The Reckoning Road [i]
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Chapter 9(i) – The Reckoning Road
POV: Grey
The air in the building clung to his skin like damp cloth—sour, chemical, unnatural. Grey moved soundlessly through the dim halls of the old facility, eyes scanning every inch. The silence wasn't comforting. It was waiting.
The tanks were exactly where the map said they'd be. Transparent, once sterile, now cracked and leaking. Fluids of varying color bled out from them, pooling on the floor in swirls like oil in water. He stepped around one cautiously.
Some of the tanks were empty.
Or worse—recently empty.
One hissed softly. A tube detached itself from above and dripped onto the floor with a wet tap.
Then it moved.
Grey barely shifted before a figure launched out from behind the shattered column. It was fast—unnaturally fast. Limbs too long, movements too smooth. Grey ducked, turned, and felt its claw graze his jacket.
His knife was already in hand.
He went low, slashing across its thigh. No blood. No scream—just a twitch.
The creature spun and clawed again. He blocked, twisted, and shoved the blade through its neck. This time, it jerked violently, spewing mist as it dropped in a twitching heap.
Revenant.
That's what the old files called them. Failed subjects. Not undead. Not quite alive. Something… else.
Grey looked down. Its skin was nearly translucent up close. Stretched too tight.
He stood quickly and headed to the supply case bolted behind the tank. It opened with a heavy click, revealing rows of carefully labeled syringes.
Each filled with liquid in different colors.
Cyan. Dull amber. Deep violet. One almost black.
He took what he could fit in the small pouch from his vest. These weren't ordinary serums.
They were triggers.
He sealed the pouch, slid it into his gear, and left without looking back.
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Back at Camp – Just Before Training
The noise of camp life hit him as soon as he stepped through the gap in the fencing. Cooking pots. Voices. Metal clinking.
He blended in, walking like he'd been there the whole time.
Inside his tent, Grey cleaned his blade, changed out of the stained gear, and slipped the pouch beneath the false bottom of his duffel. The weight of it wasn't much—but it changed everything.
Training was about to start.
He made it to the field just as Jane was sending a mild glare toward Amy who seemed to be contemplating on walking over.
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POV: Jonah
"Look who finally shows up," Jane said, catching sight of Grey slipping into line. "Didn't even get to enjoy the warm-up."
Scarlett raised a brow. "He's allergic to being supervised."
Grey didn't answer. Just adjusted his gloves and waited.
Luke, seated on a crate nearby, grinned. "We keep training, he keeps sneaking off. I think he's figured out how to cheat evolution."
"I think he's just antisocial," Blair muttered, not entirely joking.
Jonah glanced toward the fidgeting girl he learnt about...Amy, who was pacing a few feet away, chewing at her lower lip. Her hands were twitchy, like she couldn't get them to stay still. She adjusted her gloves twice, then stepped forward.
"Grey," she said quietly.
He turned.
"I, um… I wanted to thank you. For back at the metro station. You didn't have to pull me out of that pile, but…"
"You were in the way," Grey replied evenly. But then, after a second—he added, "Still. You're welcome."
Amy blinked, then laughed nervously. "Right. I guess I'll… go train."
As she walked away, Luke whistled. "Smooth as always."
Jane let's out a snort
"She's trying," Scarlett muttered.
"We're all trying," Jonah added. "Some of us just show it differently."
Luke raised a brow. "Deep."
Jonah gave him a shrug. "You start living this close to death, you think more. Or feel less. One of the two."
Grey didn't look up. "Sometimes both."
There was a moment of silence before Jane broke it. "Alright, warm-up's over. We're moving out today. Let's not die before lunch."
The tension broke.
But Jonah felt it—the shift.
Whatever Grey had been doing before he got here… it was more than just scouting.
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