Absolute instinct

The camp buzzed with activity as Darian moved through the bustling sections. few days had passed since his decisive declaration, and every team worked tirelessly to push their abilities and resources to the limit. In the strategy division, Rathar led his crafting unit, with Alice Kane aiding in refining maps and tools. Zanebrook, wielding his Equalocation ability, was instrumental in mapping the terrain with precise sound frequencies. On the deployment side, Kai Serrano manipulated metal with fluid precision, crafting better tools and weapons under Rathar's guidance.

Darian observed the progress silently, nodding in approval at the team's commitment. Despite the adversity, the survivors were growing stronger, sharper, and more unified. It gave him hope—an ember of humanity's resilience burning against the backdrop of a shattered world.

On the next day, BheemZog burst into Darian's quarters, clutching a makeshift communication device. His face was a mixture of excitement and unease.

"Darian!" he exclaimed, holding up the crude but functional gadget. "We've managed to amplify the signal. We're picking up something—faint, but it's there."

Darian straightened, his sharp gaze locking onto BheemZog. "What kind of signal?"

BheemZog hesitated, his brow furrowing. "It's... strange. At first, it looked like a standard broadcast frequency, but the patterns are erratic. It's as if the signal is corrupted—or worse, deliberate chaos."

The group gathered around, tension thick in the air. Zanebrook, always skeptical, crossed his arms. "Define deliberate chaos," he said, his tone sharp.

BheemZog took a deep breath, setting the device down on a table. "The message—if you can call it that—repeats the same words. Kill, destruction, annihilation. It's not natural, Darian. It doesn't feel human."

Silence filled the room as the implications of his words sank in.

"What do you mean it's not human?" Alice Kane asked, his usually calm voice edged with unease.

"It could be human," BheemZog admitted, "but it's distorted. Like something—or someone—is trying to mimic a broadcast, but with no clear intention other than chaos."

A wave of discomfort rippled through the group. Some whispered theories about malfunctioning equipment or remnants of humanity gone mad. Others wondered aloud if this was a trap or the work of mutated creatures.

Frustrated, one of the younger team members grabbed the device and slammed it onto the ground. "This thing is useless!" he snapped.

Before anyone could react, the shattered device crackled to life. A distorted voice emerged, warped and uneven, sending shivers down everyone's spine.

"Hello..." the voice stammered, breaking into static before continuing. "If anyone is listening to this broadcast..."

The room froze. Every pair of eyes was locked on the flickering device.

"We are from the City of Survivors," the voice continued. "We have built a safe haven for those who remain. If you can hear this signal, you are not alone. Come to these coordinates. We are one of humanity's last cities—working to rebuild and secure the future of our species."

As suddenly as it had started, the voice disappeared, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

"Coordinates..." Rathar whispered, breaking the spell.

Zanebrook leaned forward, his Equalocation ability activating as he analyzed the faint remnants of the signal. "The coordinates are real. They match an area we haven't explored yet."

Kai Serrano looked at Darian, his voice steady but concerned. "Do we trust it? What if it's a trap?"

Darian's expression was unreadable as he stared at the now-silent device. Finally, he spoke, his tone resolute. "We don't know if it's real or a trap. But if there's even a chance that this City of Survivors exists, we owe it to ourselves—and humanity—to investigate."

BheemZog nodded, determination replacing his earlier uncertainty. "If we want to strengthen our communications further, we'll need better resources. The signal's instability is a limitation of our equipment, not the message itself."

Darian's eyes narrowed. "Then we prioritize scavenging operations. Rathar, coordinate with your team. Kai, Zanebrook, you'll assist. We need materials to enhance the communication device—and weapons in case this is a trap."

The team dispersed, each member feeling the weight of their leader's words. As the door closed behind them, Darian turned back to the device.

His gaze lingered on the broken machine as if willing it to speak again. A faint smile tugged at his lips, equal parts hope and determination.

"If it's real," he murmured to himself, "then maybe humanity has a fighting chance."

Yet in the depths of his mind, a gnawing question lingered: If it's not human... then what is it?