1 Year Ago
Dahlia Frost awoke alone in the snowy forest, her skin numb from an icy chill that cut to the bone. Her last memory was a battle with a rogue group called the Dark Angels.
Jet and that damned cyborg girl.
She estimated that she’d been unconscious long enough to develop a case of hypothermia. Her left shoulder throbbed like it was on fire. She couldn’t lift her arm. The icy air bit into her skin as she removed her jacket and sweater. She tapped the S.O.S. feature on her watch. She hoped that one of her people was still alive to receive the distress call.
I’m lucky it’s just a flesh wound. I… need to get back to the bunker!
Pain shot through her fingers, and she hissed. She estimated her base to be a couple hundred yards away, but it might as well be on the other side of the continent. She didn’t think she would make it in her current condition, but she had to try. Dahlia trudged through the snow, her feet sinking deep as she moved. The cold seeped into her soul with every step. More pain; this time it shot through her left eye as her vision blurred. She touched her temple and the painful truth emerged. Layers of flesh hung from her face like leathery tentacles.
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I need to get help—and soon.
Dahlia stumbled through the forest, her eyesight fading with each step. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to find shelter.
Where’s that damned hatch—buried in snow?
The snow was coming down in heavy sheets, snuffing out any trace of light from the sky. Dahlia’s teeth chattered, her fingers turning an icy blue as she stumbled forward. Even through the numbing cold, she could feel her will to survive slowly diminishing. She had to keep going; giving up was not an option. Dahlia collapsed. She rolled on her back; the wet snow feeling good on her face. She couldn’t believe that she was going to die alone in the middle of the Maine forest. Dahlia always thought that she would go out in a blaze of gunfire or an explosion.
This is… disappointing, she thought, as a shape of something hovered above.
The low guttural sound of a wild animal emitted from the direction of the shape.
“Come on—let’s get on with it,” Dahlia said.
The shadowy figure dove into the underbrush, thrashed as if fighting something, then stilled. Other than a still breeze, the only other sound was the constant pounding of her heart, which was only slightly elevated from her usual fifty-four beats per minute. She was so attuned with her body that she registered even the slightest change in heart rate. She soaked in the stillness of the evening air before moving on to find shelter. Dahlia wondered where the creature was, or if she’d imagined it. She wasn’t scared, but hopeful.