PROJECT GENESIS ENTRY #0425

We did it. After sixty years of relentless research, we found it. Historians, theologians, biochemists, and botanists worked together, and deep beneath the glaciers of the far north, it was there—a forest where none should exist.

The ground pulsed like a heartbeat. Streams of red, flowing against nature’s laws, wove through the land. At the center stood the tree. Its dark, spiked bark twisted upward, its obsidian leaves edged with crimson veins that glowed faintly, as if alive.

Then, the fruit. Dark red and unblemished, they hung like perfect artifacts of something divine. The apples of Iðunn. The Tree of Knowledge. Eden itself.

Call it myth. Call it truth. We found it. And we took it.

Two years. That’s how long I’ve been sharpening Scarlet Wood for Bulwark’s Hunters—whittling the cursed wood into bullets, carving stakes, grinding it to powder. Two years spent cleaning out the slums of the Upper Cities, picking off Feral Vampires that dared cross into human territory. Two years of splinters and disposal duty. And for what? What does a guy have to do for Bulwark to see I’m more than a glorified janitor?

“Head shot,” I muttered with a smirk as the Feral’s body crumpled to the pavement below. I shifted my scope, tracking the next target—a runner scrambling into the shadows. My breathing steadied, finger tightening on the trigger. Then the wooden bullet tore through the Feral’s shoulder. Black blood sprayed as they hit the ground, paralyzed near their incapacitated companion.

“Minus five points for nearly missing,” Michael quipped from my left.

I lowered my rifle, resting it on the edge of the rooftop. “Nearly missed,” I shot back, emphasizing the words. “Still hit the target.”

“Do you two have no respect?”

The voice came from behind us, calm but cutting. I swung my rifle around instinctively, only to lower it again with a relieved exhale when I saw who it was. Hunter Erebus Qian. Captain of Squad 95.

Erebus was a legend in Bulwark. Top marks at the academy. Word was, they’d even graduated with high honors in a medical program before the world fell to Project Genesis, making them even more of an asset. Now, they stood before us, their dark brown eyes laced with disappointment, their voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Do keep in mind,” they said, “that Ferals used to be human too.”

Their slender fingers lifted to tuck a lock of black, shoulder-length hair behind their ear. It was strange seeing a Hunter in office attire—pressed shirt and jacket, tie slightly loosened, slacks tailored to perfection. On the streets, they wore tactical gear, armored and armed. But here, like this, Erebus seemed even more imposing. The contrast made them feel untouchable, like a figure who could command authority in any setting.

“They aren’t human anymore,” Michael countered, rising from his crouch and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “They chose to make a deal with IDUN, and they couldn’t maintain their god status.”

“IDUN preys on the desperate and the hopeful,” Erebus lightly reprimanded.

Michael didn’t argue, but I could feel the weight of their words settle over all of us. The truth was, many signed up to become Life Donors—volunteers who handed over their blood to feed the rich vampires. They thought they were buying salvation. What they didn’t realize was that once IDUN gave them their so-called cure, they were thrown back into the chaos above, with no way to sustain their so-called gift.

“Ready your targets for pick-up,” Erebus ordered, their voice cool and authoritative. Then their eyes met mine. Dark. Unreadable. “And Mr. Sato, you’re coming back to headquarters with me.”

“Ah… alright,” I muttered, my brows knitting together. Did I screw up?

Running a hand through my auburn hair, I kept my gaze low as I followed Erebus and Michael down the building’s stairwell to ground level. Did they figure out I’d been pocketing Scarlet Wood? No way. I’d been careful. But the thought gnawed at me. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Before Project Genesis went to shit in the Americas, I was just a middle school teaching assistant. Now? There’s nothing else I’m qualified for, and nothing pays better than Bulwark.

At the base of the building, I approached the Feral I’d shot in the shoulder. The bullet wound glistened, surrounded by vibrant red veins spreading like a spiderweb beneath his skin. Scarlet Wood worked fast, especially on Ferals and malnourished vamps.

Scarlet Wood was Bulwark’s answer to subduing Vampires—a synthetic derivative of the Genesis tree itself. The real stuff was said to be far more potent, capable of sedating a Bloodfed Vamp for an entire day. Scarlet Wood? It barely lasted an hour. But it did the job. My job: Sweeper. Hunt Ferals, capture them, and hand them off to the disposal team. The incinerator did the rest. There were only two ways to kill a vamp: sunlight or fire.

