My name is Hannah Katz. I was born into a military family in a war-torn country in the Middle East—just like countless other boys and girls.
The military's scientists altered our genes, mine and ninety-nine other children's, turning us into super soldiers—living weapons designed for war. And they succeeded.
At just ten years old, I fought alongside my fellow child soldiers, each of us genetically engineered for battle. But unlike the others, I had a passion for ballet. It became a part of me, weaving into my combat style, transforming me into something both lethal and graceful—a dancer of death.
But war does not spare even its own creations. We turned on each other.
The ninety-nine children, my comrades, my brothers and sisters in blood, began fighting amongst themselves, hunting one another down. At first, I ran. I avoided them. I didn't want to kill them.
But war does not allow mercy.
Eventually, I had no choice but to fight back. To survive.
One by one, I was forced to eliminate them all. They couldn't defeat me. In the end, I stood alone—the last surviving masterpiece of the military's experiment. Their most perfect killing machine.
The memories of those battles are too painful to recall. My mind refuses to relive them. When I try, I don't see the carnage—I see myself, dancing ballet among the corpses of ninety-nine child soldiers. A performance set in a field of flowers, their petals painted red with blood...
My father was a soldier, a man of duty, protection, and sacrifice. He died in service to his country, giving his life to shield his people. Before he was martyred, he passed down his ideals to me—his daughter.
From that moment on, I wished for nothing more than to die protecting others, to follow in his footsteps.
The military turned me into a secret weapon—a shadow in the battlefield, a nightmare for my enemies. They called me "The Ballerina." I could take down multiple foes in an instant, gliding through war zones like a specter. I eliminated warlords, shattered enemy forces, and cleansed the country of its worst monsters.
All the while, I studied Dutch in secret.
I dreamed of escaping. Of leaving war behind. Of starting over.
By the time I was twelve, the war was over. I had ended it.
The people celebrated me. The women, the elderly, the children—they called me a heroine.
But I wasn't a heroine. I was just a girl who had been robbed of her childhood.
So when the war was done, I left. My mother, my younger brother, and I immigrated to the Netherlands, leaving behind the ashes of battle, searching for a life I had never known.