He didn't have much. Like everyone else. He had a worn dark-blue duffel bag, dusty, where he still kept a few clothes—also dirty—leftover ration snacks, and family photos, not just with his sister but also his mother, father, grandparents, and even uncles.
They were dated, for the most part, between 2036 and 2040. Back then, Victor had been between three and seven years old. The smiling, spontaneous, living faces were a barrier between the quiet life of a Florida family and a world that was changing without anyone noticing.
Ijo. In Japanese it means "Anomaly." They taught us that in school. My mother was of Swedish origin. There in Europe they call them Zmij. When they destroyed Stockholm in 2043, my mother lost everything; her parents died, but she never knew how. She had been living in the United States for years.
"Soon, they'll come here too." That's what she thought, and so did my father. I started thinking it too. I was fourteen when Naomi, my mother, and I were boarded onto the Remnant. The journey from Earth to the launch base on the Moon was perhaps the most beautiful part of that entire route. Three and a half billion people in line to board what had been called the last hope for our hope. And yet, I always felt like I was living in a second dying world. Two dying worlds, bound by an unknown fate. Far, yet close. Since I arrived on Earth, I've looked up at the sky. I looked toward my family. Toward my father, who unfortunately couldn't come with us, but who I know watches over and protects me, as he always has for as long as I can remember. I protect him too, from down here. I protect humanity from the monsters. Whatever the means, I do it. That is my goal. My mission. To become worse than the monsters themselves.
"Hey, private!"
A female, authoritative voice made Victor jump, waking him abruptly. He still had his eyes closed. He had deep dark circles, with visible crust in his eyelashes. His left cheek was red, since he had been resting it on a very hard, uncomfortable plastic crate.
He had fallen asleep so deeply he hadn't even realized they had arrived.
In fact, the woman spoke in Italian, with a strong Lombard accent. Victor didn't understand at first, which added to his confusion.
"What…?"
"Ah, right, you're American…" the woman replied, then added in fluent English, "you've arrived at the base. The shuttle leaves in forty-five minutes, so move your ass!"
Victor was practically dragged off the plane. Only then was he initially blinded by the dawn sunlight, half-hidden behind the mountains. He kept shielding himself with his left hand, grimacing and covering his eyes. Moreover, the cold—felt by Victor like tiny burning needles in his skin—made everything worse.
"Oh, come on, move!" a man tossed him his duffel bag, which he instinctively managed to catch midair, lowering his arm from his face.
He was escorted inside a gigantic metal structure embedded in the rock. It was the Italian Martinelli military base.
Upon arrival, in front of a gigantic iron gate, they waited for it to open. After an initial deep-toned alarm that repeated every two seconds or so, emitting an intense red light, the gate began to lift, dropping snow and icicles to the ground. Inside was a lit corridor. It couldn't have been longer than a few miles. The first stretch was traveled aboard a magnetic-levitation car resting on the rails. The ride lasted no less than two minutes at a high constant speed, and through the glass panels of the car, one could see the streaking beams of the tunnel lights, which suddenly opened into a sort of vast quarry, inside of which what looked like a real city stood, full of lights and movement, with over twenty rockets clearly visible, all headed toward the Remnant.
The Martinelli space launch station was among the most technologically advanced in Europe, as well as the most protected, due to its location in that massive artificial basin carved into the mountains.
The car reached the final station. Chaotic and full of people. Victor and the escort quickly stepped off. The young man had fully recovered from his drowsiness but was trembling from the cold, since he hadn't brought anything to cover himself. He had nothing to bring.
"Attention. Spaceship 14788 bound for Class-Y Space Base will depart in 37 minutes."
"Move it, private. It's just a little cold."
Meanwhile, Victor failed to notice that, up to that moment, his armor—resting on a large handcart—was being pushed by a soldier in dark gray Type-Hertz armor, widely recognized for its elongated head shape resembling a beak, colossal in size and strength, so much so that he pulled the cart with the armor as if it were a feather. Prominently displayed on the left side of the chest was the Bryte-Rodak logo, which had begun producing them in 2051.
There were now 30 minutes left before departure. Victor was about 20 minutes from the shuttle entrance. Only two kilometers separated him. That was perhaps the most crowded area of all. Many soldiers that day, but also army officers and workers, were returning to their lives in the sky. The chaos was absurd: people were almost packed together, eager to leave Earth. Among those present, Victor also noticed a few Cyberhumans and Automatons, one less enthusiastic than the other. Those heavy procedures had changed them forever. One had half his body entirely made of metal, head included. From the wounded, they threw everything away to insert the pieces. Only the brain and organs like the heart and lungs had to be preserved. On Earth, soldiers were recycled. Another example was a simple worker whose head had been entirely replaced with a metal one, connected by a neck of exposed wires. Inside was the brain. Those cables pumped blood and electricity into it. Everyone was indispensable, as long as they could be. Victor would return home. Another boy, perhaps younger, would take his place.
As he headed toward boarding, he noticed that the soldier in the Hertz was taking his armor away, heading back. Soldiers like him had particular need to keep that armor within reach in case of emergency. It was part of the protocol.
The closer he got to the crowd, the more the emotion rose. Two years on Earth were seen as centuries in Hell. That return home meant salvation and hope for those who made it. For those who stayed, you had to watch your back.
Then, a boom.
The alarm was immediate. From the glass of the boarding tunnel, Victor and the passengers saw the explosion. At the base of the launch pad, something ignited a massive fire, melting the engine and generating thick black smoke. The stench could be felt even through the glass, despite the long distance.
Then, a second boom. More brutal, larger.
The engines completely blew apart. The shuttle tilted forward about thirty degrees, nearly hitting the other one.
"Everyone back! Return to the station! Move!"
The military intervened. Immediately, the enthusiastic crowd turned terrified. Shouts of joy became screams of fear. In their rush to escape, some fell and trampled others. It happened right before Victor's eyes, as he saw the worker from earlier completely trampled, while he, with a distorted voice, cried for help.
Victor rushed to assist.
"Sir, are you okay?! Give me your hand!"
"Private Hackett! Follow orders!" Victor was grabbed forcefully by the woman and dragged away, under the gaze of that man who, even without a human face, was visibly collapsing. He saw him slump to the ground slowly as he was pulled away, amid the fleeing crowd. He heard only a few moans, final breaths. Then nothing.
And finally, just as this was happening, one last explosion. The largest of all. It not only destroyed the two shuttles, but also caused the tunnel to collapse. In an instant, Victor found himself falling into a dark abyss of fire, ash, and debris. The fall was quick. And yet, it seemed to last an eternity.