My fingers traced the edge of the bullet hole, my thoughts wandering. Erebus was right. IDUN preyed on the hopeful and desperate, luring them in with promises of salvation. Become a Life Donor. Secure a brighter future. Sacrifice a few years to the elite in the Under Cities, they’d said. But it was all a lie.

The ones who returned couldn’t afford impulse suppressants from IDUN’s pharmaceutical facilities in the Upper Cities, never mind accessing the flowing blood banks in the Under Cities saved for only the elite. Hunger always won, giving into their urges. They slaughtered their families, their friends, their neighbors. Some tried to survive on animal blood. The unknowing ones turned to feeding on the dead. That was the fastest way to become a Feral. The blood of the dead twisted their minds, stripping away any humanity remaining, until all there was left was hunger and violence.

I studied the Feral at my feet. His black, darting eyes betrayed fear, his mouth trembling uncontrollably. Lack of motor control. Pale. Frail. He looked like a breath of wind might shatter him, but I wasn’t naive. This form wasn’t weakness—it was desperation wrapped in predator’s instincts.

We zip-tied the targets and waited. Moments later, the armored truck arrived. The disposal team in heavy gear hoisted the paralyzed Ferals into the back and slammed the doors shut. Job done. For now.

“Your file says you were a college professor. Biochemistry.” Erebus’s voice was measured as we entered their Bulwark office.

The space was stark—pristine white walls, a sleek desk with nothing but a monitor, a stack of files, and a single pen. Not a photograph, not even a coffee mug. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, as if nothing personal had ever happened here. Erebus leaned against the desk’s edge, setting down two files before shrugging off their suit jacket and loosening their tie. Their dark eyes fixed on me, expectant.

Maybe I had stretched the truth to get this job. Just a little. Everyone lies on resumes. So I nodded in agreement, my attention then drifting to the files. The top one had my name stamped in bold: Kieran Sato. Beneath it, a second file peeked out just enough to reveal its label.

“What’s Project Songbird?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to deflect.

Erebus didn’t flinch. “Part two of Project Genesis,” they said simply. “We’ve intercepted intel that Dr. Elias Marelli intends to release a ‘cure’ for his original cure. A formula designed to eliminate sunlight sensitivity and prevent feralism.”

My stomach twisted. “You’re saying they’ll be able to come topside? Whenever they want?” The thought hit me like a gut punch, and before I could stop myself, I whispered the deeper fear. “No sensitivity… That would make them truly immortal.”

Sure, the extinction of Ferals would be a good thing—even if it put me out of a job. But this wasn’t about me. This would make Bulwark obsolete if their targets were invincible. The Hunters existed because the world needed order. The world needed to know there was some hope, some control. Without them, vampires—the well fed Bloodfed, the Ferals or otherwise—could roam unchecked. The government didn’t care; it was run by the elite, and the elite were vampires. Bulwark was all humanity had left for balance.

“Project Songbird entails a prototype in development: Compound-SB,” Erebus explained, opening the second file. They handed a sheet of paper toward me.

I skimmed the document, each word settling in my gut like lead. I might have lied about being a professor, but my degree was real, and I knew enough to recognize this for what it was—catastrophic.

“This isn’t just an upgrade,” I said, my voice measured, steady despite the unease creeping in. “This is an optimized strain of vampirism—enhanced adaptability, accelerated healing, heightened instincts, and complete immunity to sunlight.” I exhaled slowly, forcing down the tightness in my throat.

They were already faster and stronger than humans, but there were limits—physical thresholds even their biology couldn’t push past. This? This erased those limits. It wasn’t just peak human performance; it was a predator engineered beyond natural selection, a creature that didn’t just survive but dominated. A perfect specimen of controlled evolution—if you ignored the inevitable collapse that would come with it.

“Exactly.” Erebus’s tone remained calm. “Bulwark’s CEO believes that if we can secure the prototype, we can develop a countermeasure. Something more lethal than Scarlet Wood. A compound capable of killing Ferals, Bloodfed, and Songbird Vamps alike. Instantly.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, wary now.

“Squad 95 has been assigned to procure the prototype from IDUN’s labs,” Erebus replied. Their gaze sharpened. “As you should know, my squad lost a Hunter last week.”

Bulwark squads operated in teams of three, each member fulfilling a specific role. The Hunter they’d lost was a biochemist, if I remembered right.

Shit.

“You need me to fill her place, don’t you?” I kept my tone steady, though my pulse quickened.

“Congratulations, Kieran. You’ve been promoted to Hunter.” Erebus pulled a badge from my file and held it out between their fingers.

Kieran Sato. Hunter. Squad 95.