BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Click. Tock. Shuffle.

The bunker was freezing when the alarm blared right above my head.

I forced my eyes open, cursing the cold.

“Cricket. Status. Expand.”

[USER DIAGNOSTIC // SUBJECT: ACTIVE]

[SYSTEM CORE: NOMINAL]

[LETHARGY INDEX: 68% // WARNING: ELEVATED]

[THERMAL REGULATION: CRITICAL LOW]

A faint blue interface flickered into view over my vision - retinal display.

Green lines, orange warnings.

My lethargy bar was still floating in the dangerous yellow zone.

“Cricket, snooze for an hour.”

Blink.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Cricket. Status.”

[USER DIAGNOSTIC // SUBJECT: RESTED]

[LETHARGY INDEX: 12% // OPTIMAL]

[SYSTEM CLOCK: 06:42 AM]

[SCHEDULE DEVIATION: +01:12:00]

Much better. Lethargy was green. Stats were clear.

I glanced at the clock and winced.

Dang. Way off schedule.

“Cricket, weather forecast. Turn up the playlist.”

Electric guitar and pounding drums blasted through my ear implants as I swung off the bunk. Only heavy rock could wake up my brain.

The forecast promised no solar hot spots for a week.

Clean skies. I could work with that.

“Cricket, set… thirty minutes of cardio.”

… Initializing cardio routine.

After a round of heavy stretches, a splash of cold water, and a scalding bowl of instant noodles, I grabbed my tools by the hatch.

The heavy blast door slithered open with an agonizing groan, stalling halfway.

I slammed the heel of my combat boot against the frame, forcing it open the rest of the way.

I’ve been telling myself I'd overhaul the door tracks for three weeks.

Stepping outside, the freezing air of the bunker vanished, replaced by the relentless heat of the central equator.

Out past the fence line, there were no trees, no grass, no life.

Just a vast, shimmering ocean of cracked earth, dry sand, and jagged hills.

The cold inside wasn't the weather—it was the air conditioning unit failing again.

I headed to the perimeter fence to check the main solar power junction.

The screen blinked back at me:

PLEASE INPUT DATA...

Old junk piece of software.

It always demanded a blood-sample diagnostic to reboot properly.

“Status.”

Time: 0811 - 05_21_2150

Name: Levi 0035

Current Class: Farmer (Advanced // Area E-031)

Ex-Class: Guardian Apprentice (Deferred // Re-evaluation Pending)

Strength: 15.19 +

Stamina: 30.00 -

Int: 10.91 +

Health Stat: Optimal [Expand]

Aura: 45.05% - [Check]

“Expand.”

HR: 90 | BP: 123/82 | O2: 98% [NORMAL]

BT: 36.5 | BG: 105 [NORMAL]

KF: 0.8 | HS: 140 [NORMAL]

BW: 33 | CL: 30 [NORMAL]

NEURAL COHERENCE: 18.5 Hz [SYNCHRONIZED]

INFLAMMATORY INDEX (CRP): 0.8 mg/L [NO BIOTHREAT]

METABOLIC LACTATE: 0.7 mmol/L [NOMINAL]

IONIC BALANCE (K+): 4.2 mEq/L [CARDIAC STABILITY: 99.4%]

STATUS: Summary optimal // No anomalies detected

“Check.”

[Aura Engine Ver. 001]

[Code: Cricket AuthPass: ********** ok ]

N-POP: 45,503,213 [OPTIMAL]

N-SYNC: 99.07% [SECURE]

N-PWR: 35.12% [LOW]

OUTPUT AURA: 2.8 kW [STABLE]

FIELD RADIANCE: 230 W/m² [LOW]

HFreq: 332 Hz [MATCHED]

Blood was fine, but my bio-input reserves were running low. I’d need to charge it later.

The software fix could wait . . . might ask for repairs from base.

My name is Levi. Official designation: Voyager Pioneer. Current job class: Farmer.

My contract gives me six months to produce a harvest across a square kilometer.

Hit the quota, and I get to take the exam for a class transfer.

It’s good pay, but the isolation is brutal. The nearest farm is kilometers away; if you run out of salt, you don't ask a neighbor unless you feel like making a half-day trek.

Out here in central, the climate swings wildly between blistering droughts and violent rainstorms. Underground cities are where people stay safe.

On the surface? We’re just guinea pigs surveying the reclaimed dirt.

And the social life? Non-existent.

Network channels are locked based on your active job class, meaning I've been stuck in the "Agricultural & Soil Forum" for five straight years.

Bunch of old boomers and plant nerds.

I turn twenty-five this year. No other female farmers in my sector. The work is brutal, unforgiving, and breaks most people.

I trained as a city guard at fifteen. I failed the promotion cutoff. They sent me to the fields instead.

My dream was always to be an officer, but my stats were garbage.

So, I adapted.

Five years of hauling heavy plows under a punishing sun boosted my physical attributes higher than any gym routine ever could.

Hahaha.

My stamina skyrocketed.

Strength: 15.19 +

Stamina: 30.00 -

Int: 10.91 +

Now, I’m just five points away from qualifying for a Guard re-test.

Intelligence, though? That stat hasn't budged.

Reading articles online for an hour just gives me a headache. Reading isn't my style.

Give me an old action movie, heavy guitar riffs, and hard labor over a textbook any day.

Muscles get things done. Brain cells just overthink.

Sweat soaked my collar as I hauled the heavy plow forward.

Muscles strained, familiar and satisfying.

Heat shimmered off the topsoil under the sun and the wind blew gently.

I stopped, leaning heavily against the frame to wipe my brow and catch the warm breeze.

“Ahhh… such is life.”

I wiped my face with a towel and squinted past the perimeter fence.

Motion - something caught my eyes.

Five figures breaking the horizon of the dry hills, moving steadily toward my perimeter on foot?

No e-vehicles, no transport?

Walking through the dead zone without gear is a death sentence.

Where had they come from? The west was nothing but empty desert.

“Cricket, check and estimate time of arrival.”

[Identity: Unregistered]

[E - T - A : Twenty Minutes]

Unregistered? Marauders?

“Cricket, initiate basic protocols.”

[[Automated override directive 88-B [Expand]]

“Cricket… Expand and proceed. Code 0035-011204.”

[Acknowledged command]

The air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

Five years of guard drills don't disappear just because you've been holding a plow.

My body took over on pure muscle memory.

Crimson warning text flooded my field of vision.

I sprinted back to the bunker, kicking the stubborn door open again before heading down the basement.

[AUTOMATED OVERRIDE: DIRECTIVE 88-B]

[DIRECTIVE 88-B: UNREGISTERED TARGET DETECTED]

TARGET LACKS ENCRYPTED BIO-DIGITAL KEY.

SUBJUGATION AUTHORIZED.

WARNING: IF TARGET EXHIBITS HOSTILE AURA > 1.5 kW, LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED.

My Aura reserves were dangerously low, which meant my weapons wouldn't hold a full charge.

[AURA RESERVES: CRITICAL LOW]

[WEAPON CHARGE CAPACITY: DEGRADED]

It didn't matter. It had to be enough.

I yanked the rifle off the wall mount, slung it over my shoulder, and holstered my sidearm. Brass knuckles clicked onto my right fist. I drew the hip knife—a blade from my tenth birthday. Ready for close quarters.

I stepped back out into the blistering heat, racking the rifle slide. My eyes locked onto the distant silhouettes.

Nobody touches my harvest.