The trap lay open on the ground, a lattice of wire and scavenged metal, ugly but functional. Jinyue crouched over it, adjusting the pressure plates one last time. His hands still shook from the earlier breakdown. The tears had dried, but the ache behind his eyes hadn't faded.
He pushed the feeling down, the way he always did. Compartmentalize. Seal. Move. The desert didn't care about emotion. Neither did hunger.
The hills rose ahead, a slow spine of jagged stone cutting into the horizon. He'd chosen the spot carefully—far enough from the ship that Cody's sensors wouldn't interfere, but close enough to return before nightfall. Jin'ar's cave sat miles to the north. The memory of that glowing pool now felt like a dream.
He crouched again, fingers tightening a screw on the trigger hinge. The movement was mechanical, practised—except he didn't remember learning it. His mind filled in the sequence automatically, Jin'ar's touch bleeding through his own.
He hated that he couldn't tell where the memory ended and instinct began.
When he finished, he sat back on his heels. The sand glimmered faintly with frost, and the air carried that cold, metallic bite that always came before sunset. His breath misted. His heart finally began to slow.
Cody's voice came softly through. "Master Jinyue, vitals returning to baseline. Please confirm stability."
"I'm fine," he said, though his throat felt raw.
"Emotional variance remains elevated."
"Drop it, Cody."
Silence. Then: "Acknowledged."
He stared at the trap again. It should hold a deer—maybe two, if they were small. The thought gave him a flicker of satisfaction. He needed the meat. He needed something to prove he still had control.
The sand was settling again. The trap was finished—pressure plate set, wire looped, tension lock primed. Jinyue crouched low, adjusting the last piece of scrap metal until it clicked into place.
He exhaled. The air stung his throat. Cold, dry, heavy. It was time to leave.
"Cody," he said, wiping the sweat from his temple, "we'll test it tomorrow. If the deer cross this route, we'll know by morning."
"Affirmative," came the calm, steady reply. "Power levels optimal. Recommend return to the ship before temperature drops below threshold."
He nodded absently, already packing the scattered tools into the crate. The ache in his legs was constant now, dull but insistent—a reminder that this body, though stronger, still wasn't what it should be.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and glanced up toward the horizon. The sun was melting into red, painting the ridges in shadow. The air was too still.
Cody's head tilted slightly. Then—
"Warning. Unidentified heat source detected. Range: a hundred meters. Moving fast."
Jinyue froze. "Direction?"
"Southwest quadrant. Descending."
He turned sharply, heart already hammering.
Out of the haze, a shape appeared—black, sleek, and low to the ground. Its stride was uneven, one shoulder rolling awkwardly. Its eyes burned. The feline. The same one he'd driven off with the flare. He'd recognise that scared face that made him jealous anywhere.
For some reason, it seemed thinner now, bruised across the flank, fur matted with dried blood, starved and furious. For a moment, Jinyue wondered if he was the one who'd caused it, but brushed off such a ridiculous thought. It must have been fighting another feline based on the wounds and undeniable bloodlust.
The creature snarled, a low deliberate sound.
Cody's sensors pulsed with red light. "Threat level—critical."
"No kidding," Jinyue whispered, already stepping back. His hand went to the small knife at his belt—useless. Of all the days, he hadn't carried his glorified bow; it just had to be today. His pulse spiked until his vision tunnelled. "Tell me you have a plan."
"Run."
The feline hissed, crouching. Its muscles tensed.
"Cody—"
"Run!"
It leapt.
Jinyue barely saw the motion. One moment it was forty meters away; the next, its paws struck sand where he'd been standing some moments ago before he'd started running. He stumbled, nearly fell, but kept running. He couldn't keep this up for long—he just needed a place to hide, somewhere to escape and lay low.
His lungs burned. The sand dragged at his legs like wet cement. He could hear the creature behind him—its snarl, the impact of paws, the scrape of claws tearing into the ground.
"Trap—" he gasped. "The trap—maybe—"
"Unlikely to hold," Cody said, hobbling fast beside him, servos straining. "But it will delay."
"Then we pray."
He didn't dare look back. He just kept running.
His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, chest tightening with every step. The air cut through his throat like glass. The rocks ahead shimmered in the fading light, a promise that meant safety—or something close to it.
The sound of the feline's roar tore through the air. Jinyue's legs nearly gave out.
Then came a snap.
The trap triggered. Metal whined, wire tensed—and a scream ripped across the valley.
He risked a glance back. The creature thrashed, caught by the hind leg and shoulder, its body deep in a trap. The wire bit deep into its flesh, glinting with blood. The hole only showing half of its face. It twisted violently, eyes blazing, jaws snapping.
