As the robotic voice hushed, a heavy stillness choked the air.
No one spoke. No one dared to move.
But we all heard it.
The sounds behind the metal door still echoed in our minds—gunfire, flesh tearing, bodies collapsing. The so-called “failures” lay scattered across the ground, drowning in a sea of lead and blood.
Someone finally broke the silence.
"Recruits, left sector. Veterans, right sector. Right?"
That was all it took.
As if snapping out of a trance, the crowd moved—slow, hesitant, afraid. No one wanted to be a "failure." No one wanted to be next. The mass split apart, each person driven by survival, not choice.
"Hey, kid! First day, right?"
I turned.
A woman stood before me, grinning like none of this was terrifying.
Her wild, flame-like hair flickered in the artificial light. Her cybernetic limbs gleamed beneath battle-worn leather and metal plating.
I nodded.
"Alrighty then, get your whiny ass to the left sector. I’ll meet you outside."
She took a step forward, then suddenly stopped.
"Oh, shit! Almost forgot."
Spinning back around, she extended a hand, her freckled face buzzing with energy.
"Name’s Zara. Zara the Arsonist. Nice to meet ya, kid!"
I hesitated before taking her hand. Her grip was strong, calloused—dangerous.
Zara gave me a wink before striding toward the right sector, boots clanking against the steel floor.
Desire hovered beside me, silent, watching.
I wiped my face and followed the crowd to the left.
The moment we stepped inside, the air changed.
The silence outside had been thick with fear. Here, it was restless.
A strange mix of curiosity and dread rippled through the recruits. Some clung to desperation, while others had that hungry look—the kind that belonged to people with nothing left to lose.
At the front, instructors stood like statues.
Some were human. Some were not.
All were armed.
"QUIET."
A voice snapped through the room like a gunshot.
The recruits froze.
Even Desire, floating beside me, remained unnervingly still.
The murmurs died instantly, smothered beneath an invisible pressure that weighed on our chests.
"If you’re standing here right now, congratulations. You won our internal hunter lottery. From this moment on, you are a hunter."
His voice was cold, detached, like he had given this speech a thousand times before.
"As a hunter, you will complete jobs. Completion of these jobs will be rewarded."
He spoke like he was reading off a list.
"Cash, food, housing, upgrades, slaves, sex, drugs, weapons—you name it. The higher the risk, the higher the reward. Simple, right?"
A few recruits shifted. Some leaned forward, eager. Others stiffened, horrified.
Excitement flickered in some of their eyes.
The instructor’s gaze snapped up.
"YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO SPEAK."
The chatter vanished.
"There is only one type of job for all hunters. It’s easy. Simple.
You must hunt your prey."
His voice remained steady, emotionless.
"Each hunter will be assigned a target. Your job is to terminate them."
The weight of the words settled over the room.
"You must be involved in their death to receive your reward."
Something cold curled in my stomach.
"If your prey dies from something not caused by you, the job is terminated. No reward. No second chances."
The air felt thicker.
I swallowed hard.
Desire hovered beside me, his many eyes flickering with unreadable intent.
The instructor’s hollow gaze swept across the recruits.
"What?... I have to kill people to get food?"
No.
No, no, no.
I can’t do that. I won’t do that.
The very thought of ending another person’s life just to survive sent a chilling shiver down my spine. My stomach twisted in revulsion. Tears welled up, hot and stinging, blurring my vision.
How is this real?
The weight of it pressed down on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. Hunt or starve. That was the choice. Kill or be nothing.
A sharp, suffocating hopelessness swallowed me whole.
Desire’s glowing eyes locked onto mine.
"Don’t worry, Mari. You won’t be doing that. You’re special. You can still get rewards without hurting people!"
His words unraveled the tight knot of panic in my chest. I won’t have to kill. Relief washed over me, but confusion followed close behind.
Special?
I didn’t understand.
Before I could ask, the instructor’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Don’t get your hopes up yet. Even though the prey is meant to be hunted, the hunter can also be hunted."
A slow dread seeped into my bones.
"Assigned prey are allowed to protect themselves. If they manage to terminate their hunter, the title will be passed down, and the prey will be rewarded."
