The Discarded Heiress Owns The Wasteland

The silence of the planet wrapped around her. Only the wind and her own harsh breathing. Miles away, in a luxury office, Adolphus Richmond stared at the black screen. His jaw was clenched tight. His finger tapped the desk. He wasn't angry. He was... curious. Back on A13, Casey's hands were a bloody mess. But the hole was deep enough. It was shaped like a shallow grave, just big enough for one person to curl up in. Her fingers hit something hard. Not a rock. The texture was different. She dug faster, ignoring the sting. She grabbed the object and pulled. It was a knife. About eight inches long. The blade was covered in thick rust. The handle was wrapped in rotting leather. A relic from a previous visitor. Casey's heart leaped. A knife was life. She pulled a strip of tent fabric from her pocket. She grabbed a handful of rough sand from the ground. She started to sharpen the blade. The motion was practiced, professional. Minutes later, the rust was gone. The edge gleamed in the sunlight. It was still sharp. She stood up and flicked her wrist. The knife spun in her hand, a natural extension of her arm. She used the knife to cut down some branches. She sharpened the ends and drove them into the ground around the hole, reinforcing the walls. Her stomach growled. A loud, painful cramp. She hadn't eaten since she woke up. She slid the knife into her belt. She grabbed the empty water bottle. She closed her eyes and sniffed the air. There. A faint trace of moisture. She walked into the jungle, pushing through thorny bushes. After ten minutes, she found it. A small stream, the water crystal clear. She knelt beside it. She cupped some water in her hand and smelled it. No chemical scent. She took a tiny sip. Cold. Clean. She looked into the water. Fish. Weird fish. They were fat, with colorful scales and jagged dorsal fins. They looked alien. Dangerous. Casey didn't hesitate. She kicked off her boots and rolled up her pants. She stepped into the freezing water. The chat was mocking her again. She thinks she can catch fish with her hands? What an idiot. Casey stood still. She held the knife reversed in her grip. She became a statue. The water flowed around her legs. A large red-tailed fish swam close. It was oblivious. Casey's eyes snapped into focus. Her arm moved. It was a blur. A splash. A wet thud. The knife was buried in the fish's gills, pinning it to the stream bed. She twisted the knife and tossed the thrashing fish onto the bank. The whole move took less than a second. The chat went dead silent.