It was dark as Julia came to, a cavern of shadows pierced only by the faint red glow of emergency lights that flickered like dying embers. Julia’s head throbbed as she blinked awake, her vision swimming in a murky haze. She tried to move, but a sharp jolt halted her—her legs were shackled to the floor, the cold metal biting into her ankles with a cruel, unyielding grip. Her arms, twisted behind her back, were bound by cuffs that dug into her wrists, the edges scraping her skin raw. Pain pulsed through her, a dull ache that tethered her to this strange, suffocating reality.
Where am I? The thought surged through the fog in her mind, panic clawing at her chest like a trapped animal. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to piece together how she’d ended up here. Her last memory was jagged, incomplete—an alley, narrow and damp, the air thick with the stench of rotting garbage and rainwater. She’d been walking home, the streetlights buzzing faintly overhead, when a shadow had loomed out of the darkness. A flash of steel—a knife—glinted in the dimness, and then came the searing pain in her side, a hot, tearing sensation that stole her breath. She’d stumbled, her hands clawing at the wet pavement, her vision blurring as blood soaked her shirt. Then… nothing. A blank void stretched between that moment and now—no hospital, no voices calling her name, just this cold, rumbling prison.
Her eyes darted around the cramped space, searching for anything familiar. The shuttle’s interior was tight, oppressive, its walls a dull metallic sheen that caught the red glow in faint, ghostly reflections. The air smelled sharp—oil, thick and industrial, mixed with something metallic, almost like rust or blood, though no stains marked the floor. A low hum vibrated through the metal beneath her, a steady pulse that told her the shuttle was moving. Moving where? Her heart hammered against her ribs as she tugged at the restraints, the chains clanking softly but refusing to give. Her shoulders ached from the strain, her wrists slick with sweat where the cuffs rubbed them bloody. She was trapped, and the realization sank into her like a blade.
Voices drifted from beyond the walls, harsh and guttural, slicing through the hum. She tilted her head, her breath shallow as she strained to listen. The language was strange—sharp consonants clashed with rolling vowels, a rough cadence that grated against her ears. It wasn’t English, wasn’t anything she’d ever heard, yet a shiver of recognition prickled down her spine. She knew it—or parts of it—though she couldn’t say how. Move. Quiet. The meanings flickered in her mind, unbidden, like echoes of a conversation she’d never had. Confusion twisted with her fear, tightening the knot in her chest. She’d never studied another language—Spanish in high school didn’t count, and she’d barely passed that. So how could she understand this? Was her mind playing tricks, stitching together nonsense from the trauma?
She shifted her gaze to the walls, desperate for something to anchor her. The surfaces were etched with faint, angular markings—jagged lines and curves that caught the dim light, pulsing faintly as if alive. They weren’t letters she recognized, not English or anything from her world, but they tugged at her memory in a way she couldn’t place. A blueprint? A code? She shook her head, a small, frantic motion, trying to dislodge the thought. Nothing about this made sense—not the markings, not the shuttle, not the way her body felt under the restraints.
My body. Her breath hitched as she glanced down at herself, the red glow casting faint shadows across her chest. Something was wrong. She’d always been in decent shape—nothing special, just enough to jog a few miles without wheezing—but now her arms, her shoulders, everything seemed sharper, more defined. She flexed her fingers, feeling a strange strength in them, a subtle power coiled beneath her skin that didn’t match the body she knew. Her hands—were they hers? The light was too dim to tell, but they felt broader, firmer, not the soft hands she’d lived with for years. What the hell is happening to me? Her mind raced, panic clawing at the edges of her sanity. Had she been drugged? Altered somehow? Was this even her body anymore?
She tried again to bridge the gap between the alley and this shuttle, grasping for anything beyond the knife. The pain—she could still feel its echo, the way it had burned through her side, the warmth of her blood pooling beneath her. She’d fallen, her knees hitting the pavement, her vision fading to black. Had she passed out? Died? Been taken? She pressed her eyes shut, willing more to surface. A sound—tires screeching? Footsteps? A voice, maybe, low and urgent, but it slipped away like water through her fingers. No hospital lights, no sterile antiseptic smell, no paramedics shouting her name. Just this—waking up here, chained, surrounded by a reality that didn’t fit.
