Beastkin

The corridor beyond the team room sloped upward, its walls streaked with moss and corrosion that glistened like weeping sores. Linnea moved with purpose now, the diary a quiet weight against her hip, its edges digging into her plating as if urging her forward. The air grew colder, sharper, carrying the faintest whisper of wind, a promise of the world above.

She emerged into a cavernous chamber, its ceiling collapsed in places, allowing shafts of pale light to pierce the gloom. Vines snaked through cracks in the walls, their leaves luminescent, glowing faintly in the dimness like bioluminescent veins.

The remnants of a hangar lay before her: rusted vehicles, their tires rotted to rubber dust, and skeletal drones suspended from crumbling racks, wires dangling like entrails. At the far end, a massive blast door stood partially ajar, corroded hinges groaning as wind forced its way through the gap.

Linnea approached the door, her fingers grazing the cold metal. Beyond it, the world waited.

The first breath of open air hit her like a physical blow. It was thick with the scent of ozone and decaying vegetation, a far cry from the sterile, recycled atmosphere of the facility. Linnea stepped outside, her boots sinking into soft earth that exhaled a century's worth of rot. Above her, twin moons hung low in a violet-tinged sky, their light casting the landscape in an eerie silver-blue glow, as if the world had been dipped in mercury.

The facility had been built into the side of a mountain, its entrance now half-buried under landslides and tangled foliage. Below stretched a valley swallowed by wilderness. Trees unlike any she had ever seen towered in the distance, their trunks twisted like broken spines, bark iridescent and flaking, as if dusted with starlight.

Rivers of glowing algae snaked through the undergrowth, their surfaces shimmering with trapped moonlight, and the air hummed with the chirps and clicks of unseen creatures—a symphony of predation and paranoia.

But the beauty was a veneer. Scattered among the alien flora were the carcasses of human civilisation: the rusted hulls of aircraft, half-swallowed by vines that pulsed faintly, as though feeding on the metal; and everywhere, the skeletal remains of androids, their bodies matted with moss, glowing eyes dulled by time into milky orbs.

A rustling in the underbrush. Linnea turned sharply, systems flaring. Something small, low to the ground, but fast—a blur of corroded metal and jerky, insectoid movements. A hybrid organism , its exoskeleton dulled with rust but still functional, skittered into view. Its body was a patchwork of scavenged parts: a spider-like chassis welded to a serrated drill-bit appendage, eyes glowing with artificial malice.

System Report

Model: TS-44 "Reaper" Scout. Threat-level: Moderate (Weakened). Outdated. Threat-level: Low .Weak armor. But claws laced with neurotoxin. Do not allow contact.

It lunged, metal jaws snapping shut with a sound like shearing steel. Linnea pivoted, but the machine adjusted mid-air—faster than anticipated. Teeth sank into her forearm plating, sparks flying as alloy ground against alloy. The force dented her outer shell, and a warning flickered in her HUD: Minor hull breach. Sealant deployed.

A flash of blue light—her blade extended from her opposite wrist, humming with restrained energy. The machine recoiled, but too late. One swift, precise stroke, and its head separated from its body, hitting the ground with a wet thud. The remains slumped, twitching as residual electricity mixed with purple like blood arced across its circuits before stilling completely. Linnea flexed her arm, running a diagnostic.

System Report

Surface damage: 4.2% integrity loss. Toxin exposure: 0%. Combat efficiency: 98.7%.

She knelt, prying the machine's jaws from her arm. Its eyes flickered weakly, a dying whine escaping its vocal processor.

Then, a flicker in her peripheral vision. A shape, nestled beneath the roots of a gnarled tree—a hybrid organism. But it was different. Smaller. Underdeveloped. Its exoskeleton was soft, translucent in patches, veins glowing faintly beneath the membrane. It trembled, pressing itself into the shadows, wide glassy eyes reflecting Linnea's blade.

Analysis

Juvenile hybrid. Mutation stage: 12%. Threat level: Negligible.

She raised her arm. The blade hummed softly, its glow casting jagged shadows across the creature's face.

'Guess, I should get rid of this thing.'

Just as she moved her hand to neutralise the enemy she paused. The diary shifting at her hip. Thoughts about Marco's excitement to have a child, the idea of unadulterated innocence. The hybrid had yet to do any wrong, who's to say it couldn't change. She new her thinking was flawed yet still hesitated.

The hybrid let out a small, startled snort—a sound almost like a whimper. Linnea froze.

Scared. Irrelevant. It is a threat in potential.

But her blade retracted with a hiss. The creature stared at her, nostrils flaring, before scrambling away into the underbrush, leaves crunching beneath its clawed feet.

Silence followed. But not emptiness. Linnea's sensors prickled—a pressure at the base of her skull, like static.

Sensor Alert

Biological observer detected. 6.3 meters northeast. Elevated heart rate. Adrenaline detected.

