Metal Whispers After Doomsday

The cursing from the communicator exploded just before I ripped off my headset.

"Kane, you son of a bitch—"

Then there's the noise. White noise, like sand being poured into a circuit board.

I crouched on an I-beam, seventeen stories high, the wind blowing the smell of rust into the filter of my gas mask. Above me was a bluish-purple sky, the electromagnetic barrier splattered with auroras from high-energy particles like bruises. The radiation counter ticked on my wrist: 0.3 sieverts per hour. Ten minutes. Ten minutes later, her bone marrow began to degenerate; two weeks later, her immune system collapsed; a month later, Ella had no brother.

Borg didn't care. He only cared about the palladium plate.

Silvery-white, embedded deep in the ruins, like a dead man's fingernail.

I reached for it. The moment my fingertips touched the metal, my temple throbbed. That feeling was always there—I could sense which steel beam was about to break, which alloy had an internal crack. Not just hear it. It was a vibration deep within my bones, like an ant sensing air pressure before a storm.

I gripped the palladium plate tightly and pulled hard.

Then I froze.

It's not intuition.

It is a single character.

In my mind, a word I'd never heard before was crystal clear—

"run."

I turned around.

It crouched in the shadows. It used to be a dog. Now its skin was like cracked volcanic rock, its muscles glowed a fluorescent green, and it drooled acidic saliva. It had no eyes. Its ears, like two radar discs, were pointed directly in my direction.

Mutant hyena. It was cleaned yesterday. Borg said it's clean. Borg said there are many things to do.

The pulse pistol is at my waist. A high-voltage arc can stun small prey. Against an adult hyena, it'll only make it twitch for two seconds at most. What can two seconds do? Enough for it to bite through my throat, chew up my mask, and then vomit stomach acid in my face.

It jumped.

No sound. Using the steel bars for leverage, he jumped silently.

I pulled the trigger. An electric arc struck my chest, my muscles twitched, but the speed didn't decrease. Saliva splattered onto my mask, making a sizzling sound.

I collapsed.

The fall took less than a second. But in that second, something exploded. Not a sound. Every steel beam, every rivet, every piece of rust in this ruin—simultaneously sent me data. I could see it with my eyes closed. Three meters overhead, an I-beam, the third rivet from the left, 80% rusted.

I just thought about it for a moment.

The sound of snapping rivets was like a gunshot. The entire steel beam spun and crashed down, slamming the hyena, which was suspended in mid-air, directly into the concrete. Green fluid splattered, its limbs twitched twice, and then it lay still.

I fell onto the rubble. All the air was expelled from my lungs. I turned my head and vomited. Blood from my nose rushed into my throat, salty and metallic.

My temples felt like they were being branded with a hot iron.

But that steel beam is still right in front of me. I can see it even with my eyes closed. Every weld mark, every rust spot.

A hand pulled me up.

It's not Borg.

Black uniform. Short hair. A scar running from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. No protective suit, no mask. She stood in the deadly radiation, breathing as if she were walking in her own backyard.

Armored vehicle. Six soldiers. Heavy rifles.

“Alas Kane.” The voice was hoarse. “Commander Vera.”

I haven't completely spat out the taste of blood from my mouth.

The way she looked at me wasn't like she was looking at a person. It was like a butcher assessing weight. Her gaze swept over the steel beam that had crushed the hyena, pausing for two seconds.

"Put down the palladium plate. Parliament is summoning you."

"I refuse."

She laughed. The scars twisted, like centipedes crawling on her face.

She raised her hand. The armored vehicle projected a holographic screen. The image showed a medical capsule—a metal coffin—maintaining minimal vital signs. Ella was curled up inside, her face paler than the sheets, clutching a plush rabbit.

“The Ark doesn’t tolerate idlers.” She leaned closer to me. “If you don’t want her going into the air intake of the air circulation system—”

Her teeth were very white. Neat and straight, like blades.

"—Get on the bus."

The car drove underground. The tunnel lights on both sides were a stark white. The nosebleed had dried, forming a crust on my lips. The headache persisted, not from the outside. It felt like something was rewiring inside my skull. I could feel every weld on this armored vehicle. I could feel a water pipe leaking behind the thirty-meter-thick layer of concrete above my head. I could feel—

There was nothing there.

A blank space. No, not blank. It's shielded. Someone has laid an electromagnetic shielding layer in this area.

"The restricted area," I said. "You want me to go to the restricted area."

Vera did not answer.

The armored vehicle stopped. The gate rose. A stench rushed in, a mixture of disinfectant and rotting flesh. Vera tossed me an earpiece and a life detector.

“Seven layers of restricted areas. A research team went missing two weeks ago. I need their data cores.” She paused. “The three groups of scavengers who went in before all died inside. They said there were ghosts in there. But you can ‘hear’ things that others can’t. Right, Kane?”

I didn't answer.

The gate closed behind us. The hydraulic lock engaged, like a coffin lid.

I stood at the entrance to District Seven. The walls were covered in black, slimy fluid, undulating rhythmically. I breathed. Then the voice in my head returned. This time it wasn't a word. It was the entire city. Every steel bar, every cable, every screw—they were all speaking to me. They were saying the same thing.

"Don't go any further."

I didn't stop.