"Move, move!" he shouted, adrenaline giving him a burst of strength.
They sprinted, or tried to. One whose stamina failed him, the other whose limp made him slower, but the kept pace slightly behind. The rocks were close now—just a few meters.
Then the sound changed.
The wire snapped.
Jinyue's blood ran cold. He didn't look back this time. The ground shook as the feline tore free.
The growl behind him was a thunderclap of rage.
Cody turned his head sharply. "It's coming. Distance—closing."
"I know!"
The first rock came into view—a shallow ridge, maybe deep enough to wedge into.
"Crevice ahead," Cody said quickly. "You can fit. I will distract."
Jinyue wanted to stop short; instead, he turned to glare at him. "You're not bait!"
"I cannot be killed."
"That's not the point—"
He didn't finish. The sound that followed silenced everything else—a snarl so deep it vibrated in his chest. The bloodlust he felt was undeniable and intense. He swore he could even smell it in the air.
The feline was already there.
It launched forward.
Cody moved first. His single arm shoved Jinyue back, and in the same instant, the beast collided with him. The impact was deafening—metal shrieking, sand exploding outward.
"CODY!"
The feline clawed, raking through alloy and sparks. The sound of tearing metal filled the air. Cody shoved it back once, staggering, servos whining, optics flickering.
"Run—" Cody said, voice breaking into static.
Jinyue wanted to, but he couldn't move. He was frozen, watching the feline pin Cody to the ground, jaws closing over his shoulder. He heard the crack of steel. He didn't even realise he was shaking until his knees gave way.
"Master Jinyue—MOVE!" Cody's voice glitched, distorted and violent.
"Damn it!"
It jolted him into motion. He turned and ran, breath ragged, eyes burning. His muscles screamed in protest. He didn't think. He couldn't.
He reached the base of the rocks, the feline's roar echoing behind him. The sound grew louder. Closer.
Cody's voice cut through the air. "It's disengaging—target reacquired—"
He barely had time to look up.
The feline was bounding toward him, fury made flesh. Sand exploded under its paws.
Jinyue stumbled backwards. He hit the rock wall. There was nowhere to run.
He saw the creature coil, ready to pounce.
He lifted his arms to shield his face.
So this is it again—pathetic, ugly, ending as prey.
The world narrowed to breath and sound—the scrape of claws, the rush of air, the low growl that vibrated through the ground. His mind rebelled, reaching for logic, strategy, anything—but there was nothing left to calculate. Only the animal terror of being seen, of being hunted.
He wanted to fight, to prove that he could still command his own body, but his limbs wouldn't obey. They trembled uselessly; his fingers dug into sand that shifted and gave way. Move. Stand up. Don't die here. You've done enough dying.
A strangled sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob. How absurd. A person who once decided which lives were worth entire corporations can't even save his own skin.
Images flickered—his last night on Earth, the taste of poison in his throat, Ming Yin's voice fading to static; Jin'ar's parents smiling weakly, their hands calloused and kind; Jin'ar starving under the same grey sky, patching broken metal with shaking fingers.
Two lives. One collapsing into the other.
Please, not yet.
The feline's roar tore the air. Jinyue squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for pain.
I want to live.
Something inside him cracked—he could literally hear it.
Then…something weird happened.
The feline, which was mid-pounce, screamed. Which was odd. Was that some sort of weird battle cry or something?
Suddenly, its body lifted—lifted! which is crazy considering it was already mid-air—then was thrown backwards like a rag doll. It slammed into the rock wall with a crack that echoed through the ridge, then slid down.
It got up after some few desperate attempts, shook its whole body, gave a loud whine and bolted, tail tucked, vanishing into the mist.
Silence.
Jinyue's arms, which were still over his face, knuckles white faltered. His breath came fast, ragged.
Did it hit me? No… I'd know if it had hit me, right? Did I die immediately?
Something thudded against the rocks—a dull, heavy sound. He flinched. For a second, he thought it was Cody. Then he froze. Cody didn't make that kind of sound.
His eyes cracked open. Nothing but dust and a smear of red across the ground where the feline had been. No Cody. No movement. Just… stillness.
He swallowed hard.
"What the hell was that?"
His voice sounded thin and shaky. He pushed himself up slightly, his hands still half-raised like a child hiding from thunder. The world around him shimmered faintly, the air buzzing with leftover static. He could feel it in his teeth.
Something felt wrong. The space hummed. It was alive. Or maybe he was dying.
He blinked, disoriented. "Cody?" Nothing. "...was that y—"
He tried to take a breath—then the pain hit.
