The blood-red sandstorm roared through the barren wasteland, stinging flesh and blurring sightlines. Zero, as she was called by the broken remnants of a once-proud civilization, planted her feet against the gale, the biting wind cutting through her like shards of glass. Her platinum blond hair whipped violently behind her, the crimson horns atop her head glinting like a warning beacon through the chaos. She held her mechanical arm up to shield her face, the red metal catching distorted glimpses of the storm’s fury. Her breathing was ragged, every inhale scraping her lungs, but she pressed forward—the beacon couldn’t wait. It was their only chance to survive.
The landscape was a half-dead scar of humanity’s arrogance. Jagged spires of broken skyscrapers pierced the horizon, remnants of cities that once reached for the stars. Shattered glass, twisted steel, the hollow remains of civilization sprawled out in every direction. Above, the sky was an ominous swirl of gray and red, a celestial warning of the storm to come. But Zero’s vibrant eyes, painted with the precise flicks of red and black makeup, burned with fierce determination. She couldn’t fail. Not again.
The beacon—a towering monolith of ancient technology—was barely visible through the chaos, flickering in erratic patterns as if unsure of its own survival. Around her waist, her outfit—bold, utilitarian, yet oddly revealing—clung to her lithe, muscular frame. The bikini top, marked with the iconic number “02” in bold black text, was retrofitted with reinforced straps and a metallic texture that reflected an air of practicality. The fiery red choker around her neck pulsed faintly, as if it shared her heartbeat. Every piece of her appearance was both armor and statement: a relic of a forgotten world and a promise of the future.
The moment she grasped the base of the monolith, a shockwave of energy rocked the ground, forcing her to her knees. Sand burst into the air like a fiery explosion, and suddenly, they were upon her. The Wastes had a way of hiding things—burrowers, dead scavengers… or, in this case, Behemoths. The monstrous biomechanical creatures, each the size of a hover-truck, emerged from the dunes, their metallic plating shimmering like wet obsidian. Their eyes glowed a sickly green, their mandibles clicking with predatory hunger. Zero had fought them before, but this time, they came in numbers.
Her mechanical arm whirred to life, unfolding with alien precision. The red plating restructured itself, revealing a pulsating core that emitted a sharp, keening hum. Zero smirked, even though her body ached from the storm and days without rest. She had been built for this.
Minutes Before the Collapse
A flashback interrupted the chaos. The calm before the storm. Zero sat on the roof of the last standing oil rig turned refugee outpost, watching the fractured moon rise on the crimson horizon. Beside her, a young engineer named Cain tinkered with what remained of a scavenged drone. His eyes were sharp, his movements methodical, and his silence heavier than the air buzzing with static electricity.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cain spoke finally, his voice strained under layers of unspoken fears. His wiry frame leaned against the railing of the structure, the dim light making his features shadowed yet thoughtful. His brown jumpsuit, patched and dirty from survival, contrasted sharply with Zero’s bold ensemble. He turned toward her, his exhaustion mirroring that of humanity itself. “The beacon’s probably dead. And you know what happens if it isn’t—”
“If it isn’t,” Zero cut him off, “then we still have a chance to push them back.” The clinking of Cain’s tools stopped momentarily, and the weight of her words settled between them like an unspoken confession.
His gaze dropped to her red mechanical arm, and Zero could feel his judgment trying to cut through her resolve. “That thing,” he said, gesturing to it, “makes you their target.” A long pause followed. “You shouldn’t even exist.”
Zero leaned back, resting on her elbows with deliberate defiance. The corners of her lips curled, masking her unease with playful bravado. “Yeah, well, if being unkillable hurts their feelings, that’s not my problem, is it?” Cain didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing more. The silence resumed, uneasy, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Back to the Barrens
Zero ducked as the Behemoth lunged, its massive maw snapping shut inches above her head. She rolled, the sand cushioning the blow as she activated the power core on her arm. It surged with energy, sending crackling tendrils of blue electricity in every direction. The smell of ozone filled the air as the weapon discharged, a single bolt hitting the Behemoth square in its grotesque chest. It wailed, a sound like bending metal and the screams of a thousand tortured souls, before collapsing onto the sand in a heap of broken mechanics.
But there were more. Always more. They surrounded her like vultures waiting for a wounded predator to falter. The storm made it near impossible to see, but Zero’s instincts—honed in survival, sharpened by loss—didn’t need vision. She moved like a dancer, each twist and strike seamless and fatal. Her metal arm splintered one Behemoth’s plating while her flawless human hand darted for a pulse grenade strapped to her back. She threw it, the explosion rocking the ground as two of the creatures vanished in bursts of fire and metal.
Her breaths came fast and shallow now. The beacon lit up behind her, a sharp, alien whir splitting the tension-filled air. She had done it. The signal was firing. Now all she had to do was survive until evacuation arrived—if it arrived.
A shadow loomed above her. She turned just in time to see the largest of the Behemoths, its reinforced plating glinting through the storm. Its glowing green eyes narrowed, as if it could taste her desperation. Zero’s fingers twitched, ready to reach for anything, but her power core was spent, her grenades used. This was it. She stood her ground anyway.
The air cracked like thunder, and suddenly a sleek, black ship pierced through the storm, descending like a hawk. It unleashed a torrent of plasma fire onto the Behemoth, the beast crumbling without a sound. The ramp of the ship extended, and Cain’s voice cut through her earpiece. “You’re late. Get on.”
Zero smirked, dragging her exhausted body up the ramp as the storm closed in behind her. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.
The fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But for now, humanity had one more chance, and Zero—metal arm, scars, and all—would make sure they used it.
Genre: Sci-Fi/Action Adventure
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Blonde Zero Two Cosplay Ideas: Bold Bikini Looks and Futuristic Style
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