Three things you can’t outrun in this world, folks: Death, Taxes, and Voidskins.

One hundred years ago, something broke inside the human genome. Scientists never found the cause of the mutation, but some say believe it was divine punishment.

Virosus Humanitas: humanity, corrupted.

They move like humans. Look like humans. But that’s where it ends.

They don’t feel. They don’t think.

They kill.

And kill.

And kill.

The military calls them VH-Null—Null: humanity erased. Most just call them Voidskins.

They smile, but only when they’re about to tear you apart. They’re carnivores. Top of the food chain. No need for shelter, no sense of fear. Bullets don’t drop them. They don’t even flinch. They keep going, stopping once you’re dead.

Their bones are too dense, pain receptors likely nonexistent.

They’re fast. Strong. Silent. Smart.

They see in the dark.

They move in packs.

When one sets its sights on you, it’s over. Walls were built. Thirty feet of concrete. Fifteen more of barbed wire. The last cities lived behind them.

But Voidskins…

The voidskins were learning. One survived long enough to watch, to think, and soon—others followed. Each adaptation deadlier.

The last one? Sound mimicking.

Weapons had to adapt. Sonic charges, high-heat blades. Guns were practically museum pieces now.

Officer Mavick Keriane, Special Force Unit 9, trudged through dust-thick air in the outskirts of Sector 14.

His job? Keep them out. Hunt if they got in.

They got a call.

Possible VH-Null breach.

Slim odds. But any call meant boots on the ground.

He spoke in the earpiece. “Not seeing anything, sir.”

His commander responded. “Look again. Hell isn’t always below.”

Mavick sighed. Looked up. Did a slow circle.

And..

Perched on a dead oak, twenty feet up.

A girl.

A Voidskin.

Unblinking. Head tilted. Legs dangling. Eyes pitch black.

Voidskins couldn’t climb like that. Their fingers weren’t made for it, weren’t strong enough to grip bark.

But she sat there. Watching him.

She was evolved.

Too evolved.