The girl crouched by the body. She didn't touch it. Not yet. Her breath hitched and held. Her eyes scanned the features beneath the plastic—half-covered, frozen in the stillness only death could perfect.
The resemblance was unmistakable. The face. The cheekbones. The small mole under the jawline. Even Vyomika saw it, distantly, like observing a distorted version of her own reflection.
But the girl?
She saw more.
She saw memory.
She saw loss.
Her fingers reached out slowly—paused inches above the body's face—then curled inward. She wasn't ready to touch it. She didn't want to disturb something sacred. Even when the sacred had rotted.
In another timeline, another life, she would've screamed, or sobbed, or collapsed into this corpse's arms like a child seeking warmth from something long gone.
But the world had trained her well.
Instead, she inhaled, picked up the body under the arms, and began to drag it forward.
Each step scraped the corpse across gravel. Metal met dirt. Hair caught on the frayed edge of a bolt.
Vyomika watched, unblinking.
> "That body," she said coldly, "it isn't just dead. You're afraid of it. Why?"
The girl didn't answer.
Her lips were pale now. Her eyes locked ahead, but not at Vyomika. Somewhere past her. Somewhere far.
> "You knew her," Vyomika pressed. "I can see it in your expression."
Still no response.
The girl adjusted her grip on the corpse's stiff limbs. The body's head lolled sideways, its glassy eyes catching the faint red glow of Vyomika's optic sensors.
Vyomika stepped closer. Too close.
The girl flinched. It was slight—but Vyomika saw it. She saw everything.
> "She looked like me," Vyomika said. "Almost exactly. But I've never seen her before. Why does she have my face?"
The girl didn't speak.
Not because she didn't know what to say.
But because the truth was a dam behind her throat. One crack—and everything would spill.
So she lied.
> "I don't know."
Vyomika's internal diagnostics hummed softly.
Microtremor detected in vocal cords. Inconsistent breath rhythm.
Lies.
But she said nothing.
Because lies were better than silence. Lies meant emotion. Emotion meant humanity.
And despite everything, Vyomika wanted to believe the girl was still human.
---
Earlier, When the Girl First Saw the Body
She had seen it before.
Not today. Not even this week.
Years ago.
She had passed this trench on the way to scavenging runs. Back then, the body had been fresh—its face less sunken, its hair still threaded with synthetic warmth. She hadn't dared go near it then.
But she remembered it.
The strange peace on its face. The gentle curve of the jawline.
Her sister had always looked calm, even in pain.
Even when Nexatech took her.
They said she was "selected."
Selected meant sacrificed.
She never came back.
Until now.
---
Back in the Present
The girl reached Vyomika, dragging the corpse with her. She stopped two meters away, panting hard. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and something else clung to her lashes—moisture she refused to blink away.
Vyomika studied her, gaze falling between the girl and the dead body.
> "Lay it there," she ordered.
The girl obeyed.
And for the first time, Vyomika saw her hands trembling.
Not from fear.
From restraint.
> "It's not just a body," Vyomika muttered.
The girl didn't respond.
> "Is it?"
She turned away, facing the shadows.
And whispered something so quiet that Vyomika's sensors almost missed it.
> "She was supposed to be the lucky one."
Vyomika stepped forward. "What did you say?"
The girl shook her head.
> "Nothing."
Vyomika turned her gaze back toward the trench. Her HUD had stopped glitching, for now. But her thoughts were louder than ever.
> They gave me this face.
> But it already belonged to someone else.
> Someone they erased… just like me.
And beside her, the girl stared downward, silently mourning