"The world didn't end with fire or ice. It ended with thirst."
They called it The Scorch—a sun so angry it turned oceans to salt flats, boiled rivers into sky, and kissed skin with cancer. Crops withered. Beasts died. And humans… well, they found new ways to rot.
Water became currency. Blood became trade. Semen became sacred. And women?
Women became extinct.
Until me.
I wasn't born. I was engineered—stitched from forgotten genes, grown in a facility buried beneath 300 feet of desert steel. They built me in silence, watched me grow through glass. Men in white suits and empty eyes, praying that their miracle girl would drip salvation.
Their plan was simple: unlock my body's secret. They hoped I'd leak life like a fountain—milk, sweat, saliva, everything analyzed, extracted, bottled. Turn me into a human oasis.
They didn't expect me to enjoy it.
Didn't expect the purring moans that echoed through sterile halls.
Didn't expect the way men crumbled when I touched them.
Didn't expect me to taste like hope.
I was never meant to feel.
Never meant to laugh, flirt, tease.
But I do.
And it drives them insane.
Because in a world where men rule, I'm the only one who can make them beg.
And I'm just getting started.