The forest used to be a nature reserve. Now it’s a graveyard. Charred trees crack underfoot. Smoke clings to the air, and ash rains like snow. There are no birds. No animals. Only scorch marks, old blood, and the haunting whine of distant military drones.
A faint crunch of scorched pine needles. Namjoon stands with one hand pressed to a twisted tree trunk, his skin fractured with glowing lines of volcanic stone. He breathes heavily—trying to calm the fire crawling beneath his ribs. He’s a Magma Core mutant, body fused with molten energy. Controlled emotion is the only thing keeping him from burning the forest again.
He senses movement. Not animals. Something else.
From the shadows of an overturned troop carrier, Jimin slinks out on all fours. His form has taken on a strange new shape—slender, low to the ground, sleek fur catching faint light. He’s a Lynx Hybrid, eyes razor-sharp, muscles tense. He hisses softly, baring fangs.
“I smelled you before you even breathed.”
Namjoon doesn’t flinch. “Then you knew I wasn’t military.”
From above, a flash of metal reflects the last of the sunlight. Jungkook drops from a blackened branch like a hawk. He doesn’t speak. He wears a shredded hoodie and bare arms lined with twisted metal spines that retract and extend from his flesh—his mutation is Organic Metal Arsenal, a living weapon forged from pain and instinct. He’s watching both of them.
Not trusting.
A twig snaps.
Yoongi walks in from the west, coat dragged through ash, a single raven perched on his shoulder—its eyes glowing a dead yellow. His voice is low, quiet, but carries.
“If we’re all smart, we’ll keep our weapons down.”
The bird takes off, circling above. It’s not real—just part of his gift. Yoongi’s a Necrosync, able to animate temporary constructs from bone and ash, each one tied to a memory. He watches Namjoon and Jungkook with a look that says he’s fought worse than either.
Then comes a sound like wind cutting glass.
Hoseok stumbles into the clearing, half-frozen, chest heaving. His skin is etched with swirling blue patterns, pulsing faintly. The air around him grows icy with each breath. He’s a Cryo Reactor, his body feeding off atmospheric moisture and converting it into ice-based bursts. Right now, he looks seconds from collapse.
“I didn’t come to fight,” he gasps. “I came to hide.”
From behind a collapsed signpost, someone else emerges—Seokjin, his frame towering and covered in silver feathers. A Harpy Eagle Hybrid, wings tucked tight, talons half-visible through his boots. His eyes are piercing, voice sharp.
“Then you’re stupid. There’s no such thing as hiding anymore.”
They all turn at once.
From the trees, Taehyung steps slowly into the clearing. His eyes are swirling violet, unreadable. His skin pulses with faint fractal patterns, and the shadows around him seem to respond. He’s a Dream-Walker, a rare type of psychic mutant—his presence causes others to feel pieces of his emotions, even hallucinations if he focuses. He’s disoriented, clearly exhausted.
“None of you… should be here,” he whispers. “This place—it’s where they dropped them. I saw it in the static. I felt them die.”
Jungkook tightens his fists, spines half-extending. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Taehyung replies softly. “I don’t even know you.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “None of us do.”
The seven stand in a broken circle, untrusting. Uncertain. They’ve come from different directions, different battles, different moments of desperate escape.
But none of them know each other.
The silence stretches too long.
Then—distant engine sounds. Boots on gravel. Radio chatter.
Military.
Again.
Namjoon’s hands begin to heat, magma cracks glowing. “We need to go.”
“Go where?” Seokjin snaps. “Together?”
Jimin hisses again, ears flat. “I don’t do groups.”
“Then you die alone,” Jungkook mutters.
The forest lights up red from distant flares.
Hoseok clenches his fists, frost biting the grass at his feet. “We don’t have time for this.”
Taehyung’s voice is dreamlike. “I saw all of you already… I think we survive. But not if we split.”