The sky was the color of ash that day, a dull gray that hung heavy in the air, like the world had already started dying and was simply too slow to realize it.
Ayla Grant should have known something was wrong the moment she woke up. But like so many others, she was blinded by the comfort of routine, by the illusion of normalcy, by the naive belief that blood—family—was enough to protect her.
That morning, her mother hummed as she worked in the kitchen, and her father sat at the table, lost in thought. Emilia, her younger sister, was strangely quiet. Her eyes, however, were filled with a glint that Ayla had come to know all too well. It was the same look she had seen in Emilia's eyes when she took things that didn't belong to her or when she enjoyed making others suffer.
Ayla tried to ignore the unease that gnawed at her. Instead, she focused on cleaning the bloodstains on her jacket—stains that weren't hers. A man had collapsed outside their apartment earlier that morning, gasping for breath and shaking violently. His eyes had gone black before his skin started to peel away in strips, like the disease was eating him alive from the inside out.
The infected had already started spreading, they said. A virus. But it wasn't just the infected that Ayla should have feared.
Her mother's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Wear something nice," she said, tossing a clean shirt onto Ayla's bed as if it were any other day. "We're meeting someone."
Ayla frowned. "Who?"
Her mother smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Someone who can help us survive."
Ayla's heart skipped a beat, but she said nothing. She hadn't been feeling well lately—perhaps she had caught something from the infected—but she still obeyed, not questioning it. Family meant safety, right?
She should have known better.
They walked two blocks to a secluded area, the smell of burning buildings filling the air. The streets were empty, save for the occasional panicked survivor scrambling for food or shelter. They reached a small, dilapidated warehouse where a man in black tactical gear waited. His cold, calculating eyes never left Ayla, his hands stained with something red. Blood?
Behind him, a rusted truck sat idling. The bed was stacked high with crates of canned goods, water, and supplies—things that would be gold in this new, decaying world.
Ayla's father shook the man's hand, his face tight with some unspoken deal. Her mother's smile widened in a way that made Ayla's stomach churn. Emilia leaned into the man's side, a look of something too sinister to name flashing in her eyes.
Ayla froze, confusion gripping her chest. She didn't trust this situation. She didn't trust her family.
Then the man's eyes fell on her, sharp and piercing.
"That's her?" he asked, his voice low and calculating.
Her father nodded. "Strong, healthy. Quiet. Obedient."
"She'll last longer than the last one," Emilia added, her voice filled with a dark satisfaction. "She doesn't cry much."
Ayla's breath caught. "What are you talking about?"
No one answered.
Her mother's hands were suddenly on her arms, pushing her forward with surprising strength. "It's for the best, Ayla," she said. "We're not safe. This will buy us time."
Ayla's world crumbled in that moment. Time seemed to slow as the weight of her mother's words sank in. She stared at her family, her heart racing in disbelief. "You're selling me?" she whispered, the shock evident in her voice. "You're trading me?"
Her father sneered, his face contorting into a mask of indifference. "Stop being dramatic. You never did anything for this family anyway. Consider it your contribution."
Emilia smiled, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a snarl.
Before Ayla could comprehend what was happening, the man grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from her family. She screamed, struggled, but her cries fell on deaf ears. No one came to help. No one even looked back.
Her family watched as she was shoved into the back of the man's truck, the engine roaring to life and the tires skidding as they drove off. Her screams were swallowed by the dust, lost in the vast, empty world that had once been her home.
---
The warehouse smelled of mildew and rust. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and Ayla felt the cold metal of the chains as they wrapped around her wrists, binding her to a post. The man was gone, and she was left alone in the darkness, her mind spinning with the shock of what had just happened.
She had been betrayed.
He had told her he would come back later. Told her she would be useful. But there was no reassurance in his words, only a promise that she would be used, like a piece of meat.
The hours dragged on. Her stomach growled, her throat dry, but no one came. No one cared. She was just a commodity now—an item for trade. Nothing more.
Then, the first of them came.
The infected.
Their bodies were nothing but husks, their skin flaking off as they crawled toward her with inhuman speed. Their eyes were wild with hunger, glowing red with a ferocity that sent chills down her spine. They weren't human anymore.
Ayla's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled against the chains, her breath coming in frantic gasps. One of the creatures lunged, its teeth sinking into her arm.
Pain exploded through her body.
But Ayla didn't scream. She remembered the cold laughter of her sister, the betrayal in her father's eyes, the indifference in her mother's smile.
And then—
The world went black.
---
[SYSTEM BOOTING...]
[Error: Host Vital Signs—TERMINATED.]
[Override Protocol Activated.]
[Welcome, Player #13. Crimson Rebirth in progress...]
---
The light that followed was blinding.
Ayla's body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. Her mind twisted and fractured. Her memories blurred. She felt herself slipping away, her body fighting against whatever was happening to her.
And then, everything went still.
She awoke.
She was back in her bed.
Her small room.
The same shirt on the bed.
It was the same day.
The same moment.
One week before the apocalypse began.
But this time, Ayla wasn't the same girl.
This time, she had a system.
[CRIMSON SYSTEM ONLINE.]
[Daily Mission: Survive.]
[Primary Objective: Vengeance.]
A grin spread across Ayla's face as she lay in her bed, the familiar sounds of the world outside unchanged. This time, she wasn't going to be the prey. This time, she was going to hunt.
She had a debt to settle. And she would make sure everyone who had ever wronged her—her family, the man who had sold her, and anyone who got in her way—paid the price.