Bellator

The boom echoed around the dry, dusty, hot-as-hell desert. The boy and the girl slid down from the rock they were standing on, and stood, staring at the ginormous glass dome spread out on the radioactive wasteland in front of them. They were too late.

Fifty years of death and devastation. They had lost everything, and then the call had come, entering their brains in a second.

Come to Bellator. You are saved. Come to Bellator.

They had travelled thousands of miles, all because of this supposed salvation and refuge. But the dome had been sealed with tungsten, the strongest metal in the world, with them on the wrong side of it.

The door had been shut, sealed, locked. They had been abandoned on this hostile earth, by everyone except the man and woman who stood behind them, their uncle and mother. Their anger was etched into the creases in their forehead. They had been aged by their terrible life of death and destruction, they were independent, they were strong.

They could adapt and strengthen, morphe into some thing that could survive this harsh reality, and then they would be back. Back for revenge on their brethren who had not waited for them. Yes, they would get their revenge.