The voices outside grew louder, their tone sharper, more insistent. Julia held her breath, her ears straining as heavy boots thudded against the shuttle’s floor beyond the door. The sound was deliberate, rhythmic, like a march—a sound that sent a fresh wave of dread through her. She twisted her body as much as the restraints allowed, testing their limits, but the cuffs held fast, the chains rattling faintly with each movement. Her legs ached, stiff and numb from being locked in place, and her wrists burned where the metal had chafed them raw. She was helpless, and the weight of that truth pressed down until she could barely breathe.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
A sudden hiss split the silence, and the door slid open with a mechanical groan. Bright light flooded the room, a harsh glare that seared her eyes and forced her to squeeze them shut. She blinked rapidly, tears stinging as her vision adjusted. Shadows moved in the doorway—tall, imposing figures whose outlines loomed against the blinding backdrop. One stepped forward, their boots striking the floor with a heavy thud that echoed in the small space. The figure was clad in armor—dark, segmented plating that covered them head to toe, gleaming faintly in the light. A helmet hid their face, its angular design cold and unfamiliar, yet it stirred something in her—a vague, nagging sense of having seen it before, though she couldn’t say where.
The guard spoke, their voice a guttural bark in that same strange language. Julia’s pulse quickened as the words hit her—still not English, yet she caught fragments again: stand, now. How did she know that? Her thoughts spun, grasping for reason, but found only more questions. She forced her eyes downward, away from the armored figure, and caught sight of her chest in the dimming red glow as the door’s light receded. Her breathing faltered. Even in the faint illumination, she could tell her body wasn’t right—stronger, leaner, not the soft curves she’d known her whole life. She flexed her fingers again, the sensation alien yet undeniable. This wasn’t her—not the Julia she’d been in that alley.
Before she could process it further, a sharp sensation struck her mind—not quite pain, but an intense pull, like a thread yanking at her consciousness. Her vision blurred, the shuttle dissolving around her, and suddenly she was somewhere else.
A towering metallic structure loomed overhead, its walls cold and oppressive. She was smaller—much smaller—a child, her tiny hands gripping a railing as she hauled herself onto a ledge. The air was thick with heat, heavy with the tang of molten metal and oil, and alarms blared, a deafening wail that rattled her bones. Panic swelled in her chest, a raw, childish fear she didn’t recognize. She glanced down at her hands—gray-blue skin, not her own—and froze, her breath catching in her throat. Before she could move, dark-armored figures stormed through an entrance below, their boots pounding like thunder.
Strong hands seized her, fingers digging into her arms with bruising force. She cried out, her small legs kicking uselessly as the faceless guards dragged her forward. She wasn’t alone—others were with her, children and adults, herded into a line like livestock. Their clothing was identical—coarse gray tunics, simple leather boots, rough against her skin. The guards’ armor was intricate, unlike anything she’d seen, yet it tugged at her memory in a way she couldn’t pin down. They marched her forward, the group stumbling in terrified silence. A metal hatch hissed open at the corridor’s end, flooding the space with blinding white light. She turned her face away, squinting as she stepped through. Beyond it, a vast hangar stretched out, carved into a mountainside. A ship loomed in the distance—sleek, dark, its hull a menacing silhouette against the cavernous expanse. It was massive, awe-inspiring, and utterly alien.
Julia gasped and jolted back to reality, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. The cold metal beneath her, the dim emergency lighting, the shuttle’s hum—she was back. Her heart pounded, her mind reeling. That vision—it wasn’t hers. She’d never been that child, never seen that place. Yet it felt real, as vivid as the restraints cutting into her skin. Was it a dream? A hallucination? Or something tied to this body, this place she couldn’t explain?
She straightened as best she could, her muscles trembling from the effort. The door hissed open again, and this time, there was no hesitation. Two armored figures stepped inside, their imposing forms blocking most of the corridor’s light. The taller one pointed at her and barked an order.
“On your feet.”
The command was in a different tongue—clear, clipped, not the guttural speech from before—but she understood it, the meaning sinking in despite the strangeness. Refusal wasn’t an option; the tone alone made that clear. Julia hesitated only a second, her mind still spinning, before struggling to stand. Her legs shook, stiff and sore from confinement, her knees threatening to buckle. The moment she rose, one guard stepped forward and unlatched the cuffs from the floor with a sharp clank, though her hands stayed bound behind her.
No sooner had she steadied herself than they grabbed her arms, their grip firm and unyielding. She stumbled forward, her feet dragging against the floor, but forced herself to keep pace, fear driving her more than strength. They pulled her out of the cell and into the corridor—a stark contrast to the dim holding room. Bright overhead lights illuminated sleek, metallic walls, sterile yet worn with scratches and faint discoloration. The air carried oil and a sharp, acrid bite, like something burned long ago.
Julia’s eyes darted around, taking in the angular panels, the flickering lights, the hum beneath her feet. It was all wrong—too advanced, too strange, nothing like the world she’d known. She tried to make sense of it—a military base? A ship? A prison? But nothing fit, nothing reminded her of home. The realization settled over her, heavy and inescapable: this wasn’t just a nightmare she’d woken into. It was something else—something she couldn’t name, something that threatened to unravel everything she thought she was.