It was as if someone drove a blade through his skull and twisted. His body convulsed. His vision fractured into white light. He heard someone scream—long, raw, agonised—and thought, poor bastard.
Then he realised it was him.
"Oh," he croaked between screams, "it's—me—oh good—"
The words broke apart as another wave of pain hit. His hands flew to his head; his nails scraped his scalp. It felt like his brain was trying to crawl out. Blood flooded his mouth, thick and metallic. His nose was leaking too, hot against the cold air. Vaguely, he was pretty sure his eyes were bleeding too. He hoped it was just tears.
Cody's voice broke through the chaos, glitching in and out. "Master Jinyue—neural—instability—stay—awake—do not—faint—"
"Stay awake?" he thought out, head spinning. "That's your advice?—"
The rest dissolved into a strangled sound somewhere between laughter and a sob. He tried to crawl, but his limbs wouldn't obey. Every nerve fired at once, his body jerking uncontrollably. His heartbeat was too fast, his lungs burning. He could feel every vein pulsing under his skin. It was too much—far too much.
"Don't—sleep—" Cody's voice came again, distant, frantic.
"I'm—not—trying—to—!" He wanted to say, instead, he laughed again, breathless, half-hysterical. "Believe me—fainting sounds—great—right now!"
The laughter turned into another scream. It didn't even sound human.
Wait…he wasn't human! Did Zergs normally scream the same as him…probably not.
The world started to bend inward. His body convulsed. Blood burst from his nose, his mouth, his eyes. Every nerve fired at once. His vision warped. His mind was full of static; he could see things that weren't there—two lives bleeding into one another, like someone was flipping through old recordings in his skull. Ming Yin's smile, Jin'ar's trembling hands clutching a rusted can, sunlight against water, the flash of metal, the taste of poison—every moment stacked and collided.
Flashes burned behind his eyes: his mind split in two, voices overlapping: Don't stop running. / I Love you/ Hold the line. / You need to be more serious, Lan xiānshēng / Please, not again. / Father, it hurts.
Stop—stop—it's too much—
He couldn't tell who he was hearing anymore. Himself, Jin'ar, or both.
He rolled onto his side, coughing blood into the dust. His hands wouldn't obey him. His body shook uncontrollably, as if something were trying to crawl out of his skin.
I can't—breathe—I can't—
Pain built until his thoughts stuttered. His body went slack. He was still breathing, barely, but everything else stopped. He couldn't move. Couldn't blink. His eyes rolled upward. Blood pooled under his cheek.
"—inyue!" Cody's voice cut through distortion. "—heart rate—erratic—error—error—"
He couldn't answer. His throat only released hoarse gasps and choked sobs.
His body convulsed, arching violently, before collapsing again.
The light from Cody's eyes flickered—blue, then white, then gone.
Cody's damaged form staggered closer, limping heavily, sparks sputtering from his side. His remaining arm reached for Jinyue, movements jerky but careful.
Static filled his speech. The optical lens flickered red, blue, then white.
Cody hesitated only a second before activating emergency retrieval. His servos whined with the strain as he lifted Jinyue's limp body. Blood smeared across his chassis, pooling in the grooves of the metal.
"Vital signs unstable," he said aloud, as if the words would steady them both. "Initiating return protocol."
The trek back to the ship was agonizingly slow. Each step made his frame shudder; the sand resisted every movement. Jinyue's head lolled against his shoulder, face pale, eyes unfocused and glassy.
Cody's single arm supported his body while his half-arm braced his head against the constant motion. He calculated distance and energy every few seconds, pushing his systems beyond safe limits. He carried Jinyue through the sand, frame shuddering. Each step sank deep. Jinyue's head lolled, eyes unfocused.
"Apologies for discomfort," Cody said. "My balance is impaired."
By the time they reached the ramp, the robot's power readings were critical. He stumbled once, corrected, and forced the hatch open. The door hissed shut behind them, sealing the cold out.
Jinyue's breathing was shallow, uneven. His lips moved, soundless.
Cody placed him in the pod, movements sharp with urgency. The machinery sealed around him, pale light washing over his blood-smeared skin. Fluid filled the chamber slowly, sensors flaring red, and gold.
"Stabilising," Cody muttered to himself. "Stabilising."
The readings trembled, then held steady. Only then did the robot's posture slacken slightly. He turned his optical sensor toward the pod, its faint light reflecting Jinyue's face through the fluid.
Finally, the pain ebbed.
Jinyue's eyes fluttered. Just before blacking out, he thought he saw something—his reflection in the pod's glass, split in two. One half his face, one half someone else's.
Then the world went quiet.
The human-turned-zerg lay motionless, silver hair drifting like thread.