The air shifted.
Excitement drained from the room, leaving behind a suffocating weight.
I could be killed too.
My breath hitched. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to do this.
I blinked back tears, my vision swimming. Even the recruits who had looked eager before were now pale, their faces twisted with fear.
Nothing about this made sense.
Nothing about this was fair.
"As a hunter, you must be ready to kill.
You must hunt—or be hunted."
"DISMISSED."
The heavy metal doors swung open with a groaning hiss, shattering the silence.
No one moved.
Not at first.
Then, like prisoners being led to their fate, we stepped forward—Desire floating beside me as we followed the flood of recruits toward the exit.
A thick, rancid stench slithered into the air, curling in my nose.
Rot. Sewage. Death.
The outside world was waiting for us.
And it smelled like a graveyard.
"Hey kid! I’m right here! Hey!"
Zara’s voice cut through the suffocating weight in my chest, pulling me back to reality. She had kept her promise. She was waiting for us outside.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
But I barely registered her.
The instructor’s words still echoed in my head, wrapping around my thoughts like chains. Hunt or be hunted.
Zara’s energy was a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had settled over me.
She grinned. "Haha! Nice recruit face you’ve got there, kid. Now, snap out of it. We need to get you to a MedTech and get that hole of yours fixed."
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed my arm and pulled me forward, her grip firm, urgent.
The corridor was packed.
Humans. Machines. A mass of recruits, all moving in the same direction. Some looked dazed, like me. Others had already accepted their fate.
Towering robotic figures stood like sentries along the walls, weapons idle but ready. Their presence was a warning.
The further we moved, the heavier my chest felt.
What are we lining up for?
My feet dragged. Zara barely noticed—she just kept moving, cutting through the crowd with practiced ease.
The end of the line loomed closer. My anxiety spiked.
Then—it was my turn.
"NAME AND HUNTER STATUS, PLEASE."
The robotic voice was emotionless. Uncaring.
I opened my mouth—nothing came out.
Desire answered for me. "Marilyn Ridgewood, new recruit."
"MARILYN RIDGEWOOD, NEW RECRUIT, THROAT BULLET WOUND. PLEASE WAIT FOR MEDTECH TO ATTEND TO YOU."
A woman in a nurse’s uniform stepped forward.
In her hands, she carried a tray.
A scalpel.
A gun.
The chair behind her moved on its own, tailing her like a loyal pet.
My stomach dropped.
No.
I didn’t want to be touched.
I didn’t want them cutting into me.
I had already lost so much—my home, my family, my voice.
Now they wanted to carve me open like I was just another broken machine.
The second I tried to run, metal arms lashed out, locking around my limbs and shoving me down into the chair.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
The nurse loomed over me, scalpel gleaming under the harsh lights.
This wasn’t medicine.
This wasn’t healing.
This was surgery.
And I wasn’t sure I would survive it.
"Mari, relax; you’re going to be fine."
Zara’s voice cut through the panic clawing at my throat, but it barely reached me.
"This lady is one of the MedTechs I was talking about. She’s gonna fix your wound and get you all chipped up."
Her attempt at reassurance did nothing to dull the terror thrumming through my veins.
I kept struggling.
The robotic arms tightened.
The more I fought, the stronger their grip became—unyielding, mechanical, unfeeling.
The nurse picked up the gun.
The cold barrel pressed against the side of my head.
I braced for the shot.
For the pain.
For the end.
Click.
No bang. No impact.
Just cold, spreading numbness.
I gasped, but my body no longer obeyed me. My limbs went slack. My fingers twitched, then stopped moving entirely.
What had she done to me?
Why couldn’t I move?
"Anesthesia administered. Proceeding with the operation."
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
I was still awake.
Still aware.
But I couldn’t feel anything.
I couldn’t stop her.
I watched—horrified, detached—as she worked on my wound.
She moved with clinical precision, stitching, sealing, repairing. I felt nothing.
Like I wasn’t even there.
Like I was just an object being fixed.
"Operation complete. Implanting chip."
The nurse picked up a scalpel.
I could only watch as she sliced open my wrist.
