Canan and Hatice

As you wake up, a wave of searing heat slaps your face. You instinctively gasp and cough, your lungs rejecting the hot, dry air. There are no signs of civilization around, just miles and miles of sand with occasional tufts of shrubbery. How long have you been unconscious? And where are you now? Your eyes adjust to the daylight, yet you make out the vague image of a convoy of heavy carriages appearing on the horizon. A smaller vehicle detaches from the group. You watch in a daze as it draws near, finding it hard to move a single finger that feels as heavy as lead. The image becomes clearer. You recognize that it's an armored buggy with a gun turret. Its chassis is coated with rust. A humanlike figure is behind the wheel, while another, with long, slender limbs, clings to the side, too big to fit into the seat. The vehicle stops. The driver jumps down and runs toward you. You see a feminine figure cloaked in a gray jumpsuit with a long, torn cloak. She wears a simple cap, her long blue hair cascading down. Her mouth is covered with a respirator mask, only exposing her eyes. A tattoo follows the contour of her bottom lids, with a triangle shape pointing down from the middle. "Are you okay?" The woman's eyes are deep black, with no discernible iris or pupil. They stare into yours with a cold gaze. A slightly muffled voice comes out, speaking in a language or dialect you don't recognize. "Damn it!" With a loud sigh, she switches to a familiar language. "I can't believe it. Please, don't be one of those freaks..." Noticing your reaction to hearing the ancient language, she starts again: "Hey! Are you alive here?"