He slammed a hand against one of the tables, the sharp sound echoing through the room. "This isn't the Earth I remember. Something about this place is wrong."
Their faces paled. For reasons they could not explain, the memories of the invasion and the collapse of civilization were gone—snuffed out. They remembered only the day before it began. The year 2044.
Perhaps it was better that way.
"No wonder those two ran off," Jalen muttered, referring to Amara and Kaito.
"Trust me," Xavier said firmly. "There are more answers in here than out there. We just need to keep looking, piece by piece."
Jalen didn't argue, though his restless eyes darted around the room. He was impulsive by nature, driven by instinct rather than reason. How he had survived this long before capture remained a mystery.
The group pressed upstairs. The second floor revealed rows of barracks, shared toilets, and a single communal bathing chamber.
Kira wrinkled her nose. "Only one shower?" she said, disappointment clear in her tone.
Xavier glanced at her. "You planning on staying here?"
"God, no!" she shot back instantly.
It was just like her—quick to find flaws, quicker to point them out.
They descended again, and it was Alexei who spoke next.
"This was definitely a military base," he said in his thick accent, his voice steady but weighted with doubt. Cropped light brown hair framed his pale face, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce the walls themselves. At 6'2" and in his early thirties, broad and powerful, his presence filled the hall.
"I suspected as much, but the second floor confirms it—the barracks. Still… the roof is different. Completely alien. The same material as the pods. In all my years of service, I've never seen anything like it. If I didn't know better, I'd call it a test site for human subjects. But even then, there's this alien feeling I can't shake."
"You're right," Xavier agreed quietly. "We need to verify before drawing conclusions."
Just as they were about to leave, Jalen's voice rang out.
"Hey! Check this out!"
He dragged something heavy from the corner of the cafeteria room. A crate, forged from the same black substance as the pods. Too heavy to lift, it scraped loudly across the floor as he pulled it forward. Strange markings glimmered faintly along its surface.
The sound drew everyone's attention.
"What is it?" Sera asked sharply.
Sera was tall, in mid-twenties, and lean, her blonde hair braided tightly, her storm-gray eyes cutting into the crate as if trying to see inside. Her pale skin carried a cold undertone, making her gaze all the more piercing.
Some of the group edged closer, curiosity pulling them forward. Others backed away, fear written on their faces, unwilling to risk whatever the alien container might hold.
Without hesitation, Jalen forced the lid open.
Inside were rows of tin cans. Ordinary in shape, human in design—no labels.
Hunger struck him immediately. His stomach ached so sharply it felt as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.
He grabbed one, pried it open, and scooped the contents into his mouth.
It was delicious. He devoured it as fast as he could, then reached for another. Then another.
The others stared in stunned silence, waiting for him to collapse.
But nothing happened.
Kira's voice cut in, sharp and scolding. "Didn't it even cross your mind that it could be poisoned?"
Jalen wiped his mouth, smirking. "If they wanted us dead, they wouldn't have dropped us from the sky alive just to kill us with canned food."
He held up another can, his grin crooked. "This food is here because they want us alive. At least for now."
Kira's lips pressed into a hard line. She said nothing, though her sharp eyes lingered on him. Perhaps, she thought, Jalen wasn't as foolish as he first appeared.
The hunger was too much. One by one, the others gave in, tearing open the cans, devouring their contents. For a moment, nothing else mattered. The food consumed them as much as they consumed it.
Suddenly, one of the runners dropped a can, his hands trembling. Then another followed. One by one, they fell to their knees—not from poisoning, but from something far more invasive.
Their heads throbbed with blinding pain. Eyes rolled dazed as if their very minds were being torn open.
Then came the flashes.
Xavier Mendes — A former civil engineer from Detroit. His memories came crashing back in violent waves.
He remembered patching underground water lines, hauling pipes through the ruins of a dying city, trying to keep hope alive for those still clinging to survival. He remembered faces—tired, hungry, desperate—looking to him for solutions.
When the Vexari descended, he was out scavenging for materials to make the tunnels livable. He had fought—fought hard—but it was in vain.
Darkness consumed him. One moment, he had stood ready before a Vexari soldier, heart pounding, and the next, silence had swallowed the world. His resistance ended in capture.
Jalen Rocha — Portuguese, raised leaping rooftops, dodging gang violence. His world had been concrete, danger, and freedom in motion.
He had taught himself parkour to survive the streets, and when the invasion came, he used it to deliver supplies, darting through ruins others could not reach. He remembered the children he had guided through broken alleys, his voice steady as fear clawed at their faces.
Then—the shimmer. The Vexari came, and he was taken while leading the last group of children to safety.
At the ranch, he would become its heartbeat—reckless, impulsive, but always pushing forward, always finding the way even when none seemed possible.
Elira Dominic — Colombian-born American, botanist.
Her flashback arrived in fragments. She was in Kerrville, Texas, tending the last surviving greenhouse. The air smelled of jasmine. Bees buzzed lazily between blossoms. Light filtered through cracked glass overhead, fractured but beautiful.
She remembered her daughter's laughter. The sound of ships overhead. Then the sky turned red.
She had been taken in the middle of a harvest, hands full of life, even as darkness claimed her.
Theo Ackerman — Musician from Berlin, Germany.
He remembered the underground tunnels alive with rebellion. The thrum of bass echoes against damp walls. The flicker of strobe lights. Bodies moving as one, rhythm their only defiance.
His flashback was a song—unfinished, lingering in his skull. He remembered performing when the air suddenly froze, when the lights went out, and silence devoured the music.
Captured mid-beat, his song unfinished.
Nyah Samba — Medic from the Congo Basin.
Her flashback was tender. She was working in a floating clinic, patching wounds with what little supplies remained. A child's smile lingered in her mind. The hiss of sterilizers. Lullabies sung in Lingala.
She was treating a burn victim when the Vexari attacked. One moment, she was saving a life, the next, she vanished from the world she knew.
Sera Nordan — Scandinavian, trained in tracking and plant medicine by her grandmother.
She remembered crouching low in the wilderness, hands brushing over herbs as her grandmother's voice echoed in memory. She had tried to sabotage a Vexari transport vessel, moving with the precision of a hunter.
She had been caught. Taken before her plan could succeed.
At the ranch, she would draw from the old knowledge—using every plant, every sign, to keep her comrades alive.
Alexei Volkov — Russian, former Marine turned military analyst.
His memories returned in fire.
Stationed in Alaska, he had seen the Vexari ship open fire. Destruction rained. Friends and comrades fell in mangled heaps. He remembered leading the last coordinated defense, shouting orders, pulling his men into positions that crumbled moments later.
Overwhelmed, crushed, he too had been taken.
Kira Djokovic — Nurse from El Paso.
Her memories returned with blood.
She had been tending wounded civilians, blending modern medicine with traditional remedies, trying to ease the suffering around her. She remembered the screams, the fire, the desperate prayers.
Then the Vexari attacked, and she was captured.
It was as though some drug had suppressed these memories, locking them away until the right moment, until the ranch itself forced them back.