My own blood.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run, to fight, to do something.
But my body was no longer mine.
I could do nothing as she slipped the chip into my open flesh, sealing it with a metal bracelet.
A small screen flickered to life on my wrist.
"Chip implantation successful. Terminating anesthesia from the patient’s system. Releasing restraints."
The nurse’s voice was flat, emotionless—just another task completed.
A dull tingling spread through my limbs as control over my body slowly returned. My fingers twitched first, then my arms, my legs. The moment I could move again, the restraints snapped open, releasing me like I was nothing more than an object that had finished processing.
The nurse didn’t linger.
She packed up her tools with practiced efficiency, then turned and walked away—no acknowledgment, no parting words. It was as if I was never there.
The chair, having fulfilled its purpose, followed her like a well-trained pet, wheeling itself down the corridor.
Zara helped me up. Her grip was steady. Warm. Alive.
I reached for my neck, fingers brushing against the fresh bandages. The wound was gone—sealed up, erased like it never happened. But something was different. Something had changed.
A cold weight settled around my wrist.
The chip.
I turned my hand over, staring at the metal bracelet now clasped to my skin.
The anesthesia haze was fading, but in its place came a flood of questions.
"What... What did they do to me?"
My voice came out small. Unsteady.
Desire hovered closer, his mechanical eyes flickering with unreadable light.
"That was a chip! It’s like a tracker and ID combined. It’s how they monitor us, assign us tasks, and keep track of our hunter status. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it."
Get used to it?
How was I supposed to get used to this?
Zara clapped me on the back, grinning like this was just another normal day.
"Yeah, and it’s not just for surveillance. The chip has all your records, rewards, jobs—everything. It’s your lifeline in this messed-up world."
Her words sank in slowly.
This wasn’t just some ID tag.
It was a leash.
A constant reminder that I belonged to this place now. That there was no escape.
I touched the metal bracelet, my fingers tracing its smooth surface. It was cold. Unmoving. Permanent.
The weight of my newfound identity pressed hard against my chest.
I was a hunter now.
Whether I wanted to be or not.
"Come on, kid, let’s get you settled in."
Zara’s voice was lighter, like she was trying to pull me away from my thoughts.
"I’ll show you the ropes, make sure you don’t end up like those ‘failures’ outside."
The word sent a shudder through me.
Failures.
I didn’t need a reminder of what happened to them. The gunfire was still fresh in my ears.
Desire and I followed Zara through the corridors.
The deeper we went, the heavier everything felt.
The air was thick with dampness and rot. The flickering lights overhead barely cut through the dimness, casting eerie shadows against the walls.
I glanced at the other recruits.
Their faces were a mix of emotions—fear, determination, resignation. Some walked with confidence, like they had already accepted this world. Others looked hollow, lost.
None of us belonged here.
Yet, here we were.
Zara talked as we walked, explaining the rules, the jobs, the tricks to staying alive.
She made it sound simple. Like a game.
But I knew better.
A game meant there were winners.
And there were losers.
The hallways stretched on forever, the maze of corridors leading to a darkened row of metal doors. Zara finally stopped and gestured toward one.
"This is you, kid. Welcome home."
The door slid open with a metallic hiss.
Inside was a box.
No—a room.
Barely big enough to be called one.
A bed. A metal table. A flickering light overhead.
That was it.
This was my space now.
A cold sense of finality settled over me as I stepped inside.
Zara leaned against the doorway. "Make it your own. You’ll be spending a lot of time here when you’re not out working."
Working.
That word felt wrong.
Zara flashed me a grin. "Don’t let it get to you too much, kid. Surviving’s all that matters."
I wasn’t sure what to say.
Desire hovered into the room, scanning the space with an unsettling calm.
The door clanged shut behind us, sealing us in.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was stiff, barely better than the floor.
I exhaled slowly, staring at the flickering light overhead. The noises of the city bled through the walls—distant, but never far enough.
This was real.
I was really here.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Then, my bracelet lit up.
NEW JOB ASSIGNMENT
HUNT MARCUS FARHIDE
DURATION:15 DAYS
REWARD:MRE (6 BAGS)
NECA NE NECERIS