She waited. Two minutes stretched, measured in the drip of sap from nearby trees and the slow creep of shadows as the twin moons climbed higher. The observer didn't flee. Didn't attack. 

Finally, Linnea turned her head slightly, voice flat. "You can come out now."

A pause. Then, moving unhurriedly, a figure emerged from the trees, her footsteps light-footed and cautious. A girl emerged, younger than Linnea had expected, though her stance carried a warrior's caution. Her hair was wild, a tangled mane of chestnut streaked with ash, ears pointed and furred at the tips - beastkin. Her sharp golden eyes flicked between Linnea's face and the dissipating glow of her blade. She wore a patchwork cloak stitched from hybrid hides, a jagged shiv of salvaged alloy strapped to her thigh.

"You don't smell like a hybrid," the girl said at last, arms crossed. Her voice was rough, edged with a growl that didn't quite mask her youth. "Or a Reaper. What are you?"

Linnea tilted her head, studying the girl's dilated pupils, the slight tremor in her hands. Fear, masked by bravado. "I am just a wandering vagrant ."

"That's not a what. That's a who." The girl's tail lashed, stirring the leaves at her feet. "And I didn't ask for a name."

"You didn't." Linnea's gaze dropped to the shiv. "Your weapon is poorly balanced. The grip will fracture on third impact."

'Huh what am I saying.'

For some reason combat knowledge fled through Linnea's mind, it seemed that as time went on she was assimilating with the androids personality, very soon she'd cease to be just the individual Aron that she used to know.

The girl stiffened, then smirked. "Yeah? And you'd know, huh? Let me guess you're one of those perfected models. The ones they sent to burn the forests."

Inner Monologue - Beastkin Girl

Silver hair. Glowing eyes. But she spared the hybrid pup. Not like the others. Not like the stories.

Linnea's face hinted confusion and a bit of curiosity at the accusations.

"I am not here to burn anything and what do you mean by perfected models.," she said, tone colder than intended. Indeed she was curious after all from what it had seemed she was the last of her kind. Had the research been continued and newer models have been developed.

The girl snorted, ignoring her question. "Sure. That's what the last one said. Right before it gassed the Thorn Hollow clan." She took a step closer, nostrils flaring. "But you… you're different. You hesitated."

Linnea didn't blink. "Observation is not hesitation."

"Liar." The girl's grin turned feral. "I watched you. 4 seconds between target acquisition and retraction. Your eyes wavered—" She mimicked a rapid flicker of light. "—like you were… thinking."

System updating information...

Adjust facial luminosity. Mask tells.

'You could have done that earlier.' 

Linnea's eyebrows burrowed a bit before continuing on her line of questioning. "Your village sent you to scout me or something."

The girl's tail stilled. "My village is gone."

Biometric Analysis

Heart rate spiked. Pupils dilated. Deception probability: 87%.

Linnea glanced northeast, where her sensors quickly flagged faint thermal signatures. "A poor lie."

The girl bared her teeth, a low growl rumbling in her chest. "Stay out of our heads, machine."

"I do not require telepathy to see a settlement's smoke, not that i can even read minds." Linnea nodded toward the horizon, where a thin gray plume rose above the trees. 

A flicker of panic crossed the girl's face. She recovered quickly, jutting her chin. "So what? You'll march in and finish what your kind started?"

'What's with this girl and jumping to the worst conclusions.'

"Why reveal yourself?" Linnea pressed. "You could have fled."

The girl hesitated. For a moment, her bravado cracked, revealing something raw beneath. "You let the pup live."

"And?"

"And the hybrids took my brother." Her claws dug into her palms. "Three days ago. They're… changing him. I can't—" She swallowed hard. "Your blade cut through that Reaper like paper. I need that. For Ohnoki."

Inner Monologue - Beastkin Girl

Stupid. Stupid. Lakara said never to trust strangers. But if she can carve through a Nest…

Linnea cycled her cooling vents, a habit leftover from human emulation protocols. "You want my help."

"I want your weapons," the girl snapped. "But I'll settle for you."

"Why not ask your tribe?"

"They've given up. They say he's already gone." Her voice broke. "He's not."

'I mean they're probably right. I wouldn't want to be left alone with those things. Why should i even get involved.'

Marco's diary burned against her hip. A few words from one of his more dull entries resurfacing to mind "Sometimes you fight lost causes just to prove they're worth fighting."

A slow sigh left the androids lips. 'I'm seriously gonna regret doing this. Stupid conscience.'

Linnea retracted her blade fully, the glow fading from her wrists. "What is your name?"

The girl blinked. "Amelle."

"Amelle." Linnea tested the word—soft, organic, so unlike the serial numbers in her databases. "I will accompany you. But when this is done, you will answer my questions.

Amelle's eyes narrowed before she let out a small sigh. After a brief hesitation, she gave a slight bow. "Alright then… and, well… thank you." Her voice carried a rare note of sincerity.